Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room)

by Joey W. Hill

  “Excuse me. Sir, ma’am?”

  Max shifted the hand he had on her nape to her jaw, her cheek, keeping her face pressed to his chest, averted from the man who’d approached them. His hand came out from beneath her skirt, smoothly working the zipper down in the same motion so she was covered.

  “No disrespect, but the club doesn’t allow sexual play in the parking lot. You can take it offsite or back inside.”

  “Understood. My apologies. I got a little carried away.”

  “No worries.” The security guard’s stern tone eased, the man recognizing he wasn’t going to be dealing with a belligerent guest. “Can’t blame you a bit. The two of you were hot enough to make me think about waking the wife up when I get home tonight.”

  Max chuckled, pressing a kiss on the top of Janet’s head, an idle caress as the man moved away. She straightened, pushing away from his grip, though her fingers stayed latched on his T-shirt. He put his hands on her elbows, keeping her in his grasp as well.

  “I think we need to slow this down. Time for me to call it a night.” She met his gaze squarely, though saying the words, removing her hands from his body, was like pulling frozen hands away from a warm fire. “Will you walk me to my car?”

  He shook his head. Giving his T-shirt a casual tug downward so it covered his rock-hard abs but leaving his shirt open—no choice, given that she expected several of the buttons were under the cars around them—he fished his keys out of his pocket and shifted to unlock his vehicle. Pulling open the door, he picked up her bag, put it in the back and then extended a hand. “Get in the truck.”

  “The mating call of the Southern male,” she said lightly, but her pulse had leaped at the command. His gaze had fastened on it, making her think of his mouth there once more. “Where are we going?”

  “To a place where you can look up at the stars while I put my mouth between your legs.”

  They held gazes for a long moment, then Janet lifted a shoulder. “More sure of the terrain now? No land mines?”

  “The reward balances the risk.”

  She sidled back up to him, pressing thigh to thigh deliberately. When she reached up, stroked through his hair, he obligingly brought his head down, put his lips on her shoulder, held them there while a single, hard shudder ran through her. He wasn’t a Dominant. He was simply…overwhelming. Different. Unclassifiable. She should go home. It was time to evaluate where she was going with this. Where he was taking her.

  He rubbed his lips along that bare stretch of skin between blouse collar and throat, making her fingers curl deeper into his scalp. “Janet. Truck. Now.”

  “All right, Tarzan,” she whispered, a smile flirting in her heart, on her lips. He put his hands on her waist, lifted her into the truck. He’d made it an order but waited for her consent before proceeding. He was the oddest mix of things.

  He’d lifted her into the driver’s side. The seat was a long cushion, no console, the gear shift on the hump between the floorboards. It reminded her of an old farm truck, and when she scooted over so he could get in, turn over the ignition, the powerful roar of the engine enhanced the impression. She hadn’t moved any farther than necessary to get her legs over the gears, and he pleased her immensely when, once he put the truck in gear, he settled one arm over her so she could lean against him. It helped with talking over that engine noise as well. She propped her chin on his shoulder to speak into his ear as they pulled out into traffic.

  “You’re Texan, aren’t you, Southern male?”

  He glanced at her, amused, and when he lifted his hand from the wheel to shift, she was already on it, smoothly changing gears as he worked the clutch. Her Mustang was a straight drive as well, a dying breed. The light in his eyes said he appreciated her ability to coordinate with him. And she appreciated that he didn’t indulge in any adolescent comments about her ability to handle a stick. “Yes ma’am. I thought you knew everything about everyone at K&A.”

  “Contrary to rumor, I don’t routinely scour personnel records. I rely on intel from office gossip.”

  “You should have gone with the personnel records. You would have known I left my last job because they objected to my side hobby. Taking women out into the swamps to cut up their bodies for the gators.”

  “Are we going to do the watching the stars thing before the murder thing?”

  His arm tightened around her, fingers sliding under her buttock to take a firm grip. “Count on it.”

  “Well then. That will give me time to think about my escape plan.”

  “I doubt you’ll be thinking much.”

  She laughed then, a throaty, sultry sound that drew his gray eyes to her in a way that sobered her. She traced his mouth with her nails as he turned his attention back to the road. “How did you know something was going to go wrong? That day with Savannah?”

  “It was a gut feeling. You develop it in the field. A tickling sense that something’s not quite right.” He shrugged but then gave her an intent look. “That’s not what I want to think about right now.”

  “What do you want…right now?” She felt the give of the light layer of hair beneath his T-shirt as she trailed her fingertips down his sternum. His chest hair was dark blond, like what was on his head. She wanted to see all of it, not just what was visible from the scoop-necked collar.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road, he nevertheless lifted his arm from around her shoulders and reached across her to the zipper of the skirt. He pulled it up a few inches from the slit, but he needed a second hand or her help to get it higher. She put her hand over his.

  “Tell me what you want, Max.”

  He gave her that glance again, then he made a turn on to a service road. “I want you to put your fingers inside yourself. I want to taste you while I’m driving.” His gaze went to her face, then higher. “And I wish you didn’t have that stuff on your hair. I think about your hair all the time. What it would feel like, all soft on my chest, my stomach.”

  She could follow that track in her mind, see herself going down on him, opening up her mouth and sucking on his cock. She fantasized about tying him up while she did it, watching every muscle fighting his bonds. No, she never tied up her subs like that, but fantasizing was a safe indulgence. Though with Max she wondered if she’d be tempted to cross the line into reality, see if he could keep her mind out of the clutches of the past.

  Lifting her hips off the seat, she worked the zipper up so she could put her fingers beneath the pencil skirt. Nudging the thong aside was easy enough. He slowed the vehicle to turn down another road. She helped him shift to lower gear, and they bumped down a dirt road. He’d opened the window and she could smell the water, hear the nighttime wildlife. Fortunately, it was almost cold tonight, meaning the bugs wouldn’t eat them, and the stars would be bright in the sky. Such thoughts didn’t help her coordination.

  Her pussy was soaking wet, no surprise there. Her fingers went in easy and deep, with a quiet sucking noise that she wasn’t sure he’d heard, but when she glanced up and saw he’d brought the truck to a halt, those intense eyes glittering in the darkness, she suspected he had. She pulled her fingers free, brought them up between them. They’d stopped in front of a dock and what looked like someone’s private boat access. One dim light on a pole illuminated a small gravel parking area.

  Curling his fingers around her wrist, Max sucked in her two fingers, glistening with her honey. She stretched out the other fingers, stroking the five o’clock shadow, the cleft in his chin. Superman’s chin, a strong block that went with the strong face and powerful body. A man with a chin like that invariably lived up to it, a genetic indicator of character, courage. She noticed things like that, how often the physical feature appeared on police chiefs, career military men. The man who worked two jobs to support his wife and children. The lone homeless guy who dove into an ice-cold river to pull kids out of a car that had spun off the road.

  Max took his time, stroking each finger with his tongue, caressing
her palm with his thumb, holding her in that firm grip that did all sorts of things to her lower belly. He seemed to understand the complicated mix inside a Domme—at least this particular one. How the exploration of that intimate interplay of restraint and power could tease her senses, especially if approached with the delicate precision that he’d thus far demonstrated.

  Squeezing her hand, he opened the truck door, then reached behind his seat, withdrawing a duffle bag and a thick blanket. “Stay there a minute.”

  Moving to the back of the truck, she felt the dip as he stepped onto the wheel well and did something, probably arranging things for her comfort. For their pleasure. She slid behind the wheel, turned so she had her boots propped outside the truck on the running board, and gazed out at the dock. There was a bass boat tied up there.

  “Whose property is this?”

  “A friend’s. He’s in Afghanistan right now. I take his boat out sometimes, keep it maintained.”

  Max jumped out of the back of the truck, came back to her. He leaned against the open door, studying her with those intent eyes that made the crisp night much warmer. “Why were you going to leave me?” he asked. “At the club?”

  “Control. I don’t like to rush. Or take a step down the wrong path. This is a little like a roller coaster. Once you go over the crest of the hill, there’s no turning back.”

  “There’s also nothing like the thrill of that ride.” He caught a lock of her hair between two fingers, massaged it between his knuckles. “What is that stuff?”

  “Sculpting clay. It holds the hair in place, gives me a more severe, scary look.”

  “Like you need to be more scary. Even Matt Kensington won’t cross you.”

  “You don’t seem all that scared.”

  His lips quirked. “Do you want me to be? I don’t think that’s the rush for you. You just like things done right, and you don’t tolerate sloppy work. Carelessness. Or inappropriate behavior. Just like him. You look at something and know how it’s supposed to look or act, how the picture is supposed to be framed. Structure, the way you do it, is how it’s supposed to be. You know it, and you don’t have patience for those who don’t get that.”

  Reaching behind the seat, he unzipped her bag. As he leaned over her knee, she put her hands on his waist to feel the way his body moved, a simple pleasure. He came back with her street clothes, her casual skirt and cotton shirt. To her amusement, he’d left the panties and bra in the bag but retrieved her socks and canvas sneakers.

  “I’ll go take a walk on the dock,” he said. “Why don’t you put those on? They’ll be more comfortable.” At her quizzical look, he added, “Control, right?”

  He was a rather remarkable person, all in all. When she glanced around, he touched her face. “You’re safe here. It’s private. And I’ll know if anyone’s coming long before it’s an issue. All right?”

  At her nod, he squeezed her knee and left her, headed down to the dock. Janet watched him, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a casually powerful stride. His head turned this way and that as he took in his surroundings. She noticed how deliberate he was in his movements, as if aware of the placement of each foot, the angle of his body, his position in relation to everything around him, including her.

  Janet slid out of the blouse and shelf bra, pulling on the cotton stretch T-shirt. Without a bra, her nipples and small breasts were blatantly obvious, but she decided to indulge his less-than-subtle attempt to influence her clothing choices. She ditched the pencil skirt and put on the less restrictive one. She removed boots and stockings but left off the canvas sneakers and socks for the moment. She put all the rest neatly back in her bag.

  Seeing her hair brush, she smiled. Unpinning her hair, she tossed it forward, running the brush through her dark tresses as they unraveled to their full length. The brush broke the hold of the sculpting product, making her hair soft again. As she straightened, she tested it, running her fingers through the strands, imagining Max doing the same.

  When she looked for him, she found him sitting on the rail of the dock, watching her now. Putting the brush back into her bag, she braced herself on the running board to put her other bare foot on the wheel well. Then she swung herself over into the back of the truck. He’d unrolled some type of cushioned mat there, covering it with a blanket, then put the camo quilt on top of that. There was even a serviceable travel pillow.

  “I don’t think this is the first time you’ve entertained a woman in the back of your truck,” she called out, taking a cross-legged seat on her bed, as dignified as an empress.

  “Thanks to that prior experience, I’ve learned that women do not like lying on the steel slats of a truck bed, nor do they care for being naked when they’re cold.” As he came back toward her, she watched the lithe, sexual promise of his body like the gift it was. “A man’s lovemaking skills,” he continued solemnly, “as extensive as they might be, have no hope of impressing his female companion if her basic needs are not met. It’s not really fair, but that’s the other thing I’ve learned. Women don’t really care about fairness.”

  “No, we don’t. It’s highly overrated.” Janet couldn’t suppress her smile as he leaned his elbows on the side of the truck bed. When he touched her hair, a look of deep pleasure capturing his features, she was ridiculously pleased with her decision to brush out the sculpting clay.

  “Lie back for me,” he said quietly. “I want to see you. Pull your skirt up to your waist, let me see your beautiful legs. And everything else.”

  She reached out, tugged at his T-shirt. “Only if you get rid of this. Every woman in the office wants to see you shirtless.”

  He grunted dubiously at that. “This better not show up on YouTube.”

  She would have smiled again, but that energy was returning, swirling around them, drawing things tighter. He shrugged out of the shirt she’d ripped open, then pulled the T-shirt over his head.

  Oh my. She’d been right. The way he moved, the obvious power he held, was mapped on the body. All smooth, rolling muscle, the gleaming dark-blond chest hair arrowing down between the sectioned stomach muscles. The angled muscles from hip to groin became even more noticeable when he pulled off the shirt, because his upper body lifted, dropping the slacks lower for a vital, pleasurable moment. He had a couple scars, she noticed. And a tattoo. She shifted to her knees, curling one hand on the edge of the truck so she could touch his muscled arm with the other, a demand to let her see.

  He lifted his arm, revealing another amazing stretch of layered muscle and a soft patch of curling underarm hair. The tattoo was inked vertically on the stretch of rib cage under his right arm. Three skulls held on a trident. The top prong of the trident went through the crown of the middle skull, whereas the two side ones came out through the skulls’ eye sockets, their position angled accordingly. Brothers in Hell wound in a spiral along the trident’s handle.

  She trailed her fingers over it. “A SEAL thing?”

  He nodded, and she saw the shadows in his gaze. A brooding darkness, but one that enhanced this moment, sharpened it toward his intent as his gaze slid down her throat, lingering on her breasts, delineated so provocatively in the T-shirt. “Come here,” he rumbled in that husky tone. “I’m hungry.”

  She was already up against the truck side, but understanding, she rose off her heels, standing on her knees. He snaked his arm around her, palming her ass to hold her in place as he closed his other hand over her right breast. Squeezing it firmly and pressing his thumb beneath the nipple, he tilted it up as he closed his mouth over it, through the shirt. Janet gripped his shoulder hard, her other set of fingers clinging to the side of the truck to give her an anchor as he suckled her hard, almost as hard as he had her throat. He knew she liked to feel the demand, no tentative brushes of lips or tongue. She liked to devour, so she wanted to be devoured.

  He released her abruptly but held on to her hand as he put his foot on the wheel well and joined her in the back. Kneeling on the bed he’d made them, he caugh
t her about the waist again, but this time to put her on her back, settling himself between her legs, his muscled shoulders and back beneath her grasping fingers as he cupped her breasts in both hands and got down to the business of suckling, biting, licking and generally driving her insane. She writhed beneath the press of his body. With her skirt rucked up to her waist, she discovered his washboard stomach provided sweet friction to her clit.

  “I want you to come from this, and then I want you to come with my tongue in your pussy,” he muttered.

  “Well, if you insist…”

  When he chuckled, the vibration against her nipple made her cry out. It wasn’t a lighthearted laugh, but the sound of an incubus, knowing exactly how to pleasure her and where, dragging her down into the sensual darkness with him.

  He gripped her thigh, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his body, rest her crossed heels on his ass, which flexed with his movements against her. “It’s all about your pleasure, Mistress.”

  The whisper fired her blood. She raked her fingernails over his shoulders, tightened her legs on him, working her clit against him at her own pace. Meanwhile, he teased and nursed her breasts, squeezing and kneading, making the nerves ripple and ache, scream for more, sending out floods of sensation that drove pulses at all her erogenous points, and even beyond that, creating new ones. The track where she worked herself against his lower abdomen had become slick with her juices. If she lay on his stomach later, she’d smell herself on him, a feral marking.

  He opened the slacks, shoved them and the briefs beneath off his hips enough she could feel the rise of his bare ass beneath her calves, but more than that, she could now rub her pussy all the way to his groin area. She didn’t feel the blunt stab of his cock, so she knew he must be keeping it pressed downward, out of the way for this part. She expected it was somewhat uncomfortable. The fact he was suffering for her just made her hotter.