by Liz Crowe
“That’s my Sara.” She startled at his possessive words. “I know what you need. Let me show you.” She nodded as his lips and teeth found her neck. The deep growl of his voice, the way he gripped her, it made her weak and shaky, all reactions new to her in the arms of any man.
He reached back and grabbed the beautiful tie he’d been wearing that morning and raised an eyebrow. Without a second thought, she held out her wrists for him. “No, turn around first.” She trembled as she turned but he held her steady, pulling both arms behind her.
The soft touch of silkiness grazed her flesh. Jack swaddled her skin in the luxurious fabric, then put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her to the floor. He remained behind her, out of her line of vision. Sara tensed, fighting her body’s urge to escape, to reject this scene. Words bubbled up and out of her lips.
“This is really why you wanted me here, right, Jack? I mean, we could’ve done the work over the phone.”
Tension she’d held since the awkward morning meeting he’d invaded ebbed away in spite of her submissive position on her knees. She took a breath, and let the touch of his capable hands on her shoulders relax her. The music changed again and Sara heard laughter in the hall, but somehow, she didn’t care.
“You like this as much as I do. I can tell. Sort of scary, really, how alike we are, isn’t it?” He moved to stand in front of her. She licked her lips at the view she had on her eye level. He put a hand on his zipper, making her tingle in anticipation. But then, he was suddenly eye level with her, his gaze hard. “I haven’t done… this… in a while.” He swallowed hard. “But I think it’s something I need. And I promise you won’t be disappointed.” On his knees in front of her he cupped the back of her neck and drew her in. His lips and tongue were fierce, rough, and possessive. Sara moaned and leaned into him. She gasped when he broke away.
“Please, Jack. I want you to. I’m –”
He cut her off by bringing her to her feet then pressing her into the chair, grinning as he pulled her shaking knees apart. The hand he pressed against her felt hot, burning hot, bringing a moan to her lips.
“Yes, I know. That’s the thing. I know exactly what you want me to do.” He slid her skirt up slowly, hooked a finger in her panties and with a jerk, had them ripped in two. “Don’t ever wear these again.” She nodded and leaned back as he crouched down between her thighs. When his lips touched her, it took a lot of effort not to scream.
“You have to ask me.” His voice was low. “Ask me if you can come.”
The room faded. There was only her and the man between her knees. No anger, no stress, no residual discomfort. Only him.
“May I… oh God.” She gripped her hands together, still bound in the tie behind her back, as he teased her with his tongue. “Please, may I come? Jack?”
“Yes. You may.” He pressed fingers high inside and sucked her clit between his lips. The orgasm ripped through her, tearing her in two as effectively as the discarded silk on the floor.
Jack smiled against Sara’s skin, reveling in the smell and sight of the silky perfection of her most intimate and sensitive areas. The sound of her trying not to yell made his cock swell harder. He had forgotten how much he loved this.
He’d always excelled at taking charge, whether at work, on the golf course, a building site, anywhere. People expected him to do it. He’d been captain of two varsity sports teams in high school and president of his fraternity for two years in college. It seemed natural to fall into a dominant role with his sex partners. But something about it had a dark, hard edge he didn’t like. After going full bore with Jenna for so long only to have her jump into a three-way with his housemates without his permission, without even telling him – he’d doubted himself ever since.
He nuzzled Sara’s pussy once more, his brain buzzing with energy, knowing he’d made a connection with her that wouldn’t be denied. But did he want it? He got to his feet, watching her, one hand on his straining zipper, the other wiping his lips. Her amazing green eyes sparkled as the post-orgasm look he loved stole over her face.
The room darkened. “Stand up.” She rose to her feet. “My turn.” He pressed her to her knees again, groaning at the sight of her shoes, her face. Dear God, everything about the woman flipped every switch he possessed, including the one he thought he’d taped over with an “out of order” sign. The one that might allow the real Jack to escape—the Jack who craved emotional consistency, who wanted to come home and relax with someone who loved him with the same intensity he felt for them. Could this be her?
With a groan he unzipped and released himself to her lips.
She ran her tongue around the edges of his head, slipped it into the slit pearled with fluid. Thighs trembling he slipped his fingers in her silky hair. “All the way down, baby.” She looked up and locked eyes with him before slipping her beautiful mouth over him.
He sucked in a breath, felt his head hit the back of her throat as she relaxed and swallowed him. He eased out, then back in, his brain shutting down and his body taking over. He could handle this. He…
“Oh fuck.” He shoved his hips forward, braced one hand on the wall and let go. Let himself fall. “I’m gonna come,” his voice whispered, but the rush of orgasm roared in his ears, blinding his vision. He’d forgotten how intensely he climaxed when in this mode. “Oh dear God…” He tried one more time not to, then grunted, thrust down her throat once more and released as the room narrowed, went black, then cleared.
Sara had never been a huge fan of giving head. Didn’t even think she did it that well. But when Jack had released his cock in front of her eyes, no force on the planet could have kept her from it. She wanted it in her mouth and down her throat so badly she could barely see.
He tasted salty, musky, and delicious. The sensation of his hands in her hair, the way his hips angled up and his legs spread to keep steady made her whole body thrum and pulse, preparing itself for more.
Her man.
She was pleasing her man and the concept of that when he grunted and exploded down her throat even made her pussy spasm. He kept thrusting, tugging at her hair bringing that edge of pain to her pleasure. When he stilled he immediately reached down to pull her up and into his arms, releasing her wrists so she could wind her body around him.
Dear God, you have it bad. And for Jack Gordon, no less. Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into? Can you handle it? Do you care—as long as he keeps making you feel the way you feel right this minute?
Jack’s kisses had an economy of energy about them – he didn’t waste time trying to devour her entire mouth. He licked her lips, as his breathing evened out. He waited for her to want more and, when she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer, he sighed and wrapped his hands up in her hair. He broke away and moved his lips down her neck, nuzzling and biting into her flesh. He stroked her legs, moving closer up under her skirt to her ass. When he cupped her there, caressing and squeezing, he returned his mouth’s attention to hers.
Oh my God, his lips.
Desire intoxicated her when she realized this was the longest time they’d spent on a kiss in all of their encounters. Forcing all logic deep down under a need that kept roaring in her ears, Sara sighed.
“You do something to me, Sara.” His voice was raspy. “I don’t get it. I don’t even know if I like it. But I can’t get enough of it.”
She felt so alive, so incredibly sexy in these shoes, in the arms of this man desired by so many. His next words only reinforced it.
“My God, I think I could fuck you in those shoes all night.”
Suddenly nervous at the sound of laughter in the hallway, Sara stepped out of his arms and smoothed her skirt down, using some tissue in a box on his desk to wipe her lips. She faced him, not sure what to say. Her heart raced and her mind spun.
Why couldn’t they keep their hands off each other, anyway? He was so irresistible. But so wrong for her. He’d only hurt her in the end. She had to protect herself.
/> He sat, looking a little dazed, and then grinned up at her, tie draped back around his neck. Glancing at the clock Sara realized it was nearly eight o’clock and the office should have emptied out. What now? Should they eat together? Snuggle on a couch? Watch a movie? Or part ways and meet up again next time he was horny?
New Sara was sated, but something else tugged at her subconscious. A need to flee his presence, but at the same time to crawl up into his lap and be petted like a housecat. The two impulses warred, making her dizzy and angry. She had a moment of pure panic. As if sensing it, Jack tugged her into his lap, kissed her neck, and held her close.
“Relax, baby,” he muttered into her ear. “Like I said – I can promise fun. No need to get worked up.” He grinned at her and Sara’s inner alarm clanged. “So, is it a Mexican food night again?”
She arranged her face into a frown, concocting excuses to escape.
“I suppose, but I’m going to yoga at six tomorrow so I wanted to be home early.”
“Yeah, you like the sweaty hour and a half of torture?” He ran a finger down her cheek, jaw, neck.
“No, but I can already see the benefits, so I’m gonna keep going.” She moved away off his lap and sat down in the other chair.
She needed something from him, something she knew damn good and well he’d never give her. He could play at controlling, dominating, being the master of her body, but Jack Gordon did not make emotional connections with women, only physical ones. She realized she should get far away from there before she sunk any deeper. All her own brave talk about merely wanting the base connection with him she’d thrown at her brother was lost in a haze of desire for something more – something she swore she’d never, ever expect from a man again.
“What? Let’s go. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the fruit bowl this morning.”
“You know what, Jack, I’m going to pass on the afterglow dinner.” She reached down to adjust her shoes, gathering her Old Sara together to resist the temptation to drag out their “date.”
“Um, okay, that’s cool.”
Damn. Stop looking at me like that or I will let you fuck me again, and I don’t care who watches.
The words “Don’t expect more from Jack than what’s on the surface,” careened around in her head. Her heartbeat refused to slow. This was her chance. She should take it. Tell him how she really felt. Tell him… what? A familiar panic rose in her throat.
Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t you open your mouth and speak?
But her need for space to think, to process how she felt, overwhelmed her desire to go anywhere else with him.
“You sure? I wanted to try out this new place with you, my little hot pepper lover.”
It was her turn to grin.
“Yep, but thanks anyway.” She grasped the tie that he now had draped around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers for a tantalizing final kiss. She broke it off, turned on her heel and exited, not looking around to see who was watching.
Waving at the remaining agents gathered around a computer, Sara breezed out the door, only barely resisting the extreme temptation to turn around and race back to him. While Old Sara congratulated her on her resolve, both Saras missed the rare look of disappointment and frustration that crossed Jack’s face as he watched her leave.
Jack braced himself against the doorjamb and watched her sashay out, his heartbeat still ringing in his ears from that monster climax. Passing a hand over his face, he eased back inside and shut the door. The room held the distinct smell of sex, and he took in a deep breath of it, wanting to hold it in his memory banks. Then, one word surged through his brain: mistake.
Huge, colossal error in judgment.
He wanted to talk, to feed her dinner with his own fingers, to take her home with him. Why hadn’t he insisted on that and not the lame-ass Mexican restaurant? She deserved better. He stood, stretched, and relished the deep relaxation in his back and hips that only a truly gargantuan orgasm can offer.
Every deal was important to Jack, and he sensed the same thing about Sara. When that piece of shit appraisal had hit his inbox, he couldn’t resist a little thrill of excitement, knowing they would have to work together to fix the potentially colossal problem.
He had tried to tamp down his rising desire at having her in his personal space again, focusing on the task. But when he smelled her perfume the minute she walked into his building, he knew he was a goner. He wanted more than anything to see that well-fucked look again and decided he was going to make it happen.
He had forced himself to stay away from her since their little picnic. The scary sense of falling down a dark hole, of losing control, of letting go and giving in to her completely was something he couldn’t face. Because one thing he did know about his own kink, or fetish, or whatever you wanted to call it – there was more to it than one person in control, and one releasing it. Both parties had to be invested in both sides of the coin, if they were doing it correctly.
So, he dealt with it in the way he’d adopted in years past. Push it away, far away, and stay the hell away from the woman causing it. He’d spent a boring Fourth of July with a few buddies up at Torch Lake, fishing, drinking, and playing poker – a regular sausage fest. Usually time with his friends set him straight. Two were still married and constantly moaning about their wives, and one was divorced but with a new girlfriend no one liked. Jack was their torchbearer. The guy they lived vicariously through. But the weekend did not have the desired effect on him at all.
He had spent most of the time composing his next text to Sara, relishing their sexy contact via the phone. He loved messing with her that way, but knew it was as much for his benefit as hers. He wanted to picture her going about her business, but ready for him. Actually, that was all he did lately, which pissed him off and made him want her more. He was a walking, talking hard-on the entire time, relief only coming in the shower or first thing in the morning, thanks to his good friend Lefty Left Hand. He took endless ribbing from his buddies, but would emerge from his room or the bathroom and flip them off before grabbing another beer.
“Knocking the edge off a bit more than usual, eh, Gordon?”
“Jesus, I gotta see this girl, Jack. Wanna share?” The general nature of the comments from the peanut gallery did nothing but aggravate him.
But with her in his office, it had taken all he had to not sweep her up in his arms, to hold her tight and beg her to go home with him. He could not for the life of him figure out why he didn’t, but the look on her face had forced him to remain nonchalant. That look – skeptical, cynical, somehow reading him for his usual shallow prick persona – it stopped him cold. He had no one but himself to blame.
He should never have gone there with her. That part of him – the part that got bone-shattering release from being on top, from mastering a woman, body and soul – it was dead, killed in the flash of realization all those years ago, in the hard depths of one woman’s eyes and the sound of her derisive laughter. He needed something else from Sara Thornton. Something she was probably not ready to give him.
As he made his way to his car, the smell of Sara on his skin, memory of her sweet pussy tilted up to him, of her offering her body to his control, caused his cock to stir under his trousers.
Christ, I haven’t been this constantly horny since I was a senior in high school.
All he had in his head on the drive home was the gut-deep need for Sara. He wanted her, in his life, in his bed. He was counting the days until he could get inside, truly inside, her again.
Chapter Eight
The Stewart Realty downtown office was designed as sort of a decoy. From the street, it was set up to look like a small coffee shop, with an art gallery, occasional live music and classy, comfortable seating options scattered around the front room.
The high ceilings were exposed to the rafters with expensive lighting designed to look haphazard and casual. The actual offices remained hidden in the back, behind the receptionist’s desk. Up front, fl
at screen TVs stayed tuned to either news or sports, but smaller screens, visible from the sidewalk on a busy downtown street, displayed professional listing videos.
Passersby were curious at first, but now that they understood it the office got all sorts of foot traffic, as people were encouraged to bring in their sack lunches and to open laptops in the space. The carefully selected Realtors who populated the office were consummate yet understated salespeople, knowing when to sit and chat and when to leave people alone.
It was a groundbreaking concept in an age when more and more real estate offices were “virtual.” Aside from actually showing houses, most of the work could be done on a laptop creating reports, or on a smartphone setting appointments. At a time when most buyers found their Realtor at a random open house or by sending an inquiry email from a listing on Realtor.com, finding ways to connect personally remained tough.
So, why not create a place that the Stewarts knew would be a loss leader at first, but be somewhere potential clients would come to associate with an ultra-professional, upscale, boutique sales style? The relaxed and inviting space could even be rented out for private parties. It was not intended to generate a profit for about six or seven years but was already quickly becoming a well-established Ann Arbor entity.
The very attractive receptionist was also a licensed Realtor who knew when to hit the buzzer under her desk to summon the agent on call or when to let the people wander, sit, drink the free coffee or water, and leave them alone. It worked. After four and a half years, it had become one of the top-producing offices in the formidable Stewart Realty empire. An inordinate amount of luxury and super-luxury homes got listed and sold by the agents within it and Sara was no exception. The report she had been trying to generate would garner a listing the potential sellers had valued at two-point-five million, but at the moment, Sara was struggling to justify at just over half of that amount.
