by Jess Dee
Ben cried out and jerked. Another burst of fluid filled her mouth. God, she’d wanted a taste and he was providing her with a healthy one. A delicious one.
He pulsed once more in her mouth, and the rush of fluid trickled away to nothing. The next time she swallowed, he pulled away from her.
“Too…sensitive,” he gasped as she let his cock go.
Melissa leaned back on her haunches and watched as he struggled to catch his breath.
He watched her right back. Watched her wipe her lips with her thumb and forefinger, scooping off any come that had slipped out while he exploded and then lick those same fingers clean.
“Ya did that in broad daylight,” he commented raggedly.
“Appears so.”
“With the entire office right on the other side of the door.”
Melissa nodded. “I did.”
“Know what I reckon, sweetness?” Ben’s eyes were glazed, his chest heaving.
“Nope. Tell me.” She licked her lips, tasted his cock again, his desire and his passion.
“I reckon I’m falling in love with you.”
Melissa tried to respond. God help her, she tried. But she couldn’t. She just sat where she was, speechless. Her mouth gaped open, and she stared at Ben.
“Nah, scratch that. I reckon I fell in love with you the first time you walked into my office and let your hair down.” He nodded. “No doubt about it. That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”
Melissa hid in her office for the rest of the day. She took just enough time to rinse her mouth out and assure her staff the crisis had been resolved, then she hightailed it to the safety of her desk and chair.
Not that she got any work done. Work was about the last thing on her mind.
Ben loved her?
Her?
It wasn’t possible. Men like Ben didn’t fall in love with women like her. They respected her business acumen from afar, or enjoyed her body from up close, but that was as intimate as they got with her.
She didn’t let them any closer. Knew she’d only fail them if she let them in.
Just like she’d failed Thomas—and herself—all those years ago. A shard of glass cut her from the inside. God, she didn’t want to think about Thomas. Didn’t want to go there.
She thought about Ben instead, but then remembered what he’d said and so thought about the weather. Or tried to, anyway. But it was too late. She’d jumbled up Thomas and Ben in her mind, and now she couldn’t stop thinking of either of them. Couldn’t stop remembering the disappointment in Thomas’s expression, or fearing the disastrous way things would end with Ben.
Because they would end. No way could they continue to see each other now. The last thing she needed in her life was a man who loved her. One who would make demands on her time, distracting her from making partner.
The minutes dragged, the hours felt like days. She counted each one until she could escape the prison that her office had become. A hell she’d helped create. If she’d just left Ben alone she wouldn’t be in this situation now.
At five thirty she promised herself that come six, she could escape. She’d get out of the city center, get as far away from Ben as she could go. Find safety somewhere else, perhaps with one of her sisters? Perhaps she could—
The door flew open, cutting off any further thought.
“Get your things, Mel. We’re leaving.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Pardon?”
“I’m tired of you running. Tired of you pulling away every time I make some leeway with you. This time you don’t have a choice. I’m not letting you run. So get your stuff, and let’s go.”
She glared at Ben. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yep, you are. We’re going to walk out of the building together, while it’s still busy and everyone can see us, and we’re going to go sit somewhere nice and quiet and talk this out.”
“There is nothing to talk about. You crossed a line today, a line you should never have crossed, and that can only mean one thing. This…” she waved her hand between them, “…thing, affair, whatever it is, is over. You changed the rules, changed the game, and I’m afraid the new game doesn’t suit me. So, while it’s been fun—and it has been fun—it is now over.”
“This game is so far from over it’s a joke. Now either grab your things and walk calmly out of the office with me, or I’m going to pick you up and carry you out of here. And on the way, I will stop in reception and kiss you. On the mouth, with tongue, for everyone to see.”
As he spoke, he stood straighter, showing her his full height and the impressive width of his chest and shoulders. Melissa knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would have no physical trouble carrying through on his warning.
She turned her back on him. “Your threats don’t scare me. I’m not the only one with a professional reputation to protect. There is no way you’d carry through on them. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.”
“Damn it, Sparks. You’re too fucking proud for your own good.”
Before she knew what was happening, Ben had lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A freaking sack of potatoes!
Instinct made her struggle. She slapped at his back and tried to kick him, hard, where she knew it would do the most damage, but he wedged an arm around her knees, held her legs in place and headed for the door.
Panic struck.
He was going to do this.
“No, Ben. Wait!” She tugged frantically at his shirt.
He paused.
“Okay, I’ll come with you. But I’m going to walk out of the office—you’re not going to carry me.”
“Not just out of the office, sweetness. You’re going to come with me to a restaurant, and we’re going to talk.”
Melissa shook her head fiercely.
Ben shrugged and took another step.
“Okay, okay, damn it.” Damn the man. “Fine, I’ll walk with you to the restaurant.”
“And sit beside me in said restaurant while we talk.”
“And sit beside you in said restaurant while we talk.” She fumed in silence.
“Good.” He slid her down the front of his body, letting her find her feet. But the set down was slow, and as she slid, he pressed her close against a bulge in his pants. When she stood on her own two legs, he didn’t let her go. He kept her pinned against him.
She glared at him, staring daggers into his amused eyes. “You’re enjoying this?”
“I had your arse in my face and your legs dangling around my cock. What’s not to enjoy?”
“You’re turned on.” Her voice was laced with accusation.
“Course I am. Your body’s pressed against mine, your perfume is making me crazy, and I’m in love with you. Who wouldn’t be turned on under the circumstances?”
Oh, God. Who wouldn’t be, indeed? Her own traitorous body was beginning to show all the signs of arousal. Racing heart, tight nipples, butterflies in her belly and more than a little stirring of arousal in her now-soaked cunt. “I’m starting to despise you, Ben Cowley.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I believe you’re starting to feel the same way I do, and it frightens the hell out of you.”
His words hit a nerve—a very real, very raw nerve—and she stepped back, instinct telling her to put a little distance between them. “If you want to go to a restaurant, we go now. Or not at all.”
He released her, giving her the space she desperately needed. “You’re good at avoiding talk about yourself and about issues that matter, you know that?”
“I’ll get my bag and we can leave.” She turned and gathered the few things she thought she’d need.
“I won’t let you avoid what’s going on between us, Mel.”
Irritation got the better of her. “Fucking you stupid every night is hardly avoidance.”
“It is, if you insist that’s all we have—a few nights of stupid fucking. It’s more than that. Way more, and we
both know it.”
“You’re deluding yourself, Cowley.”
“Nope, sweetness, for the first time in months I’m beginning to see my life clearly. And I have you to thank for it.”
“Save your gratitude. I suspect that by the end of the evening, thankful is the last thing you’ll be feeling towards me.”
With that, Melissa stalked out of her office. Fearing Ben might throw her over his shoulder once again, she made sure to let him walk at her side the rest of the way. She pasted a serene, professional smile on her face, and the two of them left the building.
Chapter Nine
He led her through the streets, down along several blocks. Melissa walked in silence, refusing to say a word. He’d gotten her to join him by force; no way would she make this easy for him.
Ben reached over and took her hand, twining his fingers through hers.
She let him, refusing to make a scene on the footpath, but made no effort to tighten her grasp. She left her fingers limp in his and pretended his touch didn’t make her burn. Pretended the way his thumb stroked over hers didn’t send shivers up her arm.
Pretended she wasn’t at all affected when he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. She pretended he wasn’t there at all.
Pretty impossible to do when she was acutely aware of his every breath, his every movement. Aware of his spicy aftershave that drifted into her path, and the heat he emitted that scorched her side.
“It’s funny,” he said, as he drew his mouth away from her hand. “Until you mentioned you bite your nails, I’d never have noticed.”
She pursed her lips and ignored him.
“But today, when you came into my office, took my balls in your hand and my dick in your mouth, I thanked God you bite them. Long nails in those circumstances? Not a good thing.”
Don’t respond. Don’t respond. Don’t gasp. Don’t blush. Don’t whimper.
“I can still feel it, you know?” He leaned his head in close to hers. “Your warm fingers around my scrotum and your hot, wet mouth around my cock.” His voice became hoarse. “Hell, sweetness, I’ve been reliving it the whole afternoon.”
She swallowed hard. Damn him. And damn her traitorous body that shivered as he spoke.
She should never have been so reckless. Never have gone down on him at work in the middle of the day. She just hadn’t been able to stop herself. Just like she wasn’t able to stop herself now as she let her fingers curl around his and let his touch warm her chilled hand.
He led her into a tiny restaurant and requested a small table at the back of the dim room. Not once did he release her hand. He kept it clutched in his, his thumb stroking over hers.
When Ben asked what she wanted to eat, she shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
Then she sat in surprised silence as he proceeded to order her favorite dishes. Linguine in a red wine and cream sauce, Italian salad with extra cheese and olives on the side, baked mushrooms with parmesan to start and raspberry sorbet for desert. He ordered double of everything except the pasta, replacing it with veal Marsala for himself. And then he asked for a bottle of Chardonnay and two mineral waters.
When the waiter walked away, she stared at him. “Th-that’s exactly what I would have ordered. How did you know?” She couldn’t help but think of the mango and passion fruit yogurt he’d provided for her at lunch last week. And this week.
He shrugged. “We’ve shared enough business dinners with clients. I know what you like.”
“You took note of what I ordered?”
He nodded. “Apparently.”
“I thought you’d never noticed me before now.”
“That’s an outrageous statement,” he scoffed. “I said it before. You’re the finest investment banker I’ve ever seen. I’ve always been aware of you, always watched you, always learned from you.”
He paused while the waiter brought their drinks, then took a sip of wine. “I just never knew before now that you had the ability to drive me into a frenzied sexual lather. Or that beneath your stern professional veneer is a beautiful and appealing woman who managed to capture my heart.”
His words made her head whirl. He thought all of that about her?
“Let me in, Mel. Give me a chance.”
She bit her lip. “I’ve let you in. I’ve let you closer than any other man in a very long time.”
“The sex is good. It’s freakishly good. And I’m…I’m stoked that you let me discover your sensual, sexy side. But it’s not enough. I want more from you, sweetness. I don’t just want the caramel kisses and wild orgasms. I want to understand the way you think, what drives you, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. What failure hurt you so bad you’re determined to make partner at the cost of a personal life?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know you don’t. But sometimes talking about the things that hurt us the most helps free us from that hurt.”
The waiter brought their mushrooms.
She didn’t take notice. Her attention was focused on a very sudden, very clear realization.
She owed Ben the truth. Owed him an explanation about why she had to pull away from him. Why she had to reject his love.
She squared her shoulders, fortifying her defenses. And when the waiter walked away, and Ben looked at her with his beautiful dark eyes and said, “Talk to me, please,” she knew she could put it off no longer.
Taking a very deep breath, she confessed in the softest voice, “I failed my HSC.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “Your final year at school?” His surprise echoed across the table.
It was the surprise that got her back up, made her defensive.
She nodded. “Yep. My final year in school. You know, the one you need to pass, and pass well, if you have any intention of going to uni? That year in school.” Humiliation overwhelmed her. She couldn’t look him in the face, couldn’t bear to see the pity and sympathy and shock that shone in his eyes. It was always the response she got. Always. And she hated it. Seeing it in Ben would be the ultimate in mortification.
Nevertheless, she could feel his gaze on her as he sat there, speechless.
“I failed every single subject. Every one.” Unlike her sisters, who’d all graduated with distinction and been accepted into whichever uni courses they’d applied for. She was the only major disappointment to her parents.
“What happened?” At least the question held no surprise. Or judgment. Ben’s voice rang with curiosity—and caring.
She inhaled shakily, reliving the crushing disappointment, remembering the way her world had collapsed around her.
She’d felt worthless and stupid, as though she’d been robbed of every last drop of joy, pride and dignity. And the worst part was, she’d had no one to blame but herself.
“I got involved with the wrong crowd. Decided smoking and drinking and ditching school were more fun than learning. Decided to enjoy my final year rather than throw my youth away on studying.”
“Was it an enjoyable year?”
The question surprised her. No one had ever asked her that. They’d all been too busy lecturing her about the error of her ways. “It was okay, I guess. I had fun.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“The fun memories are kind of eclipsed by the fallout afterward. By the consequences of my slacking off.” By the stark realization of what her careless, carefree attitude had wrought. She’d ruined her life.
She cut into a mushroom, stabbed a piece with her fork and shoved it into her mouth. It might have been delicious, but she couldn’t taste a thing. She ate the entire helping without tasting it.
Ben ate too, but more to humor her, she guessed, than because he was hungry.
“My parents warned me,” she told him. “They said over and over that my studies would suffer if I carried on the way I had been. I ignored them.” She tried to disassociate herself from the memories. Tried to repress the misery and devastation and hell she’d been through, hop
ing that if she relayed it to Ben in an expressionless voice, she wouldn’t feel the wealth of hurt and disappointment all over again.
It didn’t work. It hurt as much now as it had then. Embarrassed her as much. “Turns out they were right.” And Melissa never let herself forget that. Every time she let her guard down and found herself becoming too relaxed about her job or her life or her attitude in general, she reminded herself about her year twelve results.
“Mel?”
“Yeah?”
“How on earth did you become an investment banker if you failed your final year at school?”
Ben had a number of degrees, in finance and business and accounting. He knew, firsthand, what was required academically to reach the point she had in business.
“The long way. First, I changed schools and redid my HSC.” That had been the second-most humiliating experience of her life. Nothing could be worse than failing the year. “I passed the second time round, but not well enough to get into uni.” By that stage, Melissa’s determination had come to the forefront. The day she’d received her second round of HSC results, she’d decided she would never, ever allow herself the shame of failing again. She would not only succeed at whatever she undertook, she would be the best. She would get to the top of her game, and she would not make excuses. She’d made excuses not to work for a year, and look where that had gotten her.
Never again.
“So instead of uni I went to TAFE and worked my butt off there. I completed a bridging course in finance at the technical school and then transferred to the University of New South Wales.”
He gave a low whistle. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t.” She swallowed down a massive lump in her throat. “It was…lonely. Horrible and lonely.” For a few seconds she struggled to speak, struggled to gain control of her emotions. Even now, so many years later, the isolation of that time surrounded her, making her keenly aware of just how miserable she’d been.
