Public Relations

by Tibby Armstrong

  Her hips bucked, and he placed his hands on them to hold her down. To force her to take the painful pleasure he commanded and coaxed from her sensitive nerve endings. Sweat coated the backs of her knees and ran down her calves. Peter cavalierly threw both her legs over his shoulders and palmed her ass, canting her hips upward so her pussy better received his tongue. Each lingual thrust brought him deeper within her, stretching walls that pulsed with the aftereffects of her orgasm.

  Keening cries crested, seeming to bounce from her lungs on each shock of pleasure he wrought. She lifted against him, building her own orgasm, not even able—much less daring—to think how many spanks she’d earned in the last thirty seconds alone. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he bit her clit between his lips and sucked hard. Her knees clamped around his ears, and her hips shot out of his hands as she came with a shriek that probably had neighbors three stories below calling the cops.

  “Oh Georgia,” he said, his laugh wicked as he raised his head and met her barely focused stare with his glinting gaze. “You are so much fun.”

  PETER REGARDED GEORGIA, noting her mottled skin and flashing gaze. She breathed hard, her chest heaving with each gasp as if her body attempted to wring oxygen from the air around her rather than filter the stuff in. Her fingers gradually loosened their grip on his hair, and her arms fell away.

  “Ready for your punishment?” he asked, his cock so hard he didn’t know how he managed to speak in a normal tone, much less get the words out.

  Lashes fluttering, she slowly seemed to register his question. He knew she’d grasped his meaning and intent when her eyes went wide.

  “Come on now,” he cajoled, knowing he’d never hurt her. Knowing he only meant to bring her more pleasure than she could stand. “You know you earned it.”

  She licked her lips and struggled to straighten up on the counter. He released his hold on her legs and slipped them from his shoulders. Holding out one hand, palm up, he gave her the ultimate mind fuck. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you comfortable.”

  The wobble in her abdomen had to be acute given the way she sucked in her breath on a whimper. He took her hand and drew her gently off the counter and into his arms. One hand at her lower back, he pressed her into his erection and waited for her to notice how hard he was, how aching and crazy he was, all for her.

  “I’m going to spank you, sweetheart,” he said. “And then I’m going to fuck you. Just like I promised.”

  He tilted her chin up and kissed her lips in a lingering gesture. Hard enough to tell her he meant business, tender enough to make her feel safe.

  “Trust me?” he asked.

  Her gaze skittered around the room before she pulled her lip between her teeth and met his eyes and nodded.

  “Good.” He kissed the top of her head and turned her gently toward the table before pushing her forward onto its smooth surface.

  Palms down, she seemed to feel around blindly until he pressed firmly at her lower back. She lowered the rest of the way, cheek sideways on the table, and breathed out a trembling sigh. He leaned low, his torso along her back, his erection snugged to the cleft of her ass.

  “I’d never hurt you,” he said, echoes of that timid question she’d asked him on the first night at his parents’ house rolling through his mind.

  “I know. I want this. It makes me”—she closed her eyes, clearly torn between embarrassment and desire—“wet.”

  In reward for her honesty, he brought his hand between them and pushed past her skirt to seek her heat beneath. She widened her stance a fraction, and he hummed his approval as his fingers found the silken flesh of her pussy. If she’d been aroused before—and he knew she had been—she was dripping now. All slippery warmth and peach-soft plumpness, her sex wept for his cock. His cock answered with a surge of its own lubrication, and he barely bit back a groan.

  “Ask me, Georgia,” he said. “Ask me to spank you.”

  She tensed, her hips lifting as she moved forward on the table, most likely to her toes. Her mewling whimper undid him. To coax her along and give himself time to regroup, he paused, withdrawing his fingers from her sex, brushing only the lightest of touches along her lips.

  “Or don’t you want me to fuck you?” he murmured.

  “Spank me.” Her gasp was a near wail. “Just do it and fuck me.”

  She had him at spank me. Standing, pushing her skirt up her hips, he exposed her bottom and administered the first slap before either of them had time to take another breath. He’d lied to her. He hadn’t been able to keep count of the number of times she’d moved or cried out while on the counter. So he decided to spank her pink—to put a rosy blush on her cheeks, one he knew would reach to her clit and prime her for her third orgasm by the time he entered her.

  He wanted to bring her over four times. Four and he’d be satisfied he’d done right by her. That she would think of him every time she sat, every time she breathed, for the rest of the week, even when he couldn’t be with her.

  Each light slap against Georgia’s ass cheeks lifted the rounded flesh and set it bouncing. He played with her, alternating cheeks just to see if he could administer the next slap before the jiggling vibration stopped. She rocked forward with each blow, her breath coming in little gasps that carried with them a surprised little huff. As if she couldn’t believe a punishment could feel so good.

  Heat built beneath his hand, telling him when she’d likely had enough—when the line of pleasure blurred with pain and left her nerve endings a wicked combination of needy and confused. One hand gripping her ass, alternating massaging circles with light squeezes, Peter unzipped his trousers with the other. Viscous fluid coated his underwear, sticking his cock to the cotton. He separated himself from the fabric and positioned himself behind Georgia.

  Holding her by the hip, he angled his cock and pressed forward, stopping just in time as he remembered the condom. With shaking hands and an emphatic curse, he excavated the foil packet from his wallet, tore open the square, and rolled the latex down his cock. Properly jacketed, he angled himself once more, this time reaching around Georgia to pinch her clit as he shoved deep inside with one thrust.

  Tight.

  Hot.

  She came, fluttering around him and bucking back, increasing the pressure around his cock and in his balls. He closed his eyes as sensation surged up his shaft, and barely dared to breathe, much less move, until Georgia’s fingers ceased spasming against the table and her cries quieted to throaty gasps. God, if they’d been skin to skin, with nothing between them, he would’ve shot the moment he’d breached her snug entrance.

  With deliberate care, he began to move in full-length thrusts that had his cock emerging before he penetrated her once more. In one hand, he gathered her hair and gently tugged to arch Georgia up and back as he drew away to watch where their bodies joined. The pink globes of her ass separated beautifully as she widened her stance and exposed her intimate recesses to him. Glistening lips fluttered around his cock, her pussy opening for him hungrily again and again.

  The tempo of his thrusts increased, the slap of skin on skin registering in time with the quickening of his pulse. With each breath in, the tightness in his quads and abs increased, pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return. On the precipice, he slowed a fraction and hung in midair, gliding on the gentle air currents until his release became a buffeting breeze that could no longer sustain his flight. He soared high, and higher, approaching the sun, and lost his wings to the burning heat. Plunging to the ground, embraced in ecstasy’s downward spiral, he’d never been so grateful for gravity’s pull.

  When he came back to himself, Peter realized he didn’t know whether Georgia had come a fourth time or not. Judging from the way she could barely lift from the table when he finally managed to heave off her, he’d bet she had.

  “Let’s never do that again,” she said, pushing her hands from her face.

  His stomach lurched, and he tucked himself away. Appalled,
he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

  Georgia’s laugh was shaky. Perhaps even a tad breathless. “God no. The sex was wonderful.”

  Relief snatched away adrenaline’s support, and he sat.

  “What then?” he asked, running both hands through his damp hair.

  “The bet.” Brushing his lips with a soft kiss, she murmured, “I hated not touching you.”

  “Oh!” Peter grinned and pulled her into his lap, deepening the kiss. Lungs burning, oxygen more a necessity than a luxury, he was finally forced to break the kiss and open his eyes. “You mean you don’t want to wait until after Christmas to do this again?”

  “I hope your parents can’t hear anything from the boathouse, because payback is a bitch.” Georgia batted her eyelashes at him, her expression and sugary tone keeping her meaning from Peter’s addled brain for more than a moment.

  He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable, before he looked away. He’d never let a woman take control in the bedroom. In fact, he didn’t know if he could. Georgia caught his face in both her hands and brought his gaze around to hers.

  “Hey,” she said, concern written in the furrow along her brow. “I was joking.” Her lips lifted. “With a performance like that, you can take charge all you want.”

  Nodding, he cleared his throat, more than a little embarrassed.

  “I don’t know what that’s about, to tell you the truth.” It was the most honest he’d ever been with a sexual partner. “I just need…” He shrugged.

  “To be in control,” Georgia finished for him

  He nodded, his gaze flitting to the clock. It was late.

  “I’m in Colorado until Friday,” he said. “Will you be okay?”

  “It’s all good. I need to do some Christmas shopping tomorrow.” Georgia looped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his. “Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to spend the holiday with anyone except maybe Sid.”

  Peter ran his hands up both of Georgia’s arms. “You don’t need to bring any gifts. Ma will be thrilled just to have you.”

  “I want to,” she said, and he knew from the determined look in her eye not to bother arguing.

  “Okay. Just don’t spend a lot.”

  She opened her mouth, seeming to be on the verge of saying something, but then closed it again.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she answered and shifted off his lap. “I should go.”

  He reached out to steady her when she wobbled.

  “Will you stay?” he asked.

  Smoothing down her skirt, she paused, seeming to consider his request before she grinned and shook her head. “Somehow I think if I do that, you won’t get much sleep.”

  “Screw sleep.” He stood and encircled her wrist with his hand. “I’m going to be without you for forty-eight hours. I’ll sleep then.”

  Her delighted expression grabbed his heart and gave a good, hard squeeze, but he batted away his budding terror. He swept her up. She squealed, and he kissed her quiet. As he strode into his bedroom, he realized that for all the riches in the world, and all the power and material goods at his disposal, he had everything he wanted right there. In his arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  City lights reflected off the low nighttime clouds. Every few minutes, a flashing airplane signal tracked past the penthouse windows. Georgia blinked and stifled a yawn. Behind her, soft wuffles said Peter slept soundly. Last time she’d peeked, he’d been on his back, the covers pooled at his naked waist, leaving an expanse of muscled torso visible for her to ogle freely. But she wasn’t in the mood.

  Everything about the past seventy-two hours had been a fairy tale. From the ice-cream-and-brandy kisses she’d shared with Peter to the Italian dinner they’d had after skating. They’d talked, laughed, joked, and confided in one another. She knew he planned to build the schooner pictured in the glossy magazine photo stuck to his fridge. He knew she’d wanted to be a private investigator as a teen, before she’d realized she didn’t really want to know people’s secrets and lies.

  But wasn’t that exactly where she’d ended up anyway? She sighed and fluffed her pillow before lying back down. Instead of helping people uncover truths, she exposed their lives to the public for money. When she thought about it—really thought about it—the entire thing was stomach churning. Peter would be right to hate her when he found out. No matter what his reaction, she couldn’t and wouldn’t defend herself. And she had to tell him… First thing tomorrow morning, she’d make him coffee, look him in the eye, and—

  Her cell phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand, and she reached for it without thinking. Probably it was Sid. He was the only one who would call her at such an unseemly hour. And since she hadn’t told him she was spending the night with Peter, he wouldn’t think anything of disturbing her rest. Just like she never thought twice about dialing him when she needed to talk. That’s what best friends were for.

  Squinting at the display, she frowned. It showed a London exchange and a number she didn’t immediately recognize. She swiped the Ignore button on the screen and gingerly returned her phone to the nightstand. Peter mumbled and rolled over. When she peered past her shoulder at him, he had one eye open.

  “C’mere,” he said, making a place for her at the crook of his arm.

  With a sigh, Georgia snuggled in. Peter wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. When his fingers went slack and his breathing deepened, she knew he’d fallen back to sleep. A long while later, she must have as well. The next time she opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming through a crack in the custom blinds and Peter’s side of the bed was empty. In the bathroom the water was running. She sniffed and detected the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  Wearing Peter’s Knicks T-shirt, she wandered, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen. Her jaw cracked on a yawn as she lifted a mug in one hand from the stand on the counter and took the coffeepot in the other. A newspaper thumped down next to her, and she jumped, sloshing coffee against the rim of the mug.

  “You need to tell him.” Carl’s statement didn’t need any further explanation. He knew.

  With shaking hands, she placed the carafe back on its pedestal and turned to face Carl. “I intend to.”

  Shrewd eyes gazed back at her, assessing. Seeming to come to some private conclusion, he nodded. “When?”

  “Monday.” She took a sip of coffee to calm her nerves but ended up scalding her tongue and throat instead.

  Carl flicked a glance at the newspaper he’d deposited on the counter. “I think that might be too late.”

  What little blood remained in Georgia’s head made a rapid exit. She glanced at the headline of the Daily News and flinched.

  WELL WELL, WELLS! it screamed. Beneath the bold, red font was a picture of Peter waltzing with her at the rink. Some tourist had recognized him, no doubt, and tipped off the paper with a photo.

  “Did they find out my name?” she asked, trying for nonchalance but only managing blind panic.

  “Did who find out your name?” Peter swept into the kitchen, already dressed, his briefcase in one hand and his phone in the other.

  Georgia swallowed hard and glanced at the counter. Peter followed her gaze, and his eyes widened.

  “Fuck,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Georgia.”

  A hysterical laugh burbled from the pit of her stomach to her throat. “You’re sorry?” Once the words were out, tears automatically followed, and she swiped at them, angry she’d gotten them both into this predicament.

  “They don’t know her name,” Carl supplied helpfully.

  Georgia peeked at him, and he gave a little shake of his head. He’d bought her time. Time she desperately needed if she was going to tell Peter. If she didn’t and he found out from some other source, he’d never forgive her.

  “It’s only a matter of time.” Peter approached the paper as if it might leap up and bite him. Lip curled, he lifted the thing with two fingers and quickly scanned the text. “But we�
��re good for now.”

  “Peter?” Georgia placed tentative fingers on his sleeve, drawing his attention away from the article.

  He leaned in and gave her a lingering kiss. Probably the last she’d ever receive from him. A lump formed in her throat, choking off her ability to breathe, and she pulled away with a sniff. She cleared her throat.

  “We need to talk,” she said with a glance at Carl.

  “I know you’re worried. But don’t be.” His smile was brilliant as he cupped her cheek and brushed a threatening tear from her lashes with his thumb. “I have the plane waiting for me on the runway already. I need to go. We can talk on Friday on the way to my parents’.”

  “But—”

  He shushed her with another kiss. “Have fun shopping.”

  Before she could think of what to say to hold him there, she was staring at the empty space he’d occupied while Carl stared out the door.

  “Well, that went well,” Carl mumbled darkly, then turned to her. “You do realize I have to tell him sooner rather than later?”

  “How did you find out?” Unable to look at him, she stared into her coffee’s murky depths.

  “You gave it away with the accent switch several weeks back.”

  Startled, she jerked her head up. Remembering the slip, she said, “You couldn’t have known just from that.”

  “No.” He gave her a wan smile. “But it did tell me to focus on your background instead of that of the elusive and nonexistent Gigi Montrose.”

  Georgia turned the information over in her mind. It couldn’t have been long after that he’d found out. It wasn’t as if her own identity were as easily concealed as that of her alter ego. All it would’ve taken was a look at her birth records, and he could’ve guessed the rest when he saw her father was George Whitcomb, Earl Montrose.

  She moved tiredly to the table and folded into a chair. “Did you unearth the truth yourself? Or did you have someone else do it?”

  “I fired Peter’s investigator once I figured out the truth.” Carl sat across from her and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “It seemed safest.”