by Hart, Lane
“Saving you from having to waste another second talking to the dwarf,” he says with a chuckle as he pops the front button on his navy-blue suit jacket and takes the man’s seat, like a king lowering himself onto his throne.
“Is that the only suit you own?” I ask, trying to look and sound disinterested in his presence, even though the second I saw him, a jolt of longing seared through me from my head down to my toes.
After over a year of celibacy, you wouldn’t think two weeks would seem like a long time to not have sex. Yet, after the amazing night with Dalton, I’ve been desperate for more. You better believe my vibrator has been working overtime, but it’s just not the same, since it never talks to me or touches me the same way…
“Why, yes, it is,” Dalton answers as he preens and straightens his suit jacket. “No reason to buy more when this one worked just fine on you. Although, there are some scuffs on the knees that the dry cleaner couldn’t get out after I—”
“Why are you here?” I ask, interrupting him when he starts to bring up what we did the night in the parking garage. “And save the bullshit about rescuing me from a shitty date.”
“So, it was shitty? I knew it,” he replies with a smirk.
“Answer the question.”
“Fine,” he huffs before he places a hand on the back of my stool to lean in closer to me, engulfing me in his masculine cologne and clean scent that still holds a hint of leather from his recently worn cut. “It’s been two long weeks, and I couldn’t go one more day without seeing your beautiful…pussy.”
Smiling despite myself, I place my palm on his cheek and push his too handsome face away from me.
“So, you drove two hours for sex?” I ask.
“No, I drove two hours for an entire night of enthusiastic love-making with a smoking hot ATF agent.”
“Awful presumptuous, aren’t you?” I mutter, even though his charming ass is already wearing me down, no matter how apathetic I try to sound.
“That wasn’t a no, so yeah, I’m feeling pretty good about the odds of getting you naked and fucking you like an animal again.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him honestly, glancing away before he can see my blush.
“Still not a no,” he points out. “Besides, here in this white-collar bar, I’m just Henry Aycock, good old trustworthy personal injury attorney.”
“Right,” I drawl sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.
“You can’t deny that you were into Henry.” Dalton leans in close to me again and rubs the tip of his nose along the column of my neck, causing goose bumps to race down my arms. Whispering close to my ear, he says, “All Henry had to do was kiss you and you were ready to bend over for him.”
“Henry is nothing but a lying thief,” I reply, my hands shoving against his hard chest to put some distance between us. Dalton is so freaking dangerous because he’s damn near impossible to resist, especially in such close proximity.
Placing his free hand on my knee and sliding it up the thigh of my suit pants, he says, “Henry apologizes for the briefcase mix-up. In fact, he would love to get on his knees again and make it up to you by kissing every inch of flesh that lies underneath your panties. I’m betting they’re already getting a little wet…”
Taking a sip of my martini to collect my thoughts after that naughty offer, I decide to turn the tables to try and catch the cocky bastard off guard. Meeting Dalton’s intense blue gaze and holding it, I say, “I think I would rather get on my knees and torture Henry first.”
“Torture would be saying shit like that to a desperate man and not backing it up,” Dalton instantly counters.
So, he’s desperate for me too? How is that possible?
“Henry doesn’t have any objections to following through with that kind of torture, though?” I ask.
“Fuck no, kitten. It’s his favorite brand of torture,” he replies. “In fact, if you really wanted to torture him, you would give him a little tease right here, right now, in the bathroom. Then make him wait until he got back to your place to let him come inside of you.”
“Who said I wouldn’t let him come in my mouth?” I ask with a smirk.
Swearing under his breath, Dalton grabs my forearm as he jumps from his seat, pulling me behind him toward the bar’s bathrooms. Thankfully, tonight, I left my laptop at the office, so I don’t have to worry about hauling it around or having someone steal it.
We’re in the women’s bathroom a second later. Dalton turns the lock to keep anyone from interrupting and then he’s pushing on my shoulders, guiding me down to my knees in front of him. After I’m in position, his trembling hands work to get his belt and pants undone. Seeing him look so frantic for relief that I’ll give him sends me on one hell of a power trip. Now it’s my turn to make him beg.
A ragged gust of air puffs out of his mouth when he finally frees his cock. He stands there, towering over me and stroking his swelling shaft while looking down at me through heavy-lidded eyes. God, he’s so sexy that I want to scarf him down my throat. But first, he deserves a little payback.
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” I tell him with my head tilted back to see his face better.
“No. No, no, no.” He groans while he continues to work his hand up and down his cock. “Can’t you just give it a little lick?” he asks before rubbing the fat head over my lips.
I lean back to answer, moving away from his big cock’s reach. “I’m still a little angry at you. Might bite it off.”
“Come on, Peyton,” he whines as he keeps jerking himself off. “All I’ve had is my own hand for two fucking weeks. You’ve ruined me for other women.”
“I’ve ruined you?” I repeat, my words heavy with disbelief.
“Do you know how many club sluts I’ve turned down in the last two weeks?”
“How many?” I ask curiously, trying not to focus too hard-on his use of the word sluts to describe them.
“Nine,” he answers. “It’s been slow at the clubhouse since everyone’s shacking up lately.”
Jesus. Nine women have tried to sleep with him in two weeks? And he calls that slow? That’s insane but believable.
“Why did you turn them down?” I question, even though I don’t entirely buy his celibate claim.
“So that when I saw you again, if you asked me, I could tell you I haven’t been with anyone else,” he says.
“That’s a good answer,” I tell him, almost believing it. “So good, that I may finally give you that little lick you’re so desperate for.”
Leaning forward, I circle the tip of my tongue around the head of his cock like it’s an ice cream cone before I lap up the drops of moisture leaking from his slit. The more I lick, the more salty goodness I taste.
“Does it hurt?” I ask before I run my tongue up his length and over his fingers that are still stroking.
“God, yes,” he grunts.
“Then we better get you home fast,” I tell him. I open my mouth to take in just the tip, stopping at the raised circumcision rim, and suck hard enough to make Dalton shout a curse to the ceiling before I pull away.
Getting to my feet, I remove his hands from his hard dick to shove it back into his pants and zip him up before I unlock the door and walk out, knowing he’ll be right behind me.
Chapter Ten
Dalton
Peyton wasn’t joking about torturing me.
I’m lying on her bed with my suit jacket off, dress shirt unbuttoned, pants open, and wrists restrained by her handcuffs to the slat in her headboard. Her amazing mouth keeps bringing me to the edge of orgasm before she pulls away from my dick, only to restart the tormenting all over again.
Did I mention she’s only wearing a lacy pink bra and matching thong panties?
“Please, please, please,” I beg, my bare heels digging into the mattress when she kisses her way up my abs and back down again. The first thing Peyton did after I was restrained was to take off my shoes and socks and tickle the soles of my feet. The woma
n is pure evil.
“Please what?” Peyton asks.
“Please suck me off until I come!” I exclaim in a rush as I jerk against the handcuffs so hard it’s a wonder I haven’t ripped out the wooden slat yet. If my hands were free, I would’ve jacked myself off an hour ago, which is exactly why she took them away from me.
“Haven’t you ever heard of delayed gratification?” Peyton looks up and asks smugly before placing a kiss on my pelvis, just above the manscaping line. The ends of her long blonde hair continue to tickle my thighs and dick in a way that’s making me crazy.
“You’ve delayed long enough!” I shout in frustration. If she delays much longer, my balls may rupture. I could very well have erectile dysfunction after this type of abuse.
“Almost,” she agrees. “I’m making you suffer twice as long as you left me restrained.”
So, this is my punishment.
I should’ve known, when we were in the bar and she offered to get on her knees, it was too good to be true.
“Actually,” Peyton starts, before she sits back on her heels and fake yawns, “I’m getting tired and I do have to be at work early tomorrow. Think I’ll call it a night.”
“I’m sorry, okay!” I yell. “I came back!” I remind her, not just that morning, but tonight, because I wanted to see her. Hell, I needed to see her again. I hate myself for admitting as much to her, but the words start pouring out of my mouth, desperate for her to give me some relief. “You’re all I’ve thought about for fourteen fucking days, woman!”
Scoffing, Peyton says, “You and I both know you only came for one thing.”
Squeezing my eyes shut to try and focus on breathing through the agony in my lower body, I lay out all of the reasons why I came to see her tonight, even though I told myself it was just to fuck. “I didn’t come for one thing. I want to sleep with you and have you rake your fingernails down my back again so hard it bleeds. Then, I want to shower with you in the morning, so that I can wash your hair. After that, I want to feed you breakfast and make plans to see you again over coffee in your ridiculously large mug. While you’re at work tomorrow, I want you to think about me and miss me—”
My words end on a choking gasp when her warm, wet mouth closes around my cock. Peyton sucks me so hard and fast that the building pleasure of over an hour of torture finally bursts free from the dam. My spine bows off the mattress as I gasp for air like a drowning man through the pulses of ecstasy so strong my toes may be permanently curled.
“Feel better?” Peyton asks. And when I’m able to blink my eyes open again, she’s straddling me, her hands gripping my shoulders with her face right in front of mine.
“Oh yeah,” I tell her with a lazy, satisfied smile.
“Good,” she replies before pressing her lips to mine. After several soft kisses, she pulls away to unlock my wrists from the cuffs.
“That was so worth the wait,” I tell her when I can finally wrap my arms around her back and hold her. “Now it’s your turn.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I got myself off twice, once while I was teasing you and then again when you finished.”
“Wow,” I mutter in surprise, hating I missed that while I was too busy balancing on a tightrope of pain and pleasure.
“Let’s get some rest. We can get up early enough for you to…wash my hair and fuck me in the shower before I have to go to work.”
“Best idea ever, kitten,” I agree.
Several minutes later, Peyton still hasn’t made a move to get off of me. Which is fine, I could probably sleep with her straddling me. Peyton blankets are nice…
But then her brow furrows and she lowers her eyes to where her hands are gripping the sides of my open shirt collar, like she’s suddenly a million miles away.
“What is it?” I ask, trying to read her sudden change in expression.
“Why couldn’t you really be Henry the attorney?” she asks sadly, making my guts twist into a knot from the amount of sadness in her voice because I’m not the man she wants. “This would be so much easier…”
“Seems like this is pretty damn easy,” I point out. Before she decides to throw me out of her bed because of a crisis of conscious, I tell her, “Come on, kitten. You have to admit that the whole forbidden affair thing is what makes being with me so hot and exciting. If I were just Henry, the boring but handsome attorney, you would’ve fallen asleep by now.”
Cracking a small smile, she says, “Not if Henry was into kinky shit like handcuffs.”
“Oh, Henry is a complete control freak. He’d never let a woman put him in such a compromising position, even for an award-winning blowjob.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I wouldn’t be worried about losing my job with Henry.”
“How am I gonna make you lose your job?” I ask in confusion.
“You want me to drop the investigation of the Savage Kings,” Peyton reminds me.
“Yeah? So?”
“If I do that, then I’m not doing the job I was hired to do. Especially if your club hurts someone else.”
“Listen, babe,” I tell her, reaching up to cup the side of her face. “I can promise you that the Kings don’t hurt anyone unless they deserve it.”
“It’s not your job to decide who deserves it and who doesn’t!” she exclaims, pulling away from me to sit up straighter, while still straddling my hips in nothing but her bra and panties.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I say, “So, if someone killed your husband and kid, you would sit on your hands and wait for what? A trial, years later, if the cops were even able to arrest the bastard responsible in the first place?”
“Yes! What if you went after the wrong person?”
“We’re not a bunch of hotheaded idiots,” I assure her. “We wouldn’t go after someone if we weren’t one hundred percent certain they were guilty.”
“So, you think you’re all infallible?” she asks.
“I think we do our due diligence.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” she mutters as she reaches up to push her hair out of her face. “We’ll never agree on this.”
“So, we agree to disagree,” I tell her.
“And then there’s the fact that I don’t do casual relationships. I’m not a casual person like you,” she adds, doing a complete one-eighty on the topic, like she’s checking off little boxes for all the reasons why she should throw me out of her bed tonight.
“How do you know I’m a casual person?” I ask, even though casual may as well be my middle name.
The silent but deadly look she gives me says she’s not buying it.
“Fine, so I am. I was. But if casual is all I wanted right now, don’t you think it would’ve been a lot easier for me to get my dick sucked from one of the club sluts who party right above my apartment rather than drive two hours to see a woman who may or may not slap me or shoot me on sight?”
“Why did you come back?” she asks. “I can’t help feeling like this is just some kind of game to you.”
“It’s not,” I tell her sincerely. Jesus, is she gonna make me hand over my balls? May as well. I don’t ever let myself get this attached to a woman, much less tell her shit. For whatever reason, though, I admit to Peyton, “Honestly, I have no fucking clue why I can’t forget you. But I can’t. And I don’t want you to forget me either.”
Her face softens as she looks me in the eye. “It’s pretty hard to forget the first man I was with after my husband.”
“Husband?” I repeat as I jackknife into a sitting position, my heart trying to jump out of my chest. How could I make the same mistake twice in this fucking lifetime? “You’re married?”
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Divorced.”
“You’re divorced,” I mutter, and my shoulders slump in relief when I belatedly remember her mentioning that she has an ex-husband the first night in the bar. Thank fuck. “How long were you married?”
“Six years,” she answers. “We met the last yea
r of graduate school and got married right before we joined the agency.”
“What happened?”
“He’s an agent too,” she explains. “And he worked undercover. Often.”
“So, distance was the problem?”
“No, him fucking women while he was undercover to ‘play up the part’ was the problem.”
“Oh,” I mutter. “He cheated on you?”
“Frequently,” she responds with a nod of her head.
“How did you find out what was going on?” I ask.
“His partner told me he thought he was screwing around. So, then I went through his things when he was in the shower and found his second phone that had texts and voicemails from other women. Ones that left no doubt…”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” Peyton says. “So that’s why I was glad to leave Georgia for a while when they offered me this temporary position.”
“How long have you been separated?” I inquire.
“Over a year ago.”
“A year?” I echo. “So I’m the first person you’ve slept with…in a year?”
“Over a year,” she replies again. “And don’t look so smug.”
“I can’t help it. I have a naturally smug face,” I tease, while inside, I’m doing cartwheels because she picked me for some crazy reason after waiting a year to get over her ex-husband.
“What Jack did was a huge betrayal. And if he could cheat on me after being married for six years, then it was hard to think about being with a stranger and expecting him to not do the same thing to me right away.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you don’t want me to fuck anyone else?” I ask.
“Like you would do anything I asked,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes.
“I would, if you tell me that sex with me is better than it was with your cheating husband.”
She’s silent for so long, I nearly give up. Finally, she says, “Sex with you is so much better than with my cheating bastard husband. Which makes sense.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because you’ve probably been with ten times as many women as him.”
