by Chloe Lane
I shift in my seat, taking another sip of wine before I answer. “I’m a small-town girl.”
He nods sagely. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Your—” Instead of finishing his answer, he gives me an absolutely wicked grin. “You have a kind of innocence about you…”
Flashes of holding on to his desk while he claimed me with his cock burst into my mind. “I don’t have enough…experience…for you?”
Maxwell shakes his head, blue eyes going dark with lust, and when he speaks again he’s dropped his voice into a register that sends shivers down my spine. “You have the perfect amount of experience, Emma. A sense of adventure. A sense of…submission.”
I’m not smiling anymore. My nipples are pebbled against the inside of my dress, the lacy fabric of my bra teasing them with every breath I inhale. I can’t look away from Maxwell’s eyes. I want his hands on me, right here in the restaurant.
“Did you ever have this kind of fantasy with anyone else?” His follow-up is so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it takes me a beat to surface from the depths of his eyes.
“No,” I say, as firmly as I can, trying my best not to dissolve into a breathy, fluttering mess in the middle of our first date. “There was something about the way you—” I’m blushing harder, unable to stop it. “The way you spoke, the way you were so confident.” I straighten my back. “Where’d you learn that? Don’t tell me you’re from some little village up north.”
“Farther south, actually.” A little smile plays over Maxwell’s lips. “Almost on the border…but where I grew up wasn’t much more than a freeway exit people ignored.”
“How’d you become a hot-shot lawyer, then?” For all Maxwell’s fame in the city, he doesn’t speak much about himself.
“The same way anyone gets anything,” he says, and there it is, that fiery need in his eyes, the tone that makes me so wet I wonder if it’s going to be a problem for the upholstery. “By wanting it badly enough.”
I swallow hard. I want him badly. I need him in this moment, and as much as I want to know everything there is to know about Maxwell Kane, my body has other priorities. But just when I open my mouth to make some kind of witty joke, some kind of conversational twist to reduce the pulsing tension between my legs, he cuts me off.
20
Maxwell
This push-and-pull between Emma and me, this careening wildly between neutral getting-to-know-you questions and phrases that do nothing to hide the burning desire that’s getting ready to turn this entire building to ashes is doing a number on my cock. I’m so hard, so energized with the need to possess her, right now, in this restaurant, in front of everyone else if that’s what it takes, has my mind so hyper-focused on every detail of her that it’s hard to breathe.
I can smell her scent from across the table—that light perfume, the inexpensive shampoo—and beneath it all, a hint of the sweetness between her legs. The bread, the wine—none of it compares to her.
“I have to take a call.” She’s about to speak, but my comment catches her off guard, and she closes her pretty lips.
“That’s all right, Maxwell.” The smooth tone very nearly hides her disappointment. “I’ll wait here.”
I adjust myself under the table so that the tent pole in my pants isn’t so obvious, and then I stand, taking one step toward Emma so that I can lean down and murmur into her ear. “Wait five minutes, then come out to the lobby. There’s a small hallway there. That’s where I’ll meet you.”
Her eyes are sparkling when I straighten up. The waiter has already taken our order, and I know without having to ask that Emma will make some innocuous comment, and that wide-open, innocent expression will be all it takes for him to overlook our short absence from dinner.
I check my email while I wait. Exactly five minutes, and Emma appears at my elbow. We’re hidden from view of the hostess by a bulky coat rack, and in an instant I have my phone tucked away, I have her back pressed up against the wall, I have my mouth on hers, tasting the wine on her tongue.
“Maxwell—” She forces the word out when I focus my attention on the side of her neck, feeling the goosebumps on her arms rising underneath my fingertips. “We’re going to get caught—”
I move her two feet to the right and press at the door behind her.
This restaurant has single-occupant bathrooms, and she leans into my arms as I move us inside, flipping the lock on the door behind us.
She raises her face to mine and I kiss her again, harder, and feel her body melt against mine. It takes no effort at all to turn her so that her back is against the hard surface of the door, no effort at all to press that dress—God, even on a date she’s playing it so professional and demure that it’s all I can do not to rip it off of her—up around her waist, no effort at all to take her panties and tear them in two. She gasps when they come away from her naked pussy, but I don’t stop moving—I can’t.
I sweep her wrists above her head and pin them there against the door, pushing her legs apart with my hand, and she moans softly. “Mr. Kane—yes…please…”
I push two fingers inside of her. No resistance. She’s soaking wet, her juices coating the insides of her thighs, and she spreads wider for me, her muscles already gripping my fingers.
“I can’t wait anymore, kitten,” I growl into her ear. “So stay quiet—stay quiet—”
Emma presses her lips together, and I release her wrists so that I can unzip my pants, freeing my cock, and in one fluid motion I lift her, my hands cupped around her unbelievable ass, back braced against the door, and thrust into her hot slit as her hands claw at my shoulders, holding on tight.
Her tight body is practically weightless, but her heat surrounds me with such an intoxicating power that I know, I know, I have to find a way to stay with this woman forever. I’m the one in control, I’m the one she loves to submit to, giving me her body even now, even here, obeying my commands, but it’s me who’s done for.
“Come for me, kitten.”
Two more thrusts, and with the softest hitch in her breath she’s exploding into orgasm, her muscles rippling around my shaft, hips bucking in my hands, and I up the furious pace of my strokes and follow her over the edge. It’s the quickest fuck imaginable, but I don’t know how either of us would have been able to sit through a meal without it.
When her body has relaxed into the afterglow, I let her slide to the floor, then lead her over to the sink. It’s sturdy, chrome, gleaming.
“Bend over it, kitten.”
She puts her hands on the ledge and bends, exposing her glistening pussy to me again.
I run the water over a paper towel, making sure it’s warm, and clean the both of us. At the sound of my zipper, Emma starts to straighten.
I reprimand her in a soft voice that won’t carry. “I didn’t say you were finished.”
“Yes, Mr. Kane,” she whispers, and then I’m slipping my fingers between her spread legs—every instinct of hers is perfect—and finding her clit. She gasps when my fingertips make contact, and those creamy thighs spread apart, inviting me, begging me for one more—
And I give it to her, swirling my fingertips over that hot button until she presses her knuckles into her mouth and shudders, trembling, more juices gliding down over my fingers, and when she’s finished, standing upright and adjusting her little black dress, I press them into my mouth and taste her.
It’s a thousand times more delicious than anything that’s going to be waiting at the table for us, and Emma blushes, a pretty pink color, not saying a word.
She looks into her own face in the mirror, smoothing down her hair, checking her makeup, and straightens, giving me a nod.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
21
Emma
My heart plummets straight into my shoes at the sound of the knock—loud, forceful, demanding. But nobody calls out to ask if the room is occupied, which means that they know it's occupied, and probably by
us.
My mind races back out to the restaurant. It's a tiny place, a hole in the wall in a charming small town twenty minutes outside the city. I didn't see a single person I recognized when we were walking in. Granted, I was mainly focused on the animal grace of Maxwell moving in his clothes.
Damn it. I should have been paying more attention. What if someone out there has pointed out to the hostess that we're in here, and now—?
Maxwell's hand on my arm breaks into my frantic thoughts. His face is at ease, a mischievous grin playing over his lips. He whispers low into my ear. “Don't worry, kitten. You're safe with me.”
I want to argue with him. I want to tell him that whoever is outside the door could sink us. But the longer we stand in here, the worse it looks. How long has it been? A few seconds since that knock sounded on the door?
Another knock, and this time a mumbled voice—I can't make out what they're saying. Maxwell gathers me in close with one arm and unlocks the door with the other, pulling it open without a moment's hesitation.
Outside, the hostess is coming to stand just behind an older gentlemen with silver hair and a scowl on his face. When he sees the both of us standing in the doorway, his eyes go wide, then narrow to slits. His mouth works, and I flinch against Maxwell. Is this going to be a tirade so loud that the rest of the patrons here can listen in?
“My apologies for the inconvenience, sir,” Maxwell says, that same easy smile on his face. He looks down at me—I can't take my eyes off of him—and his lips twist, making him look a little rueful. “My wife needed a moment to collect herself. I'm sure you know how that can happen.”
He guides me gently past the man, giving him a meaningful look, and my entire body hums with pleasure, the warmth of his words tangling with the glowing sensation of being thoroughly fucked by a man like Maxwell Kane.
My wife.
It's only pretend, for the sake of convenience, but the words sound so sweet that I want to beg him to say it again. I'd get caught a second time to hear that phrase coming from Maxwell's lips.
The old man grunts, mumbling something under his breath, and slaps his hand against the door, stepping inside the bathroom and slamming it shut behind them. The hostess, looking strained, holds out her arm to let us precede her back into the lobby, not saying anything. How long did she know what we were doing in there? The coatrack seemed to block us from the rest of the lobby, but—
Maxwell pauses next to the podium where she stands, eyeing him, and presses what looks like a fifty-dollar bill into her hands. “They never tip the people out front, do they?” He's oozing charm, and even if Old Man Interruption nearly dragged her into a very uncomfortable situation, she can't help but smile a little.
“No, they never do.” Then she turns away, tucking the bill somewhere out of sight and greeting the next patrons who come through the door.
Back at the table, the waiter is just arriving with our meals, looking around with a slow turn of his head, the muscles around his mouth taut. I did tell him I'd be back in just a minute, but he's probably wondering if we're the type to dine and dash. Even if all we've had are a couple of glasses of wine.
The bread is still warm in its basket, and after the waiter slides our plates in front of us, I pick up one of the rolls, tear it in half, and take a bite. Now that some of the incessant need for Maxwell has been slaked—thank God for single-occupancy bathrooms—I'm ravenous.
Maxwell watches me as I swallow, tipping my head back and savoring the roll. It's a sweet bread with a light, salty seasoning, and it tastes like heaven. “That is good bread.”
“It is.” His eyes are glittering in the candlelight. “Just wait until you taste your actual dinner.”
I give him a look. “I do get out, you know. It's just that finances were a little tight for a while.”
“Student debt?”
“Well, that, and I didn't have an offer right out of law school.”
Maxwell frowns. I lift my fork and slice through some of the pork, swimming in sauce, on my plate. It's so tender that it just falls apart. The first bite makes me forget about the bread entirely. “Not a single offer? Where did you intern?”
My face goes red at the thought of it, and I take a sip of wine to steady myself. “I was at Marlowe and Ryan for the last two summer breaks.” It was Ryan of the pair who had been interested in me, and I'd been so taken with the work that I didn't know until it was too late. “There was a...misunderstanding.” I take another bite of the pork, letting the meat dissolve on my tongue.
“You don't have to tell me about it now.”
Relief cascades through my body. “Good. Because I'd rather just enjoy this. We could always talk about that kind of thing later, when—” I stop myself, laughing out loud when I realize what I was about to say to Maxwell. “I'll tell you all about it later.”
“When what?” He takes a bite of his own meal—steak, probably even better than the pork—and grins at me.
I shake my head. “I was going to say 'later, when we're at home,' but that's the most absurd thing, because there's no chance you would ever—”
It's his turn to cut me off. “Take you home with me? Let you stay overnight? Ask you if you wanted to move in?” My mouth drops open. “Guess again, Emma Mason.”
22
Maxwell
I absolutely shouldn't do any of those things, but in one case, I already have. Emma came to my condo, and the sun didn't fall out of the sky. It did, however, make me want more of her, make me want to have her as mine even more powerfully than I did in the office.
Emma, cheeks pink from being fucked in the bathroom and drinking more than a little wine, lets out a laugh that makes me want to say anything, anything, to keep her laughing. “Don't you think the first date is a little soon to ask a girl to move in?”
“I didn't ask you to move in.” My steak is cooked to perfection, medium done right, but now that we're on this topic of conversation, it's hard to focus on the food. “All I said was that I would.”
“Well...” Emma's face turns thoughtful. “What if you got tired of me?”
I lean closer, darting my eyes from side to side like I'm checking for spies. “Were you not just in that restroom with me?”
Another low laugh. “I was.”
“Then you should know, Emma, that I'd never get bored with you.”
The smile flickers away from her face for an instant. “It is true, though, that I don't have as much...I'm not as worldly as—”
“As who? Women more my age?” I can't help but emphasize the words with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “If I wanted those women, I could have any one of them.” Emma's eyes wrinkle at the corners. “That sounds cocky as hell, but it's true. I don't want them. I want you.”
“I'd hope so. We're on a...” She lowers her voice, making the next words sound ominous. “...forbidden date.”
That's the real issue in all of this. That's what could derail us. Because it is forbidden, at least from Pierce & Harwood's standpoint, and I'm not sure that there's a good way of getting ourselves out of it squeaky clean if things were to get really serious. I'm sure even Harwood could forgive an innocent flirtation. He might not forgive a full-blown relationship.
Which is what I want from Emma.
Telling that man outside the restroom that she was my wife came so easily that it shocked me. It didn't feel like a lie, and the moment I spoke the words, I knew I wanted them to be true more than I've wanted most other things.
And still, I want to keep my job.
Emma's face turns serious as the silence between us stretches out, and she takes another bite of her dinner, swallows, and then puts her fork down. “I know it's against the rules,” she says softly. “I just don't want it to stop.”
I reach across the table for her hand. “I don't want it to, either.”
“What's the worst that happens if we get discovered?”
“We both get fired, and word gets around at other firms that we can't be trusted.” I
take a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “We could always move to a different city and start over, but I don't want to do that.”
“Are you happy here?” Emma's eyes are a liquid, lusty blue with the golden cast of the candlelight on them, and her question is so sweet, so pure, that I fall for her even harder.
“Yes. I told you I came from the southern part of the state, near the border.”
“Yeah?” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
“It wasn't the nicest place. There weren't a lot of opportunities, other than working for one of the local factories there. My dad did that, and it destroyed his body. He was in so much pain that—” I hate thinking about this. I hate talking about it. But I want Emma to know why this job at Pierce & Harwood matters. “He died when he was forty-nine because he couldn't take the pain anymore. He killed himself.”
The tears come to Emma's eyes instantly. “Oh, Maxwell—”
“It was a long time ago,” I tell her. I don't want this date to be derailed by getting into such heavy topics. “I'm—it's never going to be okay, but I'm all right. It was a lot harder on my mother. After that, my mom did everything she could to make sure that I had other options. I got a scholarship to law school by the skin of my teeth.” I smile at Emma. “Those were the good times. I had a bit of a reputation then, too.”
“You have no idea,” she says, letting go of my hand when the waiter reappears to fill our water glasses. “You still have a reputation. We talked about your...escapes around the city all the time.”
“So they're using me as a cautionary tale, is that it?”
“It's a toss-up,” she says, lifting her fork gracefully from the side of her plate. “It's either about how brilliant you are as a lawyer, or how reckless you are as a private citizen. But you—” She fixes me with a look.
