by Cynthia Sax
“No.” Camille’s gaze meets mine, her eyes widening. “I don’t want anyone to get fired.” Her voice rings with sincerity.
“That’s what I thought.” I straighten her collar. “Peace and love, baby.” I make a V with my fingers.
Camille grins at me. “Peace and love.” She slaps the elevator button and the doors open. “Thank you.” She enters the car. “You’re okay, Yellow.” The doors close between us.
“You are okay, Miss Kat.” Grant taps on his sleek black keyboard. “I hear we’ll be seeing more of you.”
I laugh. “I don’t know if there’s much more of me to see.” I spin around. “Haven’t you seen everything already?”
“As I told your little friend, I’m an ass man.” He touches his passcard, as though ensuring himself it remains pinned to his pants. “You’ve deprived us of that view.”
“That’s terrible,” I tease. The glass doors open. “We’ll have to rectify that.” I gaze up at Henley and catch my breath. He’s so big, so mine.
“Don’t encourage him,” Henley rumbles, his dark eyes glimmering with sexual promise. He holds out one of his scarred palms.
I place my hand in his and a spark of awareness zips up my arm. “He doesn’t need any encouragement,” I quip. Grant laughs and Henley’s lips twitch. My behemoth leads me through the glass-lined hallways. “Do I get a display case also?”
Henley’s shoulders shake. “Do you wish to be on display?”
“Not really.” I swing our arms. “Though I’d likely be your biggest attraction.”
“You would be,” he agrees, opening the door to his office. “I thought we’d share this space.” He enters, steps to one side, and gazes at me.
I glance around. A matching desk has been placed at the other side of the room, facing his. The setup mirrors the arrangement my father and his brother has.
The message is clear. We’re equals, and this is long term. Henley sees me as his partner, someone whose opinions and thoughts matter.
“Henley.” A rush of emotion flows through my body, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. No one has ever cared this much for me, anticipating my secret desires before I can express them.
Henley wraps his arms around my waist, holding me upright, and he rests his chin on top of my head. His heat and scent engulf me. “Do you like it?”
“I love it.” I sink deeper into his massive physique, savoring the pressure of his muscles against my curves. “But I’ll be constantly talking on the phone or meeting with employees. Won’t that disturb you?” I tilt back my head and peer up at him.
“Your father and uncle make it work.” Henley shrugs, appearing unconcerned. “We’ll figure something out.”
“We will.” I cover his hands with mine and gaze at our office, my new working space. The video screens show images of the building’s interiors and exteriors. The tinted windows can’t contain the brightness of the sun’s rays. The light dances on the carpet, casting rainbows of color on the dark surface.
“Make a list of the supplies you’ll need.” Henley pushes me toward my new desk. “I have work to do before we leave.”
He has work to do before we leave. I sit down on the captain’s chair, the black leather soft against my legs. He must be driving me back to the hotel again. I spin around in the chair and smile.
Henley taps on his keyboard and frowns at his main screen, his expression adorably serious. I watch him for a couple of minutes, relishing the ruggedness of his face, the size of his hands, the broadness of his shoulders. If I succeed in this position, I’ll spend the rest of my career watching my behemoth work. My chest warms and my toes curl.
Henley glances up and tilts his head toward my new desk, silently reminding me that I have to make a supply list.
First, I need to know what supplies I already have. I examine my desk. Keys dangle from the lock on the bottom drawer. I slide the drawer open and find pretty pink file folders hanging inside. The legal file folders I’ve been shredding have all been gray. My file folders are empty, ready to be filled with logs of security concerns.
The middle drawer contains an assortment of sticky-note pads in a dazzling array of fluorescent colors. There’s a larger yellow lined pad, perfect for making my supply list. I place it on the padded leather desktop. Funky pens and the largest collection of highlighters I’ve ever seen are stored in the top drawer. I select a lavender-colored pen topped by a beautiful cloth flower.
I gaze across the office at Henley. He’s watching me, a small smile on his face. “Did you choose the supplies?” I stroke the cloth flower over my chin, savoring the softness.
“Everyone contributed.” Henley’s voice is gruff. “I saw the pen last night and thought of you.” Red streaks across his cheeks.
He thought of me. I beam at him. “How did you do all of this so quickly? Mr. Blaine made the decision at noon.” I check my watch, the gold Rolex given to me by my father as a graduation present. “And it’s only five o’clock.”
“I was motivated.” Henley’s eyes gleam. “Make your list, kitten.” He returns his attention to one of his screens, lines etched between his eyebrows. He’s a powerful man and today he used his power to make me happy.
I concentrate on my list, determined to make him happy, to prove my worth. When I helped my father I’d often take his calls, sort through his e-mails, serve as his assistant. He claims I have a gift for organization, the system I developed allowing me to process information quickly. I write down all of the supplies I used with that system and then add some more items for tweaks I hope to make.
I glance at Henley. He’s scowling, his gaze flitting between multiple screens. He’s busy and I can use this time to plan. I outline my system, drafting a chart of what I imagine the workflow will be, using the small sticky pads and different colored highlighters. I quickly run out of room on my desktop and move the flowchart to the wall behind me.
The office is deathly quiet so I hum while I work, happily rearranging sticky notes. I dance back and forth, moving to the music in my head, crafting my flowchart. My feet ache, even in the slingbacks. I slip off my shoes and sink my toes into the thick plush carpet.
“What are the black squares?” Henley rumbles.
I jump and turn. He stands less than an arm’s length away from me, staring up at my masterpiece, his forehead furrowed with lines.
“The black squares are you,” I explain. “See how often you appear at the middle of the process?” I tap a black square. “You’re taking action.”
“And then it circles back to the bright pink squares.”
“That’s me.” I beam at him. “I contact the employees, thank them again for bringing the situations to our attention, and give them status updates.”
Henley frowns. “We’ll talk tomorrow about these status updates.” He clasps my fingers. “It’s time to go, kitten.”
“Are we going?” I lean into him, flattening my breasts against his chest. I want him. I need him. “I thought it was your turn.” I swivel my hips, grinding against him.
Henley hardens and his grip on my hand tightens. “It’s my turn, but I’m not taking it here.” He tugs me toward the door. I grab my purse, slip on my shoes, and leave my multicolored flowchart displayed on the wall.
“Am I sucking you off in the elevator?” My pussy moistens, the thought exciting me. “I’ll see your ass cheeks clench as you come.” We move through the building.
“We’re not getting naked in the elevator.” Henley locks doors as we progress. The Fortress is even more secure at night than it is during the day.
“Sex in the car will be challenging.” I contemplate the logistics of this encounter. “You can lie back and I’ll straddle you, rubbing my wet pussy over your hard shaft.” I wiggle my hips as we walk.
Henley links his fingers with mine. “We’re going to your hotel.”
“It’s early.” I blink. “Why would we go to the hotel . . . oh!” My eyes widen. “You’re staying over.” I want to
hop, dance, sing.
A freckle-faced man waves at us as we pass his glass-walled office. I wave my purse halfheartedly at him, my focus remaining on Henley’s revelation.
“I’ll finally see you naked.” My fingers tremble.
Henley grimaces as he unlocks the door. “I have scars; ugly, nasty scars.” We exit together. The reception area is empty, Grant’s screen dark.
“Those scars prove you faced death and prevailed.” I press the button for the elevator. “They’re testaments to your strength.” The doors open immediately and I skip into the small space. “And I find them incredibly sexy.”
I lift one of his big hands. “Every time I see these scars I want to lick them all over.” I lave my tongue over his palm and Henley’s fingers twitch. “Yes, they’re definitely lickable.” He tastes like salt and man, the combination arousing me. “And suckable.” I close my lips around the tip of his index finger and suck. A rumble rolls up his chest. “Once we get naked I plan to lick and suck every one of your scars.” I meet his gaze.
Henley’s eyes are as black as his suit. “I have many scars.” His voice is sinfully deep.
“We have all night.” I nuzzle my cheek against his palm.
Chapter Nine
* * *
HENLEY PARKS THE car at the hotel, after having said hell no to a valet touching the high-tech security system in his vehicle. Too wound up to wait for him to open my door, I jump out of the car. It’s been five years since I’ve had sex. He’s a big man, a sophisticated man, and I like him . . . a bit too much. Henley clasps my trembling fingers. I want our first time to be fantastic.
“It’s been a while.” I swing our linked hands as we walk out of the parking garage. “We don’t have to have wild, passionate animal sex right away. We could take it slowly, ease into it, savor.” I like this word. “Yes, savor the experience.”
“We’re not having sex tonight.” Henley squeezes my fingers.
“That’s taking it a bit too slowly.” I frown. “I’m thinking we try missionary position first. Think of how we’d look together, your big body on top of mine, your tanned hips between my pale thighs.” I wiggle my ass, excitement shimmering over me. “I’ll wrap my legs around you as you pump into me, thrusting hard and deep.”
“We’re not having sex tonight,” he repeats.
“Right.” He’s sleeping over and we’re not having sex. We approach the entrance to the hotel and I smile at the evening doorman. “Hi, John. Did you banish Orlando for smoking?”
“Not yet, Miss Kat. He’s eating dinner.” John holds the door open for us. “He asked me to tell you that he looks forward to your company. He—” Henley places a possessive hand on my hip, and the doorman abruptly stops talking.
“Please send Orlando my regrets,” I murmur. “I’m eating with my big American dog tonight.” I pat Henley’s chest, his muscles solid under my fingers. “Oh, we could do it doggy style,” I whisper.
We enter the lobby. The floor is marble tile. A huge chandelier sparkles above us. Leather couches are positioned around the space. Hotel employees and guests smile as they greet me.
“I’ve been here less than a week and it already feels like I belong.” I sigh happily. “People here are so friendly.”
“The people in my apartment building are very friendly,” Henley rumbles. “My neighbors always seem to be socializing, having one another over for dinner. You’ll fit in well there, maybe a bit too well.”
“I probably will fit in.” Will I meet his neighbors soon? I’m not brave enough to ask this question. “Do you watch them?” I lead him along a hallway. Asian-themed carpets cover the floor. Rich oil paintings hang on the walls. Moldings decorate the ceiling.
“I own the building,” Henley replies. “Watching them is my responsibility.”
“Do you watch them have sex?” I walk an imaginary straight line, exaggerating the sway of my hips, vividly aware of the big man behind me. “You must have seen them having sex in the common areas.” I hike my skirt higher and higher as we move, the cool air wafting over my thighs. “Do they get naked in the swimming pool? Grope each other in the elevator? Engage in a quickie against the wall?” I bare the curve of my ass and Henley sucks in his breath, the small sound exciting me.
I stop in front of my door and turn to face him. Henley’s eyes are black and his fingers are clenched into massive fists. He wants me . . . badly.
“Last night I fantasized you took me against this door.” I pat the wood. “You couldn’t wait to fuck me.” I press against Henley, lift my leg, curl it around him, opening myself to him. “You unzipped your pants, lifted me into the air, and impaled me on your big cock.” I rub against the hard ridge in Henley’s dress pants. My pussy is wet and bare and the friction arouses me. “I writhed, trapped between you and the wall.”
He reaches under my skirt, cups my mons, and I moan, moving shamelessly against his hand. “You filled me, Henley.” He slides two thick fingers into me, stretching me open. “Yes.” I drop my purse, grab his shoulders, and undulate, forcing him in and out of me, taking what I want, what I need. “You rode me hard while hotel security watched us.”
“They’re watching us now, kitten,” Henley rumbles against my cheek. “They see my monstrous fingers savaging your pretty pink pussy. They’re listening to your moans, to your cries of passion, to the sucking noise of you clinging to me.”
“Feel how wet I am.” I grind against his hand. A hotel guest, a staff member could enter this hallway at any time, see Henley slide his fingers into me, my body pulling tight around him. “I need you so much.”
Henley mouths my neck, his lips firm and hot. “You have me.” He pumps my pussy, reaching deep inside me with his rough fingers, his form bent over mine, his muscles caging my curves. “You’ll always have me.”
“Yes,” I pant, matching his tempo, working with Henley for my satisfaction. “Take me here. Take me now.” He’s all I see, feel, taste, want. I curl my fingers around the back of his neck, holding onto him, his short hair soft against my skin.
Henley strips my control with each thrust of his hand. Desire coils around me, constricting my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. My legs buckle and he lifts me, presses me against my hotel-room door.
I’m pinned between my behemoth and the hard door, as I was in my fantasy, dream and reality colliding, my passion compounding with each stroke. With Henley I don’t have to choose. I can have everything.
He swipes his thumb over my clit and I clench his fingers with my inner muscles, closing around him. “That’s it,” he murmurs against my neck. Sweat runs down my spine, drips between my ass cheeks. “Hold onto me with your tight little pussy.” He strokes in, strokes out, dangling me over the vortex of fulfillment and then pulling me back to safety.
The combination splinters me and I shake uncontrollably, clutching at him for support. “Henley.” My voice thins. I’m lost, unable to function.
“Come for me.” He slides his skin along my pussy, withdrawing his fingers. “Come now.” Henley thrusts hard, smacking the heel of his hand against my clit, breaking me. I open my mouth to scream and he covers my lips with his, swallowing the sound.
I come hard, my body bouncing between his muscular form and the door, the hallway swirling around us, the lights streaming together, the colors meshing. Henley is my constant, my only link to the present and to the truth, and I dig my fingernails into his nape, piercing his skin, marking him.
He extracts his fingers from my pussy and wraps his arms around me, holding me, comforting me. His deep voice murmurs into my ear. Although I can’t grasp his words, my brain scorched by my orgasm, my soul understands what he’s saying. He has me. He won’t ever let me go.
I breathe in his lemon-and-cedar cologne, savor the heat of his body, the strength in his form. The world around us slows and stills. I tilt back my head and gaze up at Henley. “That was better than my fantasy.” I smile.
His lips curl upward. “We should go i
nside.” He bends over, picks up my purse, hands it to me.
My fingers shake as I extract the plastic key and slide it into the lock. The light remains red. I try again, my movements jerky. The key doesn’t work.
Henley chuckles. “Let me try, kitten.” He takes the key from me and unlocks the door on his first try, the mechanism buzzing.
“You have a way with closed doors,” I tease as we enter the room. The space is unnervingly quiet and sterile, reminding me of the cancer ward at night. I kick off my shoes, toss my purse on the nearest nightstand, and pull the cream-colored duvet back, disheveling the matching sheets.
Henley places the key on the desk. “I’ll order dinner.” He doesn’t sit in the chair, choosing, instead, to loom over the hotel restaurant’s delivery menu.
“Remember the vegetables.” I perch on the foot of the king-size bed. Two mahogany-stained nightstands frame the matching wooden headboard behind me. An oil painting of a girl feeding ducks hangs on the wall. A large TV faces me. Cream and brown curtains hide the view of the parking lot. It isn’t a big room, and it seems even smaller with my behemoth here.
Henley orders enough food to feed an army. After he ends the call we stare at each other. I’m still euphoric from the hallway ravishing, my head floating and my legs trembling.
“Do you want to get comfortable?” My voice is husky.
Henley removes his jacket, hangs it in the open closet between my father’s rumpled shirt and my favorite pink suit. His jacket looks good there, as though it belongs. “You appear comfortable.” He unfastens his passcard and phone, sets both of these items by the hotel key.
“I could be more comfortable.” I unbuckle my cute white belt.
Henley removes his wallet and keys, places them with his other things. He releases the top button of his shirt.
“Wait,” I cry, and he stops, his big body tensing, his gaze meeting mine.
I bounce off the bed. “I want to unwrap you.” I slide my palms up his chest and Henley shudders. “You’re my present.” I tug on his shirt lapels and he bends over, lowering his face, giving me more access to his big form.
