by Tessa Layne
She squirms, and my erection throbs between us, hot and hard. “Is that how you greet all the ladies?” She asks with a coy smile.
I’m flustered, and bothered, and not thinking with my right mind. “Are you packing?”
Her smile widens. “Are you going to frisk me?”
“I’m going to do a helluva lot more than frisk you,” I growl as I roll us to the side, and rise, bringing her with me. I turn her around and propel her into the hall, steering her toward my office.
“Ooh,” she says casting an eager glance over her shoulder. “Are you going to strip search me?”
A giggle escapes her, and it gives me pause. She’s got to be teasing me, egging me on to see what I’m going to do. “Do I need to?”
“Hmm, that depends.”
I shut the door behind me and lock it. If she’s packing, she’s wearing a leg holster. I didn’t feel a harness across her back when I was checking for injury. “Ass on the desk. Now.”
She complies, eyes expectant. Warning bells are screaming in my head. The more I try to intimidate her, the more excited she becomes, and I’m discovering it arouses the fuck out of me, this one-upmanship.
“Lie back on your elbows, spread your legs. She’s grinning like a goddamned Cheshire Cat, and it sets something on fire, deep inside my belly. I loom over her, sliding my fingers along the underside of the white vee-neck tee shirt she’s wearing. “First, I’m going to frisk you. Slowly.”
I take my time, caressing each curve, sliding under the swell of her breast, avoiding the most sensitive part of her there, because I won’t give her the satisfaction. Yet. By the time my hand is at the waistband of her black slacks, her breathing is shallow. I caress the curve of a hip, then across the gentle swell of her belly to the other. Her hips rock up to meet my hand, but I avoid her pussy, avoid giving her the friction I can see she wants. Her mouth has dropped open, and she’s watching me through heavy lidded eyes. It’s easy to see she’s not wearing a thigh holster, but I caress the inside of her thighs anyway. I find the holster at her left ankle. I draw up the pant leg and begin to work the holster free.
This is the first time I see worry in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you want me to,” I add with a wink. “But I have a strict ‘no guns’ rule in my establishment. I remove the gun from its holster and double check the safety. I half expect a Glock, because the thought has crossed my mind that maybe she’s a Fed, but it’s smaller than the standard issue government weapon. At any rate, I tuck the weapon into my desk drawer. “I’ll return this to you when you leave. But in the meantime.” I bend over her again, running my hand down her thigh. “Unless you have objections, I believe a strip search is in order.”
She hesitates, and I freeze, hand at her knee.
“Roxi?” Her hesitation makes me uneasy, and I step away. “Why are you here?”
“Because I missed you,” she answers with a slow smile. Whatever internal struggle was taking place inside her mind has been resolved, because her hand moves to the button on her slacks. “I’m ready for my strip search now.”
She says it so primly that I burst out laughing. “God I missed your humor,” I say as my hand joins hers and I help her shimmy out of her pants.
“See?” She drops her knees wide. “No weapons.”
“I’m not so sure. You’ll need to remove your shirt.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll have to turn you over and spank you.”
Her eyes light. “Promise?”
I nod slowly. I’d love nothing more than to see my palm print pink up that sweet porcelain ass.
Her voice drops as a blush spreads across her cheeks. “Would you do it anyway?”
“If you asked nicely.” Because, hell, yes.
She pulls her shirt over her head, drops it to the floor alongside her pants, and flips to her side, propping up her head with her hand. She’s wearing a matching see-through set of barely blush pink underwear. So transparent, I can see her neatly trimmed copper curls as easily as I can see her dusky areolas, and the burgeoning peaks of her nipples. My mind is stuck on a treadmill. She came here today to get laid. Obviously. But why? And how did she find me? And why haven’t I been able to find her? The more primal part of my brain shouts back who cares? Just the other day I was fantasizing about this very thing — Roxi naked on my desk. And she’s here. Who the fuck cares why? Take the pussy, ask questions later.
“Danny?” she asks, voice soft and breathy.
Whatever it is, no matter how insane, I already know I’ll say yes. Her amber eyes are wide, her mouth pouty, and her voice… might just bring me to my knees. “What is it sweetheart?” I reply softly.
“Would you spank me?”
Jesus fuck. I swear my cock grows to epic proportions, that I’ve never been this hard, ever. I nod, because I’ve momentarily lost the capacity to speak. “On your hands and knees,” I say when I can speak again. I don’t recognize my voice.
Her panties are cut high across her ass, leaving the sweet curves of her cheeks exposed. The slap echoes when it lands, and a pink mark springs up. My next strike is on the other side, because symmetry. “Is that how you like it?”
She nods, wiggling her ass. “Yes, just like that.”
I continue, mesmerized by the color that splashes across her flesh, and the way she begins to rock her hips, like she’s seeking friction after each blow. “Does this make you wet?”
“God, yes,” she says with a little moan.
“Show me,” I rasp. “Touch yourself and show me.”
She slips a hand underneath her panties, and I slap her as she fingers herself, which draws an even deeper moan from her throat. I can tell if I continue, she’ll come in short order, but I want her to come on my fingers, or my mouth, or on my cock.
“Show me,” I order.
She pulls her hand from her panties and holds it out, fingers glistening with her wetness. I lick them clean, the taste of her even better than I remembered.
I’m overcome with the need to be inside her, to encase myself in her tight heat. I jerk open a drawer, grab a condom, and toss it onto the desk as I start to pull my shirt free. Roxi watches avidly as I release the buttons on my shirt, making pleased little humming sounds as more of my chest is exposed. She spins and scrambles off the desk, crowding into me, forcing me into my giant leather swivel chair. She drops to her knees, raking her fingernails over my abs before fiddling with the buttons on my slacks. The sound of the zipper fills the space, and it’s erotic as fuck. Even more so when she slips a hand underneath the waistband of my boxer briefs and releases my cock. I let out a noise of pure animal pleasure as she grips my length and pulls up, squeezing just underneath the crown.
She bends, hair spilling across my lap like a blanket, my hips jerk when her tongue skates across the head, lapping up the sheen of precome that has gathered. It’s hot, and wet, and when she takes me fully into her mouth, tongue sliding against my shaft, I think I must have died. All rational thought flies from my head, there’s only her mouth on my cock, sucking and licking at me until I think I’m going to explode. “Stop,” I utter through clenched teeth. “Condom.”
She raises her head, eyes wide, lips wet, and gives me an assessing stare.
“Now, Roxi.”
She laughs quietly, then proceeds to take her damn time rising and perches on the edge of the desk, hand hovering at the waistband of her panties, mouth twitching. She’s fucking taunting me and loving every second.
“Roxi.” My voice is heavy with warning.
She smirks. “Oooh, are you going to spank me some more?”
I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do, or if I’m going to survive the exquisite agony of waiting. “Panties off, condom on,” I growl.
She hooks a thumb underneath the fabric, like she’s going to pull, but then changes her mind, and her hands reach for her bra clasp. I can see the second the clasp is free, the front gaps slightly, and sh
e shimmies her shoulders, freeing the straps, and dropping the bra. I’m a fan of the striptease, the way it builds anticipation. I lick my lips, imagining what it will be like when I take a tight bud into my mouth. She turns around, and bares her ass to me first.
“Tease,” I utter, gripping the arms of the chair.
“Yes, indeed.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Just remember, payback, sweetheart.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she shoots back as she slowly turns, kicking her panties off. The copper curls at her apex are wet with her arousal, and I want so badly to touch her. But I want her pussy on my cock more.
“Come here.”
She swipes the condom off the desk and tears it open. But she’s not done torturing me. She runs a finger down my shaft, so hard it’s dark red, tracing the vein that throbs painfully. “So big,” she whispers. “So hungry.”
“I swear to god, Roxi,” I choke. “Give me the condom.”
She makes a humming noise in her throat. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“I’m done waiting,” I say tightly.
It’s sweet relief when she rolls the condom over my aching cock, then climbs on the chair, positioning herself above me. “This is the best part,” she murmurs, sliding onto me, seating herself fully. At this moment, I agree, because fuck, I want to weep with the relief of finally being wrapped in her. She wiggles her hips, and her walls squeeze tight around me. We’re not exactly at an angle for thrusting, but she begins to rock, taking a slow languid pace at odds with our breathing, which is rapid and shallow. She offers up her tits. “Suck.”
Like I’d ever say no. I dive in, taking one peak and sucking hard, grazing my teeth along the sensitive skin, while I roll her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger, giving a little pinch. She grunts in satisfaction, and clenches harder around my cock as she continues to rock.
“I’ve dreamed of this, of you filling me up,” she utters on a sharp exhale. “I’m close,” she pants.
Her movements become more rhythmic, more intense, and I follow her, sucking and licking like a starving man, meeting her rocking hips with pulses of my own, pushing into her as far as I can. She bears down at the same time as she cries out, and I’m right there with her, orgasm exploding out of me with the force of an atom bomb. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise as I empty myself into her with a shout, vision spotting and going black. She drops her head to my shoulder, breathing hard. “Fuck, Roxi. What was that?” I ask when I can finally speak again.
“I have no idea.” Her voice is filled with surprise, wonder, even. “But I liked it.”
Understatement of the year. “Yeah. Me too.”
We sit quietly, wrapped in each other, lost in a post-orgasmic fog. I realize two things as my brain boots back to life. First, I’m utterly and completely addicted to sex with this woman, and I will do anything to keep her close. Second, and more sobering, is that I need to stay as far away from Roxi Rickoli as I can. Because she’s exactly the type of woman who will be my downfall.
Chapter Six
She slips off my lap and we begin the ritual of putting ourselves back together. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does, that there’s no awkwardness, or pretense. As if getting a little kinky and fucking in my office was the most normal thing in the world.
I watch fascinated, as she dresses. Roxi is completely at ease with her body, and I swear, she knows I’m watching and enjoys it, putting extra sway in her hips as she shimmies into her slacks. The only awkward moment comes when she glances around, and I instantly know she’s looking for her firearm. I wonder what happened in her life to make her think of a gun as an extension of her body.
I sit on the corner of the desk as she tucks her tee shirt into her pants. I cut to the chase. Small talk isn’t my forte. “Why are you really here, Roxi?”
She tenses. She’s been waiting for the question, I can see it in the way her face tightens, and her eyes flick around the room.
I brace for the hammer to drop, because there’s always a hammer.
She takes a deep breath and exhales roughly, giving me an overly bright smile. “So…” she clears her throat. “I’m your new bar manager.”
It takes a full minute for her words to sink in. I hold up a finger. “Wait.” I shake my head, still not fully comprehending. “What? Lisa’s not due for another couple of months.”
“Actually, her due date is in a month, and she should have called you?”
I have no idea if she’s called me. “I haven’t exactly been in a position to check my phone,” I snap, hiding my embarrassment with aggression. I stalk out of the office and down the hall to the stockroom, where I dropped my bag. I snatch it up and fumble for my phone as I return to the office, making sure to shut the door behind me. Sure enough, it looks like Lisa called three times, and sent half a dozen texts. The short of it corroborating Roxi’s story. She went into early labor and called the bar-sub agency to send someone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“You’ll have to go back.” I say with a determined scowl.
She looks taken aback. “Why?”
“Because I don’t fuck my employees,” I shout, coming perilously close to losing my shit completely. And if she’s not working for me, then maybe I can convince her to see me again.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow with determination. “I have no problem keeping it in my pants.”
“That’s not the point,” I grit.
“Then what is?” She crosses her arms, pushing her tits up in the process. “You got a problem with these?” She glances down at her rack, effectively calling me out.
“Not at all. But we’ve already crossed lines that are unacceptable in employee-boss relationships.”
“It sounds like the problem’s yours. I have no problem controlling myself.”
“Or not seeing me again?”
Regret briefly flashes in her eyes, but then it’s replaced with resolve. “I need this job.”
My mouth pulls tight and I shake my head. “This is a demanding job that requires discretion and talent.”
“And?”
“I’m demanding. Ask Lisa. I’m a mean boss. Long hours, little thanks.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You sound like every boss I’ve ever had.”
“I only work with the best.”
She rolls her shoulders back, eyes challenging me. “I am the best.”
“Prove it.”
“With or without my clothes on?” She teases, arching a brow.
I growl. “Get behind the bar and make me an Old Fashioned.” A proper old fashioned that shows off the whiskey used is the mark of a good bartender.
She makes a face and flounces out the door, hips swaying with extra swagger. Jesus fucktits. I’ve got to figure out how to get her out of my bar and into my bed, because this working together shit won’t fly. She marches behind the bar, grabs a tumbler and a shaker, setting them both extra-hard on the counter. Slamming is more like it. She examines our selection of premium whiskeys — her first test. All of them are too fine to pollute with a cocktail. She pulls the house whiskey, my whiskey, from the bottom shelf. I’ll give her points for buttering up her new boss. She drops a sugar cube into the shaker, along with a splash of Grand Marnier. Interesting choice, but I keep an open mind. She adds angostura bitters and muddles. Then she adds the whiskey, ice, and shakes it like a goddamned pro. She’s got flare, I’ll give her that — like only people who’ve worked in New York or Vegas have. She drops a large square ice-cube in the cocktail glass, peels part of a lemon and lines the rim. I cross my arms. I’d never add lemon, but I’ll wait to taste it. She pours out the cocktail, then peels off a fat slice of orange rind. To my surprise, she holds it over the glass with a lighter, flames it and drops it into the glass, finishing it off with an Amarena cherry.
She slides it across the bar with a satisfied grin. “Try it.”
I take a hefty sip. It’s… delicious. The lemon is
a bright twist and brings out more citrus notes in the whiskey. The Grand Marnier adds a layer of both sweet and bitter that is supremely pleasing. I could drink six of these. Which makes my conundrum even worse — she’s good. Maybe even better than Lisa. But she can’t stay. “Where’d you learn to bartend like that?
“Vegas.”
I was right. That also means there has to be a record of her someplace. “How’d you end up here?”
She shrugs and begins to clean up. “I was ready for a change.”
“That’s a bullshit answer, and we both know it.”
She freezes, bar towel inside the shaker.
I pounce. “How come I can’t find a record of you anywhere, Roxi? It’s like you don’t exist.”
“Maybe your vetting skills need polishing.”
“And maybe you’re full of shit.” I lean over the bar. “Are you a fed? Is that why I can’t find a trace of you anywhere? No social media, no work records, nothing.”
She turns, eyes flashing. “Some of us stay off social for personal reasons. Are you on social?”
I’m not, and the way she poses the question makes me wonder if she looked for me, too.
When I don’t answer, she continues. “Maybe some of us don’t want to be found. By anyone.”
The way she spits out the word ‘anyone’ jars something loose inside me. I give myself a mental slap. “Whoever he is. I’ll keep you safe,” I declare, giving in to my deepest protective instincts.
She stares at me through stormy eyes, mouth tight. “Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”
