Easing down his jockey shorts, she let his cock bounce free. It was fully engorged and tapped eagerly against his rock-hard abs. “Poor George, you really want to come, don’t you?”
His head turned to one side against the desk, his eyebrows lowering as he stared across his office at the door. “Yes.”
The way he looked in that moment confirmed her feelings. She smiled to herself and clambered over him, kneeling on the desk, squeezing his thighs together with her knees. As she ran one finger up and down his breastbone, his cock twitched, his nice tight stomach tightening again before her eyes. Tension oozed from his every pore, and he stared at her with hungry eyes. Kneeling up at full stretch, she moved her hips in a slow circle, her leather jeans creaking as she did so. For her, the thrill was in sussing out what he really wanted. Outside his office, his staff speculated from desk to desk about what was going on in here. That was a big part of it for him. He’d made a show of bringing her in here, locking the door and asking not to be disturbed. Faye had also seen the way his secretary looked—crestfallen, to say the least—and she knew the speculation was running riot out there, and she was pretty sure that’s what got him off.
“You trust me, don’t you George?”
“You know that. I couldn’t do this if I didn’t.” He paused, took a deep breath. “We agreed when we met, trust is important.”
“Do you trust me to give you exactly what you want?” What he thought he wanted was to be bound and pleasured while everyone outside wondered what the hell was going on. There was more to it than that, and she’d figured it out. “Do you believe I know what’s best for you right now?”
His eyes flickered shut. Resistance was there, but after several long moments, he spoke. “Yes, I believe you probably do.”
That was all that she needed to know.
“In that case, I’m going to give you what you really, really want.” She stroked his jaw, bent over him and kissed his mouth softly good-bye.
Then she climbed off him and walked away. When she reached the door, she heard him whisper her name in a querying tone. She turned on her heel and looked back over her shoulder, arching one eyebrow at him. “You told me you trusted me.”
He could easily have requested her not to leave his side. But he didn’t. His body grew visibly tense, his cock jerking up against his abdomen. This was making him harder still. She restrained her smile.
“I do trust you,” he whispered.
“Good.”
Unlocking the door, she opened it and peeped out into the outer office. His secretary’s desk was in a recessed bay four feet away, and she was staring right at Faye, wide eyed. Faye was willing to bet the poor woman never took her eyes off George’s door when he was in there.
The open-plan office beyond the immediate area was busy and humming with noise. No one else seemed to have noticed the door was opening. It was too soon. Faye emerged as discreetly as she could.
The secretary lowered the pen she had been gnawing on as Faye approached.
Faye put her hands flat to the desk and leaned in close. “George is in there, half naked, and handcuffed to the desk. I’m leaving now.”
The secretary’s eyes rounded and her lips parted, her glance going back to the door. Despite the perfect cover of her immaculate makeup, color stained the secretary’s cheeks.
Oh, yes, thought Faye, she’d been right about this one. The secretary was in her early thirties, and although she was pretty—with just the sort of blue-black hair her boss seemed to like—she dressed a mite too sedately for her own good. And she had a major crush on George.
“You have two options,” Faye whispered.
Interest flared in the woman’s eyes.
“You can go in there, make a fuss, and draw the attention of everyone in this room. He’ll never live it down, and in all likelihood you will lose your job at some point not too long after today.”
The secretary swallowed. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Of course not. However, you have a second option. I saw the way you looked at him, and—believe me—he is interested in you, too.”
The secretary’s pupils dilated.
“So your other option is to go in there quietly and lock the door behind you. Take charge of him, sexually. Believe me, he’ll love it. He’d also love it if in future you dressed in black…you know, do the sexy power-dressing thing.” Faye waggled her eyebrows and then reached into her hip pocket, fishing out the keys for the handcuffs. She put them on the desk. “You’ll need these. I recommend you don’t take the cuffs off until after you make him come.”
The secretary looked down at the keys, glanced at the door to the office, and then looked back at Faye. “I don’t know if I can,” she murmured. “I mean, I knew you…” She paused. “But I don’t know if I have the nerve.”
“Of course you do. I bet you’ve thought about doing it, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes, especially once I knew George was into…that.” The color on her cheekbones darkened.
“Just keep your chin up, and take charge.” Faye ran her fingers over the back of the woman’s hand, infusing her with enough erotic magic to empower her, ensuring that the secretary would take action on her secret desires. “I guarantee you’ll find it very rewarding.” Faye winked. “You’ll have him eating out of your palm before your afternoon tea break, believe me. You might even get a raise.”
The secretary nodded, one hand pressed to her collarbone to quell her excitement as she looked at the door to George’s office, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Her job done, Faye straightened her leather jacket and headed off. By the time she’d weaved her way across the open-plan office and pressed the call button for the elevator, the secretary was tentatively walking into George’s office. Faye watched until she closed the door behind her, firmly. It stayed shut.
As she stepped into the mirrored elevator, Faye was pleased to find she was on her own. As the doors closed behind her, she let out a deep sigh, and her magic shimmered around her. In the mirror facing her she could see her aura gleam purple, filled with mischief and sexual power. Lowering her hand to her groin, she clasped the mound of her pussy through her leather jeans and squeezed hard, rocking into her hand, seeking her own relief.
Well, she had to grab the chance while she could; her job was an arousing one.
Closing her eyes, she spirited herself back to George’s office, peeping in on her erotic matchmaking—just to ensure it was on the right track and that she wasn’t needed to push this thing along any more. When her spirit fluttered into the room—invisible to the human eye but for a purple wisp of light—she found George’s secretary standing by his desk, one hand running down his chest until she reached his upright cock. George’s mouth moved and the head of his cock darkened. A moment later, the secretary hitched her skirt up around her hips, dropped her panties to the floor and clambered onto the desk, mounting him eagerly.
If Faye had any doubts about her instinct on this one, they vanished in that moment. She chuckled gleefully to herself and watched a moment longer—long enough to see the secretary sinking gratefully onto George’s erection; long enough to see George arch up from the desk to meet her; long enough to see the secretary throwing her head back with joy as she impaled herself on his shaft, and long enough to make herself come. Her hips rolled and a sweet orgasm blossomed inside her.
The elevator pinged.
Donning her sunglasses, Faye breathed in her purple aura just as the elevator doors slid open, and stepped out into the busy foyer. A moment later she walked out onto the city street and passed through the crowds, eyeing the people, looking for the next lucky person who might need a dose of her mischievous erotic magic.
It was all in a day’s work for this particular fairy god-mother.
BIG BAD WOLF (AN EXCERPT)
Alana Noël Voth
Dillon wakes to his dog barking. He gets out of bed, goes to a window, and then pulls back a curtain and sees Segar barking at s
omething in the lot outside his trailer. Dillon stares through the glass, then sees the other dog, a big dog with silver-white fur.
Dillon hurries to the front door and opens it before staring through the screen.
The other dog isn’t a dog. It’s a wolf.
Dillon shouts, “Segar, come here!”
The wolf jerks its head in Dillon’s direction. Segar keeps barking. Dillon calls his dog again. The wolf looks at Segar and then at Dillon in the doorway. Since when do wolves venture this close to civilization? Even if Dillon’s place is out of the way, aren’t wolves shy? Maybe the wolf is a hybrid, someone’s great idea for a pet.
Goddamn, the thing is big.
Dillon opens the screen door. “Segar! Come here!” He steps onto the landing not sure how far to go. His rifle is in the shed.
The wolf regards him beneath the awning in his boxer shorts then trots across the gravel lot into the tree line and disappears. Segar meets Dillon on the landing. The man holds his dog’s head in his hands. “Hey, boy, what the hell was that, huh?”
At noon, Dillon heads for his truck. At the edge of the trees, the wolf lies in the shade, watching him. Dillon gets in his truck and drives across the gravel lot toward the bar he owns watching the wolf become smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror.
In town, a woman in the grocery store says, “You own Segar’s up the road, right?”
Dillon nods.
“Yeah, the bar and grill. I heard it was fun.” The woman has a soft smile, dark eyes.
“Yeah, I hope it is,” Dillon says.
The woman puts his milk in a bag. “I’ll come by sometime.”
“That would be great.” Dillon’s never sure when women are flirting with him. Yeah, they flirted. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy if you didn’t mind T-shirts and jeans, flannel in the winter and cowboy boots no matter the weather. Dillon wore his hair longish, and he didn’t always shave, meaning he didn’t mind a quarter-inch of whiskers. Women had told him, You’re rugged but cute. Another thing, he was shy, since he was a kid, since forever, chunks of his childhood missing too.
His parents had left him with his grandparents when he was four.
“Bye, Dilly.” He remembered his mother with blue eyes. He’d wanted to ask her where she was going but didn’t. Dillon had a vague recollection of his father’s voice. “Dillon, stand up straight.” Dillon got a flash of himself in a corner with his arms around a dog. But what Dillon remembered most from childhood was his grandfather, Segar Blackhawk Curtis. He’d taken Dillon into the mountains, into the snow.
They’d sat around campfires, gutted and grilled fish.
Dillon pays for his groceries. The woman gives him his bags. They make eye contact. Dillon looks away.
“Hey, thanks. Have a great day.”
When he returns from town the wolf is still by the trees. Dillon gets out of his truck. The wolf gets to its feet. Dillon walks toward the house. The wolf is white against the tree line. It’s clean, not ragged or muddy or starved looking. At the steps in front of the trailer Dillon stops and looks again. The wolf is gone.
Later in the bar, Dillon sees Ray Shepherd. He and some other men have gathered at the pool tables. They’ve ordered several pints of beer. They’re suntanned men who work construction. Ray clenches a cigarette in his teeth. Dillon allows his patrons to smoke in the bar, never mind state regulations or whatever bullshit.
He asks Ray, “You heard about a wolf in these parts lately?”
“Not in fourteen years,” Ray answers.
Dillon thinks about the wolf outside his house.
Another guy speaks up. “May Wagner says she saw a wolf four days ago.”
“She saw a coyote,” Ray says then leans over the pool table. He knocks a ball in the upper left pocket and walks around the table. “She can’t keep track of her kids running around like raccoons is all. She’s paranoid.” Ray leans in for another shot, makes it. “If there’s a wolf around here we’ll call Sarah Palin, see if we can’t get her permission for a hunt.”
“Nice rug to go with your stuffed cougar,” says another of Ray’s friends.
A couple of the men toast.
Ray cocks a brow. “I wouldn’t get too excited. Palin ain’t got jurisdiction around here. In these parts, wolves are an endangered species.”
“Yeah, so is pussy,” another guy says.
The men laugh. Ray lands one in a side pocket.
“Aren’t wolves endangered in Alaska?” Dillon says.
Ray chuckles. “Who knows? It’s all a popularity contest, right, politics?”
“Yeah, probably.” Dillon says good night to the men.
The last waitress cashes out at one-thirty. Dillon locks the vault. Outside the bar, Dillon stands in the night air and listens to a truck pulling out of the gravel parking lot.
As he walks to his trailer, Dillon sees something move across the darkness and stops. The wolf is a few yards off when Dillon reaches his trailer.
When he was kid, his grandfather used to tell him you could see your conscience on the night like glints of silver on fish scales.
At four a.m., Segar wants out. Dillon opens the back door of the trailer. “Don’t go too far, all right?” The dog disappears in the trees.
“Segar,” Dillon calls him. After a while, Dillon lets the door swing shut. The dog would be back, of course. Dillon falls onto the bed again, hugs a pillow.
At ten a.m. Dillon stands in his bathroom staring at himself in a mirror. He’s not a big guy: thin, a little muscular in his arms and chest. He combs his hands though his hair. Five years now he’d been in Colorado, fifty miles west of Denver, deep in the mountains, quiet for the most part, and green. His grandfather’s people had been mountain people, had weathered blizzards and lived off elk. They’d been grateful to all animals, his grandfather had told him, for their sacrifices, their meat and skins.
Be grateful, his grandfather had said.
“Okay, Grandpa.”
Dillon used to thank the goldfish in his classroom, a spider stringing its web between branches, stray dogs.
Now Dillon owned a bar that paid respect to his grandfather. Dillon had money in the bank and wasn’t so far from Montana where’d he grown up. He got lonely sometimes though and had taken up with the help before, not to mention women who came to the bar. Why not? He couldn’t say his grandparents had been religious. Spiritual, yeah, in touch with nature, sure. Dillon’s grandfather had spoken to him about reincarnation, multiple dimensions and souls leaving bodies to experience alternate existences, and Dillon had appreciated his grandfather’s assertions even if he hadn’t believed it all.
He liked the idea of second chances though.
After a shower, Dillon sits in the kitchen doing a crossword puzzle in pencil because he hates how if he makes a mistake he can’t change it if he’s written the answer in ink. Nothing, he thinks, should be etched in stone or permanent. If his mother ever turned up again, he’d hug her. If his father showed up, Dillon would welcome him, too.
When Dillon pours his third cup of coffee, something comes on the radio about a woman seeing a wolf in her backyard and how it had gotten too close to one of her kids, a three-year-old boy who’d wandered out of the yard toward the river.
Jesus Christ, Dillon thinks, May Wagner.
Outside, Segar starts barking. Dillon looks through a window and doesn’t see anything but his collie barking his head off, before he realizes the wolf is out there, too.
Dillon opens the front door and steps onto the landing. Segar leaps in the air, barking. The wolf sees Dillon and heads into the trees. His dog follows. Dillon doesn’t call Segar back. He sits on the step. The sky is blue; the air isn’t hot yet, and his truck could use a wash. Dillon pulls his shirt off over his head then goes to get a hose and bucket; he grabs soap from the house then comes back out and starts the water. He lets the water spray over him. Segar comes back later. The wolf isn’t with him.
“Where is she?” Dillon says.
<
br /> He feeds the dog kibble. He isn’t sure what a wolf eats, besides him that is. Dillon chuckles. History lacked documented cases of wolves attacking, let alone eating people, although folks made shit up, old wives’ tales, superstition and disgruntled ranchers. Capitalism was the best reason for wiping out a species.
Dillon goes inside the house and cooks a piece of meat. He calls Segar into the house and leaves the meat outside before heading into the bar for work.
The woman from the grocery store is there. Her hair shines; she has that same soft smile. Dillon wants to push his face in her hair, smell her. She gives him her number, which he pushes into his pocket. When Dillon comes out of the bar later, the wolf lies at the foot of the steps in front of his trailer. Dillon isn’t sure about the meat, if it’s there or not. He thinks she’s eaten it though. Inside the house, Segar is barking.
“You going to let me by or what?”
Dillon waits before taking a step forward. The wolf gets up and takes a step backward. They’re five feet apart. Once he gets to the landing, Dillon turns around.
“See you in the morning.”
He lets Segar out at five a.m. No sign of the wolf. Later, Dillon sits at the front window drinking coffee. Segar comes back alone. At noon, one of the beer distributors shows up, and Dillon helps the guy unload beer off the truck. They carry the cases into the bar and then line the beer on shelves in a walk-in cooler. The other guy talks about the Denver Broncos and a shortage of good women in their surrounding area.
When they’re outside, Dillon looks toward the tree line.
The distributor takes a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
“Want one?”
“Nah, thanks.” Dillon stares at the trees and sees nothing but trees.
“You hear about the dead chickens they’re finding all over the place?”
“What?” Dillon looks at the guy.
The guy lights a cigarette. “Farmers are complaining some animal is getting all their chickens. Most say a coyote or fox, but a few are claiming it’s a wolf.” The guy sucks the end of his cigarette then exhales. “You didn’t hear any of that, huh?”
Fairy Tale Lust Page 14
