Stripped

by Tori St. Claire

  Holy fuck! Brandon’s gut clamped down like a vise as what was about to happen hammered into his head. He sent Aaron a beseeching glance, hoping like hell his friend would step up and ask the redheaded she-devil to leave.

  Instead, Aaron jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over as he scrambled toward the door. “Maybe not so clean after all,” he quipped from the doorway before he vanished into the club, leaving the door firmly closed in his wake.

  Brandon’s gaze flicked back to Natalya and locked in place. In the time it took Aaron to rocket out of the room, she’d lost her skirt as well. She stood before him in a bra that could hardly be called decent and matching thong panties.

  She made a slow pirouette, and his eyes swept down, all the way down, those never-ending legs. From the tops of muscular thighs, to shapely knees and toned calves, down to anklebones so delicate they looked like a doll’s and bright, pink-tipped toenails. Slowly, he made his way back up her body, across a flat, sloping waist, to her full, pert breasts, then higher, stopping at her parted pink lips.

  His entire body tightened. His pulse beat so fast it buzzed in his ears. Good fucking Lord, he’d known seeing Natalya naked would be a mistake of the worst kind. Shielded behind her fastidious suits lay a seductress’s body. A man’s playground guaranteed to keep him entertained for hours. And yet, somehow, she retained her elegance. The confidence in her step as she rounded the corner of his desk and approached his chair could only be described as class.

  His own personal fantasy come true.

  Christ!

  He ground his teeth together and clenched his hands into fists. And he couldn’t touch her. Well… shouldn’t. The reasons were too numerous to count.

  To his abject horror, she evidently intended to do the touching for him. Her slender hands swept slowly up her waist, cupped her breasts, and pushed them together. The soft swell of flesh that rose above the edge of her bra made his fingers twitch. His throat felt dry, the air in the room too stifling hot to breathe.

  He watched, not daring to move for fear he’d come out of his chair and back her against the wall where he’d had her yesterday. Her hands skimmed higher, climbing the delicate lines of her neck to the back of her hair. She pulled out a simple ballpoint pen, dropped it on his desk, and with one shake of her head, sent her glorious auburn hair tumbling to her waist.

  Brandon checked a groan. Not the wall. His desk. Where those fire-kissed lengths would fan out behind her head. A she-devil’s halo. Blood raced to his groin. Bittersweet agony, a product of wanting her beyond all reason, and knowing he dared not cross that line.

  As she dragged the backs of her knuckles down her sides, she tipped her head, listening to the music that drifted through his closed door. Her toe began to tap. Sloping hips soon followed, subtly undulating. “That’ll do,” she murmured. Flashing him a sultry smile, she rotated her hips in one slow circle as she bent over and ran her hands down her legs in a cat-like stretch. Looking up through her eyelashes, she asked, “So where do you want me, boss? On the desk or in your lap?”

  Their gazes locked, the tension in the room suddenly palpable. His nostrils flared at the faint scent of lilacs that wafted off her smooth skin.

  Definitely lotion.

  The irrational thought drifted through his mind seconds before Natalya sent his world careening sideways as her body assumed the muffled tempo, and she reached behind her back for the clasp of her bra.

  The scrap of lace fell away to land on his lap. Although minimal, the contact against his straining erection was enough to make him gasp. Her breasts swayed with the music, full and free, and beckoning him to touch.

  “Are there rules here, Brandon?” she asked as she worked her way closer to his knees. “It’s been a while since I’ve danced in Vegas, you know.”

  He found his voice, hoarse as it was. “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.” A coy smile drifted over her lips. “Maybe we should establish a few.” She hooked a leg over his thigh and dropped her body down. Close enough he dug his fingers into the arm of his chair and prepared for the shock of her weight.

  It didn’t come.

  Instead, she rolled her hips forward, mimicking the action they both knew their entendres referred to. He visualized slipping inside her waiting feminine warmth. Felt the heat of her moist pussy gloving his straining cock. Brandon clenched his hands tighter and ordered his body not to respond.

  The undulation rolled up her body, a gentle arc that pushed rosy nipples close to his face, and he caught another intoxicating whiff of flowers. He closed his eyes to temper the fierce desire that shot through his veins. When he opened them again, she’d retreated, standing once more with her legs spread wide around his and her hands roaming over the curves he ached to caress.

  “No touching above the belly button or below the waist,” she whispered, the hitch in her voice unmistakable.

  Brandon swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. “That pretty much eliminates everywhere.”

  “Exactly.” A wink followed a husky laugh.

  Catching on to her game, he released his death grip on the chair and reached a hand between their bodies to trail one finger horizontally cross her tight midriff. “Except here.”

  “Except there.” Natalya’s eyes sparked with dark color. Her confident smile faltered for a millisecond. But before she completely stumbled, she gyrated in a slow circle, presenting him with a mind-boggling view of firm buttocks and the delicate hollow of her spine. As she bent forward, undulating that perfect bottom in his face, his hand accidentally slipped down one taut curve.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Goose bumps broke out over her flesh. He hadn’t meant to violate her rules, but Brandon was damn glad for that unintentional slip. It proved, beyond all measure, she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like him to believe.

  He kept his finger on her skin as she worked a slow circle and eased her way around to face him once more. His hand rested on her upper thigh. Her gaze dropped to where he touched her. Belligerence drove him to draw a lazy circle over her skin.

  Natalya rewarded his forbidden caress by setting her hands on his desk, leaning back, and in perfect time with the music, placing her foot in his chest and pushing him away. A wicked grin pulled at her full lips. “No touching, boss.”

  “Right,” he murmured. Her shove sent him back into his chair, but as she lowered her leg, he observed the faint sheen of moisture on her inner thigh. His gut ground into a tight ball, and his balls pulled into his body.

  To hell with her rules. If she didn’t stop now, he was going to have his hands all over her. It took every bit of willpower he possessed to resist the call of her body, as it was. And he possessed little patience for this game. He was about to come in his pants, and before he allowed that to happen, Natalya would be on her back, screaming his name.

  She set her foot between his legs, her toes brushing the base of his confined erection. One deliberate lowering of her heel stroked his swollen length, and his cock pulsed. He grabbed her ankle, imprisoning that malicious foot. “Natalya.”

  “Hm?” Bending forward, she set her elbow on her knee and leaned her weight on the leg he held. Her long lashes lowered, then lifted over heavy-lidded eyes.

  Against his better judgment, he gave in to the urge to explore and slid his hand up the back of her calf, over the back of her knee, and came to a stop where he’d witnessed the garter hug her muscular leg the night before. “What do you want?”

  “The stage.” Her foot now free, she stroked his cock with her toe once more. “I think I’ve proved I’m good enough.”

  Good enough to surpass Kate, but he’d be damned if he told her that. After this little show, he was more convinced than ever that she’d never take the stage. She’d have every guy in the house on the verge of spontaneous ejaculation. As long as she looked at him like she did now, pupils dilated, lips parted against the heavy fall of her breath, he wouldn’t allow her to creep into any other man’s fantasy.<
br />
  “No,” he argued, his voice thick. “All you’ve proved is that I want to fuck you.”

  She didn’t even flinch as a laugh rumbled in the back of her throat. Her gaze slid down to where his fingers compressed her skin. “You’re violating the rules, boss.”

  Nuh-huh. She wasn’t getting out of this so easily. She’d started it, but he intended to finish it. Before she walked out of this room, he’d have her admission that she wanted the same. He was done with the games.

  Holding her gaze so he could witness her reaction, he inched his hand up her thigh. The back of his knuckles brushed against the damp scrap of her panties, and Natalya’s bold stare flickered with a flash of bright desire.

  Brandon rubbed his knuckle over her moist folds, stroking the hardened nub of her clitoris. “On my desk, or in my lap?” If he hadn’t been watching her so intently, he’d have never noticed the moment of hesitation as she bit down on her lower lip. But he felt the tremor roll through her body.

  “I want the stage.” Her voice lacked her usual confidence. The waver in her words only proved the falseness of her claim.

  In a surprisingly bold move, even for him, Brandon nudged that worthless scrap of silk aside, and pushed his finger inside her. Her gasp ricocheted through him with more force than a discharging gun. Her thighs parted, and her hips crept forward. Around his finger, her wet flesh clamped down hard.

  “I think you want me too.” At her silence, he pushed in again. Deeper. Slower. Drawing out the friction as he pressed the base of his palm against her aroused clit.

  Natalya teetered on her heels.

  Twelve

  P

  leasure thrummed through Natalya’s body. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing to keep from crumpling into Brandon’s hand. Every instinct for self-preservation she possessed demanded she clamp her legs together and step away from the fantastic intrusion of Brandon’s thick finger. She should deny his observation and give him a scathing lecture on violating her privacy. But it would be a lie. One she couldn’t hide from. The proof lay in the quivering of her abdomen, the way her body glided in time with his slow, steady thrusts. And dear God, she didn’t want to.

  She was sick of the lies. Sick of hiding behind masks and personalities that imprisoned her worse than any bars or chains.

  Just once, she wanted to bask in the truth, no matter how insignificant or fleeting it might be. What difference would it make? If he worked for Dmitri, he’d already elicited all the information he needed to prove she didn’t care for the man she was supposed to marry in two weeks. That she’d even allowed Brandon to touch her, when she sensed his intentions—and he’d made little attempt to hide them—revealed her fickle loyalties. All Brandon needed to do was relay what had happened.

  So why wasn’t he stopping?

  She opened her eyes to find his lethal gaze locked on her face. Tawny eyes burned into her skin. Hot color raced to her cheeks as a wave of heat flooded through her veins. Her pussy contracted around his finger, and she tottered again.

  Damn, he felt good. And he’d feel so much better with his weight pressed on top of her, his cock gliding in and out of her body, not his hand.

  A soft moan slipped from her throat.

  Brandon nudged her foot out of the chair and eased to his feet. One arm came around her waist, fingers splayed across the small of her back. The other stayed between her legs, languorous strokes edging her closer to inevitable climax.

  “Tell me what you want, beautiful.” His breath rasped over her cheek. Featherlight kisses accompanied the whisper, trailing across her skin in a taunting path toward her mouth.

  Kiss me. She turned her head in search of lips she instinctively knew would be warm, the words on the tip of her tongue. Kiss me until I don’t care whether I live or die.

  Honesty. Just once.

  He caught her lower lip with his teeth, the nip nowhere near gentle. But the lazy stroke of his tongue soothed the stinging bite. She parted her lips, dipped her tongue out to touch his.

  Brandon’s body tightened like a whip. The pressure in her lower back increased as his fingers curled into her skin. Their breaths mingled. The tips of their tongues met in a slow, sensual dance. As another spasm of ecstasy threatened to send her tumbling into his solid chest, she braced her hands on his shoulders.

  And then Brandon was gone, the magic of his fingers disappearing as he stepped back and set both hands on her waist. His gaze scorched in to flood her body with tingles. He waited, his question unspoken, but hanging between them.

  Tell me what you want.

  Clearly he intended to make her admit she wanted to feel him deep inside her. Wanted to experience the slide of his bare skin against hers. And God, how she wanted to kiss him. To taste the desire that burned in his gaze and the indescribable flavor of hot, aroused man.

  Confessing might lead her to an early grave, but for once, her conscience would be clear. She swallowed hard and dug deep for the courage that had kept her alive these last three years. His gaze followed the sweep of her tongue as she moistened her lips.

  “Kiss me.” Her senses honed in on her whisper, amplifying it and the ragged fall of their mutual breathing. She became aware of every minuscule sound as she waited for Brandon to either dip his head and honor her request, or shove her aside with a wicked sneer.

  He took a step closer, bringing their bodies in contact from chest to toes. One arm wrapped around her waist, then slid up her back to offer support between her shoulder blades. The other tangled in her hair, tipping her head back. Putting her where he wanted her—subtle dominance that thrilled her in places she hadn’t known existed. Her womb clamped hard, sending another rush of moisture through her pussy.

  His mouth descended. Warm lips played against hers, drawing her into the spell his body wove. Pulling her in so deep she struggled for air.

  The sudden, brassy ring of her cell phone jolted her out of hazy desire. She froze. With Kate and Sergei due to arrive at Fantasia any minute, there could only be one other person calling at this time of day—Dmitri. It would be almost one in the morning in Moscow. The time Dmitri put aside his work and crawled into bed. He’d want to talk before he slept.

  “Don’t answer that,” Brandon whispered against her mouth.

  Damn if those lips weren’t compelling. She’d had his mouth on her breast, knew the incredible magic his tongue could create there, but had yet to experience the tantalizing slide of his tongue against hers. The need to feel his mouth on hers, to get lost in his potent masculinity pressed her to ignore the ringing tones.

  Duty, however, rose up screaming. If she didn’t answer, Dmitri would get suspicious.

  “I have to.” Natalya shoved out of Brandon’s embrace and darted across the room for her phone. As she hurtled around the desk, she snatched up her jacket, thrust her arms inside, and caught her cell as the fourth ring began to dwindle. She punched the button and slipped into Dmitri’s native language. “Hello, darling.”

  As she buttoned her jacket, she tossed an apologetic look over her shoulder before yanking on her skirt.

  “How are you, my love? Are you enjoying Vegas?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” A little too much. Aware of the heavy weight of Brandon’s annoyed scowl, she hurried to the door and let herself outside.

  Dmitri’s chuckle drifted through the line, robust and warm. An almost pleasant sound, if she didn’t intimately know his darker nature. “Spending my money at craps?”

  “No, nothing like that. I did go shopping.” Laughing, she headed for her office.

  “Tell me you bought something green for me. Something naughty.”

  “Of course.” Never in a hundred years.

  “Tell me what it looks like so I can picture it while I’m jacking off in our bed and thinking of fucking you.”

  She fought back a shudder, the imagery of Dmitri bringing himself to pleasure with her as his chosen bit of erotica made her want to puke. But like the good actress she was
, she let out another laugh. “It’s a surprise.”

  A

  feeling so foreign he couldn’t find words to describe it crept into Brandon’s veins as Natalya’s laughter drifted through his door. He couldn’t name it, but he didn’t like it. It made him feel confined. Restrained. And the only thought that consumed his brain was shoving his fist through Sergei Khitrovo’s face. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put their homelands together, add in Natalya’s accent along with the way she lowered it to intimate familiarity, and come up with lovers. Maybe the government didn’t have record of a personal association, but give her a few more months and they would.

  He swiveled around and shoved his chair into his desk. “Fuck!”

  If he hadn’t been so adamant about hearing her tell him she wanted him, that phone call would have gone unanswered. She’d still be here. And he’d be riding out the orgasm that had threatened to break loose against his palm.

  Like a caged man with no outlet, he stalked the length of his office. For the dozenth time, he questioned what the hell was the matter with him. Since when had words mattered? Her body told him plain as day what she wanted. He could still smell her on his hand.

  Why the hell did he care who she was murmuring sweet nothings to? She wasn’t his. He didn’t want to keep her. He just wanted to screw her silly.

  Which he very well could be doing if he hadn’t decided he needed to hear her confession and eek out one slight degree of control with that simple victory.

  He came to a standstill as what she’d said echoed distantly in his brain.

  Kiss me.

  Not some blatant sexual request, like he had expected. Not a brash, fuck me, as he’d been wholly prepared to hear. No, she’d wanted something simpler. Something…