“To go slow. Do all the little things first. Seduce you.”
“That sounds like a very long process,” I say, my chest rising and falling.
“If you’re hard to seduce, it might be.” He leans in, his breath warm against my skin. “Then again, I get the feeling you may bail if I showed up with flowers or pressed a kiss to the back of your neck while you’re working.”
My heart twists, affected by his stupid choice of words and the confident swagger he’s owning right now. “Yeah, not my thing,” I lie.
He grins. “I agree. It would probably take you a good six months to get there.”
“In six months, that will be considered against company policy,” I wink.
“That’s right. The CEO can’t make out with the President on company time. What was I thinking?”
“I tell you what,” I say, my body beginning to arch towards his. “Once I’m CEO, I’ll consider amending the handbook.”
“That’s great,” he grins. He releases my chin, his hand brushing down the side of my neck, over my clavicle, and across the top of my breast. I shiver at his touch, my body craving more. Wanting more. Needing more. “Send me a copy and I’ll see about implementing it at Jones + Gallum.”
“You’re an ass,” I laugh, raising my hand to smack him, but he catches it mid-air. He holds it in place, our bodies finally make contact.
Struggling to breathe, I know if I push this any further, there will be no going back.
He smirks.
Screw it.
“Carver?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I think that process is too long, too drawn out to really be effective.”
“Do you have an alternative suggestion, Ms. Gallum?” he breathes.
“I think so.”
My breathing is haggard, my blood pressure soaring to unsafe levels as he runs the back of his hand down my side. “And what’s that?”
“I want you to fuck me right here, right now.”
His hand stills at my hip, his eyes glued to mine.
I smile. “I dare you.”
Ten
Carver
* * *
Every cell in my body misfires, urging me to reach out and take her up on her offer before she comes to her senses. With a normal woman, that’s what I would do. She asked for me. She dared me to do it.
But this isn’t just another woman.
I search her eyes for any sign that she misspoke, that she’s reconsidering her words. All I get back is a sexy smile that could get her anything she wants. And if that anything happens to be my cock, it’s not my place to say no.
“Spread your legs.”
It’s a simple command, one that puts the ball in her court … before my balls get put elsewhere. Her tongue darts out, swiping along her bottom lip. She leans back against the island, gripping the ledge with her hands behind her, and does as instructed.
“Like this?” she asks with an innocence so spot-on, I wonder how contrived it really is.
“Farther.”
Her gaze not leaving mine, she widens her stance.
She’s so sexy and it’s not completely because she’s curvy and intelligent and quick as a whip. It’s because it’s her, in my kitchen, waiting on me to touch her. To have her. To enjoy her.
And fuck if I’m not going to enjoy her.
Reaching out, I see her chest rise and fall in anticipation. Instead of giving her the relief she wants, that I want, I place the pad of my finger on the top button of her blouse. She watches me with bated breath, her body curving towards mine.
With one step, I’m in her personal space, straddling one of her legs. My cock rubs against her as I lean in and release the clasp on the top button. Then the next. With each button that’s undone, I get harder. By the time her chest is completely exposed, the nude-colored lace barely containing her swollen breasts, I’m almost ready to come in my pants.
“God, Amity,” I say, watching the round globes move as she breathes. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
Her skin is ivory, pale, dotted by a few beauty marks along the ridges of her chest. She’s looks like a gift that’s just been unwrapped, something that’s being seen for the first time.
She lifts her arms, the shirt slipping off her shoulder, as she winds her hands in the back of my hair. At her encouraging, I touch my lips to hers.
She takes charge, keeping pressure on the back of my head as she moves her mouth against mine. As the seconds pass by, the intensity grows. Her lips part and I waste no time tasting her, rolling our tongues together in a frenzied, I’ve-been-waiting-for-this-forever kind of way.
Against her silent objection, I pull away and step back. She struggles to catch her breath as I shrug out of my shirt. “Take off your shirt and bra,” I tell her, tossing mine onto a chair. I slip out of my shoes and pants. When I look back up, she’s leaned back against the island in nothing but a pair of black heels and a grey pencil skirt.
“You play a damn good sexy secretary,” I say, sidling up to her again.
“With that body,” she says, dragging a nail down my chest, “I’ll let you be mine. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I laugh, kissing her just below the ear and witnessing a set of goose bumps break out across her skin.
“How well do you follow orders?”
“Probably,” I say, moving in front of her, “about as good as you.”
“Then we’re both fucked,” she giggles.
“If things go right, we will be.”
A little gasp escapes her lips as I grip her legs with both hands, sliding my fingers up her smooth, heated skin. She gasps again as I reach the curves that ends at the apex of her thighs.
The higher I go, the hotter she gets. “I can feel the heat coming off you,” I tell her, watching her tremble.
My left hand goes to the island, half-way caging her in. I lean in closer, wanting a front row seat to her reaction as I finally touch her sweet spot.
The fabric covering her opening is smooth and soaking wet. My finger glides up the material, pressing just enough to make sure she feels it.
“Ah,” she whimpers, attempting to press down and get the friction she so obviously craves.
Feeling her so turned on makes my cock pulse, literally throb in my briefs. I’m about to give her what she wants when she wraps her hand around my forearm and smiles.
Amity
* * *
“What?” he asks, startled.
“You are so damn sexy,” I breathe. “Watching you touch me is … wait a second.” I close my eyes and try to quiet myself a bit. “I don’t want to get off yet.”
“You’d get off from me touching you? From this?”
“Things happen when you’ve been sharing your bed with your vibrator for the better half of a year.”
When I open my eyes, I’m not sure what I’ll see. His reaction is priceless.
His mouth forms an “O,” his jaw hanging open. As our eyes meet, the corners of his lips lift to the ceiling. “I shall take that into consideration.”
He tugs my hand, pulling me away from the island. Bunching the hem of my skirt in his hands, he drags it until it’s wadded at my hips. Swiftly, I’m picked up and set on the cool marble countertop.
“What are you doing?” I laugh.
With one thick forearm at the small of my back, he guides me to the edge. His lips find the sensitive skin just below my ear lobe. He presses a soft kiss before whispering, “Move your panties to the side with one hand and lean back.”
My stomach forms a tight knot as a delicious pang of lust courses through my body. He kisses down my neck, across my shoulder, then drags his tongue over the curve of my breast. As my fingers hook the edge of my panties, brushing against my clit, he pulls my nipple into his mouth.
“Oh, shit,” I groan. My breath comes in short spurts, broken up by the feeling of his mouth rolling my stiffened peak with his tongue. My entire body flexes, the need for relief growing so strong, that
I move my hand over my opening again. He stops that with one swift move.
His hand covers my wrist, holding it in place. “No,” he growls as he pulls back.
“Carver,” I whimper. “Please.”
Finding my hips, he positions me again so that my thighs are barely on the marble. The look he gives me is so salacious, I almost feel like I’ve been punched.
His palms rough over my skin, leaving a blazing trail from my sides around to my ass. He cups my cheeks, jerking me a little so I lean back, angling my pussy towards his face.
I gulp, my hand that’s holding the edge of my panties shaking as he kneads my backside. One hand drags across stomach and nestles between my legs.
With a quick motion, he spreads my thighs apart. I force a swallow, my heart thundering in my chest so hard, I think he can hear it.
“I wonder what you taste like.” His eyes are hooded, the lust I feel painted all over his face. “I think I should find out.”
He presses his lips to my opening. I flinch at the contact, like a bolt of electricity just zapped me. His slips his tongue inside my opening, then parts me in the most unhurried way.
Each swipe, each lick, makes me pant harder.
“Carver,” I moan between breaths. I grip the sides of his head, needing him to keep going. “Oh, God.”
As I look down, he looks up. Seeing his face framed between my legs is a level of desire I’m not ready for.
“Please …” I whisper, the word barely able to escape from the tightness of my throat.
He laps through me again, this time pulling my clit into his mouth. I whimper, my head falling back.
The lights above us seem too bright, the marble that was cool only a few minutes ago almost slippery. The heat of his mouth like a blast from the sun, making me feverish.
His mouth explores my most private parts, trailing through every fold of my body, licking every possible spot. He plunges his mouth into me, his thumb pressing on the swollen bud at the top.
My clit pulses, begs for more attention as he gives it some pressure … but not enough. An overgrown ache, a fire burning so hot in my core that I think I might just melt, almost makes me black out.
Suddenly, I feel a finger, then two, slip inside me. He pumps them in and out, finding a tempo that I can’t fight. I collapse onto the counter, my back flat against the stone, letting him do whatever he wants.
I need this. God, I want this.
“Ah,” I moan as he adds a third finger. “Make me come, Carver.”
He increases his pace, working my pussy like it’s his job. My hips flex, my body craving all the contact it can get, as his fingers thrust inside my wetness. I can hear them sliding out over my heavy breathing, my body trying to suck them back in.
He works me up and up until I’m almost there.
“You like this, sweetheart?” he asks, knowing damn good and well I do. “It sure feels like you do.”
I can’t answer him. I can’t even open my eyes. Everything is on lock down as he brings me to the edge.
“Carver!” I shriek as his mouth lands on my clit.
His fingers dip harder inside as he grazes his teeth against my bud. “Come on my face, Amity.”
“Oh. My. God,” I mutter through clenched teeth, each word its own sentence.
He sucks me in again and I give in. Toppling over the edge of the orgasm, I buck against his face and fingers.
“Carver!” I scream again as I’m blasted with so much force that my legs literally shake. I feel the wetness dampen the insides of my legs, running down the crack of my ass. I can’t even care. I don’t have it in me.
He brings me down from the climax slowly, easing the pressure in delicious increments. As he slips his fingers out, it’s almost an out-of-body experience.
Every muscle is stretched, every part of me—including my mind—is perfectly satisfied. That is, until I sit up and see the tip of his cock sticking out of the top of his black briefs.
My mouth waters, my pussy clenching.
I hop off the counter and straighten my skirt. “You,” I say, pointing to a chair. “Sit.”
He lifts a brow but complies.
I kneel before him, grasping his thick, long cock in my hand. He sucks in a breath.
“Sit back, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes, Ms. Gallum.”
“I like that,” I say. There’s a dot of pre-cum glistening on the head of his cock. Keeping my eyes on his, I use the flat part of my tongue and lick it off before pulling the head in my mouth.
He hisses, the six-pack chiseled into his stomach flexing. “Well, I like that.”
“How about this?” I cup his balls in one hand and stroke his length with the other. Getting settled between his legs, I gear up for one of the best blow jobs I’ve ever given.
Carver won’t be walking out of here laughing this time. I’ll make sure of that.
Eleven
Amity
* * *
The bathroom is as tasteful as the rest of his house. It’s all white with steel grey and blue accents, lending a masculine feel to the sophisticated setup. It’s impressive.
I clean up and get myself together, wondering how I go about this now. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come here with this intent. I did. I so absolutely did. But now that it’s over and reality has shown her unpleasant face, there’s more at play than just my need for an orgasm. There’s a company on the line -- one that I won’t lose.
My father’s pride, my family’s name, is more important to me than allowing myself to be sucked in by Carver. If he thinks he can get the upper hand here, he’ll think he has the upper hand there.
Waltzing back into the living room, I have to remind myself of what I just said because seeing him sitting on the sofa in nothing more than a clean pair of boxer briefs is enough to stagger even the most focused soul. I’m seeing him for the first time without libido-glasses, but I’m not sure it makes any difference. I’m wet again already.
He’s kicked back, his abdomen carved into perfect squares. The reading lamp behind the furniture shines on him, like it’s showing me what I could have again if I’d just break down and let it happen. His legs are thick and muscled, a line running down the side of his thigh. I can’t. I have to look away.
Making a beeline for my purse on the opposite end of the space, I hear the magazine in his hand ruffle as he sits. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” I say, lifting my handbag. I swallow before turning to face him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Where are you going?” His delectable body, the same one that just ravaged me from behind, stretches in all its glory as he gets to his feet. “I thought maybe we’d go round two … with the tacos.”
I mirror his grin, shaking my head. “It’s getting late and I need to get home. I still have some work to do.”
“It’s almost two in the morning, Amity. Just stay here and get some sleep.”
The word alone makes me yawn.
“Really,” he continues, “you’re running yourself ragged and that says something coming from me. The guy that never stops.”
“I’ll give you a tip,” I say, heading to the foyer. “Raw, unfiltered honey will give you so much energy you won’t be able to stand it. The best brand is at a little farm near Hanley’s. It has bee pollen in it and it’s been my saving grace since I discovered it.”
Yawning again, I place my hand on the door.
“Maybe I should go home with you and get a taste,” he says, trying to hide a grin.
I quirk a brow.
“Of honey,” he clarifies.
“I’m out.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I halfway think that’s part of why I feel so sluggish these days. That and the lack of good, quality foods. And air. And the saltwater from Santa Monica,” I sigh dreamily. “Yet, here we are. And here we stay.”
“I agree. You should stay here,” he laughs. “Just stay the night, Amity. I’ll sleep on
the couch.”
“No, you won’t,” I wink. “You’ll crawl into bed with me in the middle of the night and dazzle me with your wicked ways.”
“So, you were dazzled?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” I swing the door open. “Maybe not.”
Heading into the hallway, I look at him over my shoulder. He’s leaning against the doorframe, one arm grabbing the frame over his head. “Do I get to try again?”
“Probably not,” I say, punching the button for the elevator. “We submit to the Board in a couple of days, and once I’m CEO, that whole handbook thing comes into play.” He starts to protest, but the bell dings and I step inside the car. “Goodnight, Carver.”
I wait to sag against the wall until the doors are firmly closed. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I blow it out steadily.
“You’re fine. Everything is fine,” I whisper to myself. “It’s all about the destination. Not the journey.”
That’s bullshit. Even I know it.
Twelve
Carver
* * *
I settle in across from Marcus at his desk. “I have the Board meeting this week for the CEO spot.”
“That blows. Why won’t they just put you where you belong?”
“Right?” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve been dealing with this bullshit for two weeks now, neglecting the work that needs to be done just to get into position to do the work. Does that make any sense?”
“In a weird way, yes. But I get it—look at what I had to do to get control of this company. I had to convince Priscilla to marry me, and then, on top of that, convince her to have my baby.”
“Don’t even ask me to feel sorry for you,” I laugh. “Marrying and then impregnating Priscilla wouldn’t exactly be what I would consider torture.”
“My wife.” He grins. “Just the sound of that makes me hard.”
“Too much information, man.”
Battle of the Sexes Page 6
