No Excuses

by Nikky Kaye

  “My god, Maddie. You’re in for it now.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GAGE

  I was having a heart attack. Except in my dick. If there was a medical term for extreme cock blocking, I was suffering from it. A myocardial infucktion.

  When I tried to focus on something other than the cramping in my balls, I saw Maddie’s red face in front of me.

  Fool me once, shame on me.

  Fool me twice, get carried over my shoulder to get your brains fucked out.

  But still, it was my fault for taunting her in the first place. I’d spent the last two weeks trying to tease out of her a sense of self-awareness, of commitment to work and to a budding relationship. Madeline was by turns skittish and brashly seductive, which was a heady combination.

  The only problem is that the dichotomy mostly went to my little head, not my big one.

  My big head with my big brain had theorized, “Ah, maybe she’ll start realizing her potential if I push her to succeed.” She’d complained that we were acting like we were in middle school. Well, adding to her work duties was more or less the grown-up work equivalent of chasing her around the schoolyard at recess and knocking her down.

  I teased her because I liked her, but I’d had enough of this pussyfooting around. I had different plans for her pussy.

  And I really did like her. She made me nervous, she made me laugh, she made me horny, and she made me crazy. Perhaps in the morning, she would make me breakfast along with the crazy.

  With a wince, I carefully zipped up my fly. My legs were stiff when I rose from the couch. Correction: a lot of me was stiff when I rose from the couch.

  “Uh, Gage…” I guess she saw the look in my eye, probably wild and crazed with lust and frustration. “What are you doing?”

  I stalked toward her. “Tit for tat? Did you actually say that?”

  The laugh she offered me was weak to the point of fraudulent. The way she backed away from me as I approached her was almost penitent.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” She held up a shaking hand, almost blocking her own burning face. “I went over the line. I’ve never done anything like that before, I swear. But you seemed okay with it, until….” Her ass hit the edge of my desk, and she halted with a flinch. I closed in on her, never taking my eyes off her.

  “Until you put my balls in a vise?” My hands went to her hips. If I held her tightly enough, hopefully she wouldn’t see that I was still quaking. “What’s the matter, Madeline? Don’t you want children someday?”

  Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, then narrowed. She wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. I wasn’t sure, myself. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It was a stupid—”

  “Inconsiderate,” I added.

  “—split-second—”

  “Reckless.”

  “—decision.”

  She touched my bare chest, making us both gasp. Her fingertips branded me. Until now, I’d thought she would be mine, but now I was realizing that I was hers. She owned me. The truth was, she had me by the balls—literally.

  There was no fear in her big brown eyes, though. She actually looked… playful. A bubble of pride welled up in my chest at my girl’s self-confidence.

  “You’re a bad girl, Madeline.” It was hard to scold her with a stupid grin on my face.

  She nodded slowly, licking her lips. “Do you want to spank me, sir?”

  God did I ever. I tilted my head at her, pretending to consider it. My hand drifted around her hip to her ass, right above where she leaned against the desk. When I pinched her, the resulting sound went straight to my cock.

  “What do you think, Madeline?” I dipped my mouth to her neck, lazily sucking on her carotid artery like a vampire. I was determined to leave a mark this time. Thankfully, the tension in my pants had almost gone down to Defcon 3.

  “Ah!” She bent her head back to allow me access down the long line of throat and into her tight little sweater. She was a hot secretary fantasy come to life in my office. I was a lucky, lucky bastard.

  “Uh, I guess I got carried away,” she said.

  With a grunt, I bent down and looped my arm under her knees, hauling her into my arms bridal-style. Her hands flew to my chest.

  “What? Put me down!”

  I may have worked out regularly, but I wasn’t nearly flexible enough to kiss the woman while holding her like that. So I simply smiled and said, “No.”

  She slapped at my bare chest ineffectually. “Jesus Murphy, Gage. Nobody actually does this! What are you doing?”

  “Just what you said. You’re getting carried away.”

  My heroic gesture had to be abandoned once we reached the outer office. The reality was that she had to get her stuff and we both had to put our coats on. But after we gathered our things and headed for the elevator, I didn’t let go of her hand.

  I locked my fingers around her wrist like handcuffs, down into the lobby and out onto the street. She shuffled behind me, trying to hike her laptop bag further up on her shoulder.

  It was only around six o’clock, but it was cool and already dark. Patches of the wide sidewalk in front of the building and the asphalt beyond glimmered with recent rain, and mist still threatened to permeate the evening. Cars and streetlights lit up the streets, rushing home as fast as possible on a Friday night. Who could blame them?

  Madeline’s hair seemed to double once we got outside, curling wildly around her face. My gaze skimmed over it as it shone in the amber light. Her free hand went to it.

  “Oh god, I look like a clown, don’t I?”

  “No, you look beautiful.”

  Flustered, she tried to smooth her hair back, but her bag fell into the crook of her elbow. I took it from her and swung it over my shoulder, then pressed my palm to her fiery halo of hair.

  And still I didn’t let go of her other hand.

  “Gage?” She blinked up at me and raised our clasped hands to her warm cheek.

  “Time for a vote,” I said, taking a deep, damp breath. “I’m taking you home and we are not coming up for air until you’ve screamed my name at least twice. Yay or nay?”

  “Yay.” Her voice was steadier than her breathing.

  About fucking time. “Yay,” I said flatly, but my mouth was wide with pride.

  It only took a few minutes to hail a cab, and once we were settled in it, I smoothed my free hand over her knee. She shivered, despite the heat going full blast in the taxi.

  “What about your car?” she asked, her head resting back against the seat and turned to me.

  I didn’t want to let go of her hand. I didn’t want to let go of her. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Maybe.”

  She squeezed my hand silently. We stared at each other. Shadows in between the oncoming cars’ headlights slid over her face like a strobe light, leaving me wondering if she was blushing or not.

  “Are you going to tie me up again?” she asked quietly.

  I touched her cheek. She was blushing, if the heat on her face was any indication. “Do you want me to?” I’d rather tie her down—forever. I wanted to be balls deep inside her and set up a summer camp there.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Madeline, please answer me.”

  “I just want you.”

  Oh god. “Can you go any faster?” I said to the driver. He smirked at me, but barely revved the engine. Lazy jerk was trying to pad the fare.

  I felt for my money clip in my pocket, which I then raised it to the scratched little plastic window between the front seat and back of the cab. He glanced back then did a quick double take at the wad of bills with wide eyes, before jerking his gaze back to the road with renewed enthusiasm.

  We pulled up in front of my house within five minutes. Unfortunately, that was the point that I lost Madeline’s hand, as she broke free to slide out while I paid the driver.

  He’d just driven away when I joined Madeline on the sidewalk. She stood there, unmoving, staring at my house. Her arms were crossed over h
er chest.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have a white picket fence.”

  “Yeah.” The gate screeched a little when I opened it. “Come on.” I had to prod her out of her paralysis, and she walked robotically before me up the path.

  It wasn’t until we were taking off our shoes in the foyer that she turned on me with a pointed finger and an accusatory tone.

  “This can’t be your house.”

  “This is my house. I know it’s a little small, but—” I wasn’t about to apologize for it. I liked my house. I shoved her laptop bag against the wall by the console table and began to help her with her coat.

  She spluttered, jerking her head around while I extricated her from the sleeves. “You don’t—it’s not—Gage!”

  “Madeline?”

  “Don’t all billionaires live in penthouses in the sky? All white and lots of modern art?” She waved her hand above us as I hung her coat from an antique hall tree.

  I raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “You know a lot of billionaires?”

  “No, but—”

  “I bought this house when I was just a piddly millionaire, and I see no reason to leave it. It was a good investment and I don’t need more right now. Besides, it’s cozy.” Although the size of a shoebox, it was still a million dollar house—mostly because of its location in an older area just adjacent to the downtown core.

  “Cozy? Investment?” she echoed.

  “Besides, I’m not a billionaire.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What? You mean I’ve been taking orders from just a millionaire?”

  I would have been offended had I not seen the corner of her lip quiver with suppressed laughter.

  “I have a lot of extra millions, though. But I never got that whole billionaire bullshit. More money, more problems. I suppose that if I added up everything I owned and the company’s holdings, plus last year’s IPO value, I might just crack a billion. But that’s all on paper. I’m not diving into pools filled with dollar bills like Scrooge McDuck.”

  Why did everyone think that billionaires had castles in the sky and more dollars than sense? I couldn’t help rolling my eyes, having had this conversation with my mother more than once before.

  Maddie looked around. “Yeah, I guess you don’t have a pool.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “On the contrary, I love this.”

  I believed her. Her eyes shone as she spun around, taking in the flagstone floor, the wrought iron chandelier above us, the oak staircase, and the symmetrical darkened front rooms sitting like eyes at the front of the house.

  “You have wainscoting,” she whispered.

  “Are you drooling?”

  She gulped, peering into the living room on the right. “How many fireplaces?”

  Ah, my Madeline has a thing for interior decoration. Maybe it came from years in a foster home. Saddened by the thought, I decided to play with her a little.

  “The hardwood floor is original. I put these tiles in for contrast.”

  She stared at her feet, her toes curling against the uneven stone. Her breathing picked up. “What kind of wo—”

  “Maple.”

  She sighed.

  I lowered my voice seductively, going in for the kill. “There’s beadboard in the laundry room.”

  She pounced on me, her mouth fusing to mine. With impatient hands, she pushed off my jacket. It dropped to the floor in a heap, nearly tripping us as she pinned me against the archway on the right. When her hands moved from me to feel the chair rail running along the wall, she whimpered.

  Her eyes were nearly black with desire as she caught her breath. Her mouth was already rosy and swollen from our kisses, and I hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her taste yet.

  I rested my forehead against hers. “Do you want to see my playroom?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MADDIE

  “Playroom?”

  My body was hot, but my brain went cold. Jesus, more ropes. Handcuffs. Maybe one of those crazy benches or a lit-up display case of canes and floggers. Damn, I’d been reading too many smutty billionaire books.

  I wouldn’t deny that something deep inside me quivered at the thought, but it also frightened me a little. The intensity of what I felt with Gage at the lodge still made me uneasy. I wanted him enough to follow his lead, but how far would I go down the rabbit hole?

  He spun me around and marched me toward the staircase.

  “Up. Now. Go down the hall.”

  When I was a couple of rises ahead of him, I glanced back. “You’re a bit bossy, you know that?”

  “Better believe it, baby.”

  I rolled my eyes as he openly ogled my ass. I heard him shed his jacket and tie while we walked up the stairs. At the top, I paused as he unbuttoned his shirt halfway. The lump in my throat was hard to swallow.

  When he took my hand, he pressed his open mouth first to my palm, then the pulse point on my wrist. I was sure it was fluttering like a freaking butterfly.

  “I want to show you my playroom. It’s important to me.”

  Oh god. “Um, okay.” I could do this. I could totally do this.

  He led me down the hallway in his little dollhouse. Another time I would have run my hand along the banister at the top of the stairs, its patina velvety with age. Or I would have probably noticed the vintage glass doorknobs at each room. But all I could see was the bright white of his shirt like a truce flag as I trailed behind him.

  He stopped us in front of a door at the back of the house, and I hesitated. Actually, we both did. Gage rubbed the back of his neck. The direct, motivated, successful billionaire was nervous—and that made my knees close to knocking together.

  “This is probably the most… personal, private part of me,” he explained haltingly, his gaze penetrating me. “Someday I would like very much for you to join me in here.”

  Do not hyperventilate, I told myself. You are a mature, sexually active adult with an open mind—and past rope burns to prove it. You just role-played in the office, for god’s sakes. Do not embarrass yourself.

  Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut as he reached for the knob, and the door creaked open. When I opened my eyes to slits, it was first to look up at the exultant look on Gage’s face. Then I faced the playroom. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it whooshed out of me.

  “Gage, you are sick and wrong. Just no. No.”

  “What?”

  “How can you have Pac-Man but not Ms. Pac-Man?” I pointed to the array of arcade games lined up against the far wall. “That was clearly the better game!”

  “I beg to differ.” With his arms crossed over his chest like that and his jaw looking like it had been set in concrete, there would be no persuading him.

  At least he had Mortal Kombat and… was that a Dance Dance Revolution platform? It was covered in Japanese writing.

  “Please tell me you have an Xbox.”

  “Baby, I have everything.” He pointed to the giant beanbag and large—but not huge—television in one corner. Gage was almost glowing as brightly as the screens on the old consoles. Their sound had been muted, but the lights blinked in the background like dozens of little disco lights.

  I wanted to laugh at myself for my idiotic fear. Whips and chains? Come on. I began giggling as I imagined myself bent over and tied to a bubble hockey table.

  Boys and their toys. It gave a whole new meaning to “joystick.” At that ridiculous thought, I bent over a little, my hands on my thighs, trying to cork up the laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh god, you are.”

  He stiffened, probably unused to being seen as a source of comedy. Well, it was past time to change that. Finally I managed to control my giggle fit, which was probably half due to relief.

  His annoyance came out in a strange sound from deep in his throat. When I flung my arms around his waist, he felt as though made of steel. I wanted to melt him down in a fi
ery forge and bend him into sinuous shapes. Cradling his carved jaw in my hands, I pulled him down for a tender, apologetic kiss.

  “I would love to play with you, Gage. But you should know that I take no prisoners in Mario Kart.”

  He sighed against my lips, multi-tasking while devouring me. “That is one… of… the sexiest… things… I’ve ever… heard… come out… of your mouth.”

  I sagged against him with a shiver. It didn’t take much for him to move me back out into the hallway and close the door to his “playroom.” Nor did it require a lot of effort to pin me against the wall next to it, the ridged doorframe digging into my spine.

  He held me up and stroked me into submission at the same time. His fingers were sturdy matches, striking against my surface of my skin until my arousal flared. It threatened to burn us both down.

  The bulge of his erection dug into my belly, reminding me of the hours, days, and weeks of foreplay leading up to this moment. “Bedroom?” I murmured.

  He led me down the hallway to another door, this one wide open. I paused just after I stepped inside.

  “What?” he asked from behind me, running his hands up and down my arms. I fought a shiver. The man made me tremble so much that it probably seemed as though I had malaria.

  “I like your room,” I said simply as he reached to the wall for the light switch.

  It was surprisingly peaceful for such a powerful man. A strange sensation pulled in my chest as I took in the calming blue paint, the tiny fireplace and the window seat looking out into the dark night. With shameful shock, I realized it was jealousy. I was almost vibrating with envy.

  Brian Gage lived in a dollhouse—one that would have been my dream house as a child. I had used shoeboxes and secondhand toys to create little domestic fantasies while he was—well, okay, he was in high school, but he still had a home and a family. And I would bet my last paycheck that he never appreciated it.

  My throat closed up a little as I gazed over his stacks of books, expensive-looking clothes tossed on a chair, and then finally the bed that dominated the space. Almost incongruous to the style of the little house, the headboard looked like an experiment with recycled wood pallets.