Sabrina York Pushing Her Buttons

Pushing Her Buttons Sabrina York   Every single day, he’s there. Waiting. Watching her. Closed in with her for a hund red stories as they ride the elevator to their floor. And every single day, for a hundred floors, Samantha simmers with banked lust. She wants him—her mysterious neighbor who seems to get off on tempting her. Whose eyes promise the kind of ki nky domination she’s too afraid to give in to. And then just when she thinks she’s s afe, just when she’s convinced she can resist his allure, he steps up his relentle ss pursuit. The passion that flares between them burns so hot and so bright it c ould consume them both. But that’s just on the way up. Who knows what will happen when they’re going down.

  Pushing Her Buttons Sabrina York

Dedication   For Carmen Cook, who inspires me to be naughtier.     Acknowledgments   In 2011, I entered this story in the Celtic Hearts Novellas Need Love, Too! cont est. It won first place in the erotica category and was selected for the 2011 Di stinguished Novella Award. I would like to thank the coordinators and first-roun d judges of that lovely contest as well as the final judges, Kelli Collins and H eather Osborne—who, I might add, have excellent taste. Thanks also to Carrie Jacks on for embracing this novella and helping make it the best it can be. I so appreciate Cerise DeLand, Melissa Schroeder, Delilah Devlin and Scarlett Sa nderson, who continue to encourage and support my career. And of course, a heart felt thanks to all my friends at the Greater Seattle RWA, Rose City Romance Writ ers, Passionate Ink and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. And a big sho ut out to the wonderful folks at Artitudes Design, who made my website sparkle. Literally. It sparkles.  

Chapter One Wednesday   I almost got off the elevator when he stepped on, that slick sophisticated creat ure oozing with masculinity, the man who haunted my dreams. He could turn me int o a bundle of jangled, weeping nerves with a look.

So I didn’t look. This took some effort. I wanted to, was drawn to the energy, the intensity, the heat rolling off him in waves. Instead I diligently studied the sleek chrome of the elevator doors as t hey slid silently shut. We were alone, together, in a box. Again. For a hundred floors. “Going up?” His voice was a slithering snake, raspy, undulating and smooth. I nodded. A short, curt dip of my head. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he pressed the button for our floor. His thumb was long and blunt. He did it slowly, caressing the face. As though makin g a promise. And all the while, he stared at me. Tracking my every reaction. Taking in the ri se of my breast, the quick dash of my tongue on suddenly dry lips, the quiver of a lash. This unrelenting attention made my skin prickle, my nipples swell. I riffled in my purse for a stick of gum. There was no gum but I riffled anyway. Honestly. How long could an elevator ride last? I focused on the lights of the h eader, ignoring his presence. Desperately trying to, at least, as his searing ga ze lingered and stroked. I was managing quite well, thank you very much. Until he did it. He made a noise I couldn’t ignore. It was something feral, between a grunt and a m oan. A sound a lion might make, unconsciously, distractedly, upon sighting a par ticularly juicy gazelle. Or a female in heat. I was not a female in heat. More than one man had commented on my frigidity. The idiots. My coolness was mer ely a reflection of their ineptitude. This man was probably not inept. A frightening truth for someone like me. The sound, the growl, the urgent hungry groan, washed through me in a vibrating bass. I punched the button for our floor several times in succession. It was a tell an d I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. Panic rose in my throat as the heat he se nt off swirled around me, sank in and settled in my belly. His interest in me had never been a secret. He’d tried flirting and sweet talk, he’d asked me out more than once but I always shot him down. I knew what kind of man he was. He had that vibe, that look, that alluring menace. I knew what he was, for God’s sake. I could smell it, feel it, taste it. I’d been th ere before and sworn I’d never go there again. Any woman with a pulse would think him attractive, what with that sable hair flo pping onto his forehead, that square dented chin, that boyish insouciance belied by a satyr’s smirk. And, ah. Those deep-brown eyes ringed with sinful sooty lashe s. Those exquisitely molded lips. That hard athlete’s physique. But not every woman would notice the simmering passion, the sultry sadism that c alled to a woman like me. Telegraphed in secret code. Tapping. Tapping on my ner ves. I did not want a man like that. Not anymore. A man like that would eat me alive. Against my will, I caught a glimpse of his chiseled reflection in the chrome. He’d opened his suit jacket and tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his sla cks. He leaned like a lazy panther against the mirrored wall and tipped his head back, studying the ceiling. His long legs were crossed at the ankles, showcasin g immaculate Ferragamos gleaming with a high gloss. A crooked grin tugged at his luscious lips. Mercy. Those lips. Heat sizzled through me as I imagined those lips on me, sucking, nuzzling, nippi ng. But that would never happen. He was not my type and I was not his. I wasn’t. I told myself to look away but I didn’t do it quickly enough. He straightened as we neared our floor. Adjusted his jacket. Shook out his pants . Raked his thick dark curls… And caught my gaze in the mirror. Caught me staring hungrily.

Horrified by this wash of vulnerability, I turned my head. Our eyes locked again but this time directly, intimately, across the car. Tangled, tied. His body stiffened, nostrils flared, pupils dilated. He leaned slightly, almost imperceptibly, toward me. His scent, his aura intensified. He held me immobile b y the sheer power of his intent. And then he licked his lips. Something within me liquefied. My knees went weak and I nearly dropped my briefc ase. Who knows what would have happed, what could have happened, if the elevator hadn’t opened at just that moment? The welcome ding snapped me out of this lazy, hazy daze. I clutched my briefcase to my chest and rushed through the doors almost before they were open, doing a determined power walk to my penthouse. He followed, slowly stalking. I didn’t hesitate. I waved my keycard over the lock and slipped inside. To safety. I tried not to look back. Really. I did. It was only a quick glance but the sigh t of him standing next to his double-doored entrance, pinning me with a heavy-li dded gaze, rocketed through me like a fist to my solar plexus. There was heat in his eyes. And hunger. And certainty. I shut the door, shutting him out. Shutting it out. He wasn’t my type. I wasn’t his. A man like that could destroy the woman I was, melt the mask I had worked so har d to forge. I refused to think about him. I refused to want him. I didn’t sleep all night.   Friday   He lounged, as he always did for our interminable ride, against the mirrored wal l. He crossed one leg over the other and looped his arms over his chest. He surv eyed my date—a long, lazy inspection. When he completed his appraisal, taking note of everything from the weak chin to the slightly scuffed loafers, he glanced at me, a grin tweaking his sinful lips. And then he lifted a mocking brow as though to say, “Really?” I turned to my date, Roger—or whatever his name was—and tugged on his tie. Surprised , bemused, he bent his head. I kissed his ass off. I was still kissing him when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I kept kissing him, hoping my neighbor would take the hint and leave us in lip-locking peace. I hoped in vain. When I surfaced from the long, lingering kiss, which had been rather like lickin g a large-mouth bass, he was still there, propping the door open with an immacul ately clad foot and watching with an amused expression. “After you,” he said in a deep voice that sent rivulets of delight dancing to my cun t. His words, as all his actions, seemed to carry weight, like they staggered under multiple meanings. After you were hardly bedroom words but he said them like th at, filling my mind with visions of a couple—who looked remarkably like us—tangled i n silken sheets. “Come, come!” she cries in desperation. “Ah,” he murmurs, “after you.” Huffing in disgust, I collected my prop—whatever his name was—and stormed to my pent house. Waving my key a little more frantically than I needed to, I pushed throug h the door and dragged my date into the living room. I didn’t want him there, sitting on my white leather couches or drinking my Crista l from my crystal, but he had to stay for a while. My neighbor might still be lu rking in the hall. I couldn’t face the humiliation of his mocking smile. So I let what’s-his-name stay. I let him kiss me and fondle me and drizzle me with sticky adoration. I let him fuck me. And I tried not to think about how it move d me less than a murmured, impersonal, “After you.”   The Next Friday   I started adjusting my schedule at work to avoid running into him on the elevato

r. Preparing for the merger helped immensely. Our company had just been gobbled up by a multinational owned by a reclusive billionaire—the usual drill. This guy h ad a history of taking jobs in the mailroom or the parking garage of companies h e wanted to acquire to make sure it was a good deal. He got away with it because he guarded his privacy so jealously that very few people actually knew what he looked like. Preparing for the merger meant long tedious meetings and interminable days fille d with paperwork and positioning. It meant adjusting my schedule and working lat e. Going in early. It meant avoiding him on the elevator. So I embraced it. And it worked. For a while. About a week. But then suddenly he found me again. I was returning from a grueling day in the salt mines. My dogs were barking in m y Jimmy Choos, my back hurt from sitting in meetings all day long and I was beat . What I really wanted was a glass of wine and a hot, hot bath. The last thing I wanted to deal with was him for a hundred floors. But this time it was worse. This time he had a floozy with him. “Floozy” being the term I use for a woman wearing too much makeup and too little clo thing. Of course, the undulating didn’t help deter the stereotype. I would never have stepped on the elevator if I’d seen them. In fact, I’d taken to p eering around the corner like a timid little mouse to make sure the coast was cl ear. And it had been. With a sigh of relief, I’d stepped into the elevator and pushed t he button for my floor. But just as the doors started to slide shut, a large han d stopped them. His hand. I bit my lip to hold back a curse. Where the hell had he come from? Where the hell had they come from? He held open the door and ushered his floozy inside. I ignored them both. I igno red the annoying lurch in my belly as well. I didn’t care that he had a floozy. I didn’t. He was not my type. It was like a mantra in my head. I hoped if I repeated it often enough, I would come to believe it. As the elevator silently shushed its way up to the exclusive suites in the ether , I stared at the chrome, at the vague reflection of their bodies twining. I tapped my toe and glared at the lights—moving, as they were, all too slowly. He kissed her neck. An annoying sucking noise made me inadvertently glance in th eir direction. And immediately wish I hadn’t. He buried his nose deeper and she rubbed against him like a cat. Forcing my attention away, I glared at their reflections instead. And then my heart stuttered, my lungs seized. Because in that distorted image, h is hand skated up her torso like a heat-seeking missile. He cupped her breast as casually as if he were cupping her elbow. Circled her nipple. Pinched. She sobb ed and rubbed her legs together. He chuckled and whispered something into her ear. She froze. Shuddered. I wasn’t watching. I didn’t want to watch. I certainly didn’t notice from the corner of my eye that his other hand had drifte d down her back, over her silk-clad buttocks to her bare thighs. I didn’t notice him drifting up again, under her short skirt and into darkness. I didn’t. I refused to acknowledge a sudden scalding vision. His fingers. On my slit. But my body wept. She didn’t squeal when he touched her, when he did whatever it was he was doing do wn there. But only because her lips were pressed together so tight they were whi te. Her nostrils flared. Her nipples pebbled. Her knees trembled. He held her up. With his fingers. Wherever they were. He worked at her, coaxing moans and mewls. And while he worked at her, he watched me not watching him in the chrome. It didn’t arouse me to witness this naked seduction. That was not cream easing fro

m my lips to dampen my inner thighs. The pulse, the hard, fast, insistent pulse between my legs was not because I was imagining him doing secret furtive things to me. Dear God. Please end this torture. I nearly collapsed with relief when the elevator dinged. Somehow—I really cannot fathom how—he got to the door before me and blocked the way. He glanced at me, making sure our eye contact was definitive. His expression we nt firm, determined. I thought I saw a flash, a brief hint of uncertainty, of he sitation, but surely I was mistaken. Whatever it had been, it quickly firmed to resolve. And then he made an abrupt gesture to his companion. She paled. Her lashes flickered as she glanced at me and then back at him. He di dn’t make the gesture, the command, again. He merely raised a brow. With a whimper, she slowly rolled up her skirt, exposing her cunt, her ass. Righ t there. In front of me. She wore nothing beneath that dress, most likely at his command. “Good girl,” he said but his focus was fixed on me. “Good girl.” He led her then toward his apartment; she followed him like an obedient hound. I was still standing in the elevator, swallowing the pool of drool in my mouth, when they reached his door. He waved his key and the door opened. As she entered his apartment, passed him at the portal, he palmed her ass. She quivered at his touch. Her arousal was palpable, even from a distance. And then, staring at me like a hawk, he smacked that bare bottom and smacked it hard. The sound of the slap echoed in the empty hallway, winding through her cry . A shock wave snarled through my belly and I flinched. A glob of cream eased ou t against my will. I closed my legs on it. His eyes, still trained on me, flared with satisfaction. As though he had uncovered a pleasant truth. I was still on the elevator when the doors slid shut. Oh yes. I knew what kind of man he was and if I let him, he would destroy the ma sk I’d so carefully constructed. So I wouldn’t let him. I couldn’t.

Chapter Two Saturday   I began to suspect he was stalking me. That he had some devious method to divine my every movement. For the very next day, when I stepped on the elevator, he wa s right behind me. With her. He hadn’t been in the lobby when I’d entered. But when I stepped into the elevator, he managed to step in right behind me. As if he’d been waiting. He fondled his floozy’s silk-clad hip and smiled at me. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. It set up a riot in my belly. I dropped my gaze, of course. It was becoming a habit. And it annoyed me because nowhere else, in any other aspect of my life, would I flinch from ugly reality. I faced things head-on now. I took pride in that fact. My weakness here, with h im, spoke volumes. And I didn’t want to hear what it said. So I forced myself to tip up my chin and look straight at them, goring him with my determination, daring him to give it his best. And he did. This time, this trip, he didn’t bother with subtleties. As soon as the elevator do ors slid shut, he pulled his woman against him so they both faced me. Horror and fascination skirled in my gut as his large hand slid to the bottom of her short dress and then back, dragging the hem up. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, so quite quickly she was exposed. He whispered i nto her ear. She leaned back against him, slowly moving her legs apart. She was

wearing spindly heels, the kind that makes women all helpless and wobbly, like n ewborn fawns. When she teetered, unbalanced, his hold on her, the arm across her belly, tightened. He fondled her. I stared, drool pooling, as he dandled her exposed vulva. He rubbed her with fou r fingers, opening her and revealing her clit, which he squeezed between thumb a nd forefinger. When she moaned, his response was swift and sharp. A resonating s lap. Definitively placed. “Hush,” he murmured. But for her heaving bosom, she stilled. “Do you like this?” he aske d, a dark rumble. His searing gaze was locked on me. I knew he wasn’t talking to h er. My eyes flicked to his. I didn’t answer. “Do you?” He smacked her again and again. With each slap, she twisted and squirmed. Her teeth tugged at her lush lower lip in the struggle to remain silent. “You shou ld answer me when I ask you a question.” He spread her legs wider still with his feet, nudging her to greater and greater peril. He rubbed her again and clasped her clit in a tight pinch. “She suffers, y ou see, when you don’t cooperate.” He twisted gently and a fat dab of cream oozed from her cunt, dangling there. God, I thought with a shudder. She liked this. She loved being humiliated in fro nt of a complete stranger, tantalized and teased. The cunt. Suddenly irritated beyond belief, I turned away. He laughed. “Yes,” he hissed in that deep, hypnotic voice. “I think you like this. I think you lik e this a lot.” He did something to her, that writhing woman in his arms—what it was remained a my stery because I had squeezed my eyes shut. She mewled like a feral cat. “You like witnessing her punishment. Does it make your clit twitch to know I’m punis hing her for you?” He chuckled again, probably because I’d squeezed my eyes shut eve n tighter. “Yes. I can see it does.” I heard a rustle of movement and then he was cl ose, whispering hotly in my ear. “I can smell your arousal. Smell the honey drippi ng down your thighs.” My eyes flew open. He was so close I could make out each lash. The dark rings ar ound his golden irises were mesmerizing. His hot fragrant breath bathed my cheek . “You hunger for this.” His fingertip—one single fingertip—circled my nipple. It ruched a nd pebbled. “You want to be punished in her place.” His nostrils flared and he leane d closer. “Come with us tonight. Come with us and I’ll let you hold the strap.” A memory, buried deep, bubbled to the surface. The memory of a hot commanding ma n, a strap, my ass on fire and lashes of ecstasy. It nearly brought me to my kne es. But then the elevator dinged and I snapped out of the trance. Recalled myself. I’d left that life. I’d left it for a reason. It always began with passion and play but before long it devolved. Before long, he would slip dark degradation into the scene. Before long, the pain would becom e too emotional, too real. I edged around the temptation and slipped into the hall. “I-I can’t.” Goddamn it. Agai n, I was lowering my gaze. It took nearly everything in me but I forced myself t o look at him. I repeated my vow with conviction. “I can’t.” A flash of disappointment washed over his expression but it quickly morphed into grim determination. “Pity.” He took her hand, that woman who could, that woman who would, and tugged her aft er him, out of the elevator toward his penthouse. She teetered on her stiletto h eels, holding on to him for balance. I trailed along behind like a forlorn pup, wreathed in regret. I’d had to rip ever y vestige of passion from my life just to feel safe. And sometimes I hated it. M y life. Empty as it was. He stopped at his doors and speared me with a sharp look. “Think about this tonigh t, as you relax in the luxury of your loneliness. Think about what’s happening jus t across the hall and how it could’ve been yours.” Gathering the delusion of indifference around me like a cloak, I swiped my card.

Ignored how it trembled. The doors clicked open and, posthaste, I slipped insid e. To hide. His voice followed me. “Think about your punishment. And how much she will enjoy i t in your stead.” As the doors closed on him—on them—I nearly collapsed in relief. At least I thought it was relief. Of course it was. I did enjoy the luxury of my loneliness. Hell, I’d earned it. Paid for it with the price of my first—and only—marriage. And perhaps a chunk of my soul. I damn well sh ould enjoy it. But as much as I tried not to, I did think about him. And I thought about her. A nd the punishment that should have been mine, if only I’d had the courage—or the stu pidity—to accept it.   Sunday   For once, I didn’t spend the day at work. I forced myself to get out. Socialize. I had lunch with a couple friends and we took in an afternoon movie. Although, I haven’t a clue what it was about. Throughout the day, I kept drifting off into dar k fantasies and darker ruminations. When I returned home, he was waiting. We stepped on the elevator together. Flicking my pashmina over my shoulder to illustrate my indifference, I glanced a t him. He was mouthwateringly handsome in a cable-knit sweater and tan khaki pan ts. He tucked his fingers into his pockets and lounged against the wall of the e levator. “Where’s your friend?” I asked. I tried not to sound snide. I don’t think I succeeded. “Lola?” Something prickled at my nape. “Is that her name?” He shrugged. “Does it matter?” Unaccountably annoyed, I glared at him. Really. A man had no business being this attractive. “Where is she?” He nodded upward, indicating his penthouse. “I told you she’d be punished.” “But…” My breath caught. “That was yesterday!” His gaze, suddenly serious, suddenly still, raked me. “She’ll be punished until you release her.” “What?” “Do you want to know what I did to her?” “No.” A whisper. He ignored me. “I tied her to the bed. Eased a butt plug into her pucker and a vib rator into her cunt. I had to tie it in because it kept shooting out—she’s that wet.” He grinned and winked, as though we were having a casual, everyday conversation about something completely ordinary and mundane. Like laundry. “It’s a great little vibrator with some very interesting settings. My favorite is particularly deviou s. Whenever she squeezes, it shuts off.” He leaned closer. Caged me. “Do you know wh at that means?” I swallowed. “No.” His tongue flicked out and dabbed at his lips. “It means she can’t come. She’s been ly ing up there all afternoon. Tied spread-eagle, in agony.” I flinched. His eyes nar rowed. “Ah, you like to be tied spread-eagle, don’t you? To be utterly helpless. To thrash against your bonds. To be completely unable to touch yourself. Coming clo ser and closer to that ultimate release. And then, just when you get there, just when you can feel it coming…oops. The damn thing switches off.” He tsked. “You can im agine how frustrated she is by now.” “Why are you telling me this?” “Don’t you know?” I shook my head. Tried to quiet the whispering wraiths scudding through my soul. Because somewhere deep inside, I did know. He teased my neck then let his palm trail over my chest. He found my jutting nip ple—of course he did—and scraped it with a fingernail. “I’m telling you because the only way she’s ever going to find release is if you make her come.” My gut dropped to my knees. “What?”

He was drawing a web around me. I could feel it tightening. The old hunger bubbl ed and spat. His touch agonized me. Because all he did was stroke, oh so gently. And God help me, I wanted, needed more. But I knew better than to ask. “It won’t take much, my pet. Not at this point. A touch. Maybe a nibble or a suck. Y ou can bring her torment to an end.” He caressed my thigh and my heart froze mid-b eat. His long warm fingers slid over and up, just to the right. He found my cent er. Pressed. Delight skittered along every nerve. I gasped, quivered, creamed. “I-I’m not going t o m-make your girlfriend come.” Was my voice really that wobbly? That weak? “Who said she’s my girlfriend?” He delved deeper, rubbed the crease in my slacks. Everything within me clenched. Still, I found the strength to step away. He foll owed. “I-I’m not going to do it.” “Of course you will.” Oh dear. Had he opened the hook at my waist? Had he eased the zipper down? Were those his fingers sliding into the shadows between my legs? “You have to play by the rules.” I commanded my legs to move, to walk away. They did not. “W-who said I wanted to p lay? I don’t. I don’t want to play.” “Yes,” he murmured, hot into my ear. “Yes, you do. Look at you. How aroused you are. D o you think I can’t tell?” Ah. A touch. Skin against skin. He nudged my swollen clit. Teasingly, he made a deeper pass, reveling in the flood of arousal he found. “Come on. End it for her. You want to.” “I’m not attracted to w-women.” He laughed. “I know, sweetheart.” His fingers, three of them, slipped through the sl ick soup and eased, as one, into my weeping cunt. A slow, steady slide. Good. It felt so good. He filled me and stroked me and stoked the fire until it burst into a flame I could not deny. “You aren’t doing it for her.” His voice quavered a little as I tightened around him. “Y ou’ll do it for me. Because I want to watch.” And so, God help me, I did it. When the elevator doors slid open, I went with hi m. He led me like a child through the double doors of his penthouse and back int o his bedroom. And there she was. On the bed. She was tied like he’d said, arms and legs held wid e and firmly pinned to the four posters. She wore a blindfold and earphones. A f at vibrator poked out of her pussy. It was strapped to a belt at her waist to ke ep it from popping out as she writhed. And she did. Writhe. “She can’t hear us.” He stepped up behind me, cupped my breasts and thumbed my nipples . “She’s listening to the audio of one of her favorite fuck films. It keeps her hot.” She seized and cried out. The vibrator had just turned off. “Ah. Poor thing.” He tugged at my pants. When they fell to the floor, I kicked them off. My panties followed. He didn’t immediately fumble for my exposed pussy—as so many men might. Instead he r ubbed his broad palms over my belly and my thighs, teasing me until I pressed ba ck against him. His stony cock pulsed between my naked butt cheeks. “She wants you to touch her,” he breathed into my hair. “Just like you ache for my tou ch, she aches for yours.” “I can’t.” This, in a choked whisper. “Yes. You can. Let me help you.” He took my hand and together we reached for her. I grazed her clit. It was engorged, slick. She moaned, thrust up into the caress. “Please. Please let me come.” A trail of dry tears tracked her cheeks. She’d been begging for hours. “Mmm.” His voice rumbled through me. “Do it again.” I did. This time without his coaching. He murmured his approval. “It’s so fat.” He stroked my clit, even as I stroked hers. “So very juicy. Wouldn’t you like to lick it? Take it between your lips and suck it?” I tossed my head back, reveling in his touch. He knew just how to rub me, how ha rd, how long.

But then he stopped. I wriggled in the desperate attempt to find him again. He d id not allow me to. “Wouldn’t you?” he repeated, his tone harsh. The rest of his question eluded me so I shook my head. He smiled and stroked me again. The sensation was so strong I could barely stand . “Or would you rather rub against her like this? Make her come with the kiss of c lit to clit?” I didn’t want to do this but I wanted to please him. It frightened me, just how mu ch I would do to please him, how quickly he had conquered me. Trembling, aching, I got on the bed and straddled the bound girl. I placed my cl eft against hers and began to rub. She arched up into me with a cry of delight. The vibrator started back up with a faint throb, resonating through us both. “Yes.” His palm was firm on my ass. With little effort, he guided my every motion. “Ma ke her come. Release her.” I didn’t expect it but even as I ground against her, brought her closer to the pre cipice, my arousal heightened. The insistent drag of slick wet skin against slic k wet skin, the jarring drag of nub against nub, consumed me. My passion, my hea t, billowed, bloomed. And then just as my orgasm welled, just as ecstasy burst w ithin me, his fingers, thick and forceful, shoved into my cunt. The fullness, his delirious thrusts, sent me over the edge and I came around him . She came too, crying out and writhing and shuddering against me. That only heightened my pleasure. I had released her. And he had released me. I thought he would fuck me then. Fuck one of us. But he didn’t. Instead he helped me dress with gentle hands, walked me to the foyer and kissed me on the forehead . “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked. I gaped at him. Surely there would be more than this. “But…” A muscle clenched in his cheek. “Will I see you tomorrow?” A Gordian knot twined in my belly. “I suppose.” We did live next door to each other, after all. His expression relaxed. He picked up a small package from the table by the door and handed it to me. “What’s this?” “A present for you. Wear it tomorrow.” “What is it?” “Do you promise to wear it?” My glare lacked conviction. “Yes.” He smiled. “Don’t open this until the morning and then put it on right away. Don’t del ay, or I’ll know.” “How could you?” His smile tightened. “Not until morning, sweetheart. Promise?” And God help me, I did. I promised. I sat up half the night staring at that damn package. Wondering. Wondering what was in it, sure, but more than that. Wondering why he hadn’t taken advantage of my arousal. Why he hadn’t fucked me. I’d been ready. Dribbling. Drooling for it. He could have demanded anything and I would have complied. I shivered at the thought, the implications of his hold ove r me. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t taken the advantage he’d clearly won. Why not? My heart stilled as a lowering prospect slithered through me. Had I read this wr ong? Had I only been a toy in their game? An unbearable, humiliating thought given my savage, inconvenient craving for him . I did not want to share. I had no business feeling such burning envy, such blinding jealousy. But I could n’t help myself from wondering…had he fucked her? Was he fucking her now? The image flooded my mind and right on its tail, hot thrashing hunger. A gnawing ache.

More than anything, I yearned for a strong dominating man—I always had. But they’d n ever failed to disappoint me. Was he different than my ex had been? Or worse? As I curled up in my cold lonely bed, one question swirled in my mind. What torm ent would tomorrow hold?

Chapter Three Monday   Tomorrow, it seemed, held aggravation. And plenty of it. I put off opening the box until after breakfast. I sat there for a long while, s ipping my coffee and glaring at the package sitting on the table like a two-head ed snake. It wasn’t that I was scared to open it. Well, maybe a little. Turns out, that was a good instinct. When I finally opened it and looked inside, I nearly closed it back up, stormed across the hall and threw it in his face. It was an elaborate kinky version of a G-string. A series of straps, really, attached to a long V-shaped piece of rubb er. The rubber was studded but the studs were random, of varying sizes and heigh ts, designed specifically to rub against my clit, to drive me mad with wanting. He wanted me to wear this? All day? I was furious. Then I saw the note. Slowly, I opened it and scanned his bold, stocky script. And through my fury, my arousal began to bubble. Wear this beneath your skirt, it said, and nothing else. I want to think of you walking around all day with your pussy exposed, your clit throbbing and your cun t lips parted and moist. I want you to remember how vulnerable you are. Remember how hot you are. I want you to think about it. All day. Think about it as you d ampen the leather of your chair in the boardroom. I want you to rock into it whi le others are droning over their boring presentations. And I want you to think o f me. Thinking of you. Wanting you. All day. Okay. I was tempted. More than tempted. But—I’m sorry to say—the fear won out. I have never liked cowards and never liked the thread of cowardice in myself. But I wen t through hell in my first marriage to a dominating man. Little games like this had been so hot then. But they’d turned ugly quick. And this just didn’t feel right. So I didn’t put it on. I didn’t wear it. As much as a part of me wanted to, I couldn’t do it. I spent all day thinking about him though, as he had so commanded. But probably not in the way he’d intended. I thought about that woman and what we’d done. What he’d made me do. I thought about the fact that he hadn’t fucked me last night but she’d still been there when I left . That he’d probably fucked her and fucked her good. And it pissed me off. He was a gorgeous man, the epitome of all my wet dreams rolled into flesh. And h e was attractive to me in so many other ways. But if I gave in to him, if I let myself fall for him and he kept seeing her—or any other woman—it would destroy me. It had happened before. It’d taken me years to find myself again. My aggravation only heightened when the new owner of our company, Jackson Carter , stood us up for a meeting. And not just any meeting—our very first meeting, one my team and I had been working weeks to prepare for. None of them cared much. In their opinion it just delayed the death knell many were expecting. And they got donuts. But I was livid. My mood was so bad that when my secretary saw me coming toward her in the hall, she whirled around and headed the other direction. Not my best day. By the time I got home, I was ready for battle. Ready to tell him what I thought about him and his sleazy girlfriend and his tawdry games and his lurid G-string . He didn’t meet me in the elevator so I stormed over to his penthouse and pounded on the door.

He answered in gray flannel darkened with sweat. Oh crap. He’d been working out. T he scent of him, of hot hard man, wafted to my nostrils and my resolve nearly cr umbled. He was so fricking gorgeous. I wanted to lick him. But I was angry, I re minded myself. The first words out of my mouth weren’t what I intended. “Where is she?” He stood back and allowed me entrance. I blew through the living room and into t he bedroom. He followed, hands tucked into deep pockets. “Gone.” I snarled, “Gone where?” “Away. She won’t be back.” That gave me pause but I was still in a tizzy. An entire night fretting over thi s, an entire day fuming at him, had taken its toll on my sanity. Certainly on my patience. “Did you fuck her last night?” Gads. I hated how I sounded. But I couldn’t help it. I was a woman possessed. By a nasty little green imp with sharp claws. “No.” I blinked. I had convinced myself he had. I’d convinced myself they’d spent the whol e night fucking and laughing about me. “Wh-why not?” He stepped closer. His voice was soft, intent. His gaze held mine in a tender em brace. “Don’t you know?” I shook my head, blinking at the tear stinging the corner of my eye. He nudged a lock of hair behind my ear and smiled crookedly. “Because I didn’t want her. I wanted you.” I stormed back into the living room, enraged. A fury fomented by hours of frustr ation. “You could have had me,” I hissed. “You sent me away.” God, how that rankled. “I had to.” “What?” “I had to send you away.” “Why?” He walked toward the wall of windows with a magnificent city view. I watched in the reflection as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Because I had to.” “But…don’t you want me?” I cringed even as the words slipped out. He spun around, nostrils flaring. “Jesus. Of course I want you.” He laughed, a craze d trickle. “Baby, you have no idea how bad I want you. But there’s something I want even more.” At my quizzical glance, he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. The ridge of hi s arousal nudged my belly. I fisted the soft cotton of his sweats. Oh, how I lov ed sweats on a man. “I want our first time to be right. To be perfect. I don’t want someone else between us. I don’t want anyone else in the bed. I want your focus on me and mine on you. I want this to be right.” My lips parted but no sound came out. A trill of excitement danced through my cu nt. How amazing it would be, if it could be. How wonderful. But I’d been burned. I was leery. He must have seen that in my expression because he said, “We need to take this slo w. One step at a time. I want you to be comfortable. I want to go at your speed.” He swallowed a snort. “And if going slow drives us crazy then at least we’ll go ther e together. Okay?” He was so close. So warm. So sincere. My resistance melted. I nodded. “Okay.” “All right.” He grinned and blew out a breath. “Are you ready?” “Ready?” For what? “Lift up your skirt. I want to see it on you.” Oh shit. My hands instinctively dropped to cover my privates. Because I hadn’t put it on. He was going to be annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. I tried not to f ixate on how his muscles bulged with the action. He tipped his head to the side and studied me. Why oh why did he look wounded? “Yo u did wear it. Didn’t you?” I made a face and shrugged. “Why not?” I mirrored his position, crossing my arms as well. I noted with great satisfacti

on that his eyes glassed over a bit when my cleavage leapt to the fore. “I was mad at you.” “Mad at me?” “Because of her.” “There’s no more her. But that is beside the point. You deliberately disobeyed.” His tone was so soft, so smooth, but a thread of steel ran through it. And despi te my determination to be an aggressive, powerful woman, that weeping submissive deep inside me wriggled to get out. It was a wet and slippery slope; she’d find h er way, and quickly. He paced around the room, circling me, viewing me from all sides, making me turn this way and that to keep him within my sights. We were playing a game and we b oth knew it. But my reservations were very real. “You do realize you’ll have to be punished.” This he murmured in a raspy bass. It rumb led through my being. My clit began to throb. A slick dampness dribbled out. I softened. Punishment. I had always craved a firm hand. Especially on my ass. Yet I resisted. Because he’d like that. “I don’t think I deserve a punishment.” I sounded like a petulant pouter. But that was kind of the point. “Did you disobey an order?” I put out a lip. “Sweetheart.” He cupped my cheek with a big bearlike paw. “You have to play by the rul es.” I turned my back on him but he just stepped behind me and pulled my body against his, spooning me. It felt amazing but I couldn’t let him see that. So I tried to wrench away. “I don’t w ant to play.” His hold tightened. “Yes, you do,” he said into the shell of my ear. His palm skated across my belly and lower, to the hem of my skirt. Then it trail ed back up under my slip, creating tantalizing waves on my hypersensitive skin. He found my core, slipped deeper into my slit and rubbed. He made that sound, that sound that had me weeping with lust. A guttural groan t hat said nothing and everything at the same time. He stroked and delight—sweet exc ruciating delight—rocked me. I whimpered. It was so good. So damn good. It had been a long time since I’d felt this kind of heat. From a man. From myself. Together, we were incendiary. His lips teased their way over my cheek to my earlobe then found that spot on my neck. He sucked. Sensation scalded me, rioted over my jangled nerves. My knees buckled. “You like that, do you?” he whispered. “You want more.” He drew tiny circles around my a ching button, ruthlessly teasing me, challenging my sanity. When I didn’t answer, he stopped. He pulled out from beneath my skirt, letting the dampness trail along my thighs. To remind me of my hunger. “Take it off.” I jerked in his arms as the command registered. I hesitated for a second. But th at was about all I had in me. Trembling, I fumbled for the hook, the zipper. As I drew it down, I came into contact with something hot and hard and throbbing. I had wondered about this, about him, for weeks. His length. His girth. His rigid ity. I allowed myself a surreptitious caress. Maybe not so surreptitious. He growled and nipped at my earlobe. “No teasing.” “I wasn’t—” He silenced me by jerking at my unfastened skirt. It fluttered to the floor. “Turn around.” As though he didn’t trust me to do so of my own volition, he directed me with gent le hands on my shoulders. I stood there in my blouse, panties and heels, sufferi ng his inspection. I desperately wanted to cover my nether regions but knew bett er. Besides, this was nothing. I knew what was coming. It made me quiver. “Unbutton your blouse.” I did. As soon as it fell open, he reached for me, caressing my belly and hips w

ith broad, flat palms. “You feel wonderful. Warm and soft.” He felt wonderful too. Just the touch of his sk in on mine electrified me. Heat surged in me. If he touched me just right, I would probably come right ther e on the spot. He would probably punish me for that too. He tipped up my chin until our eyes met. “Are you okay?” I nodded. “Are you ready to continue?” His tone was unsteady, intense. I swallowed. “Yes.” “Take it off.” From the tone of his voice, he was as beleaguered as I. As hungry as I. I took a dvantage of that and slowly slipped my blouse from my shoulders, catching it aro und the bosom for a heartbeat before letting it go. Quaking, I stood there before him in matching black lace. Nearly naked. His Adam’s apple worked as he studied me at length. Then he stepped closer, thumbe d a nipple through the rough material of my bra. Lightly. Gently. The ghost of a touch. I threw back my head and groaned. Hot sizzling energy sliced through me from tit s to ass. Cream dampened my inner thighs. I pressed my legs together and a shudd er racked me. He smiled and took my hand in his. “I think it’s time. I think you’re ready.” He led me to an overstuffed ottoman in front of the overstuffed couch. He sat and looked u p at me, patting his lap. “You know what to do.” Dear God. I did. I didn’t want to assume the position. But I did. Slowly, carefully and with great trepidation, I draped myself over hi s thighs. They were so firm. I scooted up a little higher and rocked my clit aga inst them. Pleasure and anticipation trickled through me. He didn’t begin immediately, damn him. Instead he tantalized my ass with that palm , around and around until I wanted to scream with frustration. His fingers, thos e disquieting digits, traced the band of my panties until I thought for certain I would go mad. In the end, I settled for squirming. He liked that. He rewarded me with a swift pass over my pussy. “You’re so wet.” His voice was harsh, hungry. “What are you waiting for?” His chuckle resonated to my bones. “Don’t you know?” I glared at him over my shoulder. He allowed it. For a moment. Then he firmly gu ided me back into position. He resumed the agonizing stroking until I was a wild thing. When I snarled at him, he just laughed. “Don’t you know what I’m waiting for?” “No. No I don’t. Tell me. Please—” The first stoke was fast and harsh and hard. I think I came a little right then. “Yes. That’s what I wanted.” Another. Heat, the exact size and shape of his palm, slic ed through me. “I wanted you to beg for it.” He smacked me again. “Oh yes. Yes. Please.” And again. His hand rained down in a torrent of heaven and hell again and again and again. The smacks echoed through the room, along with my moans and groans an d his labored breathing. My ass jiggled with each blow. They came quicker. More fervent. More frenzied. I writhed, struggled against him , riding him almost, seeking the bliss I needed. “More,” I gasped. “Harder.” He complied. Five. Six. Seven more slaps. And then just as I was about to crest, just as I was about to explode in ecstasy , he stopped. I barely had time to cry out my denial, when he ripped my panties off. Without pause he shoved three fingers into my weeping cavern, deep, unyield ing and urgent. And I came. Like an erupting volcano. A volcano gushing furious lava that had be en held captive beneath a ton of cold granite for an eternity. Finally—finally—relea sed in a glorious flood. I came and came, clutching at him with an intensity I h ad not experienced for ages. It seemed like I came forever.

When I finished, when I was sane and within my skin once more, he lifted me up a nd kissed me sweetly. Then he lowered me to the carpet, a thick, rich bed. He se ttled beside me and edged closer. I thought he meant to kiss me again, perhaps h op on top and begin riding right away, but he didn’t. He took my nipple in his mou th and, through the lace, sucked. I came again. But it was just a little one. An aftershock. He grinned. “Wait here.” He levered himself up and before I could respond, bounded o ff to the bedroom. Wait here? As though I could move. I was a bowl of quivering Jell-O. A flan. He was back in a flash with a foil packet. Ah hell. That thought had never even crossed my mind. Thank God he was prepared. He sat on the sofa and gestured to me. “Come here.” I disliked being commanded so but he had something I wanted. I saw it there, thr usting against gray flannel, a fat insistent cock. Even its ridge was pronounced . I wanted it. I wanted it a lot. So I rolled over onto my knees and crawled the s hort distance to the couch. I wedged myself between his legs. I wanted to give h im what he’d given me. I wanted to give as good as I’d gotten. He watched me with feral eyes. Passion blazed there but it was banked. His finge rs were tightly fisted. He was holding back. He wanted me to make the first move in this, our next sortie. So I knelt between his thick thighs with his warmth surrounding me, his strength infusing me, and met his gaze. “Take it off.” “What?” He blinked innocently. Oh. So he wanted to play? I’d show him. I’d show him I could play. “The sweatshirt. Ta ke it off.” He responded so quickly I almost laughed. But I didn’t. Because what he revealed s tole all reason. A broad, ridged expanse of tanned muscle sprinkled with a light dusting of sable hair. Oh. My mouth watered. I ached to touch him. So I did. I explored his chest with my mouth and cheek. I rubbed against him lik e a cat until he arched his hips instinctively and nudged me with that rigid coc k. I let my lips trail to a nipple and sucked. He hissed through his teeth. Then I lapped and nipped my way down his chest to his belly. When I diddled his bellybutton, he groaned. I followed the waistband of his swea ts from one side to the other with my tongue then covered the encased head of hi s cock with my mouth and blew out a hot breath. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! What are you waiting for?” I caught his gaze and grinned. “Don’t you know?” He stared at me, befuddled and flustered and horny as hell. Then he lifted his h ips and yanked off his sweats. His cock, delicious and demanding, bobbled free. “P lease. Dear God. Please.” My mouth was on him before the words were out. And my heavens, he was exquisite. Soft as silk and smooth as satin. Hard as stone and throbbing and fragrant. I w anted to gobble him up. So I did. I nibbled and sucked at the tip of his cock, d elighting in that sweet single drop of cum that, more than anything, stated his readiness. But I didn’t let him come. Not yet. I wanted to explore that pole, as long and ste ely and firm as it was. I stroked him and teased him and made him plead. And then when I was ready, when he was nearly mad with wanting, I crawled up ont o his lap, astride him, and rubbed my wet cunt against his cock. His heat agains t my clit made me shiver. As I undulated against his hardness, I found the crook of his neck—my favorite place on a man—and I feasted. I found a spot that made him clench and hiss. A raw, desperate sound came from h is throat. “Now.” His fingers trembled as he fumbled for the condom, ripped it out of the pouch and unrolled it onto his length. “Oh. Now. Now.” He pinned me with a desperate look . “Are you ready? Please tell me you’re ready.” In response, I lifted up, positioned him against the simmering mouth of my cunt and impaled myself. On him. And oh.

Oh. He felt so perfect, sliding into me. I was wet and slick and he was thick and ho t and long. I didn’t stop until we were belly to belly. Until he filled me. Comple tely. I had to pause then, to savor the sensations. He stretched me, stuffed me, massa ged every nerve. My cunt danced around him, sucking at him, quivering, quaking. He surged inside me and my body clenched. Slowly, I rose and fell again. And again. And again. The wet slurping sound of a void being filled over and over rocked the room, pla ying counterpoint to his grunts and gasps, my cries. But I couldn’t go fast enough. For either of us. So he took over. He pulled out of me—much to my chagrin—and arranged me, ass up, over the ottoman. He spread my legs far apart, perched behind me and plunged in. Deep. Bliss flooded me. Insanity consumed me. I rocked back into him, trying to make h im go faster, harder. I spread my legs farther, aching for the brush of his ball s on my clit. He must have sensed my urgency. He fondled, pinched, slapped that screaming button, all the while plowing into me with a raging passion. The thrusts became short and fast. His body tightened. His cock swelled as it pr epared to erupt inside me. He shifted position, entering me slightly from the si de, hitting my cunt from a new angle. The ridge, that glorious steely ridge, str oked a secret place. A place that had never before been so caressed. A bundle of aching raw nerves. I exploded. Imploded. Collapsed. A star consumed by its own brightness. An ocean drowned in its own tears. He erupted in harsh, insistent jerks, shudders and throbs that resonated through my being and the bliss took me again. He’d made me come. And I’d returned the favor. And yes. My ass still burned. It was paradise. Afterward we made our way to the bedroom and curled up under the covers. His bed was magnificent. Huge and firm and warm. Or maybe that was him. His sheets were so soft, they must have been eight-hundred count. But all I could think of was that she had slept here. He must have read my thoughts, noticed my restlessness, because he laughed and s aid, “No. She never slept here. No woman ever has.” I read the truth in his eyes. But still. Kinda hard to believe. He was some guy. The sort of man any woman would do anything to be with. “I mean it.” He kissed me. “No woman. But I would like it if you would stay.” I nuzzled closer. “I’ll think about it.” His chuckle rumbled through me. We lay there for a while in silence, enjoying the afterglow of fantastic sex. An d then he went and ruined everything. “Tell me about him.” I stiffened. “Him who?” “Your ex.” A hot flush crawled up my nape. “What makes you think I have an ex?” He stilled. Was quiet for a moment and then said, “Of course you have an ex. Every one has an ex.” “I don’t want to talk about him.” Ever. “Why didn’t it work out?” I pushed away and glared at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Seriously.” He yanked me right back into his arms. He was too comfortable. I didn’t want to co nform to him, melt into him, but I did. “Tell me.” He kissed my neck. Stroked my thigh. “I need to know why things went sour.” “He took things too far. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it.” “Took things too far…how?” “I’m hungry. Do you have any food or are you planning to starve me into submission?” O h crap. Had I really said that? His body stiffened around me—and not in a good way. “Did he do that?” Harshness roughe ned his voice. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”

“Did he hurt you?” Now I met his gaze. Mine was laced with cynicism. “Of course he hurt me.” He hurt me so many ways I couldn’t begin to catalog them. “Well, I won’t.” He tucked me back into his embrace and formed our bodies together. Hi s touch was tender. A promise. “I won’t.” I fell asleep that way. We both forgot to eat.

Chapter Four Tuesday   We woke up late the next morning, still tangled together in the soft nest of his bed. I felt wonderful, like I’d slept for a year. I hadn’t slept that deeply in…well, I couldn’t recall. He rose up over me and settled his hot mouth on mine. He tasted wonderful, his b reath addictive. “Good morning,” he rumbled through the kiss. “Mmm.” Apparently I was incapable of forming a coherent response. And then I was incapable of forming a coherent thought. Because his mouth nibble d and sucked its way across my cheek and over to my ear and then down my neck. D elicious shivers and shimmers sparkled through my body. My nipples peaked, my cl it tingled. I arched into him. He continued grazing at that tender flesh as his hand teased its way from my sho ulders to the swell of my breast. His clever fingers found and plagued a puckere d nipple. “Umm,” he murmured against my skin. The growl sent a wave of hunger and delight slui cing through me. “Do you like that?” “Yes.” A warbled pant. “Then you might like this too.” He licked his way to my other breast. Yes. I was probably going to like it. He sucked the tip and a shaft of pure bliss shot straight from my tits to my cun ny. “Oh God.” I wiggled my hips, trying to encourage him to do it again, but he didn’t. He just teased. Around and around and around my aching engorged nipple until I wan ted to scream. “Please.” His response was immediate. Immediate and brutal and damn exquisite. He sucked o ne nipple—hard—as he pinched the other. He chuckled at the way I howled. “You like that,” he said. “A little rough.” When I whimpered in reply, he did it again. Hell. He could have done that all day. But… “I have to go to work.” He glanced up at me. A mischievous smile quirked his beautiful lips. “Yes. You do.” But he didn’t stop his delicious torment. He splayed his palm across my belly, exp loring and delighting me with his direction. Because it was down. He was going down. I spread my legs as he neared. He chuckled again. I felt his breath first. It was warm and soft and riffled through downy tufts. H e skimmed over my pubis, just raking me with a hint of sensation. I wanted more. I wanted him to rub deeper, slip into me, take me, possess me. But he didn’t. He toyed with me, taunted me, teased me. His tongue began a dance on the outer l ips. A swipe, a lick and a dab. Every so often it would slip a little deeper, nu dge at my throbbing button. But then—when I was almost there, when I could just gr asp my elation—he would withdraw and start again from the beginning. I planted my feet on the bed and tried to thrust up into him but that only made him withdraw farther. “Put your ass back on the bed.” He pressed gently at my hips. When I complied, he no dded. “Open your legs, like this.” He arranged me so I was splayed before him. Shivers of anticipation racked me. E xcitement raged. When I squeezed my cunt walls against it, a bit of that excitem

ent oozed out, dampening me still further. “Now.” He glanced up at my face. “Do not move. Not an inch. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Uh-huh.” His evil smile should have warned me. But I was too far gone for logic. Also, he was lowering his head again. I was focused on that. He drew a finger across my tender slit, starting at the top and dancing all the way to the very back. “You’re wet.” It sounded like an accusation. “Yes.” God. “When are you going to fuck me?” His only response was a dark chuckle. His tongue followed his finger’s path. Desperate for more, I lifted my hips. I had to. His response was a quick, short slap to my pussy. It was hard and hot and right over the mound that so craved hi s touch. Little shivers of pre-orgasm scuttled through me and I groaned out loud. “Yessss.” He followed the smack with a kiss. Long and slow and sweet. Then he nuzzled in a nd did what I had wanted him to do for so long. He took my throbbing clit in his mouth and sucked. His tongue swirled around that fat nub, teasing it in an endl ess array of flicks and jabs. He licked at the underside of it, where it was so tender, until I began to writhe. And he stopped. Again! Panting, I clutched at his hair and tried to drag him back. Back to where he bel onged. Where I needed him. But he resisted. When I opened my eyes to glare at hi m, to plead, perhaps, he was staring at me, a solemn expression on his face. “I told you not to move.” “I have to move. You’re driving me crazy.” He shook his head. Sable curls flopped from side to side. “I told you not to move.” “Jesus. Will you just fuck me?” “Not yet.” “When?” “When you pay your debt.” Well, that shut me up. My mind spun. “W-what debt?” He scooted back up to the top of the bed and kissed me on the lips. I tasted mys elf on his tongue. His fingers, bless them, delved into my cleft again, rubbing small, slow circles around my clit. My pulse throbbed madly. I’d never been so aro used. So swollen. So tender. “Yesterday I gave you a command. You disobeyed.” Oh. Shit. The G-string. “I just—” “Ah ah ah.” He tapped my lips. Drew a soft line along the seam, as though this hint of a touch would silence me. It did. “Until I get my due, no orgasms for you.” I gaped at him. Seriously? I was mad to come. Literally insane with aching, thro bbing lust. “You can’t do this to me!” I wailed. I actually wailed. He had the temerity to laugh. And then he softened it with a kiss. “Sorry, sweethe art. Rules are rules. If you disobey, I will punish you.” “You already spanked me.” Did I really need to remind him? His grin was wolfish. “What makes you think that was a punishment?” My mouth opened and closed several times in succession. Rather like a landed tro ut. “What was it then?” “Foreplay. Now come on.” He sat up and took me with him. Every aching part of me pro tested. “Time to get dressed for work.” He shot me a dark look. “And when you’re ready, when you are all dressed, come back over here for your inspection.” Why oh why, did that send a sharp sliver of delight through me? I stood and coll ected my clothes. He watched as I dressed and then walked me to the door. “Oh, and sweetheart?” I glared at him. “What?” “Don’t diddle your cunt in the shower.” “I’m horny. And you won’t do it.” “Don’t. Do. It. I’ll know if you do. And that will only make it worse.” “Make what worse?” My voice was soft, unsure. Although I was sure, pretty damn sure,

of the answer. He kissed my neck, a long, slow suck, a nibble, a lick. “Your punishment, of cours e.” Of course. I swung away, out of his clutches, and stormed across the hall. I had to swipe m y keycard several times before the door opened. I tried not to glance back at hi m, but I did. He leaned against the doorjamb, deliciously naked. His cock was at full stand. If I was suffering through this, at least he was aching too. “Don’t forget,” he called in a singsong voice. “No touching.” * * * * *  My shower that morning was a quick one. It was damn frustrating that the pulsati ng showerhead was right there within reach and I couldn’t use it on my steaming cl it. But as frustrated as I was—and I was—I gloried in it. Every time I thought of the G-string he wanted me to wear—all day—every time I thoug ht of him across the hall waiting for me, every time I thought of the coming ins pection, my body seized. I was on razor wire, so close to orgasm I could almost taste it. Almost. But the decision before me was monumental. It was more than the mere choice of w hether or not I would wear the G-string. It was bigger than that. The real quest ion was—was I going to do this again? Would I take the risk? Could I? That’s the real trouble with addiction. You can love something and hate it at the same time. Not that I was addicted to sexual submission. I wasn’t. Hell, I’d gone fo r years without it. I just hadn’t enjoyed those years. Certainly not the vanilla s ex that came along with eschewing a powerful, sensual partner. But I could live without it. Every day, though, had a huge gaping hole right in the middle of it. I’d been haun ted by the deep dark suspicion that my life was wanting. Plagued by a secret ach e for something more. And this man, this man had brought that passion, that hunger, that spark roaring back to life. Brought me roaring back to life. And I reveled in it. Did I want to go back to French-kissing fish-lipped props in the elevator? Prete nding I liked having their mediocre pricks floundering around inside me? Almost getting me there…but not quite? Life with my ex had been exciting. Beyond words. But then he had changed. And ou r sex life had bled into the real world. And then started hemorrhaging. He had f orgotten all about the lines. Forgotten the safety words and the reason we were doing it in the first place. He had forgotten his wife was a person. And it had become a nightmare. I didn’t want to go back to that place. I couldn’t. Would it be different this time? Would he be different? As I toweled off, I stared at that damn G-string lying on the bed and I weighed my options. Go back to the way it was before—miserable—or continue exploring this ad venture. I picked up the device and dragged a thumb along the striations on the rubber. T he striations that would scrape against my clit all day. Hell. I could walk away if things turned sour. I had before. I fingered the leather straps and shivered to think how they’d look wrapped around the tops of my thighs, my belly, my ass. Hell. I could always take the damn thing off if it became too much. Watching myself in the mirror, I steeled my spine and slipped it on. Adjusted th e straps around my thighs and drew the thong between my damp lips. Settled the f lange against my clit and… Ah. Ah. The rubber triangle, so like a tongue, lapped at me with each movement. Heaven. There was one more strap. One that slipped around my waist and held the whole co ntraption in place. I tugged it tight and snapped it shut and…

Oh. It was too tight. Each step would be a torment. Each breath a caress. Panic flared. No. I had to take it off. And then to my horror, I discovered the snap at the back was a lock. It was locked on. I was locked in. Bloody hell. Panic flared. I got dressed in a flash and stormed across the hall. Pounded on h is door. He opened it looking relaxed and svelte and way too handsome. He smiled. “Come on in. I made breakfast.” He had. I smelled bacon. All of a sudden, I remembered just how hungry I was. I put out a lip. “I’m not hungry.” He kissed me and tugged me over to the table set with crystal and china and…bacon. “Of course you are. We missed dinner. Sit.” I winced. I couldn’t sit. The damn contraption was too tight. He froze halfway to his seat when he saw my expression and he licked his lips. “Ar e you wearing it?” His voice was a guttural growl. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple. He remembered to finish sitting but his attention was locked on me. I picked up a piece of bacon and crunched my way through it. It was perfect. Jus t the way I liked it. “How do I get this thing off?” He swallowed. “It’s not coming off. Not until tonight.” “You cannot expect me to wear this to work.” He sat back. A smug smile teased his lips. “Seriously? I’ll be mad, insane, by lunchtime.” “Come home early.” A raspy, resonant response. I threw up my hands. “I have meetings.” “Cancel them.” “I can’t. We’re meeting the new boss.” “Tell him to go to hell.” “Very funny. Come on. How does this come off?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His grin blossomed. “You’re a beast.” Was I laughing? Where the hell did that come from? One small gamine grin and I crumble into his arms? Seriously? Apparently. “Let me see it.” “What?” “Lift up your skirt. I want to see it.” “No.” He quirked a brow. “Are you refusing? Someone’s hungry for extra punishments.” I flinched. I didn’t think I would survive any more of his punishments. Slowly, I lifted the hem of my skirt until my pussy, framed in leather, was exposed. I was well aware of the vision I offered. I’d stared at it long enough in the mirror. I also saw it in his eyes. Along with hunger. Pain. “Come here.” His voice thrummed, gravelly and low and raw. I stepped closer. He put his hand on my thigh, just above the band, and stroked. “Jesus. You’re so bea utiful.” He set a finger on the rubber flange and rubbed. My knees buckled. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said. “You can.” His face was a mask. “I can.” He let my skirt fall and stood in a rush and ya nked me into his embrace. A savage kiss. “Try to come home early.” A ragged whisper. He walked me to the door. In a hurry. Like he was afraid he would change his min d or something. God. I wished he would. It wasn’t yet nine and I was in agony. How would I make it to five? * * * * *  It was torture. And not just the rubber flange that nudged at my clit with every step, every movement. Although that was torture as well. It was thinking about him. Thinking about him thinking about me. That he was hard for me, wanting me, nearly drove me out of my mind. Concentrating on work was impossible. Hell, even simple conversations were way b eyond me. I had my assistant run the staff meeting—planning our strategy for meeti ng the new owner—while I sat in my chair and tried not to rock myself to orgasm. W

hen the call came that Carter had been held up in Denver or Buffalo or someplace like that and would reschedule the meeting some other day, I nearly passed out with relief. I was home by lunch. He met me at the door. Like he’d been waiting. He slammed me against the wall and kissed me until we were both panting. He worr ied my neck with his lips, nipping and sucking and tugging in a frenzy. Found my breast and pinched my nipple. Ground his hot cock against the flange, against m y aching clit. I pushed back, lifting my leg and hooking it around his thighs an d locking him to me. “Oh God. Oh God. I need you. I need you.” He stepped back and began to strip, never breaking eye contact. I did the same, right there in the marble foyer. In no tim e flat we were both bare. Well, except for that damn harness. “Get me out of this.” Yeah. I hissed. He fell to his knees and riffled through his pockets until he came up with a sma ll, delicate key. He turned me around. Buried his face between my ass cheeks and teased me with his tongue as he fumbled with the lock. He dropped the key. I heard it tinkle on the floor. “Fuck!” I danced from foot to foot, writhing in frustration and lust, an agony of antici pation. “Open it. Open it.” He tried again, muttering under his breath, “What the hell was I thinking?” And then the lock clicked. The hideous device fell open. I was free. As it fell, it landed on my foot and I kicked it far, far away. “Never use that on me again,” I snarled. We came together in a heated rush. His feral kiss nearly consumed my soul. But t hen I gave it right back, full bore. “Jesus.” He twisted me around and levered me to the floor and spread my legs and mou nted me. He slid in and I came. “Jesus. You’re so wet.” He pulled out and slammed in a gain and again. Each time I exploded in a fresh rush of bliss. He was so fat, so full inside me. His cock stretched the walls of my cunt and he came at me from one direction after the other so each fervid thrust was like a new man inside me, a fresh fuck. “Harder,” I gasped. “Harder.” I wanted him deeper, deeper still. I wanted him pounding i nto me, plugging me and coring me, caressing my womb. He responded with harsh grunts, gasps, growls in my ear. He nipped my lobe and t hen scraped his teeth across my neck. Showers of sheer delight rained through my body, twanging and twining and twirling me into a crazy multicolored, dizzying bliss. And then he flipped me over. Like a beast. He shoved my legs apart and dragged m e closer and sank into me once more, from this new angle. And from this new angl e, found me. Everything within me seized. His strokes became quick and short and his cock swe lled even more. With each plunge he tapped that spot, that delicious glorious sp ot that gave me myself over and over and over until I could barely breathe. I panted in tandem with each desperate thrust. “Yes, yes, yes.” He pulled out one last time and then filled me again. And filled me. Hot, sticky sperm surged from him, flooding an already swamped delta. His juices mingled wi th mine. Something about it, something wild and raw, set me off again. He was in me. Would linger. Part of him would seep into me, soak into my thick a nd swollen walls. Be with me. Forever. I shuddered one last time and collapsed. He fell on top of me and rolled to the side, dragging me with him, wrapping me i n his arms. He kissed my hair, my neck, the tears on my cheek. “Oh Sam.” A sigh. And through the haze, through the bliss and the unending shivers still dancing t hrough my womb, I froze. “H-how do you know my name?” I’d never told him. I’d never even brought names up. I cert ainly didn’t know his. He stiffened. “Your name?” “You called me Sam. How did you know my name?” He nuzzled my neck. I pulled away. I couldn’t let him distract me. I rolled over to face him. “How?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I asked Duane.” I frowned and made a mental note about our doorman’s Christmas bonus. “Why did you a sk Duane?” He kissed me again. I tolerated it but didn’t respond. When he realized how seriou s I was—how serious this was—he edged back. “I needed to know.” “Did you ask Duane anything else?” A sense of sudden dread curled in my belly. Exact ly how much did he know about me? About my past? My present? My world? He stood up and took my hand. “I don’t want to talk about this. Come have some lunch .” I yanked away. “I don’t want to eat. I want you to tell me what you asked Duane.” He scrubbed his eyes his palms. When he finally turned to me, his expression was harsh. “Everything, all right? I asked him everything.” Everything? My belly did a hard roll. “Even about my ex?” He nodded. He strode to the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisted off the top and t ossed it into the sink. Then he came back into the living room and threw himself onto the sofa. Our sofa. Where he had smacked my ass and fucked me the first ti me. Shit. He knew everything. Mortified, I collected my clothes and held them in front of me like a shield. “But then, I already knew about Marcus.” He tipped back his beer. My heart swelled i nto my throat, thudded. I struggled for breath. He patted the sofa beside him. I didn’t budge. “In fact, I know Marcus.” Horror clenched my bowels. Wave upon wave of heat rolled through me. Sweat prick led on my brow. Had this all been a setup? One of Marcus’ perverted games? I couldn’t bear it. I bent slightly at the waist as though my body yearned to curl up into a little ball. The pain was blinding. “You know Marcus?” How those words made it past my stiff lips was a mystery. “He was a prick in college as well.” It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. A breath or two. A lifetime, maybe. “A prick?” Again, lips and brain, not working. “That should be no surprise. You were married to him.” He patted the sofa again. “Come and sit, sweetheart. I promise I won’t bite.” I did sit. But across from him. Not next to him. I was still reeling from the im plications of the simple fact that my new lover was a friend of my ex. My bastar d, bastard ex. Silence settled between us. Finally, I dredged up the courage to ask, “How long ha ve you known?” He flicked some imaginary lint off his naked thighs. “I’ve always known, sweetheart.” “Stop calling me that.” “Sam. Samantha.” Somehow the horror and the fear morphed into anger. Fury. I glared at him. “How si ck is this? You know my name—always have—but I have no clue who you are.” “JR.” Great. A name at last. Part of one anyway. I swallowed the thick ball in my throat. “Have you been planning this?” “This?” I swept a hand vaguely around the room. “Stalking me. Seducing me. Making me feel…” No . I wasn’t gonna go there. “Tell me, JR, what was the bet?” He froze. “The what?” “The bet.” Harsh words. Harsh truth. Damn Marcus. Damn him to hell for ruining this, my last desperate grab for happiness. “There was no bet. What are you talking about?” “You’re his friend. Figure it out.” He set his beer on the table very carefully and then stood. The steps he took we re slow and deliberate and straight toward me. He knelt before me and placed his palms on my knees. I shivered and held my bundle of clothes closer. “I didn’t say we’re friends. We’re not. And I’m nothing like him. Nothing. The first time I saw you, I didn’t realize you were his wife.” “Ex.” As in very ex. Forever ex. “Even then, I wanted you in a way I’d never wanted a woman before.”

Something pinged in my brain. “The first time you saw me? When was that exactly?” He sat back on his haunches. A red tide tinged the tips of his ears. “The Altheime r party.” I stilled. Dread crawled through me. I remembered that night. It had been the be ginning of the end of my marriage. A horrible evening. A crowded, noisy ballroom full of drunk executives and boring small talk. And then it had gotten worse. “I saw you across the room. You were so lovely in that slinky blue dress. I was he ading over to introduce myself, to speak to you, or spill a drink on you or some thing stupid like that, when Marcus walked up to you. He put his arms around you and whispered in your ear. And you left together. And I knew. You were his.” He r ubbed his temple. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? Imagining you with hi m?” I swallowed as mortifying memories raked me. Yep. He knew Marcus, all right. “Then I ran into him at a business meeting six months ago and found out you were d ivorced. I had to find you again. I had to make sure I hadn’t imagined everything. I don’t think I did.” His gaze, as it met mine, was hopeful. But still… “You do realize this is creeping me out, don’t you?” He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, a charmingly boyish gesture. Curls tumbled over his forehead. “Yeah. I guess it would. Look, I apologize for n ot being more upfront with you from the beginning. I should have told you. But h ow do you tell a woman a truth like this? Just out of the blue? How do you make her see, right off the bat, that you think she’s the one?” He flushed. As though he’d said something he hadn’t intended. “I mean… Shit. I really fucked this up.” “Yeah.” I nodded. “You did.” “Is there any chance for us?” I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t find the words. My mind scudded around a question that m eant so much to me. That could save me. Or destroy me. Was there? A chance for us? The fact that he knew Marcus, right there should have scuttled any attraction I might have for him. But it didn’t. And he did think Marcus was a prick. Major points in his favor. And the sex was… Well, unbelievable. “I need time to think.” His beautiful face went pale. “How much time?” I didn’t have a clue. But I needed space. I needed to be away from him so my brain would work. I shrugged. “Okay.” He deflated. “Okay. When you’re ready to talk, you let me know. You will, won’t yo u?” “Yes.” I stood and headed for the door, carrying my entire outfit in my arms like a baby. “I’ll let you know.” He stood in the foyer naked, utterly exposed, watching me walk away. When the door closed behind me, it sounded like a death knell.

 Chapter Five Sunday   I cocooned for nearly a week, calling in sick and curling up in my fuzzy robe an d calling out for Chinese whenever I got hungry. I spent a lot of time thinking about Marcus and our marriage and all my interactions with JR. About how he fill ed me—and not just with his body. I wasn’t happy about the way he’d wooed me into his bed but I had enjoyed it. Most of it. But “enjoy” was a pale word for what he made me feel. When I was with him, it was li ke a switch had been flipped and a sudden warm light flooded every corner of my soul. I was happy in his arms. Happy in my skin. How could it be that as a single woman—free as a bird—I felt more caged than if I we re bound in rope and curled at his feet?

But it wasn’t only the spankings and the devious domination I craved. With JR it w ent far beyond that. I ached for him. His scent, his taste, his touch. When I compared the way he made me feel to the grimy, lackluster existence I’d bee n tolerating for the past few years, I wanted to weep. I didn’t want to live that way for the rest of my life—just trailing my fingers on the surface—but that’s what my fear of ending up with another man like Marcus was driving me toward. Was I going to let that bastard continue to haunt me? Did he deserve such power? The stubborn, infuriated, wounded side of me screamed no. And JR didn’t deserve to be tarred by the same brush. He deserved, at the very lea st, a chance to prove himself. I simply had to find the courage to let him. Whether or not we had a future together was a mystery. But by Sunday morning, I was hungry for him again. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. By Sunday afternoon, I was ready to talk to him, to discuss the possibility of u s. When I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer. A little deflated—it had taken me a wh ile to screw up my courage, after all—I turned around to go back to my place. But just then the door swung open. JR stood there in the shadows, dressed in those flannel sweats I loved. His eyes were hooded and his chin was darkened with a scruffy beard. He looked good enough to eat. “Sam.” He stared at me, muscles tight. A pulse throbbed in his cheek. “JR.” His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said, “I didn’t think yo u’d come.” “I’d like to talk.” “S-sure. Come in.” He stepped back and swung the door open, giving me lots and lots of room. Like I had the plague or something. When I shut the door, he was still gazing bemusedly at me. “I didn’t think you’d come.” “You already said that.” He nodded. Scratched at his beard. Swallowed heavily. “I’m glad you did.” He led the way into the living room. I followed and then stopped. And gaped. It looked like a tornado had hit. Takeout boxes and beer bottles and whiskey bottle s and empty glasses littered the table and the floor. “It’s kind of a mess.” The way he hung his head, like a naughty schnauzer, made me wan t to cuddle him. “It’s really a mess. What have you been doing?” He made an attempt to pick up a few of the bottles but then gave up. “Drinking.” He offered a chagrined grin. “Thinking about you. Can I get you anything?” “A trash bag?” His chuckle reverberated through the room. “Here. Let me clear a space.” He brushed some newspapers from the sofa to the floor. I laughed a little too but more at the expression he shot me than at his cleanin g technique. I sat. Primly. With my hands folded in my lap. He had the good grace to sit across from me but he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as though he needed to be as close as he could—from across the room. “Have yo u been thinking about us?” I nodded. “Have you come to any conclusions?” Again, a nod. “And? Come on, Sam. You’re driving me crazy.” “I would like to continue…seeing you.” His reaction surprised me. He collapsed in a heap in the overstuffed chair. “Oh. T hank God. Thank God. Thank God.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “Oh. Thank God .” “But…” He froze. Flicked a tense glance at me. “But?” “We need to talk.” “Okay.” He stood and stepped over the coffee table—with all its attendant bottles—like h

e didn’t have the patience to go around. He sat next to me on the sofa but didn’t to uch me. His heat touched me though. It touched me fine. “What would you like to ta lk about?” “Parameters.” He blinked. “Parameters?” “Yes. If this continues—” “I want it to continue.” “Then we have to have parameters.” As though he couldn’t resist, he toyed with the fine hairs on my nape. “Absolutely. If this continues—and I vote yes, it should continue—then it needs to be something y ou’re comfortable with. Anything you want. You’re completely in charge.” That comment in itself sent quite a thrill of hope through me. Marcus would never have said a nything like that. Marcus would never have thought it. “So. What are the rules?” “Well…” Hell. I’d thought about this for hours. Drafted and redrafted my terms again and again. Now, when it was time for me to lay down the law, my mind went blank. Or maybe it was his touch that short-circuited my brain. While I knew what was important to me, I wasn’t quite sure how to say it. I decided to start with the easy stuff. “If this continues, no one should be part of it but us.” His brow rose. “I mean it. Don’t bring anyone else into our play.” A flush crept up his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.” He was talking about the floozy. Yeah. I flushed too. But his consternation reassured me. I allowed him to tug me back into his embrace. “Why did you?” He shrugged, lifting me along with it, and idly caressed my hip. “I wanted to get your attention. Needed to.” He blew out a breath. “And frankly, if we’re being brutall y honest here—” “We are.” “I was annoyed.” I peeped up at him. “Annoyed?” His cheek bunched. Like he was grinding his teeth. “Wha t were you annoyed about?” He jerked around to face me. When I lost the bolster of his shoulder, I plopped back onto the pillows with a grunt. “You brought a guy home. You let him stay over at your place.” I bit back a smile because he sounded like a petulant child, but the hurt in his eyes was real. Tangling my fingers in the hair at his nape, I drew him closer. Kissed him. “I didn’t want him. I wanted you.” “Why didn’t you just…have me?” “I didn’t want to want you.” “Why?” Hell. What a question. “Because I knew. I knew what it would be like between us.” “And it scared you.” Damn straight, it scared me. Frankly, it still did. He rubbed his palm over his neck. “Goddamn Marcus.” I stiffened. Swallowed. This one was important. Maybe the most important parameter of all. “That’s the next rule. Don’t bring Marcus into this. Not ever. Never.” He snorted. “Trust me. I have no intention of ever bringing Marcus into this. If I ever see that fucker again…” I placed my hand on his arm and he froze. “No Marcus. Not even anger at Marcus.” “I can’t promise that.” The blood drained from my face. I went numb. This was a deal breaker. I didn’t wan t to break the deal. I really didn’t. On a bone-deep level. “What?” “I can’t promise no anger at Marcus. He treated you like shit.” Oh. Well, that was probably all right. “Okay. Can we agree we won’t talk about Marcu s?” He kissed me gently. “That, I can promise. Unreservedly. Anything else?” Oh yeah. One more big fat thing. I made sure I had his complete attention, cupping both his cheeks and steering h is gaze to mine. “JR, if this thing between us ever becomes something other than s ex play, I am out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Poor thing. His brow was all wrinkled. He really didn’t understand . “The domination, JR. It is only play. Not real.” “But of course it’s not real.” “With Marcus, it got real.” His lips twitched up into a tiny sad smile. He waggled a finger. “No Marcus, remem ber?” I stared at him, trying to explain without having to actually say the words. Laz y of me. Cowardly of me. But I think JR understood. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried I’ll become a tyrant? For real?” He seemed s o flabbergasted that I felt guilty. For a second. And then I remembered how Marcus always had an uncanny knack of ta lking me off the ledge when maybe I should have stayed out there. Something in my expression spoke to him. I saw the shift in his features. Resolu tion rose. “All right.” JR got up and strode into the bedroom. He came back with som ething in his hands. He dropped what appeared to be a series of straps on the so fa and glared at me defiantly. “What’s that?” “You tie me up.” “What?” I laughed. “Go on.” He put his wrists together and thrust them at me. “Tie me up. You be dominant .” The prospect floored me. Marcus would never have allowed me a hint of control. T he mere suggestion would have infuriated him. “Y-you don’t…mind?” “Hell no. Damn it, I don’t care who’s on top. All I want is to be with you.” It took my brain several minutes to process this idea. The thought of having a m an helpless before me was alien to my experience. It also sent quite a thrill through my cunt. “Really?” “Really.” I picked up the leather straps and examined them, turning them over and over. Th ere were four of them, about a foot long, with Velcro flaps on each end. A littl e dribble of arousal pooled within me as I considered the possibilities. But… I shook my head. “No. This won’t work.” His face fell. “Why not?” The look I gave him was evil, to say the least. “Because you’re still dressed.” “Oh. God.” He was out of those sweats in a heartbeat. And there he stood before me. Magnifi cent and hard and trembling. My slave. At least for the moment. “Into the bedroom,” I commanded. He scampered to comply and I smacked him lightly on the ass with the straps. I t hink he moaned or groaned or muttered something under his breath but I was hardl y paying attention. I was planning my assault. I followed him slowly, padding behind him like a predator. Reveling in this newf ound power. I rather liked it. “On the bed.” When he flopped down, ass in the air, I smacked him again. “Turn over, J R. I want to see the goodies.” Without hesitation, he flipped onto his back and held his hands up toward the he adboard. It was a lovely headboard. Have I mentioned that? A thick, heavy wood f rame with steel posts running vertically. The footboard was the same. I tested a metal pole. Sturdy. Wouldn’t want to break his bed. I crawled onto the mattress and hovered over him at his side. And then I lifted a knee and straddled him. Securing him to the headboard was simple. I merely wrapped one wrist with Velcro , threaded the strap through the metal bars and completed the job with his other wrist. He had a little wiggle room but watching him wiggle would be half the fu n. Once he was helpless, tugging at the straps and testing his bondage, I raked my nails across his chest. God. He was so hot. Literally. The heat rolled off his b ulging pecs and quivering abs. I tasted a nipple. Nipped. I settled myself on hi

s thick cock and rocked back and forth. He undulated beneath me in harsh, desperate arcs. “Take off your clothes.” I halted my ministrations and glared at him. I still had three straps in my fist , so I gave him a small smack on his thighs. “That sounded like an order, JR. Are you giving the orders now?” “Jesus, Sam. Please. I need to feel you. It’s been forever.” It had been far too long. But I had it in my mind to make him wait a little long er. When I got up off him, he moaned. But when I didn’t strip as he had commanded, the moan became a groan. And then a yelp when I headed for the foot of the bed and grabbed his ankle. Of course he jerked it away. “Sam! What are you doing?” His voice was calm but there was a thread of panic beneat h it. In response, I quickly wrapped the Velcro around his ankle and tugged his resist ing leg to the far corner of the bed. I wrapped the strap around the wood and wo ve it between the metal bars and then brought the other end around and wrapped t hat around his ankle as well. He looked so incredible, tied to the bed like this—open and vulnerable and all min e—I had to do the same thing to his other leg. Heavens. I stared at him spread-eagled before me, fighting the bonds. His cock b obbed with his movements and, lest I worry that he was really resisting, a small pearly drop of cum glistened at the tip. I licked my lips. Oh. He was going to suffer and he was going to suffer good. “Lie still.” He froze immediately. His eyes tracked me the way a mouse tracks a hungry tomcat . Since he was behaving and paying such close attention, I decided to reward him . I dropped the last strap onto the bed and began slowly unbuttoning my blouse. He swallowed heavily. Licked his lips. Unconsciously arched his hips. The fabric of my blouse parted and I slipped a hand inside and played with a har d nipple. And oh, it was hard. My whole body throbbed. I doubled my efforts and pinched both crests in tandem. Pleasuring myself as he watched, trembling and av id. His muscles bunched against the straps. “Oh God. Sam.” I toyed with the band of my jeans. His eyes flared. Slowly I opened the snap, un did the zipper and let them drop. Stepped out of them. “Do you like what you see, slave?” I whispered. “Yes. Yes.” “Would you like to touch this?” I traced the lips of my pussy through cotton. He tug ged at the straps, glared at them when they didn’t give way. “Would you?” “Yes!” I rubbed harder and a twang of delight ripped through me. “Ah. That feels so good. When I stroke my clit. Would you like to touch it?” He made a feral noise in the back of his throat, writhed. “Yes.” “Yes…what?” He blinked and stared at me. Clearly he’d never played this game before. At least not from that side of the pillory. I decided to give him a prompt. “Yes Mistress.” A purr. “Always answer with, ‘Yes Mistre ss’.” “Y-yes Mistress.” He dropped his bold gaze as he said it and exultation shot through me. He was embracing submission. I felt like an Amazon queen. “Good boy.” I slowly slipped off my annoying panties and crawled back onto the bed a s I had before, on my knees to one side of his magnificent body. And then I stra ddled him. I scooted closer. His hot breath teased my cunny. “You deserve a reward . Would you like to taste me?” “Yes. Please.” “Nice. Begging is nice.” I hovered closer but not close enough. I let him smell my j uices but not quite reach me with his tongue. Although, the dear boy, he did try . “Please. Please Mistress.”

Now that deserved a reward. I edged closer, groaning as his tongue found me. He sucked my clit into his mout h. Ah. Heaven. I was so close to coming, I could almost taste it. So could he. And I wanted to come. I did. But not like that. When I pulled away, he made a little whimpering sound but I didn’t let him whine f or long. I sat on his cock, cradling him with my cleft and rubbing myself agains t his heat. He thrust up, muttering, “Jesus. Please.” But no. Not yet. I wanted to taste him. I found the last strap behind me on the bed and brought it up to his cock. Rubbe d it against his straining rod. His nostrils flared. My mouth was so close to th e tip, I couldn’t resist a quick lap of cream. Another drop oozed out to replace t he one I’d stolen. This one, I sucked out. Just my lips. Just the tip. He hissed in a breath. “Do you like that, slave?” “Yes Mistress. Yes. Ah.” I found the center of the strap and wrapped the leather around the head of his c ock. I continued down the length of him, crisscrossing in a tight weave. His ent ire body was drawn tight and quivering with anticipation. His eyes, locked on me , were red-rimmed. I held the strap closed at the base of his cock and tugged. T he entire beautiful creation, laced in leather, jerked. He threw his head back and cried out. But what he said was utterly unintelligibl e. When I took him in my mouth, leather and all, he shuddered. I tightened my grip and jerked again. And sucked. Hard. And then I rode him with my mouth. Licking, nibbling, sucking, drawing him close r and closer to abandon while he writhed and begged for mercy. When I’d had enough, when the cunt juice was dampening my thighs, when the anticip ation had reached an unbearable intensity, I straddled him again and, holding hi s gaze, used the leather straps to position his cock at the mouth of my pussy. I lowered myself until the head of his beast was just inside my melting heat. He hissed through his teeth. “Do you like that?” “Yes. Oh. Yes.” He tried to arch up into me but I danced out of reach. “I’m fucking you. Not the other way round. Now put your ass on the bed and don’t move.” And he did. Good boy. He nearly came out of his skin when I dropped straight down, encasing him, leath er and all, inside me. And God. Oh God. The roughness of the straps and the slic k velvet heaven of his fat throbbing cock made me nearly come out of my skin as well. I sat there, impaled for a long moment. So long, in fact, he began to rock again st me. Desperate little panting thrusts. I bent to suck his nipple into my mouth and undulated my hips in itty-bitty arcs. “Damn it, Sam. Fuck me!” I shifted up to suck on his neck and then whispered into his ear, “Fuck me please, Mistress.” He snarled and growled and thrashed beneath me, inside me. It was glorious. But I didn’t give in. Finally he accepted it and stilled. He looked me in the eyes and said grudgingly, almost defiantly, “Fuck me please…Mist ress.” And I did. I rode him and I rode him hard. Bracing my hands on either side of his torso, I went to work, sluicing up and down, reveling in the damp heat between us. I alte rnated directions. Side to side, back and forth, around and around until he was a howling, ravaging beast beneath me. Within me. His cock swelled. He bellowed in agony, ecstasy and relief as his girth struggle d against the leather straps, the simmering walls of my cunt sucking at him rele ntlessly.

The added length did me in. I fell upon him and his cock nudged my womb. Shivers and shudders roiled deep within me. They flooded outward, upward, inward, skitt ering in every direction. I was vaguely aware of his spurting cum, angry and hot , his cock jerking against ever-tightening bonds, ever-tightening walls. I clasp ed him close as the last gasp shook me. Took him. And we collapsed. I slipped off of him, releasing him from my grasp, and then slowly, carefully, u nwrapped the leather, gently kissing his cock as I revealed it. He lay there, his lungs working like bellows as I untied his feet and hands. And as soon as he was free, he grabbed me and yanked me beneath him. His mouth f ound mine in a savage openmouthed kiss. He drew in my tongue and sucked on it. T hen laved at it. Then kissed me again but more gently. He rested his forehead on my shoulder, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. “Th at was… That was….” “It was.” I threaded my fingers deep into his dark curls and massaged his scalp. He quivered at my touch. After we’d had a little time to come back to reality, to ourselves, he lifted his head. His beautiful eyes gazed into mine, their meaning hot and fierce and inscr utable. Then he smiled, stroked me slowly, one long caress from nape to knee. “You are going to pay for that, Sam,” he said with a chuckle. I grinned. “I should hope so.”

Chapter Six Monday   Going back to work on Monday was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’d always loved the challenge of my job and, since my promotion, reveled in the pr ojects handed to me and my team. But this Monday…this Monday I just wanted to lounge in bed with a big warm beefcak e and suck on his cock until he erupted in my mouth, fisting fingers in my hair. I wanted to linger in the shower with him and feed him strawberries with my tee th. I wanted to roll in those soft sheets and rub against him and hold him. Forever. But his alarm went off at seven and we did none of that. He leaned over me, braced on his elbow and kissed me. “I gotta go to work.” Regret l aced his features. I threw my arm over my face. “Call in sick. I will too.” He chuckled. “I can’t. I have a meeting I can’t miss.” When I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, he playfully slapped my ass. “Ouch.” He smacked me again but softened it with a caress. The caress heated, lingered u ntil I gave in and rolled back over, giving him access to my slit. He toyed with me until I was a juicy mess, gasping and thrusting and pleading for more. He stopped. My eyes flew open in protest and then my breath stalled. Because I’d seen his expression. He stared at me for a long while with that enigma tic light glowing in his eyes. The heat built between us until I thought the ten sion would explode. Then he reached over to the bedside table and fumbled for something. I didn’t real ly care what it was because he went right back where he belonged, kissing and si pping at my clit. Nibbling, flicking me with his tongue and—oh God—sucking. When he slipped something inside me, I quivered with delight. “What is that?” He grinned up at me. “You’ll see. Hold tight.” I lay back and tightened my cunt on whatever it was as he slowly drew it out. Sensation gouged me. “It’s called a string of pearls. Do you like it?” The last one popped out and he held

it up for me to see. A series of balls in increasing sizes attached on a string. “Do it again.” He chuckled. “Okay. But this time large to small, I think.” I hissed as he wedged the largest ball into my pussy. It was quite filling. Then the next and the next. And then he ate me. And as he ate me, he eased them out, one at a time. By the time he was done, I was screaming. As the last, largest pearl popped out, I came. Oh. I came and came. When I finished thrashing and howling like a banshee—I swear to God, I had never b een a yeller before—he edged up beside me and kissed my forehead. “Did you like that?” “Um…yes?” He laughed. “I thought so. Good. Because I have a challenge for you.” I stilled. Uh-oh. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. Except that I did. “What?” He nuzzled my neck. Didn’t answer. I shoved at his shoulder. “What?” Slowly, he eased the pearls back into my cunt. I shuddered as he worked them dee per and deeper. Once they were all in, he kissed my forehead again. “I want you to wear these,” he said. “All day.” “All day?” Jesus. I’d never make it all day with these inside me. “They’ll come out. Can y ou feel how wet I am?” He stroked my slit. “Yes. That’s the challenge. You have to hold them in. If they st art to slip out, you can go to the ladies’ room and push them back in. But you can’t take them out. Not until five.” I gasped at a particularly wicked caress. “What happens at five?” He tapped a nipple. “We meet for dinner at Mystere.” He bent his head and sucked on a throbbing crest. “But…ah.” It took everything in me to keep track of the conversation. “But Mystere is a private club.” “And I,” he said, tapping again, “am a member. We have reservations at five.” He grinned and sat up. “Don’t be late.” * * * * *  It was a day of pure torment. But I enjoyed the hell out of it. I spent an awful lot of time in the ladies’ room shoving those balls back into my cunt because they kept slipping out. But what heaven when they did. And I have to admit, it was quite a thrill getting them back in. I pulled my panties up tight in my crack so the pearls wouldn’t go shooting out on to the carpet as I walked from one meeting to the next. But that caused other pr oblems. For one thing, every step I took was absolute agony on my clit. Needless to say, around four thirty I was so aroused a stiff breeze would have m ade me come. Around four thirty, I was starting to think I’d make it. Around four thirty, I was trembling with the anticipation of my release. Imagine how utterly annoyed I was when my secretary patched through the call fro m corporate. Our new owner, Jackson Carter, was finally in town. And, making up for lost time, he wanted to meet with all the department heads ASAP. My appointm ent was for five fifteen. They were sending a car. Well hell. What kind of choice was this? I could blow off the boss—metaphorically speaking, a nd God knew he’d blown us off plenty of times—and meet JR for our really hot date at a private club that was rumored to have private rooms. For private…dining. Or I c ould make the meeting with the guy who held my future in his hands. And if I did choose the meeting with Carter, because let’s be real here, that was what I was going to do—it was my career at stake after all—did I do so wearing JR’s pe arls? In the end, I didn’t really have much of a choice because the car arrived early an d the driver came right up to my office and escorted me to the lobby. It kind of felt like he was herding me. When I told him I needed to visit the ladies’ room before we left—and trust me, I di

d—he said, “Sorry. No time.” Mr. Carter was apparently a very busy man and every aspect of his day was timed to the very second. When Percy Jacobs, one of the other department heads, saw me in the lobby and I told him where I was going and his eyes went wide and he muttered something abou t how no one got to meet Jackson Carter, the driver took my elbow and gently but firmly led me to the car. We arrived at our new corporate headquarters, a beautiful confection of steel an d glass, and shushed up a silent elevator to the topmost floor. Without a word, the driver delivered me to Jackson Carter’s very lovely executive assistant. And because we were in such an all-fire hurry to serve the illustrious Mr. Carte r, she asked me to sit. And wait. “Mr. Carter is just finishing up a meeting,” she said. “He’ll be with you shortly.” So I sat. And I sat. And all the while I was sitting, I was fuming. It was well after five. I’d missed my hot date with JR, who—for all his enthusiasm about this evening—wasn’t picking up h is cell phone. And Jackson Carter, who—for all his punctuality and precision and p ower mongering—had turned out to be a hurry-up-and-wait kind of guy. Or perhaps it was just a power play. I’d known lots of men like that. Who kept peo ple on tenterhooks just for kicks. Fuckers. Okay. I was in a pretty pissy mood. The balls in my pussy were slipping out, nudging at the mouth of my cunt. What I really needed, really wanted, was to push them back in. So they didn’t slide out in a big wet mess at Jackson Carter’s feet when we met for the first time. I stood. The executive assistant’s head snapped up. I smiled. Or maybe it was a grimace. “Is there a ladies’ room?” She smiled back at me. And shook her head. “You can’t use the ladies’ room.” I swallowed outrage and shock. “I beg your pardon?” “Mr. Carter was adamant that you be here when he’s ready.” “Really?” She nodded again and smiled that chipper executive-assistant smile I kind of wan ted to slap off her face. “He’ll be right out.” But of course he wasn’t. I sat and waited and held on to my slipping balls as best I could. Those muscles were getting a workout. JR would be thrilled. If he wasn’t furious that I’d ruined our date. When the door to Jackson Carter’s office finally opened, I shot to my feet, anxiou s to get a gander at the man who had kept me waiting in agony. Anxious to get th is stupid meeting over with already. He stepped out of his office and a vague sense of disappointment swirled though me. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but it wasn’t a middle-aged dumpy man with a comb-over. He glanced at me and nodded, then smiled at the executive assistant, who smiled blandly back. And then her expression exploded with perky delight. She leaped to her feet and—ra ther impolitely—presented her back to the man who had just exited the office. She fixed all her cloying attention instead on the large and looming shadow that now filled the doorway. My balls slipped a notch. Two. I think my jaw dropped as well. Because this dumpy little hairless troll was not Jackson Carter. I knew it in a flash. I tried to ignore the swirling in my gut as realization after realization flashe d through me. I stared at the man in the doorway, my new boss. Stared at his dar k sable curls and square, dented chin. Long lashes and lethal looks. He leaned lazily against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over that broad chest an d grinned at me. “Sam,” he said. “You’re right on time. Come on in.” The executive assistant stepped between us. I wanted to savage her. “Mr. Carter?” “Yes, Alicia?” “Your messages,” she cooed as she handed him a sheaf of small pink papers. Cooed.

Blech. He waved her away, never once taking his simmering gaze from me as I minced towa rd his office. “Tomorrow, Alicia.” “But sir—” “Tomorrow. And Alicia?” She peered up at him expectantly. “Yes, sir?” “You can go home for the day.” This, he said as he waved me into his luxurious execu tive suite and shut the door in Alicia’s lovely face. And just in time. I winced as the second largest ball popped out of my cunt, despite how hard I’d be en trying to hold it in. I nearly crumpled over the back of the sofa. I glared at him. “You bastard.” His expression—so hopeful, so ridged with longing—drooped. “Are you really mad?” “Of course I’m mad. I cannot begin to tell you how mad. I cannot begin to catalog th e kinds of mad I am.” It was tough to be mad, frankly, with an orgasm beginning to bubble through me. But first things first. “You kept me waiting forever.” He stilled and gaped at me; the tension in every line of his body broke. A littl e laugh escaped his lips. “Is that why you’re mad?” “And that secretary.” “Executive assistant.” “Whatever. Drooling all over you. Revolting.” “I’ll reassign her in the morning. A promotion.” “And these damn balls.” “Ah.” He smiled and stepped closer. I was practically folded in half by now, trying desperately to hold the last fuc ker in. JR flicked up the hem of my skirt. He repositioned me until I was bent o ver the back of his sofa. He reached between my legs to find the balls pooling i n my panties. Of course they nudged at my clit, which only annoyed me, elated me more. He cupped them and rolled them against me. I shattered. The last one burst out with an audible pop. I shoved my fist in my mouth to keep from wailing. The last thing I wanted was her bursting in right now to save her precious boss from a howler monkey. He stepped behind me. I heard the rustle of his slacks and felt the heat of his belly against my ass. He yanked my panties off and kicked my legs farther apart, as far as they could go. And he was in me. Oh God. In me in one long, smooth stroke. Deep in me. He pulled out, slow, slith ering like a snake. I whimpered. He didn’t make me wait. He shoved his fat cock back in, fast and hard, and then be gan fucking me like a jackhammer. In and out. To the side. Up, down. Harder. Fas ter. We came together like a fountain, showering each other with primal juice. Even a fter he came, he kept pumping into me again and again as I quailed around him. Ah. Sweet relief. When it was done, when the frenzy had cooled, he withdrew and smoothed my skirt back over my ass. Then he turned me around and studied me for a long, long while . “Are you still mad?” I shrugged. “Mostly not.” “I was worried you’d be mad when you found out who I was.” Oh. Yeah. “I am mad about that.” “A lot or a little?” “You lied to me.” “Not really. Come here.” He tugged me with him, around the couch so we could sit on it properly. Meaning, me sitting sideways on his lap, not quite naked. “Is your name even JR?” I rode his shrug. “Technically.” “Technically?” “Jackson Robert.” “Carter.”

“Yeah. Jackson Robert Carter.” I dropped my head onto his chest. “So what am I supposed to call you?” My feelings w ere all jumbled. I was still too close to that orgasm for any usable logic to pe rcolate into my brain. I sat there in a huddled bundle and let it wash over me. Let him hold me as I quaked. “Call me anything you want, Sam.” “You’re my boss.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “That complicates things.” “Doesn’t have to.” “But it does.” “Look, Sam, I bought this company for one reason and one reason only. To have an e xcuse to see you. If you’re in my arms, I couldn’t care less about—what’s the name of yo ur company again?” I socked him on the shoulder and laughed. “Don’t sell it. Keep it. But don’t fire anyo ne. They’re all worried about downsizing.” “They should be. There’s a bunch of idiots running things over there.” “Be serious.” “Oh, I am.” “About us. I meant be serious about us.” “Oh.” He tipped my chin until we were nose to nose, eye to eye. “I am.” “JR—” He silenced me with a kiss. And then he did it again. Although silencing me, abo ut then… Not too difficult. “Tell me you’re okay with who I am.” Hope and desperation laced his expression; a niggle of contrition scratched at m y conscience. But I had to keep him at bay, I couldn’t tell him the frightening tr uth about my feelings for him until I was sure. Until I was safe. “Please. Tell me you’re okay with who I am. Because that’s the last, the very last, of my secrets. Well.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Except for one more.” “You have one more secret?” I lifted a brow. He nodded. “Will you tell me what it is?” He nodded again but his gaze didn’t meet mine. He toyed with the twill on my skirt . “If this is going to continue, you need to know all my secrets, just like I need to know yours.” Cupping his cheek with my palm, I urged him to meet my eyes. “Tell me.” He sucked in a breath, tried to turn away. I wouldn’t let him. “Tell me.” My voice was a low thrum . I knew what he was going to say. At least I hoped I did. Because I needed to h ear it. With a desperation that matched his. “Sam, I’m crazy about you.” Ah. Something deep within me released. He needed me as I needed him. Craved me as I craved him. I was not a toy to him. Or a conquest. I was not a slave or a sub. I was part of this. Part of us. A partner in the adventure. I cupped his other cheek and held his face there before me, glorying in his beau ty, his vulnerability and the stark, simple truth he laid open before me. “Jackson Robert Carter.” “Yes?” A shudder. “I’m crazy about you too.” * * * * *  Much later, so much later that the sun had dipped beneath the horizon and the st reet lamps had woken up for the night, and the corporate office building was an empty, echoing tomb, we emerged. Another delicious, divine and daunting tryst be hind us. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, and somehow the question was so much more than words. Home. Home meant us. Together. “Yes.”

We stepped into the elevator and he fingered the button for the lobby with his t humb. He shot me a smoldering look, a stealthy smile. And I was reminded of anot her elevator. Another ride. One that had begun this adventure. Brought us to this wonderful place. “Going down?” he suggested with a wink. And so I did.

About the Author   Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, writes naked erotic fiction for fans who like i t hot, hard and balls-to-the-wall, and erotic romance and fantasy for readers wh o prefer a slow burn to passion. An award-winning author in multiple genres, Sab rina loves writing hot, humorous stories in all kinds of settings.     Sabrina York welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.       Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email the author directly or you can email us at [email protected] (when contacting Commen ts, be sure to state the book title and author). Also by Sabrina York   Adam’s Obsession Rising Green Tristan’s Temptation       Ellora’s Cave Publishing www.ellorascave.com       Pushing Her Buttons   ISBN 9781419939105 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Pushing Her Buttons Copyright © 2012 Sabrina York   Edited by Carrie Jackson Cover design by Fiona Jayde Photos: Ron Dale/Shutterstock.com and HotDamnStock.com   Electronic book publication August 2012   The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishi ng.  

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502 .   Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permiss ion. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary ga in, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal pri son and a fine of $250,000.  (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only autho rized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the el ectronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is ap preciated.   This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, o r places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productio ns of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.   The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark owner ship of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.   The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibi lity for, author or third-party websites or their content.

  Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning p ublisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.   www.ellorascave.com