Under Contract

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “So gorgeous. Turn around, palms flat on the door, legs spread,” he told her and she obeyed, a fine trembling taking her over. A key snicked in a lock and the chastity belt, thank God, fell away also. He ran light fingers over her swollen pussy and she groaned, pressing her fingers into the wood of the doors. “Not yet,” he said. “You have a bit of making up to do. Go bend over my desk.”

  She did, hoping none of those mirror-windows shining outside meant people looking in to see her stretch herself over Ryan’s desk, the nipple shields clinking against the glass. He came around to sit in front of her, coaxing her up onto her elbows, so her breasts hung between her arms heavily, much as she’d been that first time. Drawing something out of his desk, he held it up. With a liquid silver shape, it looked far too big to go where he had planned, and he smiled wickedly when she widened her eyes.

  “What? It’s smaller than my cock. If you’re going to let me have you there, too, then it’s best to start preparing you. You want to please me, don’t you—make up for your impertinence?”

  She did. On a deeply desperate level, she wanted nothing more. She’d yield whatever he wanted. Which might be her ruin. Don’t think. Only respond. “Yes, Master. Whatever pleases you.”

  His face softened and he caressed her cheek, kissing her softly. “You are infinitely precious to me, Celestina.” His fingers brushed the diamond bracelet possessively, then he rose and moved behind her. She waited as he posed her, pressing her lips against a moan when the cool metal touched her swollen labia. He drew the thing through her folds, gliding slickly, too smooth to give her the orgasm she craved.

  “The advantage of having you so deep into your craving,” he said in a conversational tone, dipping his fingers into the juices pooled at her vulva and dragging them up, “is that I don’t even need lubricant.” He braced her hips, holding her tight against the desk, and touched the plug against her anus, pressing. She instinctively tensed and he smacked her smartly on her bottom.

  “Don’t resist. You can’t anyway, so give it up. I’ll get this into you one way or another, even if that means spanking you into exhaustion first.” His thug voice. The one that inexplicably gutted her. She sobbed a little, overcome, dropped her head and did her best to yield.

  “Much better. See how easy it is when you just give in?” The thing widened her unbearably, not quite painful but dreadfully invasive. It slid into her, then settled with a pop. “Beautiful. You’re a natural.” He patted her hip where he’d smacked her, stroking the hot skin, making her wonder if he’d left a handprint as there’d been in the image she’d liked. Already getting her in trouble. More trouble.

  “Over to the conference table.”

  He didn’t help her stand, letting her adjust to the plug holding her open. Thighs wobbly from the intense arousal, emotional and physical, she walked to the table, profoundly aware of how her hips swung in the high heels. She remembered it, that smooth black table, from their meetings on the project. Ryan pulled away a chair and had her sit on the edge. Instead of instructing her, he lifted her hands and put them behind her neck, then spread her knees widely. Naked except for the heels, stockings, garter and barely there bra, she held as still as she could for his inspection.

  “Do you remember sitting at this table, all those years ago? You always called me Mr. Black, even after months of working together.”

  She took the cue. “Yes, Mr. Black.”

  He fondled her breast, the caress stretching into her clamped nipple. “I thought about you like this, more than once. Even though you were a married woman and off-limits. But you never knew, did you?”

  “No,” she breathed. He’d always seemed so remote then. Powerful and charming. Impossible then to have imagined she’d be like this with him, handing herself over to be his sexual plaything. That she’d love it so much.

  “You’re going to notice me today, Celestina.” He sounded both playful and savagely determined. “First off, these offices are reasonably soundproof, but maybe not for loud screaming. Which I plan to make sure you do. So I’m going to gag you.” Producing a strip of black silk, he made her open her mouth and take it deep between her teeth. He passed the ends behind her head and tied them inside her mouth at the front.

  “Too tight?”

  It was tight. More, it shook her to be gagged. Screaming. Her brain scrambled at the loss of control, the helplessness.

  “Celestina?” He lifted her chin, studying her eyes. “Is it too tight?”

  With a sighed breath, she stopped fighting it and blinked back the tears that had sprung from nowhere. She shook her head. He folded her thumbs inside her fists. “Keep them like this. If you need me to stop for any reason, open your hands and put out your thumbs. Understand?”

  Relieved, she nodded. He brushed her hair back with affection and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “Lie back.”

  He arranged her on the conference table, with her legs draped over one end and her open pussy and bottom hanging just over the edge. One of his favorite ways to have her. He tied her legs in place, then stretched her hands over her head, palms up, wrists together.

  “Time to pay up, my saucy slave. Let’s see how busy you are now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Nothing like realizing a long-cherished fantasy—and with the woman of his dreams, to boot.

  He’d tried to keep his mind off of it back then. Women had a way of sensing prurient thoughts and he never wanted any woman working with him to feel uncomfortable or threatened. Something else he’d promised to his mother, though not until after she’d passed. A way of making things up to her in retrospect.

  But Celestina had turned his head—and best intentions—even then, and more than once he’d fantasized about stripping her out of her pretty dresses, making her take down that gloriously thick hair, and stretching her out on the conference table like this. Okay, maybe the darker scenarios included their colleagues watching him torment and plunder her lush body as she struggled and couldn’t help crying out in her pleasure, the audience heightening her distress. She wasn’t ready for that, but maybe someday, under the right conditions.

  Maybe she’d grow her hair out for him, too.

  It seemed possible, the way she gave herself over so utterly, so acutely involved and responsive to the least thing he suggested. Seeing which images she liked had given him great insights—and induced a craving to search out everything that might get under her skin, that she’d revel in as she was now. Fully his in these moments.

  She moaned against the gag, fully engaged, her mascara wet with unshed tears as she wriggled against the tight ropes. The black lingerie set off her body starkly and she reflexively pumped her hips for him, starving for more. Exactly how he wanted her. In this state, she didn’t worry, didn’t get that cautious look, like the one that had flashed through her eyes when she first walked into the office. Whatever she’d been about to say, whatever regret or reservation about their relationship she harbored, he didn’t want to hear it. In sex they connected, so he’d just wear her down with her own lust until she stopped resisting emotionally and intellectually, too.

  He would win her in the end, no matter what it took.

  Opening his trousers, he rolled a condom onto the erection that hadn’t subsided all morning, it seemed, keenly anticipating Celestina. He slid his cock into her slick channel easily, her long arousal making her completely open. Being careful not to stimulate any points that would put her over the edge yet, he stroked in and out of her, savoring the hot clasp of her muscles and the way she tossed her head in frustration. He could fuck her and leave her wanting again. Tempting to do so, just to see her brilliant temper flare. But he’d promised her a screaming orgasm and he planned to deliver.

  He could toy with her tolerance for denial in the future.

  Withdrawing—and gratified by her cry of f
rustrated protest—he carefully applied the vibrator clamps to her clit. No good to set her off before he had her where he wanted her. She stilled at the unfamiliar touch, staring up at the ceiling, no doubt wondering what lay in store. He might never be able to hold meetings in his office again, at least not ones he needed to pay attention to, because he’d forever remember her like this.

  Once he had the vibrator in place and securely strapped on, he entered her again, holding the control in one hand and one of the nipple clamps with the other. She shuddered, anticipating.

  Simultaneously, he yanked off the clamp and flipped the switch to the highest setting. Celestina convulsed, screaming indeed, as her body shot into intense orgasm, bucking against his cock and milking him so hard that he nearly came with her. Holding on to his self-control by the fingernails, he took her tormented nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She continued to climax, staying at that sustained peak as he’d hoped she might. Keeping her there, he yanked off the other clamp, savoring the sounds of her muffled screams, her body writhing around him, eyes blind with the transporting combination of pain and pleasure.

  When she started to come down, he dialed back the intensity of the vibrator, fucking her in earnest, letting himself thrust harder than usual. Her dark eyes found his face and she gazed at him, rapt, her face full of some emotion. He didn’t dare hope she loved him, but he did plan for her to fall for him completely someday. To look at him like that when he wasn’t inside her, sending her on the best ride imaginable. Long-range plans.

  She would be his. Was already. His.

  The thought sent him over the edge, the climax driving in deep, wrenching him also. It took him so hard, his legs went weak and he had to brace himself on the conference table, panting for breath. As soon as he could, he grabbed the bandage scissors he’d set nearby, cutting away her gag in case she needed to speak. And for any red marks to fade before she had to leave. Her thumbs remained tucked, so all should be okay with her.

  Reluctant to leave her body, he stayed inside her and watched her lick her lipstick-smeared lips. Her eyes found his again. And she smiled. That lovely, sensual smile that was pure Celestina.

  “Some lesson,” she murmured and he laughed.

  Reassured in a way he hadn’t known he needed, he withdrew, ditched the condom and set about freeing her. She moaned a little when he helped her sit up, the long sigh of satiation. He brushed her hair back and she tilted her head to look at him. “That was unreal.”

  “Good.” He kissed her, needing to taste her mouth, and she opened to him, hot and sweet, giving him everything he could wish for. At least, of her body. Shaking himself clear of the unaccustomed wistfulness—he had never been one to mope over what he didn’t have—he broke the kiss and helped her off the table. “There’s a private bathroom there, if you want to clean up.”

  “Thank you.” She walked over to her dress, lush ass framed by the garters, swaying in the heels, impossibly stirring his lust again. Picking it up, along with the purse she’d dropped by the door, she gave him an uncertain look. “Can I, um, take the...thing out?”

  Utterly charming, how she went from savagely abandoned lover to nearly prim. Tempting, too, to make her keep it in. But it had been an intense twenty-four hours for her and she needed a rest. “Go ahead. Rinse it off and leave it in there. I’ll take care of it.”

  She smiled, a bit of wickedness in it. “I did wonder about your cleaning service.”

  Definitely a downside of office sex, if he didn’t want to risk offending Anna or the cleaning service. While Celestina dressed, he set her coffee to brew and set about cleaning up the aftermath of the short, intense session. Her body had left marks on the conference table and his desk, and he was tempted to leave them there, so he could see them and remember the heat of her body and the succor of her embrace. She would be embarrassed though, so he used a damp towel from the bar to wipe them down.

  When she emerged, hair and makeup restored to her usual sleek lines, looking cool, composed and regal again—except for the excited flush on her high cheekbones—he handed her the coffee and took up his own. She looked amused. “We’re really having coffee?”

  He indicated a chair in his sitting area and the low table with a tray of pastries. “If you have time. Anna went to the trouble of going to the bakery for you, so we should probably indulge, if only to preserve the cover story.”

  “True.” She sat, sipped and her gaze sought out the Jura Capresso. “You have another of those fancy machines here?”

  “I’m here as much as I’m home, if not more, so why not?”

  She took a pastry, her laughing eyes going thoughtful. “How would that work, exactly, if the girls and I moved in with you?”

  He tamped down the triumphant glee. They’d moved into negotiating. She had her rhythm of warming to an idea. Just as she had that first day they’d talked, she’d stopped rejecting the concept as a whole and had begun picking apart the details. He was a devil for the details. “How would you want it to work?” He bounced the decision ball back into her court. Frankly, he’d agree to anything to have her there, in his house with him, where she belonged. But he also knew better than to say so. Don’t scare her off when the prize is so near to hand.

  Narrowing her eyes at him, she shook her head, glossy points of hair swinging around her jaw. “No. Don’t pull out your negotiating skills. What would I do all day if you’re at the office more than your house?”

  “Well, first of all, if you were there, I’d have a much greater incentive to be home more, also. But I also assume you would continue to live your life as you wanted to. You might get another job as a landscape designer, or devote yourself to coaching the dance team, if you want to do something new. Or get a new degree, if you like.”

  “The school wants me to,” she said hesitantly, as if she expected him to be uninterested. “Coach the dance team. They’d even pay me. Not much, but a salary.”

  “That’s fantastic! Congratulations. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I only got the call this morning and I haven’t exactly had the opportunity yet,” she replied tartly. But she smiled, clearly happy about it.

  “We should celebrate. With the girls, too.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” she demurred. “But my point is, that will take up my time.”

  “So?”

  “You wouldn’t expect me to be...constantly available or something?”

  He set down his coffee. “Celestina. The sex is one thing. Real life is another. No, I would not expect you to be at my beck and call. It’s a house, not a seraglio.”

  “It made me kind of sad to see my water gardens,” she admitted, surprising him by offering him an insight into her thoughts without being badgered into it. “Not only because they’re dry. I don’t like being this person who doesn’t have a real job.” Her jaw set as she lifted her chin, daring him to argue the point about her employment.

  “You’re hardly that person. You’ve been unemployed for barely two weeks and you’ve already found something new. In the current market, the typical person is out of work for an average of eight months before finding a new job.”

  Her full mouth twitched. “You just know that statistic off the top of your head.”

  Picking up his coffee again, he couldn’t decide if her wry amusement at his expense charmed or left him chagrined. “It’s not a number that changes dramatically—usually around thirty to thirty-six weeks.”

  “How do people do it—that long without a salary?”

  “It’s hard. But you don’t have that pressure, not if you don’t want to. I’m more than happy to support you and the girls however you choose.”

  She assessed him, considering. “You disappeared the prices from the tablet.”

  Ah. He’d wondered if she’d noticed. “Yes.”

  “Why?”


  Learning from him, bouncing the responsibility for speaking right back at him. He sighed and held out his hand, worried when she hesitated, gratified when she scooted up in her chair to take it. “I don’t want the money to come between us. I transferred a million to your account this morning.”

  Her lips parted and she paled. “You can’t just give me a million dollars!”

  He went for boyishly charming. “Sure I can. As long as I keep track of the zeros, I’m fine. That should be more than enough to pay all of your bills and keep you going for a while, even if you don’t move in.”

  “But...” She shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear it, then squeezed his hand. “I’m grateful, of course, but I can’t accept it.”

  “You don’t have to. The money is already in your account. Done deal.”

  “Ryan.” She sat forward more, a resolved look in her eye. “I don’t want to be that person either—the woman who’s with you for the money.”

  A funny pain settled in his gut. “Is that the only reason you’re with me, still?”

  “No. I mean—I don’t know! It seems hard for me to know much of anything these days. Half the time I still feel like I’ve only just awakened from a long sleep.” She raked her hand through her hair, then gave him a long, penetrating look. “Why did you decide to transfer that money?”

  “Because I didn’t want that to be a factor in whether you decided to move in or not,” he surprised himself by admitting. An instinctive choice. Sometimes a bald, honest statement would move a negotiation to the final phase faster than anything else. “Now you have enough money to stay where you are. If you decide to move in with me, it will be because you want to. No other reason.”

  “Besides that you want me to.” She wrinkled her nose at him, but squeezed his hand.

  He let out a breath, that she’d relaxed enough to tease him about his high-handed ways. Dropping his head, he pressed his forehead against her hand. “I know I’m pushy, Celestina. Particularly when I want something badly. Fortunately you’re good at pushing back.”