Dangerously Big

by Cleo Peitsche

It could be a coincidence, but women don’t usually transform from understated to sexy for no reason. A flutter of nervousness tickles my stomach, and I clear my throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the bad feeling.

  Meghan has a thing for Slade. I wasn’t sure before, but now I am. Of course I shouldn’t care because I’m leaving. But I’m jealous. She’s pretty and successful and commands respect, and she smells like lilacs after a thirteen-hour day.

  She hands me her business card.

  “Thanks,” I say. My gaze flickers over her shoulder to where Slade is in deep conversation with some of the company lawyers. I look back at Meghan. “We’re not hiring.”

  She flicks the card, and I notice her elegant fingers are manicured in a soft, subtle pink. She’s class all the way. “I don’t need a job,” she says as she tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I’d like to hire you.”

  I stare at her. “But I’m not even experienced as an assistant.” This is how I was introduced to her a few weeks earlier. “Most of my career so far has been in sales.”

  With an amused, breathy exhale, she stands. “Assistant? Oh, it’s obvious you’re part of the strategy team. If Chris Slade trusts you, it means you’re valuable.” She leans in. “I’ve been thinking about starting my own company. We should talk.”

  She takes back her card, flips it and scrawls a phone number before handing it back to me. “My cell. Call anytime.”

  After she walks away, I stare at the card. It’s inconceivable that anyone would want to hire me. I’m a fraud. My résumé is fake. I never graduated from high school, and while I took a few online college courses, I most certainly don’t have a degree. The only reason I have this job is because Romeo took pity on me. I didn’t have any experience, and for all intents and purposes, I still don’t.

  But I find myself sliding Meghan’s card into my bag. I know I’ll never call her, but to have the respect of someone like her… Yeah, it warrants a souvenir.

  “I think we’re just about wrapped up,” Slade says as he walks over. “Did you hear about your car?”

  “No.” My heart beats faster. “Did they find it?”

  He nods. “Hawthorne has the keys, I think.”

  “And the thief?”

  “He ditched the car and was surely long gone. No fingerprints, though you’ll have to talk to the police.”

  That is most certainly not going to happen. But my car is back, and I almost press my fist into my chest because I feel like my heart is going to rip a hole clear through. I’m supposed to be happy because now I can skip town.

  But not only can I leave, I have to leave. Kidnapper Joe could be preparing to grab me again. He could be telling my grandfather everything. If my grandfather shows up…

  I don’t want Slade to notice anything is amiss, so I casually smile goodbye to the lawyers as they leave the room.

  “Where is Hawthorne, anyway?” I ask nonchalantly.

  “In the other room,” Slade says, referring to the adjoining conference room that the executives took over. I bet their sandwich platter still looks pristine.

  I go to the door and am about to knock when Slade opens it, motions for me to step through.

  The room is empty except for Romeo and Hawthorne, standing off to one side. Their heads are bowed together, and even though I can’t hear what they’re saying, the air is heavy with tension.

  This room has a conference table and chairs, but there’s also a lounge area with sofas, a coffee table, and fresh flowers. On the coffee table is an open bottle of champagne. Three glasses have been poured, and all three look untouched.

  Slade closes the door behind me, and I jump. It’s dark outside, and I can see my reflection clearly in the window. Quickly, I turn away. All I need to do is get my car key, then swing by my apartment for my clothes and for Bandit.

  Then… gone. No more worries about kidnappers or lawyers who talk too much or my grandfather finding me. No more problems with Hawthorne slowly unraveling my secrets. No losing my mind and confessing everything to Romeo.

  Every mile between me and this place is a buffer of safety and freedom.

  Slade pours a glass of champagne and hands it to me. He picks up one of the flutes on the table and clinks it against mine. “Cheers,” he says.

  “Cheers,” I mumble. I’m glad he didn’t make a speech about new beginnings or something that would leave me feeling awful.

  The fizzy liquid is slightly tart, but I take a few polite sips before setting it down. I have no intention of getting drunk when I need to be on the road soon.

  I’m paying so much attention to Romeo and Hawthorne, waiting for them to take a break so I can interrupt and get my key, that I’m not paying attention to Slade. I know he’s next to me, but when he turns my face his way, it catches me off guard.

  The only warning I have that he’s about to kiss me is the hungry look in his hazel eyes. It’s like I’m the only woman on the planet who can satisfy him.

  Then his mouth crushes sweetly against mine. The taste of champagne on his lips mixes well with the woodsy scent of his aftershave. As the kiss deepens, my resolve softens.

  I decide that I can leave tomorrow. It’s late now, anyway, and if I can arrange to stay with one of my bosses, I’m better off waiting. It’ll save me the cost of the hotel room, and I’ll have time to clean out the safe deposit box.

  Because this time I’m going to drive very, very far away. It’s the only path forward.

  One last night. I deserve this.

  Slade’s hand slides from my cheek and down my throat. His fingers tighten around my neck. It doesn’t hurt, but it reminds me of two things.

  First, he’s very strong.

  Second, because he’s strong, he’s dominant if he chooses to be.

  And he does so choose.

  My knees get a little weak just thinking about it. I can hand all the decisions over to Slade, to the other two, who I’m sure will join in soon.

  One night where I don’t have to think about anything, won’t have to worry. It’s such a relief, such a gift. It’s exactly what I need before striking out on my own again.

  Slade ends the kiss, but he keeps his hand where it is as he pulls away to stare me in the eye. “I’d love to tie you up,” he says.

  “Not my thing,” I say. A little flutter passes through me, but it means nothing. I’m into the sex because my lovers are hot. Because they know how to use their big cocks. The kinky stuff is part of their deal, but I don’t need it.

  It’s probably a good thing I’m leaving because heaven knows what they’d have me doing within a month or two. Tying me up? Thrashing me? Clit clamps? Whips? Chains? Collars?

  “You’re blushing,” Slade says. I look away.

  As he presses down on my shoulder, forcing me to my knees, I tell myself that the gush of wetness between my legs is only because I’m excited about the sex, that it has nothing to do with the helplessness I’ll experience as the three dominant men take turns fucking me.

  Slade unzips his pants, making me shiver, a Pavlovian response. He pulls out his cock, and he’s already hard.

  “Open,” he says.

  I open my mouth to accept the long, thick erection in his fist. He slowly pushes it past my lips, over my tongue. I love the softness of his skin, the rigidity of his shaft. I can taste him, a little tangy, and I can smell the combination of arousing scents: the woodsy soap he uses, the manly odor just underneath.

  He pushes all the way in until my lips are wrapped around the base and his slightly cool sack rubs against my chin.

  I hold my breath until he decides to pull back.

  Almost immediately, his hand presses against the back of my head, urging me onto him. I’m soon taking him as deep as I can, so I don’t understand why he’s pushing for more… until I feel large hands on my waist, pulling me up. Then I realize he’s keeping my mouth anchored to his erection.

  Whoever is behind me unzips my skirt and pulls it away. My panties disappear next, follo
wed by my shirt and the travesty of a bra.

  There’s the crinkle of a foil packet, and I wonder where the hell Romeo buys condoms big enough to fit him, if he has to get them special made.

  A hard cock nudges my ass. Because I’m merely in agony but am not dying, I know it can’t be Romeo. That only leaves Hawthorne, who enjoys hurting me.

  When I whimper, Slade shoves himself deeper down my throat, and Hawthorne rams himself into my rear.

  My hands tighten into fists, and my toes curl as much as the fashionable high heels will allow. I can feel a vein hotly pulsing in my neck, and my face is so overheated that it feels like I’m being dangled upside down.

  Hawthorne leans over me, his broad chest against my back while he pounds my ass with his cock.

  Roughly, he grabs and mauls my breasts. My nipples still ache from earlier. Slade steps away, leaving my mouth empty, and Hawthorne hauls me up, impaling me deeper on his staff. He spreads his large hands under my thighs.

  My stomach clenches as I try not to scream out.

  He’s got me balanced in the air, my knees and legs spread wide. It’s… pretty obscene, which is saying a lot, considering that I’m in the middle of a good old-fashioned boss bang.

  My nails dig into the backs of Hawthorne’s hands. It won’t do me any good if he decides to drop me, and I can’t prevent him from being so deep in my ass, but it sure makes me feel better.

  As he thrusts, my breasts bounce.

  Slade crouches between my spread knees, and I’m a little embarrassed. Then his mouth eagerly covers my empty pussy.

  I don’t often receive oral sex. My bosses tend to focus on spanking and punishing me. This is a treat, all the nicer because it’s so rare.

  Slade drags his tongue between my folds, then draws tight circles around my clit. I hover on the brink of an orgasm, and when he thrusts three fingers in me, stretching my hole, I come hard.

  Even before my orgasm is over, Romeo bends and licks my clit. Slade’s fingers continue to pound into my pussy.

  I come again. Romeo straightens, and Slade removes his fingers. His entire hand is wet from my dripping arousal. The distinct aroma of sex hangs in the air.

  Romeo’s cock nudges between my folds, then shoves deep, claiming every millimeter of my pussy in one powerful thrust.

  I cry out, and I’m shuddering in Hawthorne’s arms. He’s got me locked down tight. I’m not going anywhere.

  He shifts me toward Romeo, and I’m trapped between two pairs of strong male arms. There’s no way for me to get away from the men when they’re in this state.

  Like it’s choreographed, both men kneel at the same time. Hawthorne releases my legs. Then I’m tipping backward, and Hawthorne grunts as he straightens out flat on the floor.

  Romeo continues fucking my pussy. His gorgeous face glistens with sweat, and he stares into my eyes so determinedly that I have to look away.

  Slade is fisting his enormous erection, and he’s kneeling, too, pulling my head toward his hips, then violently shoving past my lips. His hand is tight on my throat, and it’s so rough, so dangerous. This isn’t something I’ve played with before, but I trust him.

  I’m at the limit of what I can take. All three men are pounding away furiously, taking their pleasure in my body.

  Someone—probably Hawthorne—slides a hand over my clit. His knowing fingers work my nub just enough to keep me suspended on the edge, and I’m helpless.

  They fuck me harder, rougher. Romeo pinches my sore nipples, the undersides of my breasts.

  Slade’s hand tightens on my neck, and everything turns more vivid.

  Hawthorne swells an extra few degrees. When he comes, I feel like my flesh is being ripped by a hot poker, but he digs his fingers into my hips to keep me immobile until he’s done with me.

  It takes a very, very long time for him to finish.

  Sweat runs down Romeo’s face. He kneels up and rips off the condom. His cock is purplish, swollen. It’s gorgeous and veiny and perfect.

  There’s a wild look in his eyes as he stares down at me, his chest heaving.

  If he tries to stick that cock back inside me, I’ll probably have the hardest orgasm of my life. My pussy will probably choke his huge tool.

  But he moves up toward my face, and he aims himself at me.

  Slade isn’t finished yet, but when he does spurt hot come down my throat, he gets a few seconds to enjoy it, then Romeo is shouldering him out of the way.

  He puts just part of the fat mushroom head of his cock between my lips. He’s so thick that it’s uncomfortable to hold him there; a bit lower would be a lot easier on my jaw. I bet it would feel better for him, too, if I had the whole head in my mouth.

  “Suck me,” he rasps. He jerks his fist up and down his thick shaft. The movement shakes his entire body, shakes mine, too.

  As I suck, I think of the little bottle I brought from my bedroom, and how it’s a shame I won’t ever get to use it, a shame I’ll never have the pleasure of wrapping my lips around the base of Romeo’s oversized cock.

  Deeper he goes, but his fist stays glued to the bottom of his shaft, keeping him from accidentally choking me.

  His entire body is straining, and his loud, masculine growls fill the room.

  He’s really loud, and I love it.

  “Yeah, suck me like that,” he groans. The words are barely coherent.

  Slade shoves three fingers into my pussy.

  Hawthorne rubs my clit.

  I come so fucking hard, my body shaking, my breasts bouncing, and Romeo shoots a fire hose of salty semen into my mouth.

  My eyes close as I swallow. This moment. I want to remember everything: the feel of the hard bodies pressed up against me, the smell of male sweat and female arousal, the sound of Romeo’s grunts and of Slade’s fingers banging wetly into my quivering pussy. And the magic of Hawthorne’s hands.

  I’ll carry it with me as long as I live.

  Chapter 10

  “I think I’d prefer to stay in a hotel tonight,” I say as I pretend to be busy fixing my skirt.

  I can’t make eye contact with Romeo. Last night was the most amazing of my life, and I know he’s probably wondering what he did wrong.

  The truth is that I need to plot out my next move, and I won’t be able to think straight if I’m in his bed, in his arms.

  “Not a problem,” Romeo says. “Would you like to stay here?”

  I nod. To Hawthorne, I say, “My car key, please.”

  He considers me, and I recognize that expression. He’s judging me.

  Sometimes I feel he can look into my soul, but it’s like he only sees the dark places, the ugliness. How can I blame him? It’s the only part of myself that I’ve ever revealed.

  “I don’t have it,” he says. This gets a slow look from Slade, so I know Hawthorne is full of crap. He spent one night dealing with my insane life and now he can’t stop lying.

  A laugh escapes my throat. Slade’s eyes narrow.

  “Your car and key will be at the office tomorrow,” Hawthorne says easily. “There’s no point running around and dealing with that tonight, in any event. Not if you’re staying in the hotel here.”

  Trapped. And because I don’t know what Hawthorne’s game is, I smile and go along with it. Really, what chance do I have?

  “I’ll get her checked in,” Hawthorne says as he picks up his suit jacket.

  The elevator ride to the lobby is awkwardly quiet. When the receptionist slides over the key, Hawthorne scoops it up before my hand is halfway to the counter.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He looks over my head—and I hate that he’s tall enough to do that—and says, “You and I are going to have a little chat.”

  As I follow him to my room, I try to tell myself that I have nothing to worry about. If it were anyone but Hawthorne, I would believe it. And I can’t forget that I owe him $300,000.

  He opens the door and lets me go in first. Soft lights flicker on.

&nbs
p; “Are you horny?” I ask as I wave my hand in the general direction of the bed. “Wanna fuck?”

  His lips curl into a smile, but there’s no humor there. “For a woman who often seems to be channeling a thesaurus, you can be surprisingly crude.”

  “It’s about selecting the most appropriate word for the situation,” I say.

  “Is it?” He’s got one hand in his pocket, the other scratching at the beige wallpaper.

  The room itself is nice if not terribly innovative. I find myself wanting to get into bed, turn on the television and order ice cream from room service. Maybe I’ll bring up a photo of Bandit on my phone and pretend to feed him ice cream.

  I miss my cat. He has no expectations, no demands. I have a pretty good idea of what my life will be like by the time I’m sixty, and it includes bulk deliveries of cat food and litter.

  And I’ll still be wearing cleavage-enhancing bras. And dying my hair. And lying to my friends. And hiding from my family.

  I frown. It started as a lovely fantasy, but somewhere along the way it turned pathetic. Maybe that’s because I don’t normally imagine a future more than two weeks down the line. How can I when I don’t know where I’ll be?

  “Last night changed things,” Hawthorne says. “I can no longer ignore how poorly you’re handling whatever’s going on in your life.”

  My temper flares, but I tamp it down. “There’s no need for you to cover for me,” I say.

  He frowns. “I don’t have to. That’s true.”

  “No. You want me gone, and you’ll be thrilled to learn that I’m leaving. Best of all, your conscience will be clear as you don’t even need to blackmail me.”

  His blue eyes lose some of their sparkle. “Is that what you think? That I planned to blackmail you to leave?”

  “That’s what I would do,” I say. I’ve got my arms crossed, and I’m leaning against the bed, my weight on my right foot. Despite the exhaustion tugging at my limbs, I don’t dare relax.

  Hawthorne’s mouth turns down farther. He’s still handsome when he’s scowling, but he’s also frightening.

  He clears his throat. “You want to run. Has it ever occurred to you to ask for help?”