He had actually held up two fingers in a V formation, stuck his nasty tongue between them, and flicked the pink, fleshy organ in rapid succession while making a disgusting sound in his throat.
“Okay, eewwww,” she’d said, palms up, and had gotten up from their table….
She wasn’t opposed to a thorough tongue lashing from a man, just opposed to Braxton’s tongue on her sex.
Closing her eyes, she hoped for an odd occurrence of spontaneous amnesia to strike, wiping away the memory of her date from hell. Or, heck, why stop there? If she were going to dream of amnesia, why not dream big and go for the full-on version, swiping all her bad memories away and taking a huge part of her away in the process?
Tiffany’s eyelids fluttered open. She sighed and stood up from the bed. Unzipping her skirt, she made her way toward the bathroom, talking to herself. “You are completely cuckoo; you know that, right?”
***
Whistling a tune stuck in her head from her morning commute, Tiffany entered Stoub Engineering. She was surprised to see Matthew Stoub in so early. She usually unlocked the building, put the coffee on to brew, and had accomplished several tasks before he arrived. Curious, she placed her purse on her desk and went to his office to greet him.
“Ah, Ms. Brooks,” he said, glancing up when she walked in. A shock of silver hair brushed his forehead and bright green eyes met hers. “I’m glad I caught you this morning. I was afraid I’d miss you, so I was writing a note.” He wadded up a piece of paper and tossed it in the trashcan by his desk.
“Your appointment with Mr. Cage isn’t until ten-thirty this morning.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s not quite eight.”
“I sort of made an appointment without looking at the schedule you sent me.” He held up a thin finger. “Now, before you say anything, I’m sorry I did, but in my defense, I have a heck of a time transferring my schedule to my cell phone. I did try, but it didn’t work.”
He gave her a peculiar grin she hadn’t seen before.
“Mr. Stoub, I’d be happy to show you how to set up your e-mail from your computer to your phone again,” Tiffany said. “Or better yet, if you bought a tablet—”
He cleared his throat. “It’s hard to teach old dogs new tricks, and the last thing I need is another electronic headache added to my day. I’ll try to pay more attention to my appointments when you e-mail them to me.”
“If you don’t mind, where are you headed this morning?”
He grabbed his gray-pinstriped suit coat from the back of his office chair and shrugged it on. “Since my brother Dale retired, I’ve found I’m busier than I want to be. Things were less stressful here when Stoub Engineering had two engineers, so I’ve been thinking about taking on an apprentice.”
“Great idea,” she said.
He gave her an eye-crinkling smile. “I sure hope so. My appointment this morning is with the head of the drafting department at the technical college to go over some candidates.”
“Do you need me to reschedule with Mr. Cage?”
“Actually, I was thinking you could take care of things with him for me.”
“Me?”
Tiffany wondered if her face looked as taken aback as her voice sounded.
Mr. Stoub nodded.
“There was an issue with the columns for the parking garage structure. I already went to see what the problem was and drew up a new set of specs last night. All you need to do is take them over to the site and give them to Mr. Cage. He doesn’t need me there to go over the revisions.” Matthew grabbed a tube from his blueprint stack and gave it to her as he passed. “Tell Mr. Cage I’m sorry for having an issue in my scheduling, and I’ll call him later on this afternoon to make sure things are going smoothly over at the Cherry Hills project.”
“Uh….” she spluttered to the back of her boss. He waved a hand over his head.
“See you,” he said.
Trout-mouthed, she stood there listening to the back door chime, knowing from the sound her boss was gone and she’d be meeting with Mr. Cage in his stead.
Chapter Four
Declan was looking over the latest payroll report when his iPhone pinged at him for the second time. The sound was the notification for his ten-thirty meeting with Matthew Stoub. He put the report down, picked up his phone, and tapped the screen, clearing the reminder alarm so it wouldn’t keep beeping at him, and then set his cell aside.
Tired of sitting all morning, he stretched his arms over his head then got up from his desk chair and strode over to the folding table. The table housed the coffeemaker, cups, and all the fixings. He’d tucked a mini-fridge below to keep his perishable things and soda cold. Being in his temporary field office wasn’t too cozy. He much preferred his real one, but the modular building did the job.
He opened up the little refrigerator, snagged a Coke, and made sure to give the door an extra push when he closed it. The gasket needed to be replaced. However, he figured, although the unit was older than dirt, the fridge would work well enough until he had time to fiddle with the damn thing or buy another one.
Using the bottom of his shirt, he swiped perspiration from his brow. The Indian summer contributed to the enclosed space becoming too warm, so Declan walked over to the air-conditioner protruding from the bottom of the window by the entry and turned it on, shocked when he saw Tiffany’s car tootling up. He watched her park. She sat there inside her vehicle for a moment then dug around for something. What, exactly, he couldn’t tell. A few seconds later, her driver’s side door opened.
Declan’s eyes rounded when Ms. Brooks stepped out, came around, and gave a bump to the car door with her hip. Her hair is different. Tiffany’s long locks usually flowed past her shoulders, but she’d pulled them up, freeing the canvas of her neck. He let his gaze meander. She was wearing a tight tan skirt that ended well above her sexy knees and a sleeveless white, almost-see-through blouse with a plunging neckline. She was legs, cleavage, and curves.
It took him a minute to realize she had a long cylinder tucked under her arm. The new specs from Matthew. In her hand, she balanced a box from Dunkin’ Donuts and what he thought was his hoodie. When she started to teeter, he wanted to grump at her for wearing fucking high heels to a construction site and trying to navigate her way through a gravel drive.
What in the hell was she thinking?
She was halfway to his office when he heard the muffled sounds of men hooting. Son of a bitch. He’d go out and greet her and put an end to their hound-dog behavior. At least it damn well better. He paused for a moment and considered the fact that he didn’t want his men to be looking at her. The realization took him aback. He was darkly possessive of a woman he knew hardly anything about, other than she had a penchant for prim prissiness, tended to date losers in expensive suits because she had some crazy notion doing so would somehow better herself, did a little snort when she laughed, and worked for Matthew Stoub. Hell, he’d never even touched her. Well, not really. Not in a way that would count. Frowning, he supposed he was going to need to remedy both situations.
Shoving his ponderings to the back of his mind, he put his Coke can on top of the AC and roughly opened his office door before he stepped onto the landing. The whistles and other vulgar noises coming from the workers stopped. He smirked, happy to know his presence shut them the hell up.
He practically ran down the stairs to get to her. “What happened to Matthew?” he asked.
“Mr. Stoub had a scheduling conflict.” She held up the box of donuts. “I brought snacks, though.” She took a step and lurched.
Declan looked down. One of her heels had sunk into the gravel. He grabbed hold of the donut container in one hand, helping her with his other. She latched onto his forearm and wiggled her foot until she was free.
“Aha!” Her face beamed as if the dislodging was a eureka moment and loosened her hold on his arm.
“Don’t you know those things are hazardous to your health? Especially wearing them to a constructi
on site. We have rocks, nails, dirt piles, planks, heavy equipment, ruts, and generally nasty stuff going on out here.”
Tiffany sniffed. “They match my skirt, and, besides, I always wear high heels.”
She started walking on the balls of her feet, trying to keep the backs of those stupid shoes off the ground. Declan grinned. She looked adorable.
They made the short trek across the gravel and were at the base of the stairs when he bounded up them and held the door open for her.
“After you, Ms. Brooks.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He enjoyed the pleasure of watching her ascend the five steps before she breezed past where he stood. His gaze went to her luscious backside.
She has one hell of an ass.
When Tiffany stepped inside his office, she glanced over her shoulder at him. He stopped imagining all the things he wanted to do to her rounded bottom, like spanking her backside until it turned the perfect shade of strawberry red, and looked into her eyes.
“Are you coming in, Mr. Cage?”
“Yep,” he said.
He shut the door behind them. He was ticked to be semi-erect beneath his jeans from nothing more than watching her walk past him, but she did know how to shake her assets while wearing a skirt that clung to her and reminded him of a second skin. Still, he wasn’t a horny teenager. Hell, in his thirty-one years, he’d seen plenty of beautiful women shake what the good Lord gave them, and they hadn’t made him sport a stiff one so quickly.
Declan placed the donut container on the table by the coffee cups before turning around to see her again. She had already put the cylinder containing the blueprints on his desk with his hoodie folded neatly alongside it. She sat on the black-leather couch across from him, legs crossed, her skirt riding up into dangerous territory.
Shit. Ms. Brooks possessed the type of innate sexuality that turned everything she did, from the batting of her long lashes to the way she sensually moved her hands, into a peep show he wanted to observe.
“Damn. You sure know how to tempt a man.”
She fiddled with her earring. “I’m not here to tempt you, Mr. Cage. I’m here because my boss asked me to bring you those prints.” Her gazed flitted to the tube on his desk before she returned to an eye-to-eye showdown with him. “I’m to let you know Mr. Stoub will call you later on today. I’m supposed to apologize for his scheduling conflict. Thus, the donuts.” She looked at him in a way she’d never done before. Her face wasn’t smugly cool and impassive as it usually was when she spoke to him, but softer somehow. “On a more personal note, thank you for the other night and the use of your sweatshirt. I washed it, so it’s clean.”
“You’re welcome, but you didn’t need to go to the trouble of washing it.”
“It wasn’t any trouble.” She slowly slid one naked ankle up and down the back of her stocking-free calf. “You should grab a donut while they’re still fresh.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” His body hardened more as he watched her fondle the side of her neck with her fingertips. He imagined them stroking the length of him. “Not for donuts, anyway.”
“What are you hungry for?”
“You,” he said, wanting her to be clear on the matter.
She tilted her head. Considering, he thought, and then, without the bat of an eyelash, she said in a seductive voice, “I’m not on the menu.”
There was no denying Little Miss Priss was begging to be taken in hand, and he was the man to do it.
“Dressed the way you are…. sitting on my sofa the way you are.…” He scrubbed his palm down the back of his head, exasperated. “You are pure temptation. But then again, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
She lifted her head. Defiantly. “I don’t know anything of the sort.”
“Liar.”
She started to get up then rested on the edge of her seat. “Perhaps I should go.”
He intended to call her bluff. What’s more, he was the better poker player in this game.
He went to the door, put his hand on the knob, and scowled at her. “Perhaps you should.”
She rose gracefully, crossed the not-so-large area separating them, and put her hand on top of his. “Move so I can turn the doorknob.”
He removed his much-larger hand from beneath her warm palm. She stood there. A hesitation. He bent down and lightly skimmed his nose up the cord of her exposed neck, taking in her delicious scent of soap and something sweetly floral, pausing when he came to her ear.
“Go, then. No one is stopping you,” he whispered.
Her slight tremble called to him on a primal level and ratcheted up his need to possess her. To feel her body against his. To kiss those full, rosy-pink lips. She was going to burn him alive when he finally tasted them.
Control. He needed to gain control, not go at her like some sort of animal, but Ms. Brooks tested him. Ignoring the enormous red stop sign flashing inside his head, he went for her shoulders, spun her around to face him, and took her lips.
She melted against him, warm, willing woman, and opened her mouth, jostling her tongue with his. Her surrender was what he’d been looking for. What he needed. His knee went between her legs and pressed. When she ground herself on him, he groaned.
Declan plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth, and she took him, giving as good as she got. He tasted an explosion of cinnamon and feminine lust. He slid his hands down her bare arms and wrapped his long fingers around her wrists, manacling them.
She tore her mouth from his, turning her head to the side.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Do you really want me to let you go, Tiffany?”
“I….”
Another hesitation.
“Or maybe what you want me to do is take you back to the couch.” Her gaze shot to the black-leather sofa she’d been seated on. The pulse in her wrist thumped wildly against his thumb. “Yeah,” he said. “You’d like that.” She slowly shook her head and slipped her lip between her teeth. “You want me to hike up your skirt, pull down your panties, and make you ride my hard cock, all sweet like.”
Chapter Five
Listening to Declan’s words, Tiffany’s sex fluttered. The fact she had firsthand knowledge of how good he was contributed to the moisture pooling between her legs. She recalled the first time they had been in such close proximity, and part of her knew she should have never fallen prey to him, especially since he’d come to the party with a woman who had clearly adored him, but, regardless, she knew why she had. And it wasn’t the exhilaration of being fucked senseless while the merriment of the partygoers echoed outside the partially closed door. It wasn’t even the taboo of it, his being off limits, or the fact their little indiscretion could have been exposed so easily. No. It was the same now and then. She couldn’t stop her weakness for bad, rough-and-tumble men.
Any fear he might remember their one brief time together had subsided. He truly didn’t recognize her from Eve, which bothered her most of all because she must be pathetically transparent. How could he know what to say to her and how to say it?
Perhaps some sort of bad-boy pheromone emanated from her skin. Maybe when she was around Declan, she broadcast the signal, “Take me and fuck me ’til I can’t feel my legs.” Conceivably, he could read her like an open book, and, somehow, had honed in on the dirty bits scattered across the pages of her psyche.
Before she could go over all the reasons she should leave, the biggest being he was completely wrong for her, he’d tugged her to the couch, sat down, and taken her with him.
“Straddle me, sugar,” he said in a sandpaper voice, all grit.
Willing to go where she knew she shouldn’t tread, she did what he asked, throwing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the leather cushion on either side of his denim clad thighs. His hands went to her hips. Slid down farther, where he stopped. His fingertips touched her flesh. Using his thumbs, he stroked the front of her thighs, undoing her. Shivers traversed he
r arms and legs. Her sex pulsed.
He inched her skirt up, working until the fabric bunched around her waist. When cool air struck the back of her thighs, one side of his mouth quirked up. He appeared pleased with himself for exposing her panties.
“I’ll give you exactly what you crave,” he said and ripped the thong from her body. Tiffany sucked in a breath. He threw the tattered silk to the floor with his right hand while flicking her clit ring with the forefinger of his left. “Nice adornment.” He tugged on her piercing, giving her the right amount of pressure. “But you need me to scratch your itch, don’t you, baby?”
She’d come too far to lie about what she needed now. Nodding, she whispered, “Harder.”
He chuckled, and the sound was a flashpoint of sensation added to the slow stroke of the fingers he’d slipped between her crease.
She leaned forward, hand resting on the top of the sofa by his head, and kissed him. While their tongues tangled, he rubbed her, his other hand going to her hair where he tugged the clip, releasing the long strands. They tumbled down her back in time with his palm curling around the base of her neck, claiming her.
Oh, she liked the way he took possession. Everything feminine inside her needed the pure maleness of him.
Tiffany nibbled at his bottom lip, pulling scant inches from his mouth. “You make me burn,” she admitted.
“The feeling is mutual,” he said and plunged a finger inside of her.
“Ahh, yeah,” she uttered her approval.
He shoved his finger deeper. “You’re so wet.”
“Yes.”
Her hand went to his bulging crotch. She squeezed him through his jeans. He groaned. With nimble fingers, she unbuttoned his fly, freeing his thick cock from the denim. When the heavy head rested in her palm, she smiled. He was fantastic, and she’d known from past experience he’d be commando.
Wrapping her fingers around the base of his superb erection, she began to pump him. “Good?”
“Hell, yes,” he said and fingered her in earnest, inserting another. His thumb pressed hard against her clitoris, sending heated spikes of sensation through her body.
Spanked by the Bad Boy Page 3
