by JR King
“Get used to it.” His smile was reptilian, a scaly lizard maybe. “I’m going to fuck some sense into before fucking you senseless.”
“Is this how you seduce women? Bringing them up here? This is a landmark, people would kill to come up here and go at it.”
“I’ve never fucked in this room.” He pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’m going to undress you now,” he whispered. There was a persistent, tantalizing pace in his touch as he traced along my arms. “Elena, I’m finally going to strip you naked and fuck you in this room.” His warm breath made me tremble almost as much as his words, as the slutty premise they carried.
His hands moved up the side of my ribcage, and effortlessly he found the zipper and drew it downward with a confident hand. I could feel the work dress loosening around me, freeing me from its confines so the cool air of the room could gorge on my flesh. He caressed my shoulders and brushed the dress off them. Tugging it down, he paused when my breasts were revealed before allowing the material to fall down my tremulous body.
I didn’t move to step out of the pool of discarded silk and cotton.
His hands moved to the clasp that fastened my brassiere. He flicked it open and eased the straps over my shoulders, catching the bra before it fell to the ground. “Don’t move, Elena.” He cupped my breasts, brushing his palms across them, his fingertips teasing the peaked nipples until I moaned at the pleasure of his expert touch. With one hand he grabbed my hair, exposing my neck and holding me firmly in place. Not that it was necessary, desire had paralyzed me. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of my panties, he guided them to the floor then silently coaxed me to step out of them.
Unable to find purchase, I smacked the window hard and winced as mild pain flashed up my arm.
“Steady.” He slipped his hand behind my neck and brought his mouth to mine. The kiss burned from inception, our lips melding hungrily, his tongue lashing across mine like the slowest and softest of whips. His hands went to my breasts again, and he took the hard nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them with just enough force to make my knees quiver on the edge of buckling.
“This isn’t professional,” I moaned in his mouth.
He let out a chuckle when he let go, brought his face closer to mine, asking, “Is that so?” Tracing the outer curve of my ear with electrifying precision, he dipped his tongue into it, tickling me.
His fingers moved over my hipbone, left first, then right, then downward onto the sopping wet flesh of my sex. My heart thudded, my breathing fast and shallow as I watched him undo his trousers until his cock was poised before my sex.
“This is fucking legend.” He lifted me so I could wrap my thighs around his waist, and looked into my eyes for what felt like a decade before he dipped his head to kiss me again. He suckled softly on my tongue, as soft as a good man could suckle a girl for the first time, drumming the tips of his fingers against my nipples until exquisite sensations flowered within me. We feasted on each other, laving each other with kisses and nips. Strands of long, damp hair dangled around my face as if I were a ragdoll, and I bucked against him and cried out incoherently when he entered me. He did so to the hilt. I slapped a palm against the window as I came minutes later, so hard that my bones hurt.
“Steady, Elena. This will be a quick one.”
Not my first rodeo. He fucked me as if he hated me, as if I were some enemy, but the words spilling from his mouth held nothing but admiration. He came in typical Alexander fashion, one hand clutching the nape of my neck, the other squeezing my gluteus maximus while he pulled me closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. Couldn’t be deep enough, couldn’t become one with me.
Ten minutes of lovemaking could be qualified as an up-to-standard quickie. Nerve endings short-circuited, and my skin felt hypersensitive. Wrung out, I wanted to collapse back against the window when it was over, but instead I felt him drawing me forward, holding me in his arms.
“Later today, I’m going to tie you up, hold you down, and fuck you hard until you scream my name.” His hands found my shoulders, massaging them, molding me into a perfect fit. “Lunch, then? There’s a from-farm-to-table restaurant nearby, the chef makes a mean saffron risotto,” he continued coolly. “But first you need to see my drawer. I’ve removed one thing and added quite a few things to it.” Still hard inside me, he clutched my ass in a way that he stayed in, moving with languid grace toward his desk. “There.” He set me down on his chair and opened a bottom drawer. I was nonplussed and aghast altogether, eyes growing wide as my tongue lodged itself in my throat. From lady wipes to floss, it had everything a unisex vanity drawer should have. “What do you think?”
As he was used to dating a slew of beauties concurrently, he’d surely taken out the condoms, I realized bitterly. “So creepy, but aboveboard,” I mumbled.
Despite his nonchalant shrug, I noticed I’d made him smile. Standing at the desk where he ruled an empire, he adjusted himself in his trousers, all urbane sophistication gone. Then he watched from his chair, swiveling in it, almost staring raptly at me as I cleaned and dressed.
His grin was toothy when he asked in a quiet voice, “Are you okay, Ariel?”
“I will be, Eric, after that risotto. Are you okay?” I glanced down at his crotch, rapidly shifting my sight. The bulge of his cock was still straining at his trousers. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled.
“I’m fine. Give it a few minutes.” He brought the tip of his forefinger along the top of his thigh. Without further fanfare, “Why don’t you trust me, Elena?” he asked in a calm voice, his expression frank.
“Does it matter to you?” Derailing, derailing.
“I specifically asked, so it must.”
“Public figures ask all kinds of crap they don’t care about.” My mouth curled upward, my eyes twinkling mischievously.
He thrust out a manicured hand, forefinger crooked downward. “Have a seat and stop playing childish games with me.”
My smile fled. I rigidly sat down and gripped the armrests of the barrel shaped leather chair. I tried to steady my racing thoughts and consider my options. I decided to gamble. “I know we’re dating exclusively, but I sense you’ve never been monogamous. So I have issues with trust, sue me. I’m trying to work them out, Alex. Promise you’ll end it rather than going behind my back and keeping me in the dark.”
“I’m neither going to go behind your back, nor am I going to end things with you. If I do need to blow off steam by administering a willing masochist pain or materialize a fantasy, I’ll tell you. I give you my word of honor.”
“That scares me.”
“That’s as faithful as a man can be.” I watched the corners of his mouth curve outward, loving the transformation it caused to his Henry Cavillesque features.
If that’s what he needed to be faithful, I could do this. “I’m cool with anything as long as you don’t lie. What about my fantasies? Do I have a say?”
“You do. I’ll take you through things. You shouldn’t worry about what hasn’t or what might occur. We have each other, don’t piss away this preciousness.”
Only I could fuck this up. I needed to raid more often, the angst was getting to me. “Thank you for being honest with me, Alex.”
“Respect and honesty is all that love requires.” He started poring over something on his iPad.
“You took out the condoms.” I managed to smile.
He laughed good-humoredly, and yet the sound of it was icy. “I did. Nifty things, really. A man who’s unwilling to wear a condom doesn’t deserve to get laid.”
“Well said. Is this how you conduct interviews, Mr. Turner?” I squawked out with a good dose of melodrama.
“I never conduct interviews, Ms. Anderson. And surely not in this office,” he answered dully.
“Really? No why are manhole covers round? type of whipsawing question? No creative Microsoft attitude?”
“We love Apple here, sweetheart, my employees can’t be fucked to deal with shit like piss-
poor virus scan updates.”
I stilled. “Someone is cranky in this room, and it isn’t me. I’m just trying to pick your brain.”
“HR warrants interviews. See, when a CV catches their attention, they contact the candidate with an online link to take our tests. Only when they pass are they invited for an interview. There are three rounds, and three candidates for each position. The first interview is with an HR recruiter, and the second one with two employees who hold a similar position the candidate is seeking. If they give the green light, the candidate moves to the final round, an interview with the direct superior. I supervise Execs, Elena, and we don’t hire them. These are current employees who climb their way up. Michael is the exception of the rule because he’s your friend. I liked him the moment we met. Incredibly smart guy.”
“Aha…hmm…so if I came looking for a job here—,”
He interrupted with, “You have a leg up our interns, come work for me. The subtleness of your ambition gives you a full-bore edge over most people working in the trenches. I’ve seen you in full action with Frederic, your enterprising ideas are applicable, and you’re straightforward like a sharp arrow, which makes you an ideal aspirant for this company.”
“What about the no fraternity policy?”
“I’m the boss, anything goes. So, tell me about your weaknesses, Ms. Anderson.”
“That’s a trick question.”
He threw his head back in laughter, as if drawing the attention of reporters. “Let’s talk off the record. Of course it’s a trick question, that’s what interviews are all about; the candidate has to show moxie. You see, baby, weaknesses are a privation of cockiness, so you have to admit to them, but you must never divulge anything offensive that can be used against you. Meaning the only thing you can say is being too good at something. For example, you’re too organized, to the point of having maniacal tendencies, and you wish sometimes you could just let go and ignore imperfections, but you can’t. You’re too punctual, to the point of getting irritated when others lack promptness. You’re too polite, wishing you spoke up a bit more when colleagues push you around. Ready?”
I nodded.
“Your weaknesses, Ms. Anderson?”
“I’m too gullible, unbelieving educated people around me are capable of heinous crimes,” I answered rashly.
A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest before he continued speaking. “Care to elaborate about these crimes?” I watched the lips that had slavishly kissed me—that had brought me unbelievable pleasure, smile.
“Kidnapping when they don’t get their way.”
“Did the victim go all Stockholm Syndrome or not? I must consider this before formulating a proper response.”
“Ugh. Next question.”
“Why are manhole covers round?”
“So the covers can’t fall in.”
“Prim, proper, and prepped. I’ll elaborate about manhole covers during lunch. They actually can fall in.” No sooner had he gotten up than he looked down at his shoes, which was something he seldom did. The vein at his right temple pulsed. I’d seen this happen enough times to know he wasn’t gritting his teeth out of anger this time. Was my preppiness funny to such end he wanted to laugh so hard his stomach hurt?
“Why are you mocking me?”
“Not mocking you, sweetheart.” His tone held a hint of weariness. “I suck at interviewing. Meredith taught me everything. Come.”
Following him, I paused at the door to kiss his neck, just above the perfectly starched collar.
With deft fingers, he took my hand and kissed each knuckle in turn, then gently sucked the tip of my forefinger. “Allow me,” he murmured, opening the door.
As if this was commonplace for us, my hand reflexively reached out to stroke his arm as we went through hallways. He kept his hands in his trousers. In the elevator, he did touch me in front of other passengers, and with his heady concoction of ownership and arrogance, I felt like the most beautiful woman alive. If it were possible, my smile grew. There were no secrets between us, and my powerful boyfriend was taking baby steps.
Elena Anderson
The Carina Deviation
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay by my side?” Alexander smiled with an incredible look of determination.
I shook my head sharply, precisely as if dislodging an insect or a stubborn thought. “I’d like to network on my own.”
He pressed a kiss between my eyebrows, then downed a glass of champagne before making his way to the group of men standing in the center of the room.
The Harvard Club was hosting a fundraising event, which supported a good cause, and Carina’s family was its main sponsor. I was studying her father—Mason Lowell. Heavyset with a florid, ravaged face, salt-and-pepper hair, and a thick nose, migrating toward a bulbous nose. He was far from being niggardly and neither ugly nor handsome, just unattractive. Yet something in his presence exuded the essence of generosity coupled with power, and in the business and political world, this was the ticket to the creamy goodies.
Doing his bit, when Alexander wasn’t shaking hands, he clasped his together over his belly, wearing a blissed-out smile. Undeniably, he outshone everyone in the room, like an unstoppable phenomenon annihilating anything crossing its path.
I liberated a glass of bubbly off a shiny silver tray, and it went bottoms up. The next couple of moments were a bit blurred. Garrulous guests asked me annoying questions, and I gave stock answers. What do you do for a living? What are your plans for the future? were conversation starters, trailing off into, How long have you been dating the man on the sixtieth floor? You must be in love, tell me all about him!
These kinds of things exasperated me. As I stood sipping my drink and trying to satisfy everyone’s curiosity, I wondered where Carina was.
“Dang! Infuckingsane, isn’t it?” From a footstep away, it was impossible to ignore Alexander’s smirk, his voice thick and sweet like molasses.
“This motherfucking shit is fool’s gold,” Tony laughed.
Astonishing to hear obscenities uttered by two leading CEOs, and that with the growl and rasp of men who were hungry for prey.
As they moved in closer, I found myself leaning into Alexander’s direction. It felt like I was being hypnotized, his arresting grey eyes pulling me in.
He smoothened the lapel of his tuxedo and offered me the crook of his elbow. “Could I steal you for a moment, Elena?”
“Good luck, sweetheart,” muttered Tony.
He spirited me off to an isolated corridor with a pronounced alcove at the far end.
“Stand against the wall.” He flicked open his jacket and grabbed my hand. I helped him stroke his semi-erection. “Do you want my cock?” His voice was hushed, domesticated and, his thumb rubbed the shivering corner of my mouth. “Here?” His other hand rose to cradle my chin, lifting my head until our eyes met.
“Yes.” My accelerated breathing caused the bustier of my dress to dig into my skin like stays of a corset.
Muffled sounds down the corridor made us look at the hallway. We were both incredibly still as we listened. I heard a rustling of clothes and then muffled footfalls. There were a few small noises like glasses clinking, metallic jingling, feet shuffling, and a distinct sound of a door opening and closing. After a short silence, the sounds were farther away and much less distinct.
“No, not here.” His lips pulled into a sneer as I gripped the base of his cock. “Leading me by my dick pleases you?”
I nodded. I also smiled an unembarassable smile.
“Give me a minute,” he snapped, without me having said anything. Looking slightly enervated, he brushed imaginary lint off his shoulders, and adjusted his jacket.
“Why’d you bring me here if you wouldn’t go through with it anyway?”
“Bad memory. I needed it gone. Don’t ask.”
With little preamble, we returned to the ballroom. The soft murmurs of conversations among the throng stalled for a moment, but resumed as a hostess beckoned u
s to our seats. Round tables were set out in an aesthetic pattern. I guessed the number of intimate guests at around a hundred or less. The tables were ten-seaters, set up with broken-white tablecloths and white china.
With an insistent hand on my lower back, Alexander showed me to my chair. “Sit, angel.”
I was happy to be off my feet.
I couldn’t help noticing the graceful thrust of his slim hips as he sat down. My first reaction was to ask for water, but there was no need for it, someone had already served me a glass. I balked at the idea of pulling out my Dior vanity kit, so I looked around to see what others were doing before opening my handbag. No one was looking at me, they were all chatting with each other and drinking champagne. I finished my water and in a split-second decision, I took out the compact and popped the lid open.
A warm draught touched my skin when Tony strolled over to the table and pulled up the chair beside me. Opening my mouth to say something, I was halted in my tracks by his forefinger sticking out. He met my gaze but said nothing.
My eyes grew large.
Accompanied by her father, Carina walked up to Alexander. He rose to greet them.
“Alex!” she crowed, moving with autonomic grace. Glancing at them over my shoulder, jealousy reared its ugly head when she complimented his suit and tan. Without it being obvious, she demonstrated with skill how the charm of a strapless dress could be lethally unforgiving. By inclining her posture to his position, she brought the swell of her décolleté in the straight angle of his vision. Her chest was shaking, and with a resigned shrug of the shoulders, she sucked in a sharp breath, which perked up the over-spilling mounds of her chest. “It’s been too long.” Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she might as well have been jumping up and down to make her breasts bounce.
“Nolan’s MIA again?” Alexander grinned.
She settled her hand on his arm. “He’s jetsetting in Europe.”
My jealous hatred was mortifyingly evident. Itching to carry out my first roundhouse kick, I picked at the cuticle on the side of a fingernail. Carina’s spoiled-little-rich-girl vibe—and the fact that I was within earshot—fueled anger in me. Commanding all of my willpower not to become an emotional, angst-ridden mess, I reached for my flute, allowing a ghost of a smile to graze my lips as I drank. The crisp liquid tickled my tongue and bubbled up to my nose and down my throat at the same time.
