Check out all the chapters by clicking HER(fix)E
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: IT DOESN'T EXIST
God, what was she doing?
Max bit her lip and maneuvered herself over him, lifting her skirt to straddle his hips.
She shouldn’t be doing this. She knew it. Not with those pictures, and the person or persons behind them lurking out there in the shadows somewhere. Settling herself over his lap, squeezed between him and the wheel of his car like some horny teenager, should be the last thing she ought to do.
But he’d asked her to show him. Had dared her.
She flushed and stared into his heated gaze, her hands reaching out to grab the edges of her jacket. Max had never been to a strip club. Had never seen a stripper perform outside of a movie or a TV show. And, Lord knew, she’d never stripped before, finding the idea of scantily clad women performing for a crowd of demanding, chauvinistic men debasing.
Sometimes, though she’d never admit it, she danced a bit for herself. Alone. In her bedroom after work. Or in a dressing room stall at a store. Not a big production number or anything. She didn’t own sparkly thongs or nipple tassels. She’d never even considered doing it in front of anyone—not a boyfriend or a lover—much less a crowd.
She just liked to turn on some music sometimes, on her stereo or just in her head, and move. After swimming in corporate shark tanks or doing whatever she had to to keep up with and win against the good ole boys, sometimes, she just needed to feel...sexy. To feel beautiful. To feel attractive and desirable. Even if it was just for and by herself.
A masturbatory stroke to the ego, maybe, but it always worked. A closet desire that filled an unacknowledged lack that she never intended to show anyone.
But she was showing him now. She wanted to feel sexy now. Wanted to be beautiful and attractive and desired. She wanted to be wanted. Right now. By him.
She slowly undid the top button of her jacket, pushing her breasts together while she did, enhancing her already ample cleavage. She knew she shouldn’t, but she liked the way his eyes zeroed in on her breasts. Under normal circumstances, she would have smacked the hell out of any man who stared so intensely at her like that. Reduced her to a pair of tits and naked skin.
But, with him, it thrilled her. She wanted him to look. To see. She wanted him to want her. With lust. Hot. And hard. A need stripped down to its basest form.
With a lulling moan that shot through her like lightning, he grabbed her waist, his hand snaking along her back, pulling her closer.
“No.” She swiftly eased away from his grasp. “No touching. This is my turn.” She took his wrists and pressed them down at his sides. “Stay. Sir,” she added with a teasing smirk.
She grinned at his grumbling, so obviously unused to and uncomfortable with the restriction, but she was pleased that he stilled beneath her.
Max, feeling bold, shed the stiff material of her jacket, her shoulders rolling a bit. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, displaying the tops of her breasts, before reaching back to free her hair. Pulling the pins, she shook her head, letting her curls fall soft around her shoulders and down her back.
She heard him hiss beneath her. His hips bucked against her skin, his hardness pressing into her heat. “I love your hair,” he said, his voice a reverent lilt. “Like silk spun from fire.”
“Thank you.” As a redhead, she’d heard every ginger joke, knew all the poetry that fetishized her hair by heart. After all these years, it was a given she took for granted. Red hair; you either loved it or hated it. And she supposed she was happy enough that he seemed to like it.
She reached over his shoulder to grasp the band holding his own golden hair in place. He inhaled sharply when she let the strands, thick and cool, flow through her fingers. “I like yours too.” The texture and weight of it felt strange and foreign though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. She wanted to ask if it was a wig or extensions or maybe an excellent dye job. Hell, for all she knew it was natural.
But it felt rude. And unnecessary. However it came to be, it was a part of him. And, perhaps it shouldn’t have, but it looked good on him. The whole look.
She lifted her arms to fluff her own salon-maintained hair, feeling his body tighten and sit up with attention so his hips again ground up into hers.
She smiled and then pressed back. She tsked him before placing a restraining hand on the center of his chest. “Now, now. The show’s barely begun. I thought you wanted to see. Sir.”
Pleasure—pride and pure ego—rippled through her when he groaned low in his throat. But he stayed still.
She patted his chest.
Good boy.
Keeping her hand over his racing heart, she tugged at the tails of her blouse and peeled back the crisp cloth, letting it fall onto the steering wheel behind her. Then came her skirt, which stymied her for a moment. Straddled as she was, ridding herself of it would be, at best, challenging and, more than likely, clumsy.
But, like he’d said, she was game.
So she reached for the zipper, sliding it down before lifting the skirt up over her head. Laughing, she tried to wriggle out of it in the small confines of the car. She heard his chuckle echo hers before she felt his hands help her out from under her woolen trap.
“Thanks.” She shyly tousled her hair.
“You’re very welcome.” He tossed the skirt onto the abandoned passenger seat as his other hand slid up her thigh, under the soft satin of her slip.
“Ah, ah.” Max wagged a finger at him. She grabbed his hands, tugging them up. “What did I say? No touching, Sir.” She shook her head and let out a disappointed sigh before she pulled him closer, grinning knowingly. “Since you can’t play by the rules,” she said as she placed his hands on the wheel, bringing him almost unbearably close, “ten and two, Sir. Keep ’em at ten and two.”
She saw his frozen eyes fire before he moved to nuzzle her neck, as if the limits she’d imposed just made him wilder, like leashing a beast. The restraints only making him want freedom more. “Show me your breasts. I want to see those pretty, pink nipples.”
She squealed when he nipped at her collar bone. “Behave.” She moaned and craned her neck to bare herself to him.
“Do it.” He nudged the slip’s strap with his nose. “Two pages to show me.”
“Two pages and your hands don’t move.” She liked the idea of him trapped like this. Even if, with his arms surrounding her, she was effectively trapped too, there was something really appealing about holding him hostage. Especially while he held her.
“Do it,” he urged. “Now.”
The muscles in his arms bunched while he fisted the wheel, his eyes widening as she slipped the straps down her shoulders and off her arms. She held the slip to her chest, the thin fabric barely covering, but still concealing her body.
“Now, Max,” he pled, his whole body tensing under her. Around her. The need that frayed his tightly reigned control surrounded her, embraced her. Made her feel oddly and illogically powerful. Daring, even.
She let the material go, letting it pool around her hips, only her bra, plain and the same creamy color as her skin, covering her.
She both heard and felt irritation rumbling in his chest. “I thought I told you to throw out your old bras.” His lip curled at it. “Get rid of it.”
“I need them; they’re practical. You try being busty without a bra and see how ready you are to get rid of them.” She smiled and lifted her shoulder in a disinterested shrug. “Besides, I don’t follow orders.” Her smile widened. “I make deals.”
“Give it to me.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his nails clawing at the leather-covered curve. “Inside pocket of my jacket. Left side. Two sheets, plus a third if you give it to me.”
She made a show of thinking it over, cocking her head and pursing her lips before running her hands over his chest. He arched up into her touch, his breath hitching when she brushed over hard nipples on her way to his pocket. Her hand closed over the whole of her file, and she pulled out the seventeen pages left.
She felt him inhale as her fingers unfolded the pages.
She was holding her freedom in her hand. She could take them. Tear them. Destroy them. She bit her lip and touched the paper, so smooth and warm against her skin.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Expectation, hope, and the beginning glimmer of disappointment flickered in his eyes.
Max bit her lip. Taking a breath, she counted out three pages and laid them on top of her skirt before tucking the rest of the pages back into his jacket.
She felt him exhale, relief and excited heat firing his arctic gaze. “Take it off,” he said. “Now.”
Max swallowed and reached behind her back. Like she had with the slip, she slid the straps down before she unsnapped the hooks of her bra. She sat tall as the sturdy, padded, underwired cloth fluttered down onto their laps, leaving her naked and exposed, hidden only by the filmy fog steaming up the car windows. She shivered.
His intake of air was sharp and choked before he groaned. He leaned forward to nuzzle her bared flesh, the fierce angles of his face scraping against her sensitive skin.
“Sir.” She moaned and her hand cupped the back of his head. To pull him away or hold him close, she wasn’t sure yet.
“My hands didn’t move.” He bent to wetly suck her nipple into his mouth. “Ten,” he said, his voice a ragged rasp, before moving to the other nipple, “and two.”
“Oh God!” Her back arched, shoving her breast against his welcoming lips again, her hand clawing at his scalp. “More.” She gasped. More.
She felt him grin against her skin before he closed his mouth over her nipple again, laving it, sucking it. When his teeth nibbled lightly, Max lost her breath.
“More.”
That was all she could think.
More.
Her hands reached between her parted thighs, brushing aside the discarded bra.
“Oh yeah.” He moaned between heated licks. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come for me.”
Uh-uh. He was forgetting the rules again. This was for her. And she would do as she liked. And what she wanted was him. She tore at the fastening of his pants, shoving the zippered halves apart and reaching in to touch his cock.
She snickered a bit. “Of course you’d go sans boxers.” No silk shorts or cotton briefs for him. Nothing but raw vitality beneath his corporate wear. Figured.
“Max,” the hymnal hum of his voice hitched, her nipple popping out of his mouth. His entire body tensed the second her hand cupped him. Satisfaction flooded her and she reveled in the smooth, hard heat of him. “Ah, hell.”
She pulled his semi-hard length free from his pants, wrapping her fist around him, and stroked the swiftly thickening shaft. She looked down at his foxish face, frozen in need, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. Every muscle in his body was held impossibly tight while his hips jerked involuntarily into her palm.
“Ah, God, Max.” He moaned, his hips thrusting faster as he fucked her fist. “Ah, fuck.”
A door slammed.
Max’s heart stopped.
“Fuck!” she heard him hiss as his hands fumbled for his pants. “Shit!”
Oh God. She froze, her mind blanking in panic.
“For God’s sake, get down.” He abandoned his efforts to wrestle his hard-on back into his pants. Instead, he just grabbed her head and shoved her down. Holding her head in his lap, her cheek pressed against his still open fly while she stared wide-eyed at his vicious, angry-looking erection.
Her heart was racing. Oh God. Oh God. Someone was in the parking ramp. Someone had seen them. Caught them. Oh God, what if she knew the person? What if it was a coworker? What if it was Diane?
Suddenly, her mind flooded with the digital images that had stained her inbox. She could almost hear the snap of a camera’s shutter in the parking ramp’s shadows; the imagined sound as loud as the thunder of her heart. Max wrapped her arms over her still exposed breasts.
What was she doing? What if she lost her job over this? What if she got arrested?
She squeezed her thighs together, the slick flesh sliding as she squirmed in her seat. Her flesh felt flushed and hypersensitive, her senses raw. And, Lord, why did she find the idea of getting caught just as thrilling as she did frightening?
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she whispered like a prayer.
“Shh,” he ordered. “It’s a security guard. And he’s leaving. Just stay still.” His hand shoved her down a little bit more. “And shh.”
She held her breath, tried vainly to slow and calm her heartbeat that ticked in time to the hard throbbing between her legs. She clenched her thighs, trying to still the aching beat, but it only made it worse. Max shut her eyes, groaning inwardly, and waited.
It felt interminably long before his violently alert body started to relax. He stroked her hair, almost absently, before he let her up. “He’s gone now.”
She sat up, pushing a curl of her now mussed hair behind her ear before she tucked her arms back through the slip’s straps, tugging it back on.
She wanted to root around their feet for her bra, needing the extra padding. An extra layer of defense.
He reached over and touched her hair. “I don’t suppose you’d want to pick up where we left off,” he said wryly.
She folded an arm over her breasts. “It’s getting late. I should get home.”
He frowned, but nodded. His hand shifted to cup her cheek. “You’re shaking.”
She shrugged. He had an unsettling effect on her that worried and excited her. “Nerves. It happens.”
He nodded again, his weight shifting almost imperceptibly even as she slid against him. “You’re wet.”
She stalled, sure she’d heard him wrong. He lifted his thigh, pressing harder against her soaked, hot core.
Well. She shrugged. Like she’d said, unsettling. “It happens.”
“I’d offer you everything,” he said, his voice a desperate rake across her senses, “every last sheet—whatever you want—if I thought it would change your mind.” His eyes narrowed on her lips before he brushed his thumb over the pouting flesh.
“It won’t,” she said resolutely, if a little regrettably. The magic—that indefinable spell he wove over her—was gone. While her body still felt hot, ready and willing, it was as if the space now had eyes, peering gazes that pierced through her. It tainted it. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Besides. “Like you said,” she sighed, picking up her discarded clothes, “I won’t trade currency of any kind for that.” She wanted this, whatever this was, to be about them. Not about some deal that no longer seemed quite so important.
“I know,” he said, sounding more impressed than disappointed. “A kiss,” he offered, pressing his thumb between her lips. “A fourth sheet for a kiss.”
A kiss? She mentally shrugged, pulled on her shirt and haphazardly buttoned it. She’d have given a kiss for free, for no other reason than she couldn’t stop wondering what he tasted like.
“A kiss,” he promised her. “Nothing more. Just a kiss.”
“A kiss.” She bent to press her lips against his and gasped when he twisted his hand into her hair, holding her close. Predictably, he took advantage and plunged his tongue between her parted lips.
She’d have been disappointed if he hadn’t.
Max inhaled, breathing his scent deep. He smelled wild. Like lust and man and something darker. It made her feel feral. She wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to taste every inch of him. She wanted to eat him alive.
A car started behind them, startling her, causing her heart to pound and her face to flush.
Dear God, what was she doing?
Why did she keep forgetting where they were? Who they were? What they were doing?
Making out. In a car. Like horny teenagers.
And, like in junior high, the idea of almost getting caught heightened everything. Made it so much better. And so much worse.
“Have a good night,” he murmured in her ear.
She shivered before stumbling out of the car, a little dazed. Well, looked like she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.
READ CHAPTER FIFTEE(fix)N
WANT MORE?
No comments:
Post a Comment