“That’s what I thought.”
Tucking my fingers around the waistband of her shorts, I pull them down along with her panties then toss them on the bed behind me. Then I stand back to survey her because, goddamn, if I’ve ever seen anything this hot, I don’t remember it. Her hands tied, her breasts pushing forward against her tank top, her long limbs hiding the sweet treasure of her pussy.
I nudge her legs apart, and let me tell you, Genny has a treasure of a pussy. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and yes, there are pussies that are prettier than others. Trust me. I can’t explain what makes one nice to look at and another not, but I’m telling you—hers is a wonder. Her dark hair is trimmed into a landing strip, contrasting nicely with the pale white skin of her inner thighs. And her hole is tight and inviting. Like it’s begging to be plundered with my fingers. Or my cock. I’m even having fantasies about sticking a dildo in her, and it’s not usually my thing to put other objects in places my body yearns to be instead.
Genny though—nothing is usual about how I’m obsessed with her. All I want is to watch her writhe. Want to see her come apart at the seams. Want to know I’m the one making her feel that way.
From her shallow, anxious breaths, I’d say she wants the same thing.
Eyes fixed on the prize, I kneel down and start to feast.
She tastes incredible. I’ve tasted her before, but each time I do, it’s better than the last. Like I forget just how good her scent is, how good her flavor is on my tongue, because how good can pussy actually be? It can’t possibly be as amazing as I remember.
And yet it is. She is. She’s amazing and delicious, and even though I endeavor to bring all my women to orgasm, I’ve never wanted to pleasure one as completely as I want to pleasure her.
With my hands hooked under her thighs, I spread her wider, licking up and down her folds in long strokes, teasing her before I zero in on where she wants me. She moans. She squirms. I do it again—long sweeps up and down, then I stiffen my tongue and lap at her bundle of nerves. I suck her clit until it’s so swollen that it throbs in my mouth.
She comes long and hard. Twice. By the time I’m working her up to her third, she’s shaking and writhing and I’m drowning in her wetness but I won’t stop until she’s thoroughly spent, until she can’t even think straight.
“It’s too much,” she pants. “Chandler, I can’t. I can’t.”
She tries to wriggle off of the chair, but my impromptu binding seems to be holding pretty well.
I replace my tongue with a finger so I can respond. “You’ll take as much as I want to give you. Now shush up and take it, or I’ll have to give you even more.”
She shakes her head. “No. No more. No more. Please.”
But she hasn’t said stop. I know I don’t have to remind her that it’s the word she needs to speak to end this—I’m certain she remembers. I’m also certain she won’t use it. I’m giving her too much, but it’s exactly what she wants.
And it’s exactly what I want.
In fact, I think we both want more. “Stop struggling. Or I’ll….” I trail away, not sure how to finish my statement. “Or there will be consequences.” No idea what consequences, but it feels good to say and I’m determined to see my threat through.
I return my lips to her soaked pussy and suck her clit into my mouth one more time.
“Will I be punished?” she asks, her thighs quivering. That’s the last thing she manages to say before the very word sends her into an orgasmic tailspin.
I’m minutes from my own release, and I haven’t even touched my dick yet. That’s how hard I am. Hard and desperate, so even though I’d love to see if she could take another round, I’m sure that I can’t.
She’s still gasping and shivering when I right her chair. I reach behind her and undo the makeshift cuffs. Then I step back and give her room.
“Stand up and turn around,” I order. It’s the kind of order I’m not used to issuing, and yet it sounds good in my voice. It feels good in my bones.
Especially when she obeys, which she does almost immediately. I love how her legs are jelly as she moves to follow my command. She can barely stand on her own, so I tell her to brace her hands on the desk.
Well, and because I just like the look of her bent over like this, her skin glistening with sweat, her curvy ass displayed prominently.
I want to bite that ass. I want to spank it. I want to mark it as mine.
Almost absentmindedly, I fold the belt in half, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m swatting it down on her behind. The leather thwacks against her skin and she gasps, and instantly I decide there has never been a more erotic combination of sounds in all of history.
I have to hear it again.
I repeat the motion on her other cheek, and now there are two red belt marks along her skin. I rub my fingers lightly over her burning flesh.
Fuck. It’s so hot. It’s so kinky. I’m so hard. So…
Wait.
“Genny?” I ask tentatively, all of a sudden concerned I’m the only one into this.
“I’m good,” she says through gritted teeth, apparently reading my mind. “It’s good. Keep going.”
That’s all the permission I need. I smack the belt down again. And again. Who the fuck am I? I don’t even know. Five more times until her ass is bright red and warm to the touch, and now I know I’m going to break my promise about keeping things in my pants, but I have a feeling she won’t mind. So, in between lashes, I get a condom ready with my other hand—yeah, I’m better at it than I thought I’d be too. Then I drop the belt to the ground, undo my tuxedo pants, and slide on in.
She’s so tight in this position, so warm, so wet—even through the condom I can feel how wet she is. It’s fucking incredible.
“Oh, god, that’s scrummy,” she says with such a blissful sigh that I have to assume that she’s enjoying herself. Enjoying me.
“I’m taking scrummy as a compliment,” I tell her as I pull out to my tip. “But whether it is or isn’t, you’re about to get bloody fucked.”
She tries to laugh at my use of her slang, but it’s cut short when I slam back in. I’m relentless now, driving into her over and over and over, pummeling her like she’s the last woman I’ll ever fuck, like she’s the only woman I was made to fuck, like I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone in my life, and I know that’s a bad sign. This is familiar territory—a place I specifically try to avoid.
I don’t want to be here. I want to only be here.
When I come, I close my eyes, and all I see on the back of my lids is her, and as my seed spurts long and hot from my body, I can’t decide if I’m falling apart or if, finally, I’m coming together.
Afterward, Genny slips away to the bathroom to clean up.
And I take my belt, wrap it around my neck, and try to strangle myself before falling face-first onto her bed.
What. The Fuck. Am I doing?
I whipped a girl. Whipped her. This isn’t who I am. What the hell is she bringing out of me? Will I ever be able to go back to my usual loverboy ways?
Do I even want to?
Of course I want to. No questions asked. This is just good sex. Really good sex. That’s my excuse for being here.
But I know better than this. There are so many rules I’ve broken, and now I’m paying the price because my insides feel like goo and all I want to do is take off all my clothes and stay the night in her arms.
Which would be a big fat mistake.
And what the fuck was I doing inviting her to a weekend in the Hamptons? And telling her that I’ll help her with Hudson? Why would I stick my neck out for a girl I barely know?
Great. Now my chest aches.
Oh, god, am I…am I falling for this girl?
And fuck, if I am, is she taking advantage of me? That’s always how it goes. I fall then I get hurt then—
Nope. It’s not possible.
She can’t be pulling the wool over my eyes because firstly, I’m the one
who invited her to get all business-buddy with my brother, which is stupid and will probably piss Hudson off, but that’s reason enough to follow through with my offer.
And secondly, I’m not falling for her. I broke my rules, but it doesn’t mean anything. My mission statement is still clear in my head.
But, my chest…
Moaning, I roll over on my back, rubbing the spot at the center of my sternum. I’m too young for a heart attack, right? It’s got to be heartburn. Or a pulled muscle. I did put a lot into that whipping. I probably strained something. It’s definitely not emotions. I am not feeling things for her. I. Am. Not.
I’ve got to get going.
I bolt up and loop my belt around my waist, and then start frantically searching for my cell.
“Have you seen my phone?” I ask when she returns from the bathroom.
She peers up at me, surprised. “You’re leaving already?”
I try not to meet her eyes, afraid if I do I won’t remember all the reasons I shouldn’t stay. Mainly, because it’s not Chandler protocol. “Just as soon as I find my phone.”
“Here it is.” She holds her hand out, and sure enough, my phone is in her palm.
“Thanks.” I swear I already looked on the dresser near where she’s standing. “Where was it, anyway?”
“Oh, uh. You left it in the bathroom. I brought it out with me.”
“Ah. Well.” I pocket my phone quickly, eager to get out of there. “I better go.”
“Yes. You said that you were leaving. See you Saturday, then.” I’m not sure if I’m imagining the disappointment in her voice or not because I’m ignoring it.
I wait until I’m safely in the elevator before I let out a sigh of relief. It’s so much easier to think when she’s not standing in front of me, all soft curves, her plump lips ready to nibble, her long dark hair perfect for pulling.
She’s sexy. That’s all it is. Pure sex on legs.
And, man, those legs…
Focus, Chandler.
See? That’s definitely what it is. Desire, pure and simple. I don’t feel anything except unadulterated lust. I don’t really care about getting her in with my brother. I just want more time between her luscious legs. Yeah, that’s it.
I’m so good at reasoning that, by the time I make it to my car, I almost believe what I’m telling myself.
But it’s not until I’m halfway home that I’m thinking clearly enough to remember that I never went in her hotel bathroom.
So why on earth did Genevieve have my phone?
10
I wait until after nine the next morning to give Hudson a recap about dinner. I don’t expect him in his office, so I’m not surprised when I peek in and see it’s empty. Plopping into his chair, I sit back and prop my feet up on his desk.
I mean, I’m already here.
But even though I dial his cell, it’s his wife that answers.
“He’s asleep,” Laynie says, presumably picking up his phone for him. “The twins kept us up most of last night. Well, they keep us up most nights. We’ve been sleeping in shifts, and it’s his turn now. I’d wake him, but we’re driving up to Mabel Shores this afternoon and I want him rested.”
“You guys are going up today?” It’s only Thursday, and I hadn’t expected them to go up to our Hamptons home so early, but I guess it’s not that early.
“Yeah, we are. I want to make sure the kids are settled in before people start showing up. Should I have Hudson call you later?”
“Sure.” I change my mind immediately after I answer. “Actually, no. I’ll catch him up on Saturday.” I can use it as a lead-in to get him talking to Genevieve. Just because he’s said he doesn’t want to hire Edward Fasbender, doesn’t mean I won’t try to get him to hire her—for bonus points with the girl, of course.
“Perfect then. Thanks.” She sounds exhausted, and I’m pretty sure I can hear the gurgling of a baby in the background.
I wonder if she’s nursing.
Shit. Now I’m picturing Laynie’s boobs. My brother’s wife is hot, and yes, I’ve had the inappropriate thought now and then before he put a ring on it. But now she’s practically my sister and gross.
Sure way to clear my mind is to think of Genny’s boobs instead. Her perfect, perky, round tits…
“Oh, Laynie.” I catch her before she’s hung up. “I also wanted to mention that I’m bringing someone this weekend. I hope that’s okay.”
“Like a girl kind of someone? Do tell.” As tired as she must be, she still manages enthusiasm, and it nearly makes me want to spill my guts.
Except I have nothing to spill. Because I don’t feel anything for the person I’m bringing. “Her name is Genevieve,” I say, coolly. “She’s got some good ideas for the company, and I thought this weekend would be a great time to hear more.”
Laynie seems dubious. “Yeah, that’s why you’re bringing her. You’re probably not sharing a bedroom while you’re up there either.”
“Obviously I’m sharing a bed. Who do you take me for?” Though it feels kind of irreverent to be talking about Genevieve like my only interest is sex.
Even though it is my only interest. Definitely my only interest. Not her smart-as-hell head. Not her chill-as-fuck personality. Not her cool-ass ambition.
“Hmm,” Laynie says, curiously. “Do I sense you might…like her?”
“No. Of course not. Honestly, I don’t even know a lot about her.”
“That’s why you go on dates,” Laynie says. “Find out things about each other. See if you’re compatible.” With a burst of excitement she asks, “You know what you should do? The first time I went to Mabel Shores with H, I didn’t know a lot about him. So we played a get-to-know-you game on the drive. It was really fun, and I learned a ton.”
Um. Ew. “How…adorable of you.”
Apparently I don’t hide my disdain well enough because she lets out a frustrated sigh. “I was trying to help.”
I feel bad. I swear. “I know. I’m sorry. It was very nice of you. I can see how that probably was a good trick to get inside the brain of my tight-lipped brother. I just don’t see me playing any sort of game that doesn’t involve taking off clothing. But thanks for the suggestion.”
Then I listen to what I’ve just said, and an idea forms. A really great idea, if I say so myself.
“I have a thing to keep us occupied on the ride up,” I tell Genny as I pull my Bugatti onto the Long Island Expressway. “Strip True Confessions: This or That style.”
It’s mid-morning and the party at Mabel Shores begins at one. I made sure we got a late start so that we wouldn’t be the first ones there. It’s best if there are people around when Genny meets my mother. I love my mom and all, but sometimes she isn’t on her best behavior, even when there are other people present.
Genevieve raises a brow. “Strip? This sounds intriguing.”
“It’s a get-to-know-each-other game. But with a naughty element.”
She folds her arms over her chest and points her chin up. “I told you this wasn’t a date.”
“And this isn’t something I’d ever do on a date, thank you very much. But with someone I’ve banged a few times? It seemed like a fun way to pass the time.”
“You do have a point about needing to pass the time. Go on.”
She’s so stubborn and determined to stand her ground. It’s admirable, as frustrating as it is for me. Mostly, it just makes me want to know more about how she ticks, which is partly why I want to play this game. “I say two things to you about me, one true and one not. You pick which is the truth—this or that. If you pick right, then you get to take a turn. If you pick wrong, you have to remove an article of clothing first.”
“I’m glad I decided to wear underwear today.”
It’s probably unfair that I’d already known about this game when I got dressed, but I’m actually wearing less than I plan to at the party, so it’s fair. I brought a suit to change into at the house. Now I’m in a Game of Thrones T-shirt an
d long cargo shorts. Both easy to get out of while I’m driving.
Yes. I’m planning to get naked while driving. Is that a problem?
A beat later I register what she’s said. “Wait. There was a moment where you’d considered not wearing underwear?” I glance over at her in her pleated floral skirt and plain white sleeveless top and picture nothing underneath.
Possibly that was a bad move. I casually shift in my seat.
Meanwhile, she shrugs all nonchalant-like. “I’m not fond of a thong on a long drive, and I didn’t want panty-lines. Then I decided I’d feel uncomfortable meeting your mother without any knickers on and just decided to wear a different skirt.”
“Good choice.” Though I hope that she settles in quickly. My mother will be down the hall tonight, and I hope to get the chance to strip Genny completely.
…and now I’ve learned that Genny naked and my mother down the hall are not thoughts that should ever occur together again.
“Yes. I think it was a nice choice. As is this game. Bravo! Let’s play! Will you go first, or should I?” Her enthusiasm does weird things to my stomach that are definitely not tied up in unexpressed emotions. Nope.
It doesn’t mean I don’t want to get her naked. Because I do. Always. Obviously.
“I’ll go first,” I say. “My birthday is in June. Or my middle name is Alexander.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically, and I’ve never wanted to pull her hair and kiss her as much as I do right now. “Too easy,” she says as though she’s bored. “Hudson’s is Alexander. Your middle name is Aaron. And your birthday is in June.”
“You know my middle name?” It’s ridiculous how happy this makes me.
“Of course. You think I wouldn’t Google the man who’s taking me away for the weekend? That’s barmy. I’m not an idiot.”
Damn. Why hadn’t I thought about doing that for her? I’m not too bummed though because I’m too busy flying on the adrenaline of knowing she wanted to know more about me.
I mean, that’s cool. She wants to know about me? Totally expected.
“My turn!” she exclaims, practically bouncing in her seat. “Hmm. Let’s see. Oh, I have one. I’ve never been skiing. Or I’ve never been to the beach.”
Chandler Page 10
