Twist (A BDSM & Romantic Erotica Boxed Set)

by Tara Crescent

  And now Ted Ashburn has given me the perfect weapon. Doing something illegal with him? I’ve got this.

  “I can go to the partners,” I say evenly. I’d like to believe that I sound cool and kickass and dangerous. “You’ll be in a whole lot of trouble. You’ll probably get fired. You might even go to jail.”

  He’s unlikely to go to jail; the SEC’s poorly paid minions are notoriously overworked, but I’m hoping that he’s too nervous to call me out.

  “Unless…” I continue, with a glint in my eye.

  “Unless?” His voice is surprisingly calm, all things considered. Not mine. I’m resolutely suppressing the quiver in my voice.

  “Unless you do everything I say…” I gulp. I haven’t thought this through, not fully. What am I going to do with him? For how long? And do I dare order him to take his clothes off right now?

  Okay, remember when I said I was as horny as the next person? That might have been a lie. Right now, I’m way, way hornier than the next person. “For two weeks,” I finish.

  “You want me to do everything you say for two weeks,” he repeats. He’s looking a little dazed and a little surprised, but I don’t see either anger or fear in his expression. Interesting. “And in return, you’ll forget about that phone call?”

  “What phone call?” I ask blandly.

  He grins then. His smile is feral and dangerous and if I had any sense, I’d back out right now. I get the feeling I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew. “Okay, Natalie. We have a deal.” His gaze positively smoulders as he looks into my eyes. “And Nat? If you are thinking of going back on this agreement, I would reconsider.”

  I shiver a little, then my spine straightens. “You do exactly as I say for two weeks, Mr. Ashburn,” I bite out. “Threatening me isn’t part of the deal.” I need to do something now to show him he isn’t in charge. He’s far too self-assured for his own good. “Unzip your trousers.”

  His eyebrows rise. I’m standing in the open doorway to his office. Anyone can walk by at any given time. This is dangerous for both of us. My body knows this and is strangely turned on by the idea of being discovered. My nipples have perked up. My pussy moistens.

  Stupid body. Danger isn’t the same as arousal. Or is it?

  His beautiful hazel eyes lock on mine. His fingers reach for his belt buckle, and I shake my head, displeased. I’m pushing him. “Did I tell you to take your belt off?”

  His lips twitch. I’m far, far too laid-back to play Domme and I can tell that Ted Ashburn is mostly amused at my transformation. His obvious enjoyment just serves to irritate me, but he obeys silently. The zipper pull slides down.

  “Take your dick out.” Oh, I cannot believe I said that. I cannot believe those words that hover in the air between us came from my lips. But if there was a point of no-return in this crazy game, it’s about a mile behind me and receding rapidly.

  He does a bit of complicated maneuvering, sucking in his already-flat stomach and pulling his cock out. Oh, it is nice. I had intended to say something mean and snide about its size and shape, but I can’t. It’s as close to perfect as it gets. Smooth and hard, long and thick, with a bulbous cut head that glistens with a drop of precum.

  Do something illegal and sexual with this guy. Sure. No worries. Right now, my brain is mesmerized by his cock. I can’t bring myself to look away.

  I gulp, drawing in a lungful of air. I feel strangely light-headed. All the blood in my body has pooled lower.

  He coughs and the spell breaks. “Zip back up,” I say. My voice is hoarse, and he smirks openly at the sound. Asshole. “Be at my apartment tonight,” I order him. “I’ll expect you at eight. I’ll text you the address.”

  He might think he’s coming over for sex. That I’m going to blackmail him by riding his hard cock all night long. I push back the desire that rises instantly in response to that thought. I’m not going to do that. Too easy.

  In my office, I text Beth and the others. “Challenge accepted,” I type. “The dare is on.”

  Oh, another piece of pertinent information? A google search informs me that the jail time for blackmail is between two and four years. Great job, Natalie.

  Chapter 3

  As Ted Ashburn has pointed out, the merger’s nearly done. The bulk of my work is over and things are actually winding down. As I walk towards my tiny studio apartment, I even get to see daylight. Shocking. I’m sure the partners at SB&C are plotting on how to rectify that situation at this exact moment.

  Still, I’m taking advantage of my spare time. When I let myself into my place, it is just a little past seven in the evening, and I have absolutely nothing to do for the next hour.

  I need courage for what I’m planning. Liquid courage. The kind that a couple of pints of beer will give me. I open myself a bottle and settle down on the couch.

  My apartment is a mess. I’m the rarity among my colleagues in that I don’t hire a cleaning service. No matter. Today, a particularly hot, particularly annoying co-worker is going to function as a one-man cleaning crew.

  I grin to myself. If I’m going to blackmail someone, I’m determined to make it good.

  He rings my doorbell at eight on the dot. I open the door and let him in and his eyebrows rise as he takes in the place. “This is a strange apartment for an investment banker,” he says finally.

  Yes, I’ve heard this before. I make good money. My peers live in larger shoeboxes in the nicer neighborhoods in Manhattan. But I have a reason for my crappy apartment, and it’s a good one. SB&C has always been a rung on the ladder for me, nothing more. All my life, I’ve cared about the environment. My dad is a retired park ranger. My mom grew up on a farm. It’s in my DNA. But even at the relatively well-paying firm of McQuade and Perlman, I’m going to take a huge pay cut. You can save the world, or you can make coin on Wall Street. But not both.

  I’ve always known this. I’ve also known that if I get used to luxury, it’ll be impossibly hard to give up. Hence the shoe-box apartment and the absence of a cleaning service. It’s part of my life plan.

  I’m not going to bother to explain all of this to Ted Ashburn. Instead, I give him the kind of once-over that douchebaggy guys give girls. You know, the kind where they are undressing you with their eyes. Somehow, it feels less like an asshole-move when I’m doing it to Ted.

  Fine. I’m just justifying my own behaviour, okay?

  Oh, Ted Ashburn is a big slice of yummy, with a side order of extra lusciousness. That dark brown, wavy hair is slightly tousled. There’s a shadow of stubble on his face and I want to rub all my body parts against his skin. My body is tingling with definite approval at this idea.

  Hard abs, tight ass – this is a good-looking package, ladies. His peacock-blue tie is loosened, his navy jacket ss undone. His shirt is half-untucked and I plan to complete the job in a moment.

  I gesture to my kitchen sink. It’s overflowing with dishes. Hey, I’ve been working till midnight most of the week. Besides, if I’m being perfectly honest, keeping my sink clean isn’t high on my list of life priorities. I really have better stuff to do with my time.

  “You’ll be cleaning first,” I inform him. I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing at the expression on his face. “But you shouldn’t ruin your clothes.” The concern in my voice is so fake, and I can tell Ted sees through me. His lips twitch. “Take off your jacket.”

  “Do you want a strip-tease, Natalie?” His voice mocks me. “I’m curious to see how far you are going to take this. This is a high-stakes game you are playing.”

  I want to tell him to stop patronizing me. I want to snap and tell him that I know what I’m doing, but of course, that’s not actually true. Instead, I nod curtly. “I do. I want the strip-show. All the way down to the briefs.”

  I’ve seen that dick earlier in the office. I’m not sure how much cleaning will get done if Ted gets completely naked.

  Give him credit, because Ted grins and enters the spirit of the proceedings. He winks at me and scrol
ls through his phone, before hitting Play. The strains of Sexual Healing fill the air.

  Stick-up-his-ass Theodore Ashburn listens to Marvin Gaye? Who knew?

  In a second, any semblance of thought evaporates from my brain. Look, I’ve been to my share of strip clubs. The guy’s not a pro, but wow, he’s a committed amateur.

  The tie comes off first. It flies in my direction and he mouths ‘for later’ to me. My insides clench tight at those words.

  Then he shrugs off his jacket, and sets it down on a nearby chair. His big hands run up and down on his tightly-muscled chest. His hips gyrate to the melody, slow thrusts that promise so much goodness. He kicks off his shoes next and removes his socks, thank heavens. Because while I know guys think naked and socks is a good combination, but it really, really isn’t.

  He starts to take off his clothes and my attention is snapped back to the sexy smutty goodness unfolding in front of me.

  Holding my gaze with a smouldering look, he unbuttons his shirt slowly. As that torso comes into view, with its sprinkling of chest hair, my fingers itch to touch him. I want to trace the outline of each muscle. I want to follow that happy trail down…

  Let’s just call it what it is. I have lady wood.

  He doesn’t take off the shirt. It just hangs open while his hands inch towards his belt. I watch, unable to turn away, as the belt comes free of the loops. He doubles the leather strap for a too-brief second, and I gulp. I want to fan myself, but I don’t want to give too much away. I paste what I hope is an inscrutable expression on my face.

  Fuck. Button undone, pants unzipped. And his briefs are fire-engine red. Well, well, Mr. Ashburn, perhaps you aren’t quite as boring as you act.

  Inch by excruciating inch, the pants slide off. His dick’s tenting his briefs. The hard outline makes me want to nibble and lick and suck.

  I can’t take it anymore. I pull out my phone. He stops and raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a photo,” I reply. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  His eyes narrow. I can tell that he’s wondering what to do in this situation. “And what are you planning to do with it?”

  “I’m going to send it to my girlfriends,” I tell him. My voice is emphatic. Let’s be clear here – I’m not asking for Ted’s permission. That’s not the dynamic at play here. I push down the little surge of guilt that rises in me. If the genders were swapped out, I’d be telling a girlfriend who’s being photographed against her will to knee the guy in the groin and get out of there. “I’ve got to prove you are here.”

  I really do feel bad about this.

  He exhales. “Can you trust your friends?”

  I nod. “Absolutely,” I promise him. “I’m not a dick.”

  He gives me the same once-over that I gave him when he walked in, and every single nerve ending in my body welcomes that leisurely inspection. “No, Nat. You aren’t,” he agrees, his eyes honing on the vee between my legs. I wonder if there’s a visible wet stain. It feels like there should be - I’m that turned on. My panties are plastered to my crotch. “You don’t have the necessary equipment.”

  The snarky part of me wonders if this is what Ted Ashburn thinks of as dirty talk.

  The horny part of me wants this to be just the tip of the iceberg.

  I take the photo and send it to the girls. ‘Positively illegal,’ I caption the text. Their replies are near-instantaneous, the text-message equivalent of wolf-whistles. ‘Hot damn,’ Beth’s response reads. ‘I’m coming over,’ is Joan’s response. Anna sends me a little emoji of a devil. I think that’s supposed to give me license to be wicked. As if I needed the extra encouragement.

  “Now what, Natalie?” He’s got a cocky grin on his face. Glasses, the faintest hint of a stubble, and wearing next to nothing. This guy is irresistible. It is killing me to stick to the script.

  I wave to the sink of dishes. “Get cleaning,” I tell him.

  Chapter 4

  Look, I don’t know if chore-play is a thing. I mean, would I be turned on if a guy was wearing ratty sweatpants and doing dishes?

  But he’s not wearing ratty sweatpants. He’s wearing hardly anything at all and my insides are doing little flips in response.

  The briefs hang low on his body. He has two little dimples right above his tight butt cheeks. I ache to press my tongue against those twin spots, while my hand reaches between his legs and strokes his hard shaft.

  I sit on my bed slash couch and restrain myself. There’s a power dynamic I’m trying to maintain here and hot panting lust isn’t helpful. I need to be calmly controlled. Completely in charge.

  The moisture pooling in my vagina mocks me. Hot, panting lust is definitely winning this round.

  The music’s still playing. Sexual Healing has thankfully ended, because crooning Marvin Gaye plus almost-naked Ted Ashburn is a matchstick to my fuel-soaked libido.

  A song that I don’t know plays next. A woman is singing in a language I don’t recognize, but her husky voice tugs at something in me. The muted percussion vibrates through my core. I’m starting to go into a daze, my hand sliding lower, under the waistband of my yoga pants, to pet at my pussy.

  “Ahem.” The sound of his throat clearing jerks me back to my apartment, where Ted’s turned around and is eyeing me with open amusement. “Natalie.” He gestures to the empty sink, to the dishes drying on the dish rack. “I’m done with the dishes. What next?”

  Go down on me.

  I wish I could voice that thought. My body heats with the idea of being that bold, that demanding. Making this man come towards me, kneel down in front of me, spread my legs open and feast on my pussy.

  I can feel him watch me. The amusement is gone from his eyes, and his own arousal is visible now. “Don’t stop,” he orders. “Are you wearing knickers, Natalie?”

  I shake my head silently.

  “And is your cunt wet?” He leans back against the counter. A relaxed predator. Only one step away from uncoiling and pouncing. My gaze locks onto the hard outline of his cock.

  I nod.

  “Push a finger inside. Just one finger. No touching your clitoris. Not just yet.”

  There’s a part of my brain that’s wondering why I’m listening to Ted’s orders.

  My pussy, however, is delighted to meet my finger.

  “Pump it in and out, Nat.” His voice is a little strained. I obey, then I come to my senses. This isn’t quite right. I’m supposed to be the one in control. Not Ted.

  I pull my finger out and hold it out to him. “Want a taste?” My tone is supposed to be light, maybe just a little snarky. At least, that’s what I was going for. What comes out is softer than I intend it to be. Needier.

  “Of course,” he replies. He moves towards me and his fingers wrap around my wrist. His gaze never leaves mine as he slowly brings my hand up to his mouth. His lips part and my finger is captured, sucked and licked clean. My nipples are rock hard. I can feel them poking through my thin cotton t-shirt.

  While my finger is trapped in his mouth – and I’m not complaining about that at all! – his other hand moves towards me. Slowly. With intent. Giving me plenty of time to pull away and form words like ‘No’ or ‘Stop’ or ‘what are you doing?’ Words that remain unspoken.

  He traces a small circle over a nipple through my t-shirt and repeats the breath-catching, body-shivering movement on the other nipple. Blood is pounding in my head from his touch. I can feel myself inching towards him, closer and closer…

  No. I’m in charge here.

  I free my finger from between his lips and push the hand that’s playing with my breasts away. “You are cooking dinner next,” I tell him. “I have no groceries though, so you’ll have to go shopping for me first.”

  I fish for my purse, and hand him fifty bucks. He laughs at that. “Natalie,” he says, shaking his head. “Keep your money.” He inclines his head at his clothing. “I’m assuming I’m allowed to get dressed first?”

  As much as I’d like
him to go shopping in his underwear and even though that’ll satisfy the illegal portion of the proceedings, I give him permission to don his clothes. Mostly, it’s for my sanity. In his unclothed state, Ted Ashburn is dangerously hard to resist.

  Chapter 5

  In the forty-five minutes he’s gone, I masturbate three times. First, I tip into climax. Then my body gets all relaxed and languid, until my brain again conjures up a memory of him doing dishes in his briefs. Then, my pussy gets tingly once more and my fingers reach for my clitoris, and voila! Three times. The entire apartment smells of sex when I’m done, so I hastily get up and light some candles.

  “Romantic,” he comments dryly when he comes back up with an armful of groceries. I move to help him automatically and he chuckles. “You’re blackmailing me, remember?” he points out.

  “I wasn’t raised by wolves,” I say defensively.

  He smiles a more genuine smile. “I bought some wine too.” He pulls out a bottle of some kind of fancy French red and opens the cupboards, looking for glasses. He finds two goblets high on a shelf, dusty from disuse and he washes those and dries them before opening the bottle.

  “Pretentious,” I mutter.

  He rolls his eyes and hands me a glass. “Natalie,” he remarks, “this faux anti-elitism thing you have going on is quite ridiculous. Wine is a beverage, just like beer.” He swirls the contents of his glass, inhaling deeply and with pleasure. “Smell.”

  I do. It honestly doesn’t smell like anything other than wine, but his pleasure is real and watching him savour the drink, arousal sparks back to life. Passion is always sexy.

  Well, everything’s sexy until my stomach rumbles loudly. Then, I’m just embarrassed. Good timing there, Nat.

  He grins. “Your face is completely red,” he remarks, surveying me with amusement. “Don’t worry, I bought some cheese for you to nibble on while I make dinner.”