He’d made a statement out of it, but it hung in the air like a question.
Plenty cheerful and social in the office, Christina couldn’t manage words around him out here. He watched her throat move as she swallowed. Decisions were happening behind those eyes and there was no way for him to understand all the factors.
Something brushed his right thumb. A glance flicked down showed him her smallest finger extended into the contact. Her lips had parted. A thigh shifted at his hip.
William James Marshall about came unglued.
But he didn’t. He seized a hold of the disaster inside him and brought his knuckles up to brush, featherlight, down the bare slope of her chest. When they reached the unsupported top of her dress, her bra, she made a little noise. In her throat. Not even enough to count as a whimper, but Bill was rock hard and ready to stop being a gentleman.
He pushed the fabric out of the way. Flipped the thicker bra cups down over their wire and band, both hands at once. She didn’t hide. Just leaned there on her arms. Breathing. Watching him.
Two perfect dollops of cream, with fucking cherries on top, but Bill didn’t spend more than a second looking because they were already in his hands.
Warm. Soft. Tips pebbling under his touch. He was going to drill his dick right into the side of this bench. This was fantasy shit right here, his hands on Christina this way.
His thumbs grazed nipples and her breath caught. Forefingers came into it and he rolled and tugged on the sensitive tips, eyes on her face for reactions worth more than any glimpse of flesh could ever be.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip, eyelids drifted closed. She was here. Here with him. And she wanted.
Bill wanted.
He stopped calculating and ducked his head. Sucked her into his mouth.
The move drew a full, uncontrolled gasp from her like she’d just come above water for air. His hand came to the base of her neck, pressing her into his hunger, and Bill couldn’t avoid groaning against the recognition of just how fucked he was.
I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.
He lapped at her. Suckled. Mauled her other breast in his hand. Switched sides and brought her other nipple between his teeth. He felt one of her elbows give up support, and then her locking it in place again. Her head had fallen back and his jeans were way the fuck too tight.
Bill rose up out of delirium to adjust the strain of his dick up and out of his pant leg. Fuck!
He couldn’t tell if Christina was flushed or if it was just the pink of sunset coming through the windows. Her lips were full, though, and she looked at him like he was a madman. Which he probably was, but could anyone blame him? There would be no keeping his hands to himself.
Her nipples were wet under his fingers, softened and swollen from the hot work of his mouth. His touch began gentle as he stood between her knees, but there were appetites over which Bill was failing to retain control.
The pressure tightened as he had both pink nubs between first and middle fingers like scissors. Her mouth fell open, a slip of tongue came out to wet her lips, and blood surged into the head of his cock.
Bill switched gears and swiped the damp skin with the pads of his thumbs, thrilling to feel her body tightening the little peaks down to hardness again. His pulse quickened to see a dusting of gooseflesh rise on her breasts and lower arms. She was flying with him, and it should have been enough, but …
He took her, both sides, between thumb and forefinger again, no longer experimental. The squeeze became a grip. Blue eyes shot up to his. Grip became clamp, and her brows came together. Tighter.
Her spine curved away from his pull and Christina whined, but he didn’t let go. Delicate skin pulled under his hold. She made no moves to fend him off, but made some sound between pain and something else that had him about coming in his pants.
“Bill.” It was tentative. Someone approaching a dog that might bite. She took a deep breath. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose.”
It was the briefest dousing of ice cold water. She was right. They’d agreed.
But Bill had his suspicions. He would stop, if that’s what she wanted, but …
“Is that what you want, Christina?” A measured tug, a throb of pressure. “Want me to stop?”
Several breaths passed through her parted lips, her eyes closed against what he offered. Bill slid the grip of his fingers, just so much, the beginnings of a twist on captive flesh.
She hissed. Pushed her breasts up into his cruelty. Her thighs widened and her fucking pussy rolled against his belt!
Christ, just fuck her now! Get your fucking dick out of your pants and pound her right here on this bench!
Bill barely managed to see past the red, but her face was enough.
She was too beautiful this way. He turned harder, testing her limits, watching her teeth show in a lovely grimace. The rise and fall of her chest became more obvious. He began to alternate pressure, closing his grip on one tender nipple while relaxing it on the other. Then the opposite. Back and forth. Again. And again.
Christina had given up composure. He could feel the rhythmic tilt of her hips against his waist. Did she even realize she was doing it?
So hot. So fucking hot.
But Bill had goals today, and no customer pulling into the lot was going to interrupt while they were locked up in here.
Even as he bent again to wipe the pain clear with passes of his tongue, locking his inner sadist back in its cage as he went, his right hand was already gathering the fabric of her dress. The kindness of his mouth in contrast had her wavering through a quiet moan, and it wasn’t until she felt the dusting of knuckles on her inner thigh that Christina’s eyes flew open to see what he did.
Hell, when his own focus shifted to his new priority, Bill’s whole train of thought nearly derailed.
Ffffuuuck.
Some noise happened in his chest. Almost a growl.
They match. She has red goddamn panties on.
And they were soaked through.
Christina saw what he saw, and squirmed, legs unable to close with his body spreading her knees. Was it embarrassment, though, or a desire to stop? But he’d told her. Told her she didn’t have to, and here she was.
He turned his wrist and cupped the damp well of her crotch, massaging the flat of four fingers into the place where she was wet. For him.
“Oh, god.” Her words rode out with her exhale, a slurred whisper that she was no more in control than he had been. She pushed herself into his hand, forgetting to care whether he saw.
And Bill needed to see more.
He left off teasing to hook his fingers under the top edge of her panties. Tugging brought the flimsy material out over the curve of a hip, down past her mound. The scent of her had him howling inside. Bill wanted her in his mouth, to taste, to consume. There was probably a crude Big Bad Wolf and Little Red joke to be made here, but he ground his teeth and kept away from it. That was not what they were doing today.
“Lift,” he said, when his pull wouldn’t make it past the edge of the bench. Christina obeyed again—so hot, just kill me—and tilted onto one hip so he could take her panties down past her ass. Then the other side, without him asking.
They came over her knees, her calves, off around the flat shoes she wore. Bill stuffed the wadded handful into a front pocket, out of the way, and not on any of the shop’s filthy surfaces.
And then, holy fuck, there she was. Perched on the edge, bare pussy on display, red dress draping over the side of the bench like a tablecloth. Whatever she saw on his face had her bringing her thighs back together, but Bill was there, parting them again with his hands and hips.
She shifted, arms close to her body now, as nerves condensed her brow. The straps of her dress and bra still banded her upper arms, and more soft material gathered where thigh met hip. What did that vulnerability feel like? Were the rivets and stitching of his jeans rough against her thighs? Was the air curling between her legs, up and around h
er nipples, cool or warm? What would he do, now that he had her spread, exposed, out in the shop where Jonah might come knocking if luck didn’t play nice today?
Christina kept her eyes trained on his. The way they scanned back and forth said she tried to read him, and it had his cock thumping away behind his belt, hoping he might see reason. Bill ignored it.
He traced fingers down her throat, across her collarbone. He painted the line of his touch between her breasts, along the underside of their curves. She was perfect and he wanted this so very, very badly.
There was nothing for her to hide behind when he found her with his hand again. Fingertips found slick velvet and she inhaled through her nose, lips rubbing together to stifle her sounds. He traced out a path through all that delicate ruffling of feminine flesh, coming to know her shape, her texture, better than he’d had a chance to on the other side of the office door.
The bead of her clit was there, firm but concealed like a pearl. Bill earned quiet, high-pitched grunts of delicious suffering when he thumbed at the hood, rolled it back and forth at a lazy pace. He dipped fingers along her slit and down into wetness, drawing them up after to keep her slick for more circling, more teasing.
She was breathing through her mouth now, but watching him. Her thighs kept trying to butterfly closed around his touch while his body held them wide. She was everything, and everything Bill wanted today would start with a question. If he could do it right.
But first …
He lifted his hand away and ran a thumb along coated fingertips, right between them where Christina could see.
“Open.”
Her ribs expanded. She knew what he meant. Wet her lips with her tongue.
Obeyed.
Sweet Jeeesus.
His slid his first two fingers past her lower lip. Pushed them back toward her throat. She closed her mouth around his fingers and sucked.
He hadn’t asked.
Bill was about to nut right there when her tongue oozed between his fingers, cleaning and wetting the skin at the same time as she tasted her own arousal. But here was the question.
“You touch yourself, Christina?”
Blue eyes widened, but he didn’t let her have her mouth back. She could answer him like this, just because. Because he wanted to see it, to hear it that way.
“Do you?”
She offered a small nod around his fingers. He stroked them over her tongue like they were still between her legs, and couldn’t help a smile.
“Is that a yes?”
He felt her try to swallow. “Yugh.” There was a note of pleading in her muffled affirmative, and his cock swelled some more.
Bill took his hand back and her pupils were as wide as he’d ever seen them. He returned to his toying with more aggression, and Christina hissed through her teeth.
“Nnghfuck!”
He flirted at her entrance, just a knuckle or so teasing in and out, petting the lower rim with the lightest touch he could manage. More nectar leaked around his fingers.
“When do you do it?” he said. “At night?” Small movements tinkered between her legs.
“Mmhmm.” Her eyes had scrunched shut, all concentration on what he was doing. She didn’t see his other hand rise to the nape of her neck.
Fingers fisted into blonde hair at the scalp, just below where she kept it knotted on the back of her head. Bill hauled back, exposing her throat. Her eyes and mouth flew open.
“Use your words, Christina Lee.” He singled out her clit, pinching it at the base between thumb and forefinger. “Is that when you touch this pussy? After the sun goes down?”
“Yessss.” She humped at his hand, and it was all Bill could do not to throw all his plans out the window and bury himself balls deep right that minute.
But you’re so close.
“You make yourself come?” He let go the stiff little bead and rolled it under his thumb so the blood could flow again.
“Bill!”
Her head was back under his pull and the sound of her breath rasping was a primitive music. If she wasn’t ready now, he’d be out of ideas.
“Do you.”
Tug. Gasp.
“Make yourself.”
Two fingers, second knuckles, twisting.
“Come.”
“Ye-ESS, Bill!” She broke on the admission while he worked her, the sound almost like she was choking past a sob. It was the confession he wanted.
Bill took back his touch. Both hands.
Eyes searched the shop ceiling and, when the nothing continued, she righted her neck to stare at him, lost. He took a step back and her knees stayed open, beautiful pussy swollen and pink, even in what was left of the dimming light.
“Show me,” he said.
“What?”
She knew what. He knew she did. Two more big steps and Bill was leaning against the nearest truck’s fender. He hooked his thumbs into his belt. “You heard me.” Gave her a nod. “Show me how you touch yourself.” She just had to decide to do it.
“How I …” Her spine slumped, eyes drifting off as though she was translating his words from a second language.
“Touch yourself.” He finished for her, watching her face change as she ran scenarios in her head. With him a few feet away, if she really wanted to, she could cover up and hightail it right out of there. Bill crossed his boots over at the ankle, his arms over his chest, waiting.
“Bill …” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Why?”
Now it was his turn to swell with need. He had to unset his jaw to speak. “You done it in front of someone else before?”
Another head shake. Some of her hair had fallen loose and brushed her cheekbone. “No.”
The temperature in the shop had to have gone up ten degrees. Why not honesty? “Then that’s why,” he said. “I want you to show me something you’ve never shown anyone else.”
Her features slackened in disbelief. Bill was glad there was no clock to watch while she hovered in indecision. Everything was still for long, slow heartbeats. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing, and her eyes went unfocused in the middle distance.
Until they didn’t, and locked back on his.
Her right hand crested her thigh.
Sweet, merciful Christ.
✪
Christina had not worn that dress to fuck with him. Quite the opposite. It was the only long dress she had. Cover all that leg she’d been showing in the shorter skirts? Good idea. Plus a sweater for her arms? Bonus.
Except it hadn’t been. And now here she was.
It wouldn’t have mattered. Look at him, Dodd, you’d’ve been out here no matter what.
She couldn’t not look at him. That was half the problem.
He waited for her over there, the right side of his face lit up with the fire of sunset. Bill Marshall might as well have been the Devil. He leaned, arms crossed, brown eyes burning into her with the challenge.
To show him something she’d never shared with anyone. To finish what he’d started.
Her skin prickled, even in the warm air, the exposure of her body the least of her worries at the moment.
Fear had been there, but not this fear. When she’d followed him into the shop, her most secret worry was one Bill had veered away from at the last second like the edge of a cliff. Not only that he would make her come—a terrifying possibility after their last encounter—but that she wanted it from him. To an obsessive degree.
No, this was worse. As Christina sat there doing her best to block out her environment and the one other person in it, she knew this was much worse. It was alarming in the way the blow-job had been alarming. He kept robbing her of the passive role.
Did her nipples ache for more attention? Yes. Was her pussy throbbing? Way too much. Did she want to finish? Of fucking course she did!
But was Bill going to take her there? No. Was he going to demand she hold still while he tore whatever result he wanted from her body? Nope.
He’d brought her to t
he edge and left her there. Again. Christina had never been so hot in all her life, and this … fucking … asshole! He had no business turning her on in the first place, and now he was in her head, day and night. The smell of him, the sound of that voice!
And yes, she had masturbated. Obviously. Thank god he hadn’t asked whether she’d thought of him while doing it. At least over the last couple weeks …
So now if she wanted to come, she’d have to choose it. On purpose. There would be no just sitting back and letting him take it, letting him relieve the pressure, relieve her of responsibility. He’d said he hadn’t bought her, but right now, Christina was feeling owned.
He owns something right now, that’s for sure. Got your head aaall messed up. Haven’t even bothered to put your tits away.
But if he owned her, even just for today, maybe she ought to give him what he asked for. This wasn’t even a functional reality, anyway. How could it be when she was sitting around in the shop, considering in a serious manner whether she ought to beat off in front of Asshole Bill?
You should do it. He won’t last two minutes.
The idea made all her other thoughts shut up and look over, ears perked.
Not bad. Not bad at all. If Christina started to play with herself, Bill had no chance of keeping his shit together. Not after how he’d been acting. He’d be over there in a flash, belt coming open, fly down, and they’d both get what they wanted. She just wouldn’t have to examine what that was, because she’d be busy hanging on for dear life.
She let her right hand creep up over her thigh.
Deep breath. You got this.
And slid all four fingers down between her legs. Back up again, slow, dragging her lips taut and carving through the furrow. She could see Bill’s jaw go slack on the exhale. This wouldn’t take long, at all.
Christina leaned back on her supporting arm and, in a fit of inspiration, hauled her ass backward into the available bench space. Her dangling left leg hooked the backless stool to where it had been and she cocked up a knee to rest her foot there. The pained look on his face was her immediate gratification; the lewd display could only help.
Bass-Ackwards Page 10
