Looking Inside

by BETH KERY

  Hopefully it was the latter.

  Unfortunately for him, if it was the latter, he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d found out precisely why she was avoiding him.

  How dare she avoid him, anyway?

  What kind of a woman put on a show like the one she’d put on in her window last night, a mind-blowing display of sensuality and raw eroticism, and then backed off? She’d walked away . . . fucking walked away after turning him into a steaming, frustrated, teeth-gnashing sexual voyeur. He, Trey Riordan, didn’t watch passively, damn it. At least not for the long term, he didn’t. When it came to sex, he participated. He initiated.

  He did.

  For seemingly the thousandth time since last night, he relived that moment when she’d gone belly down on the bed, stuck her gorgeous bare ass in the air and reached between her spread thighs. He’d known the precise moment when she’d climaxed. He’d seen her body stiffen and quake, perfectly sensed her rush of relief and pleasure.

  His cock swelled at the mere memory.

  Unwanted erections happened with the regularity of his remembering, which wasn’t helping his straining attempt at celibacy in the least. Hell, sometimes it seemed like he couldn’t see anything else in his sex-warped mind’s eye than the vision of her lithe, curving body moving so sexily while she played with her breasts. It’d been damn hard concentrating at work today, and nearly impossible to sleep last night next to the window that she’d single-handedly turned into a giant erotic television screen with no off button.

  She’d known where he lived all along. There was no other conclusion to be made. She’d seen him in his home before, and knew precisely what she was doing by inviting him to become a voyeur.

  The idea blew him away.

  She’d been so beautiful. So uninhibited, so subtle, and yet so blatantly precise in her seduction. She’d been so skilled at jerking his strings, she might as well have been the puppet master born to manipulate not only his cock, but also his brain.

  No.

  Frowning, he moved restlessly in his chair and stared down at his opened book. Hadn’t he grown weary of being manipulated? He did not want to know anything more about her. Enough was enough. She’d given him the relief of an explosive orgasm while he watched her do her Salome’s dance and bring herself off, but he wasn’t going to lose his head to that little tease.

  In reality, any relief he’d experienced had been far too brief anyway. Thirty seconds after she’d walked away and left him standing there like an idiot with his streaming cock in his hand, he’d craved her all over again. He’d been pissed as hell, but still . . . he’d wanted whatever measly glimpse she’d give him.

  Pitiful.

  His pocket buzzed.

  He glanced aside at his fellow readers, feeling vaguely guilty. He’d given his tablet to the woman at the entrance along with one of his cell phones, but he’d kept a spare in his pocket. TalentNet was in the process of hiring a renowned programmer from Singapore for its website for its rapidly expanding Pac Rim market. Trey really needed to talk one-on-one with this guy, but due to the time difference, they kept missing each other. Before he’d left the office this evening, he’d told his admin, Theresa, to give his alternative cell phone number to the programmer and left instructions for him to call no matter what time it was. He’d be forced to duck into the bathroom and secretly take the call. Business was business, as abhorrent as that philosophy was to the aims and goals of the reading event.

  As unobtrusively as possible, he slid the cell phone out of his pants pocket, hiding it behind Pride and Prejudice. He saw the photo on the screen of a beautiful woman. He grimaced and pushed the ignore button. A text message popped up with amazing rapidity.

  Hey you. Do you know what today would have been? Our six-month anniversary. I’ll be in town over the weekend. I miss you, Trey. So much. Meet me Friday at our usual spot for a drink, say at five?

  No strings attached.

  Shit. Definitely not a work call. It was Alessandra, his former girlfriend whom he’d met in London and with whom he’d carried out a hot-and-heavy, volatile and increasingly unpleasant affair. He wouldn’t reply. And he certainly wouldn’t meet her on Friday. Alessandra was British and didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. She hadn’t realized it was a holiday weekend when she proposed to meet. Or she had realized it, and had just assumed Trey would be spending the holiday conveniently alone. He’d spoken of his family often enough in front of her, but talk of his parents, his brother and his sister’s family seemed to skim right past her. He’d never offered to introduce her to them, so for Alessandra, it was easier to act like they didn’t exist.

  He’d forgotten Alessandra had this number. Although he shouldn’t have forgotten, because the reason she had it related to their breakup. She’d discovered his alternative cell phone number by digging through his other phone’s texts while Trey was in the shower one morning. She’d located the message where he’d supplied Theresa with the alternative number. Then she’d proceeded to accuse him of sleeping with Theresa behind her back. Trey had been so pissed she’d been nosing around in his texts that he hadn’t bothered correcting her about Theresa being his administrative assistant, not a bedmate. Let her think whatever she wanted.

  Alessandra had eventually found out the truth later, of course, and been contrite. She would have made a great detective. When she set her mind to it, she could choke the truth out of almost any situation. Her manipulations could strangle almost anything, including a relationship.

  Alessandra was beautiful, yeah, and enthusiastic and skilled in bed. But like too many women he’d dated in the past, it was just way too hard, not to mention depressing as hell, to figure out what was real about her and what was a lie.

  He was sliding the phone slyly back into his pocket when he saw rapid movement. He looked up in time to see her drop into her seat just feet in front of him, all legs and sexy, tousled hair. She gave him a sideways glance, and he stiffened.

  Why did she look so skittish?

  Her gaze flickered down his body. He knew she’d noticed the phone when she quickly glanced back up at his face and gave a wry, knowing smile. He found himself smirking conspiratorially back. He pushed the phone all the way into his pocket and straightened in his chair, looking her over more carefully and with mounting interest.

  She’d come.

  He glanced across the room when he noticed restless movement in his periphery. He wasn’t the only one in the room who had perked up at her entrance. Little minx. It annoyed the hell out of him. He didn’t want to share her. He wanted her to himself, like he’d had her last night.

  No . . . he wanted her in his bed, tied down to it preferably, at his mercy while he proceeded to do whatever he wanted to her, and she screamed in pleasure. This game she was playing was starting to grate on him and yet . . .

  He couldn’t look away from her.

  She looked edible again. Sexy and sophisticated, but also very . . . doable, for lack of a better word. There was a softness to her, an approachability that he liked. Her eyes were amazing: large, especially in comparison to her delicate face. They shone like her brown hair did. Despite her polish and sleek, fashionable clothing, she didn’t come off as hard and brittle like so many women he knew. Her combination of boldness and freshness was unexpected, unusual, and too damn appealing.

  But there was a new expression on her pretty face he couldn’t quite pin down tonight. She was flushed. Was that because she’d been rushing to get here? Or possibly—hopefully—from excitement? Arousal?

  She regarded him anxiously from beneath long lashes.

  No. She was embarrassed.

  His unlikely realization was only confirmed when she ducked her head, letting her long mane of glossy brown hair partially obscure her profile. She grabbed her book out of her purse so rapidly, it was like she thought it was a sacred relic that was going to save her. He half
expected her to hold up the unlikely book as a shield against him.

  Then she crossed those long, booted legs that had become indelibly etched into his brain. And with her brow wrinkling in a kind of furious determination that—he couldn’t help it—he found adorable, she parted the pages. Without even removing her coat, she began to read her erotic book like she thought it held the truth of the universe in its pages.

  —

  Her determination began to disintegrate the closer she got to the museum. If she hadn’t caught him breaking the rules of the event by sneaking a glance at his cell phone, she might not have had the nerve to stay. Witnessing Trey’s small instance of rule breaking had humanized him a little, though, making it easier for her to continue her daring charade.

  It’d been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, to walk into that coffee house tonight and meet his stare . . . to face up to a man she didn’t even know, but for whom she’d stripped and masturbated the night before. A mixture of embarrassment and arousal caused heat to rush into her cheeks at the memory. She quickly ducked her head and forced her fragmenting focus onto the page.

  He pinned my wrists behind my back and forced me against the front of his body. I struggled, but I was almost choking with excitement at his dominance . . . at the obvious evidence of his arousal.

  “Stop fighting,” he said, his mouth slanting in impatience and anger.

  I immediately went still. I looked up at the harsh lines of his handsome face, panting. The anger left his expression as he studied me. A fire seemed to ignite and flare in his black eyes.

  “Have you ever been restrained, Katya? Have you ever been tied up by a man and punished? Have you ever been fucked very hard, and for the man’s pleasure alone, and had no choice but to take it?”

  “No. And I don’t want to be,” I replied quickly.

  “You’re lying,” he said without any heat, as if he stated the obvious. His gaze lowered over my neck and chest. I felt his cock jump against me, the sensation making my blood race. “Your pulse is going a mile a minute. Your nipples are hard,” he added grimly as he stared down at my breasts. “Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked, a small, deadly smile shaping his beautiful mouth. And I hated him in that moment, despised him, because I wanted his mouth on me so much, the desire sliced straight through me.

  “No,” I seethed.

  His eyes narrowed, his stare boring into me.

  “I’m going to taste you anyway. Aren’t I, Katya?”

  Liquid warmth rushed through me. My lungs froze.

  I lifted my mouth to him. Slowly, entranced by his mesmerizing eyes, I opened my lips. A blazing look of triumph crossed his features before he leaned down, plunging his tongue into my mouth, shaping my lips roughly to his. He kissed me hard at first. Ruthlessly. I cried out into his mouth, but he held me at his mercy, taking from me with savage, focused greed. He hurt me a little.

  But then he softened. He made love to me with his mouth . . . just his mouth. He sipped and sucked and stroked me. He made his desire my own, and my pain slowly turned into a golden, decadently sweet surrender.

  Finally, he lifted his mouth. I quaked against him, completely unmasked.

  “Alex Jordan is due for a meeting here in a few minutes,” Xander said.

  My heart stopped beating.

  “Go to the door and lock it. Alex will have to wait until you’ve gotten what you deserve.”

  My heart leapt. He was going to have me now. He was going to do what he’d said: Tie me up. Punish me. Fuck me. The idea of feeling his cock finally driving into my body stole my breath. I left his arms and crossed his large office, my breath coming choppily. I flipped the lock.

  When I turned, I saw that he stood behind his desk. He took some keys from his pocket and bent. He was unlocking it: that very drawer that I’d tried to open so many times before while I was alone in his office, my heart beating out an excited warning in my ears that he may return any moment and catch me at my little crime.

  I heard the forbidden drawer slide open.

  He reached inside. I watched him place first one set of leather cuffs, then another on his desk. He leaned down again and withdrew a two-foot wooden paddle. He straightened and met my stare, grasping the handle with one hand and caressing the striking portion with the other.

  “You’ve tried to get into this drawer before, haven’t you, Katya?” he asked me calmly.

  I started to deny it, but his eyes wouldn’t let me.

  “Yes.”

  “You were curious, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He nodded once, unsurprised by my admission, and set down the paddle next to the cuffs. He bent again, grabbing one more item before he slammed the drawer shut. I trembled when I saw what he’d withdrawn: a box of condoms.

  “I’m glad that you were curious. It pleases me,” he said as he began to loosen his tie. “But you’ll have to accept the consequence of your curiosity.” She saw his eyes spark with dark amusement. “That will please me as well,” he said. “Now. Come here, Katya.”

  Oh my. Eleanor resisted an urge to fan herself. This book certainly helped her forget her insecurities and self-consciousness. Still, just like the other night, it was the man sitting just feet away from her that was the actual focus of her arousal. Lord, it was hot in here, wasn’t it? It suddenly struck her that she’d been so flustered when she entered late a few minutes ago, she hadn’t removed her coat.

  Would she like to do the things written about in this book? Maybe. But if Trey wasn’t there, she wasn’t so sure she’d find the book quite so exciting. Xander and Trey might both be sexual dominants, but somehow, Trey was different than the infamous fictional icon. He was infinitely more vibrant and scintillating, at least to her he was. She’d spied on him making love maybe six or seven times in the past, enough for her to reach that conclusion. The thing that turned her on the most about Trey was his strength in the bedroom, the way he confidently and precisely positioned a woman in order to give pleasure or to take it wholesale. He didn’t seem to get off on seeing his lover in pain. Instead, he seemed determined, forceful even, in his mission to challenge a woman, to amplify pleasure.

  Eleanor also didn’t think she was the “born submissive” that Katya was supposed to be, but she had to admit . . . the combination of reading the racy book and Trey watching her with that smoldering stare and stern expression was making her hot.

  Gritting her teeth for courage, she set her book facedown on the table and stood. Very aware of Trey looking up at her movement, she seductively flicked open the belt of her coat, her fingers stroking the fabric. She paused in the action, heat pouring through her. It’d hit her that she’d used the same movement to unfasten the laces on the suede camisole during her striptease last night.

  She glanced sideways at Trey. Her lungs stuck on an inhale. One look had told her he was recalling the exact same moment. His stare was glued to her hands at her waist, his expression rigid.

  She pulled apart the belt and slowly unfastened the buttons of the coat. She cautiously glanced sideways around the curtain of her hair. When she reached the button above her crotch, she pressed the cloth tighter, giving her pussy a little jolt of pleasure with her twitching fingers. Trey flinched slightly, his gaze jumping to her face. He looked so tense. Wait . . . was he angry? She was pushing him too far. He was getting pissed off at her teasing.

  Maybe he’d like to spank me.

  She mentally rolled her eyes at her stupid cliché thought, but arousal swelled in her nevertheless at the mere idea. She pushed the coat off her shoulders. Her back arched slightly. It was conceited of her to think it, but she knew her breasts looked good beneath the clinging knit: firm and full and nicely shaped. She draped her coat on the back of the chair and sat. With her fingertips, she traced the top hem of the romper and the bare skin of her thigh, seemingly pulling down
the fabric, but being pretty ineffective on purpose.

  She glanced to the left. His gaze was still glued to her, and it was positively ravenous. Arousal swelled in her. She couldn’t help it. She loved getting a reaction out of him. It was addictive.

  She picked up her book and uncrossed her legs, feeling the air tickling her warm, tingling sex. With Trey’s stare scoring her, she continued reading.

  He made me strip naked, while he remained dressed in his suit, his loosened tie his only concession to the raw eroticism of what was happening. But I found I loved even that, the reminder of his dominance over me. This was an equal exchange, but ours was a very different sexual currency. My skin seemed unusually sensitive when I finally stood before him naked, my arms hugging my waist in a self-conscious gesture.

  “Put your hands at your sides. Never hide yourself from me,” he said. When I’d done what he asked, his gaze trailed down over me, such a cold stare to make me burn like it did. Finally he looked at my face again. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. Maybe it was my imagination, but his deep voice seemed to crack slightly. He moved, picking up one of the leather restraints from his desk. He knelt in front of me and tapped my left ankle gently. “Spread your legs several inches. Good,” he said. He fastened a black leather cuff on each of my ankles. There was a foot-long chain attached to the cuffs. He straightened, his face impassive, and reached for the other restraint.

  “Put your hands behind your head,” he directed, walking behind me. My breathing hitched at the sensation of him tightening the cuffs around my wrists. “Now cup the back of your head with your palms to give yourself support,” he said. “If you should begin to cramp or become uncomfortable, you must say so. A paddling on your ass is your punishment. I won’t have you in any discomfort for other reasons. Do you understand?” I nodded, too breathless to speak. “You agree to tell me if your arms become uncomfortable? Say it out loud, Katya.”