by Cynthia Sax
I look at Henley and my lips quirk upward. He’s scowling. “You’re frightening people again,” I observe. When he’s in a foul mood my man is a formidable sight.
Henley jabs the button for the elevator. “Today’s not a day to be Mr. Nice Monster.”
Today I need a wall between my fragile heart and the well-meaning concern of others. Henley is serving as this wall, frightening our coworkers away. “Thank you,” I whisper, gratitude swelling within me.
He squeezes my hand. The doors open and we enter. Henley glares and the elevator empties, the two young men in ill-fitting black suits hastily exiting. The button for the fifth floor has been pressed.
“We have the elevator to ourselves.” I place my hands on Henley’s shoulders and rise onto my toes, pressing my curves into his muscle. He hooks his arms around me, holding me to him.
The doors open on the fifth floor. A short stout man steps forward. Henley turns his head, frowns, and the man backs away, mumbling words I can’t decipher. The elevator doors shut once more.
“The employees will think you’re firing me again.” I smile.
“Good.” Henley grunts, patting my ass. “They’ll know no one is immune to my wrath, not even the woman I love.”
“Not even a Volkov.” I drop my gaze to his mouth.
“Not even my future wife.” Henley lowers his head, his breath wafts over my cheeks, and I part my lips.
The elevator doors open on the fourth floor. Henley sighs, straightens, and tugs me forward. Grant grins at us, the Fortress’ receptionist seated at his desk. He’s surrounded by huge crystal vases filled with white lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums, the fragrance of the cut flowers hanging heavily in the air.
“Someone is popular today,” I tease, knowing the real recipient of the bouquets. Deliveries have been arriving for me at the apartment and the office building all day, the flowers and other gifts accompanied by letters of sympathy and remembrance. So many people loved my father.
“Someone will be popular once he redistributes these flowers to the lovely single ladies of Los Angeles.” Grant laughs, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief, and my spirits lift.
“Don’t encourage him.” Henley unlocks the reception doors. “Come.” He holds out his left hand.
I clasp his fingers and we move through the glass-lined hallways. Employees wave at us, and I wave back. Henley’s team is my team now, part of our extended family, and the Fortress has become my sanctuary, a place to hide from the harshness of reality.
Henley opens the door to our shared office, pulls me into the space, and closes the door behind us. “Kitten.” He surges toward me and captures my mouth with his. I part my lips and he invades, claiming my tongue.
He tastes of strong black coffee and smells of his distinctive lemon-and-cedar cologne, the combination arousing me. I moan into Henley’s mouth and sag against his body, trusting him to hold me upright. He curls his hands over my ass, easily supporting my weight.
We kiss and touch, the connection between us humming, growing stronger with each passing day. Henley and I live together, sleep together, work together, and in three months we’ll marry, tightening our bond even more. I swivel my hips against the ridge in his dress pants, his hard cock pressing against the black fabric.
The screens around us reflect images of the interiors and exteriors of Blaine Technologies’ two office buildings, located on opposite sides of the country. Henley’s side of the office remains strictly professional, no personal items cluttering his black desk, the color scheme monochrome.
My side of the room explodes with color. An African violet grows in an adorable lavender pot positioned on the corner of my desk. An early photo of my father and uncle is confined behind a sheet of clear glass, the pink picture frame surrounding the image matching my leather-padded desktop. Colorful flowcharts are plastered over the wall behind my chair.
“I need you.” Henley steps backward, his eyes as black as his suit. “Badly.” His voice is deep, his control frayed.
He’ll take me hard and fast, the way I like it, the way I need it, especially today. My breath hitches and my nipples tighten. “Where do you want me?”
“Bend over my desk.” Henley circles the massive piece of furniture and taps on a sleek black keyboard. He has prepared for this encounter, the multiple screens on his desk pushed to one side. “Stick your perky ass in the air.” The wall-mounted screens reflect the interior of our office, displaying our images.
I stride toward his desk, swaying my hips seductively, my knees weak with anticipation. Lowering over his workspace, I press my ample chest against the hard wooden surface. “I’m yours to command.” I grant Henley complete control over my body, not wanting to think, to remember.
“Widen your stance,” he orders, the dominance in his voice wetting my panties. I obey, spreading my legs, my skirt hitching higher.
Henley walks behind me. I remain bent over the desk, my chest flattened, my ass tilted upward, my body vulnerable and exposed. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his approval warming me. “Look at how beautiful you are.” I raise my head and stare at the screen. My pink skirt stretches snugly over my rear, my legs pale and shapely, my blond curls bouncing around my face.
Henley cups my ass and squeezes, the power in his grip exciting me. “You’re mine, kitten,” he murmurs, sliding his shoes between mine, forcing my legs wider. His pants tent around his erection.
“I can do anything I want with you.” He tugs my skirt higher. Cool air wafts between my thighs, over my heated flesh.
“I can ask our team to join us, to watch us as I fuck you.” Henley reveals the curve of my ass. I wiggle, aroused by his fantasy.
“If I was a good person, a generous person, I’d allow them to touch you, to stroke your pretty pink pussy with their fingers, their tongues, their cocks.” He pulls my skirt to my waist, exposing my delicate pink panties.
“But I’m not a good person.” Henley skims his palms over the silk. “I’m a monster.” He pushes his right hand between my thighs, the grooves and ridges on his skin setting off sparks within me. “And monsters don’t like to share.” He glides his fingers over my soaked panties, heating my body to the point of combustion.
Henley must feel how wet I am, how much I need him, my desire impossible to hide. “I don’t want to be shared,” I whisper. He’s more than enough man for me.
“I’ll never share you,” Henley assures me. “Other people might watch us, but no one else will ever touch you.” He rubs his fingers over my silk-covered pussy, the friction tantalizing. “You’re my kitten.” He flattens his free hand against my back, pinning me to the desk. “Your body belongs to me.”
“Yes,” I moan, rocking into his palm. “And you belong to me.”
“How could I ever want another woman after meeting you?” Henley pulls on my panties and the fabric slips between my ass cheeks, parts my pussy lips, putting a delectable pressure on my clit. “You’re pink silk and ivory skin, soft panties and even softer skin.” He squeezes my curves, his palms large and rough. “I want to eat you up.” He bends over and licks along my panties. I gasp, the sensation spiraling my arousal upward.
“I’ll eat you later.” Henley straightens, brushes his hands over my ass. “I need to fuck you now.” He pulls down my panties to my ankles, releasing my body from its pink-clad bondage. “Look at how beautiful you are.” Wonderment softens his voice.
“Look.” Henley fists my hair, his grip gentle yet sure, and drags back my head, forcing me to look at myself on the screen. “See how pink and pretty your pussy is?” He spreads my folds with his rough fingers and I tremble, my thighs shaking, glistening with moisture. “See how wet you are for me?”
He strokes me up and down and I watch him touch me, fascinated by the contrast of his scarred fingers against my smooth flesh. “You’re a good kitten.” Henley slips one of his fingers inside me and I clench down, closing my pussy walls around him. “A greedy kitten.” He pumps me, my p
ussy lips clinging to his finger, a shameful sucking noise echoing in the space.
Outside the office doors Henley’s team is working, not knowing their boss has one of his thick fingers deep inside me, wantonly displaying my body for his wicked pleasure. I spread out my arms on his desk, the wood hard under my fingertips.
He adds a second finger, stretching me open, and I grip the edge of the desk, savoring the fullness. “You like that, don’t you?” Henley asks, his voice low and deep. “You like having my fingers in your hot pussy.” I undulate on the hard wooden surface. “What else do you want?” He pulls out and I grit my teeth, my body empty without his fingers.
“I want your cock.” I bow my spine, presenting my ass to him. “I want you to fill me with your cum.”
His zipper rasps, the sound loud in the silence, an undeniable declaration of intent. “You’re no longer using protection.” He prods my pussy with his cock head, his tip massive compared to my tight entrance. “Do you want my baby, kitten?”
“Yes.” I move backward, pushing his cock into me. “Give me your baby.”
“Be still.” Henley squeezes my ass, and my inner walls involuntarily convulse, constricting around his tip. We both groan, the sensation luscious. “Look at me,” he demands. I glance over my right shoulder and meet his gaze. Lightning flashes in his dark eyes. “Do you want to try to make a baby today, kitten?”
I know what he’s asking. Do I want to try to make a baby with Henley on the day my father died? “More than anything.” This feels right.
Henley’s lips lift. “Then turn your head and watch as we try to make a baby.”
I gaze at the screen as he slides his cock into me, my pink flesh pulling tight around his girth, the fullness divine. Henley sinks deeper and deeper, more of his shaft disappearing inside my pussy, and my knuckles whiten, my grip on the desk intensifying, his size stroking the flames of my desire.
His black private curls tickle my pussy lips, his hips press against my ass, and he stills, his body draped over mine, layers of clothing separating his chest from my back. He turns his head to the left. “Beauty and the beast,” he murmurs.
I follow his line of sight. Our image is displayed on a screen, Henley appearing monstrously large compared to my smaller form, his face rugged, his nose flat, his expression fierce. “I wish you’d stop calling me a beast,” I quip, smiling. “It’s giving me a complex.”
He throws back his head and laughs, his body rubbing against mine, his joy lighting his face. “I love you, kitten.” Henley folds his fingers over my hips, holding me in place as he pulls out, his cock head skimming along my inner walls.
My happiness flows to desire, his movement scattering my thoughts. Henley drives forward, smacking his hard physique against my curves, my ass burning with the contact. I moan, flooded by waves of intense feeling.
He rides me mercilessly, our bodies colliding, connecting, then parting, only to crash together once more. I push back as he lunges forward, our fucking savage and primal. He’s a man seeking to plant his seed inside his woman, his urgency palpable, his need gratifying. I’m a woman submitting, welcoming my man’s sexual supremacy, knowing he’ll always protect me, cherish me, love me.
Henley grunts as he ruts into me, reaching deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against my skin, his fingers twisting in my hair, pulling at my curls. Pinpricks of pain shoot over my scalp, escalating my desire.
I watch him on the screen, Henley’s ass cheeks clenching and unclenching, the play of tanned skin over hard muscle awe inspiring. He’s powerful and mine, my present and my future, and I’ll please him as he pleases me. I tighten my inner muscles around him, increasing our points of connection, and tremors shake both of our bodies.
Henley pounds into my pussy even harder, his thrusts nudging the desk toward the wall and edging me toward release. My tremors increase in magnitude, loosening my grip on reality, straining my sanity, and I writhe under him, grinding against his hips.
Sweat trickles between my breasts, dampens the fabric of my blazer. Heat spirals from my core. I’m a sexy mess and I can’t last much longer. “Henley?”
“Yes, kitten.” He nuzzles my neck and I tilt my head, giving him access to more of me. “Yes.” Henley licks my skin, his tongue rough and wet, and I shudder. “Come.” He covers my lips with one of his hands. I suck on his palm, tasting salt and man. “Come for me now.” He drives into me, his hips smack against my ass, and I scream, the sound muffled by his palm.
I fling myself upward, bucking, trying to displace him. He pushes deeper and roars, bathing my pussy with his hot cum, setting off another round of soul-shaking, full-body quakes. The intensity of my feelings overwhelms me and I fight desperately for my freedom, my battle futile. He’s too big, too strong, too masterful, subduing me easily.
Henley thrusts once, twice more, and sags against me, his weight pressing me into the hard desk, flattening me. His hand drops from my mouth and slaps the wood, the sound loud in the quiet office, the surface vibrating under my cheek.
Claimed completely by my behemoth, I turn my head and look at the image of us displayed on the screen. We’re joined, my small body folded into his massive physique, my pussy filled with his cock, my battered heart cradled in his scarred hands, our souls entwined.
“You’re magnificent.” I float on a fluffy white cloud of euphoria.
“Only you think so.” Henley gazes at our image also, his eyes glowing with warmth, with love. My blond curls frame his rugged face. My pink suit contrasts vividly with his stark black jacket. My curves mesh into his unrelenting muscle. We fit together perfectly, as though we were destined to complete each other.
“I love you, Henley,” I murmur.
“I love you, kitten.” My beloved behemoth braces his weight with his right arm and slides his left hand under my body, spreading his fingers over my stomach. “I love you too, baby . . . if you’re in there,” he adds gruffly. I smile. My big man has an even bigger heart.
Want more blazing hot romance from Cynthia Sax?
Keep reading for a peek at her next erotic novella,
BREAKING ALL THE RULES.
It’s Camille’s turn . . .
An Excerpt from
BREAKING ALL THE RULES
THIS IS THE morning I break Nathan Lawford, Blaine Technologies’ notoriously uptight chief financial officer, the executive employees call the Iceman.
I hum the words to an extremely vulgar hip-hop song as I stride through the concrete-and-glass lobby, my phone in my right hand and the straps of my backpack slung over my shoulder.
Not even Jerome, the company’s power-high security guard, could dampen my enthusiasm today. He searched my black canvas bag for a record twelve minutes, wrinkling important papers and poking his clumsy fingers into delicate electronics. He leered and sneered at me, and I said nothing, tolerating the harassment.
Because today Nate will touch me.
I’ve spent months defrosting the Iceman, following rules I’ve crafted, rules he isn’t aware of. I can’t touch him unless he touches me. I can’t see him outside of our morning elevator rides unless he approaches me. I can e-mail him but not call him, check his agenda but not change it.
Even with these self-imposed restrictions, I’ll win, my victory growing more certain as our daily skirmishes escalate in intensity.
Every morning Nate takes the same elevator at the same time, his schedule as rigid and unbending as he is. Every morning I share the same elevator car. He looks at me. I look at him. We exchange a couple of verbal barbs, some increasingly steamy sexual innuendos, and then we part ways, going to our different floors, our different worlds.
I’m the green-haired rebel intern. Nate is an unemotional rule setter, a huge immovable wall I can’t stop pushing against, a challenge I can’t back away from. He drives me absolutely wild and I will have him. On my terms.
I glance at my phone’s screen. Shit on a stick. I have three minutes to trek to the elevators. Clipping my ph
one to my skirt’s frayed waistband, I march faster, the heels of my shoes ringing against the gleaming white marble tile. Video screens hang from the walls, displaying happy images of the conforming masses. Dark-suited corporate clones linger around the paid-to-be-perky receptionist.
Loitering isn’t an option, as there’s no flexibility in the Iceman’s timetable. I turn the corner and my heels squeak on the floor. No one is waiting for the elevators, the area empty. I press the up button three times in rapid succession, pleased that I’ll have Nate’s complete attention during our five-minute elevator ride.
Privacy is essential for my plan to work, as I’m not the type of woman any career-minded executive would choose to acknowledge publicly. I glance at my reflection in the elevator’s shiny metallic doors and wince. Although I no longer wear my temporary tattoos or visible body jewelry, the green hair and the holes in my ears, nose, and bottom lip remain, declaring my rebel status to the world.
This is who I am, who I’ve always been. I break rules. I push people. I don’t fit in anywhere. I tell myself I’m okay with this. In my heart I know I’m not. But I can’t change, not even for the Iceman.
The bell rings, the doors to elevator number four open, and my heart pounds. Nate stands in the back right corner, staring down at his phone, appearing as unapproachably handsome as usual, his blond hair short and neat, his broad shoulders clad in a form-fitting black suit, his crisp white shirt accentuating his golden tan. His tie is always black, always plain.
He wears the same clothing combination every day, and I want to peel the monochromatic fabric away from his kicking hot physique and lick him from his head to his toes. This impulsive act, while certain to be sexually satisfying, violates the rules of my game. He must touch me first. I keep my hands to myself and stride into the elevator, my hips swaying and my head held defiantly high.
Nate glances upward, our gazes lock and hold, and I forget to breathe, to think, to move. His eyes are the palest, coldest gray, a frigid blast of icy wind on a hot Californian day, and I want him as I’ve never wanted anyone else, my need for him carnal and raw.
