by Jaci Burton
The toss had become a fractious roll of her head onto her shoulders as a result of the wave of stimulation. At Matt’s glance, she forced herself to make it look as if she were just stretching a stiff neck, even as her hands held their death clamp. She was going to lose. She was going to have to tell him to stop. But it felt so damn good, she didn’t want to stop . . .
Focus. Her lips parted to give her more air. When had her senses sharpened so significantly? She could feel the moisture of her own lips from the cream lipstick she wore, the gloss over it. With a corset, the faintest breath pillowed breasts high on the chest, left them perched quivering there like soft doves, aching for a stroking touch to soothe them. She could feel the air on them, the touch of every molecule, it seemed. Then, between her buttocks . . . she’d never been much for anal play, but maybe that was because she didn’t know it could feel like this.
“Liking the way that feels between your cheeks, Cass? Wait until the first time I put my mouth on your rim, tease it with my tongue. You might be shy about that, but you’ll come apart when it’s done to you. I want to see you shatter. Look at Saayo, the translator, now. How beautiful she is. Like you.”
Did he have a damn implant in her mind? As the legal advisor’s drone died away into complete gibberish, Cass realized Saayo’s posture seemed like her own. But while her arms were beneath the level of the table like Cass’s, they were not on the chair arms. Her limbs were making slight movements as her lips, a shiny burgundy which complemented the flawless Asian skin, pressed together in arousal, obvious to someone who was a mirror image of it. A quick glance at the other screens showed the Japanese men were all adjusted toward Saayo, serious faces intent.
No, it couldn’t . . . she knew the men in this frame. She’d researched them last night. Part of a cartel who managed K&A’s distribution over there, a group of dedicated men known to become suitably aggressive when needed to get shipments out of some of the more questionable ports of call. But reputable men.
“They have one camera positioned beneath the table. You’ll notice their gazes keep moving from her to a wall beyond our view. They have a screen there, showing that camera’s feed. They’ve provided me the patch to it in here. She shaves her pussy, and she’s got a clit piercing. Her fingers are buried in herself. They have a little bet running with her as well. If she doesn’t come before the advisor gets done, then they’ll each have their turn, fucking her on the table when the meeting is done.”
“You set this up,” she managed under her breath as Ben asked a question.
“Everyone knows the regulatory check is as dull as dirt. I thought you’d enjoy the entertainment.”
“Does Matt know what they’re doing?” She said it in a whisper, not even sure if she’d spoken loud enough for him to hear her.
“They all do. And that’s not all. Every man at this table also knows what I’m doing to you.”
Her mind froze in shock. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she snapped out of it, but then her gaze shot around the room. All four men were still apparently engaged in the screen.
“They can smell you, the lucky bastards. See Jon over there, Peter, and Ben. They all know what I’m doing to you. They want you, so badly. What if I commanded you to let every one of them fuck you on this table? I could let all three take you at once, since I know you hate to get behind schedule.”
Her pulse leaped, as her body quivered in a state perilously close to the edge. She was holding on by a rotting branch just above a waterfall, and she was sure he knew it, for he kept on, doing his best to push her over with his seductive voice.
“Did you know that we did something similar with Matt’s wife, Savannah? That’s how we got her to agree to marry him. She was so knotted up in her emotions, but we all knew she loved him. So one night, we bound her on a table like this one. We each teased her to climax, over and over, until she was insane with it. Our restraints freed her feelings, and she surrendered to them. To Matt. They were married that same week.”
“Lucas . . .”
His timing for such a shocking revelation was impeccable. She was so aroused, so close to climax, she couldn’t deny the dark temptation of such a scenario, for herself or Savannah. He’d not only stolen her sense of reason and grasp of what was proper or not, he’d picked up on her fantasies perfectly.
Now they turned toward her, the irresistible Knights of the Board Room. The article reference came to her now, and it seemed to fit, men with a code of behavior, a connection beyond words. Irresistibly powerful. As their intent gazes landed on her, she realized Lucas must have given them the same ear wigs, so they’d been hearing everything he’d said to her. She also noticed Matt had quietly excused himself, so she was on display before just the three of them, Ben, Jon, and Peter. Saayo’s breathing was heavy enough now to be noticeable over the speakers, but the Japanese advisor didn’t stop. The intriguing detachment of it elevated her own response even higher.
As Cass looked up, the woman locked gazes with her. The Asian woman’s lips curved in a half-smile, her eyes warm, yet distracted, close to the same pinnacle as Cassandra.
“How would it feel,” Lucas mused, “the two of you tied to each other? Your legs scissored together, hips close so that as she played with her pussy, her knuckles would barely brush your cunt. Your arms would still be bound, behind your back. You’d have to lie there, writhing, feeling only that occasional brush of her fingers, the vibration against your clit and ass. We’d all be gathered around you, watching, wanting you both, wanting to fuck you both.
“Look at Ben. If he’d taken you home last night, he’d have wanted his dick buried deep in your delectable ass. Peter would spend hours suckling your breasts. Jon’s specialty is making devices that can keep you in the throes of an orgasm for well over an hour. The chair and bracelets are his invention.”
He paused, letting those words sink in, then gave her the answer to one of her questions. “The symbols on the bracelets are Trust and Surrender. And Love. They’re intended as a gift, sweetheart. Not a punishment.”
She swallowed, not sure if she was going to panic, scream, cry, or climax. Her body shook in a paroxysm, drawn and quartered between all of them. While there was no need any longer to disguise her reaction, still she tried, but he was going to be merciless with her. Her mind was full of his voice, Ben’s unreadable green eyes, the singular focus in Jon’s face, Peter’s undisguised absorption with the way her breasts were moving. That first day, she’d analyzed the sexual undercurrent, the way they emanated sex, their ability to take over a woman’s senses without any overt attempt to do so. Now here it was unleashed, and it pressed on all sides, their desire for her making it almost impossible to breathe, to do anything but feel the pounding want between her legs, the ache in her throat and chest.
“I know you’re worrying your reputation is ruined with them. It isn’t. Trust me on that. Your beauty and intelligence, and the desire you show us now—it’s a gift to any man breathing. We treasure it. So tell me what you want, Cass. Do you want me to stop all this now? Do you want me to release you, let the three of them spread you on this table, please you until you lose consciousness?” Another pause. “Or shall I let you climax just for me, while they watch?”
At that, the speed of the vibrator jumped. Her body arched against her bonds, her knees jerking. Self-consciousness was abandoned, for even if she’d reached for it, it was already far beyond her grasp. The screen Lucas had described was now up, a close-up so she could see Saayo’s fingers dipping into her wet pussy, fucking herself, tugging at the silver ring of her clit piercing. Cass could hear her cries building. In the screen that showed the translator above the table, one of the men next to her had put his hand beneath her neck, supporting her.
Think, Cass. She tried to force an eye of calm amid the hurricane of her body’s spiraling response. Last night, she’d used Ben to erect a barricade between them. Unsuccessfully, but this time it was Lucas who’d handed her a similar weapon. Since
it was disguised as his own strategy, he might not realize until too late that he’d rearmed her.
Each of the men in this room could stimulate her body. It was the same game as always, even steeped in sex. Backed into a corner with two choices, you chose the door that left you the most control. Give the enemy the bailey, in order to protect the keep. Once he had what was there, he might be satisfied. So she’d sacrifice control of her body in order to protect her heart and mind. The assault of her flesh had seriously weakened the inner gates, but if he was like most men, he might not realize there was a gate to breach beyond the one to her flesh.
“What if I said . . . have them take me . . . on the table? Would you want that?”
It had taken a supreme effort to say the words, but she managed to stave off her body’s roar for release long enough to fire the challenge, send Lucas a glazed but defiant look. As he locked gazes with her, his face going inscrutable, Ben gave a low whistle. She heard a trace of Ireland in his voice, brought out by a palpable wave of pure male lust. “If you don’t want her, Lucas, I’m taking her. Even with you scrambling that marvelous mind, she’s calling your bluff.”
Lucas’s eyes flickered. Then his mouth lifted in that slow smile. She knew then she’d lost. Or won. She didn’t know anymore. Regardless, the bare movement of his sensual mouth shoved her against the gateway of her own control and, despite all the physical stimulation, was the true last straw. She began to go over. But he was too intuitive. He eased back on the vibration, a near miss. “I won’t let them have you, Cassandra. But I will let them give you pleasure. Peter?”
Her gaze tore away from him and went back down the table, where Peter rose from his chair. His corded neck and broad shoulders would be intimidating, if not for the kindness in the storm-cloud eyes. His physique was obvious under the crew neck sweater he wore. Of all the K&A team, he alone wore a pair of jeans, having come from one of the plant operations this morning.
“If I may . . .” He slid her chair out, moving her effortlessly, and then knelt between her spread legs, so tall that he was still eye to eye with her, his shoulder span shadowing her body. As he leaned over, she saw he wore a small gold Saint Christopher’s medal. Maybe that was part of their unique relationship as well, sharing the same type of jewelry.
She pushed down the hysterical and irrational burst of humor. Stay on course. She could do this. She could. Follow the body, not the heart. Just the body. It was easy enough to follow the urges of the flesh, if you kept it light, easy. Except nothing about this was light and easy. This was as over-the-top as it got, and it was her own fault. She’d kept it bottled for so long. The moral outrage she should have felt at all of this, that should have quelled any desire she had, was absent. She longed for release, oblivion, enough to hang on to Lucas’s words, trust him. This had gone too far for her to do anything else, relieving her of any responsibility. So she told herself.
“Tear it open,” Lucas said, something raw in his voice. “I’ll buy her a new one.”
“No—” But Peter had already laid his hands on the lower section of the sweater and ripped it, several pearl buttons bouncing off across the floor. The physicality of it made her gasp, the pull of the slim collar around her throat that remained intact. Her reaction rocked her breasts in a lascivious display above the tight corset before his appreciative gaze.
Cass turned desperate eyes to Lucas. “I never said what my choice was, of the three you gave me.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m interested in your opinion, but the decision is mine. Isn’t it, Cass?”
Captured by the intensity of his face, the implacable line of his mouth, slope of royal cheekbones, she knew it was. Had what they called magic in past ages simply been this? A knowledge of a person’s soul, so honed that he knew things about her that she’d refused to admit to herself? There was no way she could admit to it, even after he laid it so bare here. But he anticipated such lines in the sand, and knew just the right form of sugar to sprinkle over them, making them disappear as if they’d never existed. At least for now. “Pretend I’m your Master, Cass. You lose nothing by giving in to your own pleasure here.”
Just like the day she’d left the glade, wishing she could tell him she wanted to stay, she wanted to trust Lucas beyond pretense. If she really could, maybe it would be worth all of it, the two of them hurtling down whitewater rapids together, laughing their asses off like kids as they whirled in the frenetic, dangerous current, willing to be pummeled and tossed to feel like this. But she couldn’t.
Peter’s hands were on the corset bodice, feeling along the edge of the straight, tight hem. His thumb passed over the hard point of the nipple, visible through the straining satin, so close to the edge of exposure. She arched, crying out.
The problem was, she wasn’t pretending. She was defiant against his Mastery only because she wanted him to earn it, not because she wanted to refuse it. Make me believe I can trust you. She wanted to see the fire teased to raging in his eyes, wanted to explode under the touch of others while he watched. All the wild parts of her she’d wanted to indulge but hadn’t were here now. Parts that had been coming out in brief bursts, like the day she’d thrown her leg over a Harley and run for the forest.
She was so goddamned tired of being careful. Logically—if she had any tendrils of logic left to grasp in her turbulent mind—they had as much to lose from this scenario as she did, if it went beyond this room and whatever odd relationship they had with the people on the videoconference.
“Suck on her, Peter.” Lucas’s eyes dared her to look away from him now. Saayo was starting a moan that sounded as if she were sliding into climax. But not quite there yet. The advisor was finishing, which meant each man would be taking her on that table tonight, fucking her as he pleased.
Peter had large hands, and when he cupped her breasts, squeezing them, she gave a hard, guttural groan at the relief it brought. Another sweep of those thumbs, against nipples so sensitive she felt a renewed flood of moisture between her legs. Then he unhooked the top two or three hooks of the corset, just enough to free the nipples, so he could put his mouth over one.
She cried out again, and Saayo’s dark eyes were lost in the same way, both of them giving up their minds to pleasure. Peter had short hair, just a step above the military cut, and it tickled her skin, his temple brushing her, along with his heated breath. Just like Lucas’s expertise in another area, apparently Peter knew women’s breasts better than they did themselves. When he paused to strip off his sweater, the black T-shirt beneath revealed a mesmerizing flag and serpent tattoo that held her dazed attention, the way it undulated with the movement of his packed muscles, the strong flexing lines of his shoulders and back.
“Lucas,” she gasped, yanking against the cuffs again. “Lucas.”
“She needs something to do with her mouth, Ben.” Lucas’s attention tilted to their legal executive. “Occupy it with yours.”
“My pleasure.” Ben approached from her left. He gathered up her hair in one hand, using that to tilt her head back, make her look up at him, up the line of his sculpted body. As he spread the golden-white strands over his palms, he gazed at it, and her, reverently. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.
She would have replied, but Peter moved to the other nipple, both hands still cradling her, and she cried out again, her fingers digging into the chair arms. A convulsive flick of her gaze showed Saayo below the table again, only now she could see they had her legs tied as well, only wider, to the chair legs of the two men on either side of her. Each had a hand high on her thigh, adding to the sensation of being held open. A series of symbols were tattooed on the inside of the one thigh. Cass realized two of them were the same as those on her bracelets, but her mind couldn’t process which two they might be, or what the others might signify. Though that dark part of her that Lucas had tapped knew intuitively it was some mark of ownership, that Saayo willingly belonged to at least one of the men in that room.
Ben had wrapped h
er hair around his broad palm again and was descending, his firm mouth, green eyes coming down, his grip strong, sure. Not hurried. She was overwhelmed by the sensation of being desired, of their need to savor her, one luscious bite at a time. As if reflecting her thoughts, Peter nipped at her. She screamed at the resulting wave of sensation that took her over. Then there was the heat of Ben’s breath. His kiss would be like everything else here. Pure blow-the-top-off-her-world fantasy.
But not bliss, not a resting place for her heart, which was what Lucas’s kiss had seemed to offer. She couldn’t risk herself on the illusion or the truth of that. But this, Ben’s kiss, this was just the physical. What she knew was safe. What she could accept.
As Ben’s hand cradled her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek—yes, they all definitely knew how to make a woman melt—she surrendered.
She averted her face.
Seven
She pressed her face into her shoulder, her breath fast and shallow, tiny whimpers coming from her throat just above Peter’s ministrations, her body jerking in preorgasmic spasms. She couldn’t tell Lucas she needed to stop. Not because she was about to climax, but because she was about to plummet over a far worse precipice.
But at that gesture, Peter sat back on his heels and Ben straightened, signal apparently received. When Saayo came to climax then, a long, yearning cry, the shuddering thrill of it rippled through her own pussy, her body jerking again as Peter gently rearranged the corset cups back over her breasts. Ben threaded a hand through her hair once more, a stroke of reassurance as he leaned over her and laid her hair comb on the table. Then, unexpectedly, he eased her sweater off one shoulder. She trembled as she saw him register Lucas’s mark on her throat, a moment before he placed his lips on her bare skin, several inches away from that possessive brand. Then he eased the fabric back in place and withdrew.
