Bishop made his way hesitantly down the walkway of the modern apartment building. It was Penelope’s nineteenth birthday, and he’d brought the paperwork she needed to finalize her inheritance. He hadn’t seen or heard from Pen in months, and he wasn’t sure how she was going to receive his unannounced visit.
He turned the corner and found himself only yards from her. She was facing away from him, her arms wrapped around an older guy, who was clearly just leaving her apartment. Bishop’s heart fell to his feet. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but this one of the worst-case scenarios.
Pen stretched up to kiss the man on the cheek. “You are the greatest guy,” she said. “My dream man. What would I do without you?”
The guy grinned down at Bishop’s little Penelope, and asked if she was still coming over later. Bishop wanted to shout at him, “She’s not coming over. She doesn’t belong to you,” but he knew he was already far too late for that.
“I can’t wait,” she responded, a smile in her voice. The man turned to leave. “Oh wait.” She called him back, ducking into her apartment and emerging with a toolbox. “Don’t forget this.”
As the man left, Pen looked around as she stepped back into her apartment. Her eyes fell on Bishop, and her face blanched, like she’d seen a ghost. In a way, she had. Bishop made his feet take him to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I should have called.”
She folded her arms over her chest.
He knew better than to ask, but he had no choice. His need to know was the only thing in his head, playing on a loop. “Is that guy someone you’re seeing?” Bishop nodded his head in the direction the man had left.
She glanced that way and shook her head. “He’s my neighbor’s husband. He fixed my leaking toilet. We always get together on Tuesday nights for tacos.”
Bishop’s knees nearly gave out from under him. Maybe he wasn’t too late.
A young girl walked by, and she and Pen exchanged a greeting. Pen watched her over his shoulder, and he glanced back to see the girl scurrying away. When he faced Penelope again, she was pink and suppressing a smile.
“You’re blushing.”
“That was my friend Jackie,” Pen explained, dropping her eyes shyly. “She’s a nursing major. She was behind you pantomiming swooning all over the hallway. I guess she thinks you’re pretty good-looking.”
Bishop couldn’t help it. He smiled wide. “That makes me so happy to hear.”
Penelope frowned. “I guess things have changed. So, now you’re into female adoration? Or is it just that you don’t want it from me?”
Now Bishop blushed. “I meant it makes me so happy to see how many friends you’ve made. You’re doing exactly what I hoped you’d do, once you got out of the isolation of Sullivan Manor.”
She nodded, her face blank. “You’re right. Things have really changed for me. It was hard for a while, but I went back to therapy, and that helped.” She looked at him, her eyes oddly devoid of emotion. “I learned my unhealthy infatuation with you stemmed from love I was missing from my dad. With some distance between us, I could eventually see things much more clearly.” She crossed her arms and straightened her back.
“I don’t need you now, Bishop.”
He nodded, his stomach a knot of black despair. He was wrong. He was too late. Holding out the manila envelope, he explained. “Here’s everything you need for your inheritance. Congratulations, Pen. I’m no longer your guardian. You’re free. You never have to see me again.” He smiled.
Slowly, as if she thought it might be boobytrapped, Pen took the paperwork.
He forced himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m just really glad you’re happy, little one.” He turned to go.
He’d nearly made it around the corner when Pen called out.
“I didn’t say I was happy.”
He turned, giving her a quizzical look.
“I got my shit together. I grew up a little. I took care of my business, and I learned to live without you,” she said. “You were always this irresistible treasure in an unbreakable glass box to me. I could see your love glittering in there, so precious, and I wanted it so badly, but I couldn’t get in.”
He’d drifted back to her, listening intently.
“And god, I tried, Bishop. But you were impenetrable. So, I learned to live without you. But I’m not happy.”
“But you did everything right. You got everything figured out. Why aren’t you happy?”
She stared into his eyes, and he nearly lost himself in her chocolate brown irises. “I explored why I wanted you, why I was so attracted to you. I learned to live without you. I even got to a place where I don’t need you anymore.” She shook her head. “And after all of that, I was left with one glaring conclusion. I am still in love with you. I don’t care how it started. I don’t care where it went. You are my person, Bishop. But make no mistake—I will go on living without you if you can’t let me love you.”
Bishop nearly exploded from happiness. Enveloping his little Penelope in his arms, he kissed her passionately, trying to make up for the last few months they were apart.
She smiled into the kiss and wrapped a leg around him. He put a hand under her thigh, very close to the apex of her thighs, already hard for her.
“Little one, you’re not the only one who got some things worked out,” he said, his voice gruff.
She raised her eyebrows. “You really went to a therapist?”
He nodded. “Three times a week. Intensive therapy. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I promised you.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, it was more than that. Being without you nearly broke me. I didn’t think I was strong enough to stay away from you. But I worked hard on my issues. I’m not perfect, and I’m still a little fucked up. I’m so sorry I pushed you away so many times. I thought it was best for you, but I was wrong. Now I see how much I hurt you.”
He kissed her again, and then pulled back, searching her eyes. “I didn’t dare to hope I’d have another chance with you. I don’t know how you could forgive me or why you’d give me another shot, but if you could…” He held her face in his hands. “If you could, Pen.”
“Yes, Bishop. God yes,” she nearly sobbed. “I haven’t been with anyone else. I can’t. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”
He reached down to scoop her other leg up around him, carrying her.
“Bedroom,” he said against her mouth. “Take me to your bed. I’ve got to be inside you. I need to have you every way it’s possible, and then I want to do it all again. Even then, it won’t be enough.”
She squealed as he pushed the door shut behind them, but suddenly, she pulled back, her face serious. “Stop, stop. How do I know you won’t freak out tomorrow? Or the next day? Start texting me and telling me to screw other guys. I won’t live through that again. I won’t do it.”
He closed his eyes and touched her face. “Never again, honey.” He kissed her, slowly, exploring her with all his senses. She was right—so goddamned right. She was everything he needed. And in that instant, he knew what he wanted to do.
“Go get the little box your father gave you. The one with your grandmother’s ring.”
Pen’s mouth dropped, her chocolate eyes wide. In a flash, she’d retrieved the small case, as if she kept the ring handy where she could take it out and look at it.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and opened the box. “Be mine forever, little Pen. It’s always been you. I love you so much that I can’t imagine Professor Sullivan would disapprove of me cherishing his little girl for the rest of my life, putting you above all else.”
Penelope gasped, her hands clapped over her mouth.
“If you’ll let me, Penelope Sullivan, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I am the man who deserves your love. Marry me, little one. Make me the happiest man on earth. Be mine forever.”
Penelope squealed and nearly knocked Bishop to the floor.
“Yes! Yes. I love you so much.”
He slipped the ring on her hand with trembling fingers, and then he stood, looking into the eyes of his only love. The girl who’d just promised to be his wife. His Penelope, the woman how helped him see his way out of the darkness.
The End
*****
Piper Trace likes to write sweet love stories with just the right amount of filth.
Her life as a lawyer and a cog in a large corporate wheel was killing her soul. She escaped by telling her coworkers she was busy during lunch, and sat in her car with a notebook to write sizzling tales of romance and heartbreak. She guarded that notebook as if it was her greatest treasure, because it was. Now she’s quit her corporate job to write romance full-time.
When not writing, Piper repurposes old furniture, sews poorly and builds things fairly well. Her DIY work can be found at www.dropdeadthrifty.com, which she runs for fun with her DIY partner, New York Times bestselling author Sidney Bristol. Piper uses her writing money to buy new tools.
She lives in Ohio with her military hero husband, her two young kids, a big fluffy dog, and a canary. Her tee-shirt reads, “Will write for power tools”.
Reach out to me on social media! I’m friendly and love to chat about my books.
Facebook.com/AuthorPiperTrace
Twitter: @pipertrace
Email: [email protected]
*****
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Chapter One
FORD HAWTHORNE’S SINFUL looks were already enough to give Evie butterflies, but hell, even his fidgeting sent her into naughty daydreams. Dreams about his bed, a place she imagined as a candy-shop of sexual titillation, the likes of which she’d never seen before in her pedestrian life. If only she could be Ford’s sexual focus for a moment. Just one lick. That might tide her over.
Except of course it wouldn’t. Not for as long as she’d been craving the man.
Evie swallowed against her lust and blinked until she was solidly back in the law firm library’s tweedy seat instead of writhing naked in her client’s Egyptian cotton sheets. It wasn’t an easy feat. She’d been saving her pennies a long time for a shopping spree in this man’s candy-shop. And she’d worked up quite a sweet-tooth.
Stop looking at his fingers.
Stop looking…
The thought trailed off as Evie watched Ford’s long fingers stroke the mahogany of the table. His index finger caught the corner of the contract and curled it up with a flick again and again. The skin of his large hands was smooth perfection. No scars. No calluses.
They were the hands of a rich man, engaged most often in activities no more arduous than holding a cell phone, a martini, or the elbow of a long-legged beauty. Having been pampered all his life, Ford might’ve grown up pretentious and unapproachable, especially to service-providers like Evie, yet he was anything but. Though she was only a paralegal working under John Martin, the senior partner who proudly claimed Ford, the firm’s biggest client, as his own, Ford treated Evie as if she ran the place.
Flick…flick.
She’d been thinking about him flicking her nipples like he was flicking the paper, and her nipples hardened under her pinstriped shirt, which was work-appropriate only when closed three buttons higher than Evie currently had it fastened. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Evie?” Ford’s voice boomed in the silence of the otherwise empty library and she stifled a yelp. Heart hammering, she met his eyes before looking away, whispering, “Sorry.” She collected a stray lock behind her ear with one sapphire-tipped fingernail, trying to look casual, and then clasped her hands firmly in her lap.
Oh god. Distracted by her fantasy starring Ford—as her sexual fantasies normally did—had she trailed off mid-sentence?
It was mortifying.
But worse, it was stupid. She’d spent the last six months trying to get away from a man with money and power who had no need for her, not to mention the fact that carnal thoughts about Ford could cost Evie her job.
She pressed her lips in a firm line, ignoring the heat smoldering between her legs, the same way it always did when he was around. She had to be masochistic to even be attracted to a man like Ford. He was the heartbreak equivalent of a ticking time-bomb.
But, damn, he came in a really sexy package.
Cocking his head, Ford studied her with his dazzling green eyes. But then, everything about Ford was dazzling, really. It was almost disheartening to be around him, since she couldn’t have him.
He had this intoxicating abundance of elegance and sex appeal, tarnished with just the right amount of cocky bad-boy, and it was all off-limits to her. So, naturally, she couldn’t remember any man she’d wanted more.
Meeting with Ford to do his legal work often bordered on torture, especially the longer Evie went celibate. When he teased her about something, which he often did, he pursed his lips up into this mix of playful pout and sexy smile that made her want to fuck him on the table.
“Evie, love—” He slid his chair toward her, his wonderful, deep voice as plush as velvet. “I’m bored with this contract. Distract me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You seemed distracted. Tell me what you were you thinking about.”
They were at the point when all the subtle flirting for months had grown into barely-concealed innuendo. Ford might think they were at the point where it was inevitable something would happen, the question being only when and where. But Evie knew something he didn’t—that nothing could happen between them. Ever. Not only was Ford a client, and getting involved with him would be a serious conflict of interest, resulting in her immediate dismissal from the firm—zero tolerance—there was also a more menacing reason that went by the name of John Martin, her boss and crazy-ass ex-boyfriend.
“Tell me,” he repeated, his tone edging on command now.
“No,” she said, a little too loudly. “I mean, nothing. I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Her face grew hot and she shifted sideways in the orange-woolen chair. It occurred to her the industrial fabric would be scratchy on her bare ass.
What was wrong with her? She needed to pull herself together.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she tugged down on her short length of pencil skirt, which fell a good four inches shy of her knees. Why had she worn it to a meeting with Ford? If she’d had a best friend, that friend would demand to know what in the hell Evie thought she was doing. Evie was asking herself the same thing.
The green, glass-shaded library lamps threw shadows on the high walls of leather-bound books around them, providing a false feeling of seclusion that wasn’t helping. The blackness outside the windows, dotted with the lights of Atlanta, reflected Evie and Ford’s cozy vignette, their figures intimately close, their bodies nearly touching.
It was too dark, too private, and they were too alone.
She knew better than to meet him late at night in the deserted law firm. Infamous for wanting to control every aspect of his legal work, but busy running an empire, Ford often requested meetings with his legal team, which consisted of John and Evie, at odd hours. John used to join them, but for the past year, John had more and more let Evie shoulder the load of his work, micromanaging her with calls for status updates to create the ruse that he was fully involved. So lately, more often than not, it was just Ford and Evie working together. Alone.
For John, what had started as “therapeutic” drug use to allegedly give him the energy he needed to handle the workload and stress of making senior partner at the firm, had been spiraling out of control for the last year. Evie’s excellent legal work, being passed off by John as his own, was the only thing keeping him from being fired, but if Ford noticed the situation, he never mentioned it.
She didn’t mind the extra work, especially since every day led her closer to the day she could leave the firm and would never have to see John again. It was such a cliché that the daughter of a drug addict would somehow, even in the posh world of top law firms, find a druggie to hook up with. And her carefully cultivated quiet life had disintegrated because of it. The lesson was not lost on her. When she was free, she’d start over and fix it all again, finally find a way to feel safe.
But in the meantime she was apparently dead-set on creating more problems for herself. When Ford had called earlier that day asking for this after-hours meeting, Evie had actually gone out at lunch and bought a shorter skirt.
She may as well have bought an incendiary device, for all the sense it made.
Looking in the mirror in the dressing room, she had told herself that making a man like Ford, John’s most important client, want her—even if John didn’t know about it—was just her way of rebelling against her ex for the terrible situation he’d put her in. But now, as she sat in the library feeling helplessly aroused, looking at Ford’s impossibly handsome face, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest, she knew her choice in wardrobe had little to do with John. A sinking, sick feeling clutched her stomach as she considered whether “rebelliousness” was just a glamorous, rationalized synonym for “self-destructiveness”.
She smiled apologetically—he was the client after all. “We’ve been at this for a while. Would you like to take a break?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He mirrored her smile, his dimples transforming his face from merely very handsome into Oh. My. God.
Evie could lose herself in those dimples. Ford’s dimples were one of the many reasons he was infamous around the law firm. When he flashed those babies, the polite feminine constraints of every woman in the room fell away like the clothing in their imaginations.
He stretched and ran one of his large hands through his thick, always-tousled hair, and it fell back into place as perfectly mussed as before he’d touched it. Ten years her senior at thirty-six, Ford was starting to go salt-and-pepper at his temples but the rest of his hair was a shiny dark-brown, which set off his green eyes in stunning and stark contrast.
Her coloring was much lighter than his, her eyes a clear blue and her hair a dark-blonde. John had once said her long, wavy hair made him think of the ocean in front of his family’s beach house in Cape Cod. The day after she’d ended their relationship, she’d chopped her hair off to her chin so the only thing it would remind him of was her hatred for him. It had since grown out to brush her shoulders.
Evie tucked a loose wave behind her ear again and pulled out her phone to check emails. Her eyes focused on the screen but her brain didn’t register any of the bolded, unread messages. Instead, she just kept thinking about Ford. She had it bad tonight.
She’d seen pictures of him in the society pages of the local newspaper and he seemed to be perpetually emerging from shiny, black cars with gorgeous, long-limbed women—models, heiresses, CEO’s, even the occasional movie star. How might Evie look taking his hand and stepping out of a limo? Would everyone recognize she was faking it? That she didn’t belong?
Ford pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and Evie glanced up at the movement. She could see his arm and chest muscles outlined under the fitted material of his tailored shirt. Obviously the man had time to do more than make money. He probably kept firm by doing things like swimming or playing football, or somehow otherwise getting sweaty with some male-model-looking friends, all shirtless. Then, back to the locker room, where they all get naked…
Realizing she was staring at Ford instead of her phone, she snapped her eyes back down to the small screen and made a show of scrolling and mumbling about the mountain of unread emails there. He touched her arm and she nearly jumped.
“It’s good of you to meet me this late,” he said quietly. He swept his eyes over her hair and face. “You shouldn’t be stuck with a client in a law library on a Thursday night.” He nodded toward her phone. “Am I keeping you from somebody?”
“Oh, no.” She waggled the phone. “Work emails.” She smiled, hoping it didn’t look as rueful as she felt. “There’s nowhere else for me to be.”
That’s right. I have no life.
“Oh come on. Surely you have a boyfriend. Or two?” He raised his eyebrows, his bright eyes glinting mischief.
“No!” She laughed. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, since the day she’d lost her virginity she couldn’t remember a more celibate time in her life than the last six months. So it was killing her to be around Ford. “I spend all my time working. I guess I’m between boyfriends.” Or maybe just “after boyfriend” if she couldn’t get away from John long enough to ever safely date again.
“All your time working? What about family?”
Evie’s derisive laugh escaped before she could quell it.
Cocking his head, Ford narrowed his eyes. “Mommy issues?”
“Uh, no,” she said firmly. “I haven’t spoken to my mother in years.” Why was she telling him this?
“Daddy issues?”
“Stop that!” But she couldn’t help but grin at him, no matter how rude he was being. He was just so charmingly infuriating. “I’ve actually never met my father,” she added quietly.
“Ah.” His voice was low and serious, and he nodded sagely. “Definitely daddy issues.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you said that!”
His grin widened. He enjoyed flustering her. “If I had a dollar for every time someone couldn’t believe—”
“You’d be what? Richer?” she interrupted. “You’re already filthy rich.”
“That’s right. I am.” His smile faded and he tilted his head, studying her. “You’re alone in this world. Just like me.”
Staring at him in silence, she was at a loss for a response. Ford Hawthorne…alone? No. People must flock to this man. She thought back to the ladies in the limos.
“So that means you’re all mine?” he asked softly. “Tonight, I mean?”
“I don’t have anywhere else I need to be, so I guess I’m available for anything you need.” Clamping her lips shut, she turned away to hide the blush she felt heating her cheeks. She’d only meant available professionally, of course.
I think.
She was trying to play it cool, but she suspected she was about as subtle as a blinking, neon sign, Vegas-style, pointing at her head and proclaiming, “This gal wants to screw your brains out!” His grin said as much.
“Anything I need?” Ford tipped his head and his glittering eyes caught hers. “I must warn you, Evie Radmin. There is a lot I need from you.” Slowly and deliberately, he brushed the bare length of her leg between the hem of her skirt and her knee.
She sucked in her breath and panicked. Without thinking, she swiped his hand away and laughed as if he’d been joking, hoping he didn’t notice the slight maniacal edge to her giggles.
Geez, god. This man was going to be the death of her. Maybe literally, if John found out.
“Mr. Hawthorne, we’re never going to get this done.” Turning her attention back to the contract, she tugged down on her skirt again. “You’re going to have to behave if we have any hope of finishing this tonight.”
Would he notice the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing picked up? The probable pink of her cheeks, hinting at her arousal? Being alone in a room with him was like being in a cage with a hungry lion.
Ford leaned closer. “I don’t think you don’t want me to behave.” His graceful voice stroked over her skin and she wanted to stretch and purr. “And no one has succeeded in making me behave since my father died when I was eighteen.” He dropped his gaze to her legs. “Don’t try and make me start now. I assure you, it won’t work.” He trailed the backs of his fingernails over her skin. “Besides, I’ve decided I don’t intend to behave around you anymore,” he murmured.
His last comment tore through her, realigning every one of her thoughts to his intentions. And she hoped his intentions were bad. Really bad.
Still, her survival instincts screamed a reminder about her situation with John, and she opened her mouth to shut Ford down, but the look on his face made the words flee her head. She saw the desire that mirrored her own, but there was also a hint of vulnerability she’d never seen before. Had it come from his mention of his father’s death? Or was he…lonely?
How could this charismatic man, capable of literally charming the pants off most any woman, possibly be lonely?
She mentally flipped through the pictures of the steady stream of society-page women, one more long-legged than the next. Though she had noticed it was never the same woman twice, and she’d only ever heard him mention one friend—someone named Charley. She knew from his legal history that he had no living relatives.
The thought was so incongruous with what she knew about Ford. Could it be true? Instead of a playboy with an enviably perfect life, could Ford be an attractive, lonely man taking advantage of his golden façade to keep everybody at arm’s length?
And then she saw it there in his eyes, and she wondered how she’d never seen it before. Loneliness. His gorgeous, jewel-colored eyes hid it well, but there was definitely a dusky sadness there under the surface.
Her resolve softened and she ached to let him touch her. Maybe they did have something in common. She was lonely too. Always had been. Never knowing what she was going to walk into at home had made it impossible to have close friends growing up. It’d just been easier to keep everyone away to avoid embarrassing explanations.
But with Ford she didn’t feel her normal self-protectionism. She felt a reckless and unfamiliar urge to give him anything he wanted to take from her. It was scary as hell, and thrilling.
Though, knowing her, she was just being self-destructive. What could be a better distraction from her trouble than more trouble? Without brushing his fingers off her knee again, she went with it, and ventured a challenge. “No one ever asks you to behave? And that’s never struck you as a problem?” She raised her eyebrows, her pulse quickening with the suddenly-personal exchange.
His eyes flashed and the timbre of his voice dropped low and dangerous as he took hold of her chair and yanked it easily around to face him, making her gasp. “Problem or not, I’m tired of behaving around you. And I think you’re tired of me behaving.” His gorgeous eyes were dark with an intensity that told her he wasn’t playing anymore.
Excitement laced with panic tremored low in her body. She wasn’t going to make it out of the room without carnal knowledge of Ford. She couldn’t decide whether to be thrilled or terrified about that.
“Ford, don’t make me hurt you.” Evie’s voice shook. “The firm would kill me.” There was no conviction behind her words. She bit her lower lip and reached a trembling hand up to her hair, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled it toward him instead. Evie let out a quick “oh” of surprise.
“I saw this before and I wanted to ask you about it,” he said, studying her hand, his voice holding a hint of wonder. Following his eyes, she realized with relief that he was referring to her cobalt-varnished fingernails, not her shaking hands. “I’ve never seen a lawyer with a blue manicure.”
“It’s not a manicure. I did it myself. And you know I’m a paralegal, not a lawyer.” She was so aware of her hand in his, her cool skin against his warm. She wanted to straddle him and feel the rest of his skin against hers. Bite the buttons off his shirt.
Ford had all sorts of bulges and ridges she’d only seen in her imagination. She’d love to explore them in person. Instead, she tugged her fingers out of his grip and tucked her hands safely under her thighs.
“Why blue fingernails?”
“I just like them,” Evie mumbled, looking away. The color of her nails was against the firm’s dress code and she’d get in trouble if Ford mentioned it to any of the partners. They’d never notice her nails on their own. The mostly middle-aged men who populated the firm were either too busy to pay attention to her, or too busy paying attention to her ass or tits to notice the finish of her nails.
“You are a non-conformist.” Ford’s voice was accusatory, but his smile was good-natured.
“I am not! I’m just…individualistic.”
She moved to scoot her chair away from him, but her eyes met his and the sudden intensity in them held her still. Tilting his head, he examined her with sharp eyes. “You are a fascinating creature, Evangeline. Different than most women I’m around.”
She pulled her head back, frowning. Maybe she wasn’t as refined and educated as the women he normally socialized with, but she wasn’t sure she liked being called different from them. She touched the skirt she’d bought for their meeting. She didn’t want to be different from those women. For once, she wanted to be the same. She wanted to show him she could be just as comfortable in his world as in hers. Even if she was faking it. Ignoring the worried voice in her head, she leaned toward Ford and set in motion a runaway train she didn’t have the power to stop.
Her sexual self—not work-Evie, but private-Evie—reared up and took over, pushing all her job and ex-boyfriend concerns out of her head. Without any thought to the consequences, Evie licked her lips, leaned forward and said, “Different? It seems to me that you’ve always found me to be…interesting.” She parted her legs a fraction and his eyes flicked to her knees where his hand still lay lightly against her skin.
How many business negotiations had she witnessed him dominate? How many times had she sat in awe as he effortlessly turned the tables on powerful, brilliant people and got exactly what he wanted?
What had she been thinking?
Because without skipping a beat, Ford leaned forward too, his mouth only inches from hers. Then he didn’t just call her bet, but raised it. “Evie, love, you’re right.” He squeezed her knee. “So let’s make things really interesting. Put my cock in your mouth.”
Just like that.
Chapter Two
PUT MY COCK in your mouth.
Ford said it as casually and as comfortably as if he’d merely suggested they go for coffee. Eyes widening, Evie sat back and her mouth popped open. Ford gazed unapologetically back at her. Her lungs felt flattened, like the moments in kung fu class when she had the wind knocked out of her and she lay on her back, praying the air would come.
Goddamn, this man had balls.
She shut her mouth, trying to process. Opening it again, she managed a strangled, “Excuse me?”
She and Ford had flirted before—a lot—but if this was flirting, it was some type of guerilla-warfare flirting.
He shrugged, his posture managing to look like a rugby player’s in spite of his crisp, custom-made shirt and silk tie. “I’m a bit obsessed with your lips and, if we’re being honest, I want to come in your mouth.” He pursed his lips, seeming to gauge her reaction.
She choked on a breath. “We’re not being honest. I’m being flabbergasted and you’re just being rude.”
He raised one eyebrow. God, he could even do that.
“If I’m being rude, you should be offended. Evie, do you find it offensive that I want your lips around my cock?” He leaned forward, and she swore she could feel his heat.
She touched her bottom lip. She’d long ago chewed the gloss off it. Ford wasn’t ruffled. In fact, his eyes danced, his dimples tugging at her heart and other places.
He wants to come in my mouth.
His words should offend her, shouldn’t they? Yet they didn’t. Instead her pussy was throbbing with a warmth that demanded action. From the look on his face, he had all the confidence in the world he could make her do what he asked. Even in the library. Even in the middle of a business meeting.
His voice turned soft, like cashmere. “You want me as much as I want you. I’m certain of that.” He dropped his head and spoke in a tone that was almost self-conscious, something she had never heard from him before. “Besides, I’ve been staring down your shirt at your extraordinary breasts all evening.” He moved his eyes slowly back up to hers, his mouth quirking into a smile. “You were aware of that, I’m sure?”
Evie’s heart skipped in its staccato rhythm. She moved her fingers to the lowest button on her shirt, which she’d undone just before Ford had arrived for their appointment. He caught her hand but didn’t pull it away from her blouse. “Evie, don’t. Please. Your curves are fantastic. You must know what you do to me.”
She couldn’t drag her eyes from his. He twisted his hand over hers so the backs of his fingers brushed against the bare flesh on the swell of her breast. She sucked in a lungful of air. Electricity danced over her skin at the graze of his fingers, instantly tightening her nipples even more.
Her quickening breath caused her breasts to lift against his knuckles and his eyes flicked down to her chest, lingering there. She couldn’t let this happen, not in the law firm library. Reluctantly, she lowered her hand, still enclosed by his, and his hand dropped away. She barely had time to register her pang of disappointment before Ford reached out and abruptly pulled her chair even closer to his. Wrapping his large hands around her knees, he squeezed his fingers into her bare flesh.
Tensing, she made a noise like a whimper. A spark lit in his eyes at the sound, and heat flooded through her body, pooling between her legs. She could feel her slickness as she grew wet for him.
“Evie, I’ve been hard for half this evening. I’m aching for you.”
A groan escaped her lips before she could bite it back. Ford was hard for her right now. She was drawn to him as if she was magnetized and he was hardened steel. “I can’t.” She whispered so weakly she wasn’t sure he’d heard it.
“You can,” he said firmly, brushing his fingers across her skin, bringing up goose bumps. Alarm rustled in the back of her mind. If he kept being so goddamned insistent, she was going to do anything he wanted.
“Mr. Hawthorne, maybe we can go somewhere? Away from the office?” Her voice held a clear edge of panic now. If they were going to go through with this terrible and thrilling idea, at least away from her office would only be half as dangerous. Right?
“No. Here. We’ve worked together for a while now. I’m sure you’ve noticed my need for control?” His voice dropped an octave. “It doesn’t end with my legal work. I want you the way I choose.” A rush of heat slammed through her, concentrating between her legs. She’d never felt anything like it. “I choose here, and I choose now.”
Evie’s respiration and heartbeat accelerated even higher. In his verdant eyes she saw an unwavering aim to have what he wanted from her, and rather than push him away, she nearly pulled his hands against her crotch and begged him to take it.
Her pussy throbbed now, excitement making it difficult to keep her thoughts straight, and he continued unmercifully. “I think you love this. I think you are wet through your panties for me right now.”
“Don’t,” she breathed. She looked down to see his long fingers caress her inner thighs, her fantasies come to life. He’d rucked up the hem of her short skirt, his fingertips less than four inches from the crotch of her panties. Biting back a groan, she tried in vain to suppress the vibrant thrill that crackled through her at the sight of him touching her so insistently.
Summoning all her remaining strength, she closed her hands over his, but when she looked up to finally put a stop to the out-of-control situation, she watched him wet his lips deliberately, his piercing eyes burning into hers. The sight of his slick tongue made her go weak. She needed that tongue in her mouth, on her nipples, on her clit. She let go of his hands and let hers drop in surrender.
He could have had her in that moment—taken anything he wanted—had he pressed forward. Never had she been so thoroughly seduced. But instead he furrowed his brow and blinked. A pained look reflected briefly in the set of his features before he looked away and took a deep breath. “Not like this,” he murmured as if to himself, running his fingers through his hair in a reflection of her own nervous habit.
His lips curved up, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. He looked somehow sad under his weak smile, which confused her. She shifted uncomfortably.
“I want you to know something about me.” His voice was quiet. “You are beautiful, of course, but that’s not why I want you. I can count on one hand the number of people in this world I enjoy being around and you’re one of them.” His eyes held hers steadily. “That might mean nothing to you, but it means a great deal to me. It makes me want you in a way I’ve never experienced.” He pressed his fingertips into the flesh of her legs and smiled when she jumped, the muscles of her core constricting in a twang of pleasure. “Perhaps it’s the way you treat me.”
“I don’t treat you in any special way.”
His eyes lit. “That’s exactly it. People fawn over me. But not you.”
She winced, knowing her bosses wouldn’t think much of that revelation, given he was the firm’s most valuable client and, thus, certainly deserving of fawning. “I’m not really a ‘fawner’.”
He looked down and compressed his lips into a thin line. “You’d think I’d like being treated so special all the time, but I don’t. I despise it.”
Under Ford’s cultivated verve was a controlled and guarded man, so when he lifted his head and Evie caught the honesty on his face, it looked strangely raw on him. His voice matched his expression. “Except when it comes to you.” He paused and inhaled deeply, as if he was choosing his words carefully, or collecting the courage to plow ahead. “With you, I find myself wishing you wanted to please me in every way. I can’t stop thinking about how I might make you want to please me.” He swept his eyes down to her nipples again, which she knew were blatantly beckoning to him against the front of her shirt, betraying her attempts to de-escalate the situation. “I come here more than I need to. I purposely pick times that are inconvenient to John so he’ll let you take the meeting. I pay an exorbitant amount by the hour just to be around you.”
Evie’s mouth dropped open. “Wait…you like me?” Her mind flashed again to the leggy women and refused to believe the possibility.
Ford frowned. “Yes, but I don’t want to mislead you.” He looked her square in the eye as if he needed to get the message across. “I don’t engage in relationships. I’ve tried and they don’t work for me, so I just don’t anymore. I don’t miss them.” His eyes softened. “I don’t want there to be any misconceptions between us. I want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted a woman in a very long time.”
At his admission, desire rocketed back full-tilt in Evie, and he seemed aware of it, feeding off her subtle body-language. He moved his hands again along her skin, up and down, squeezing his thumbs against her inner thighs, causing her to shudder with every stroke upwards toward the heat between her legs. “And I know how to make a woman feel very good. I could make you feel very good.”
Now it all made sense—the ladies in the limos. Never the same woman twice. Now she knew why. Ford didn’t have girlfriends. Ford only had sex.
She’d never had a man come right out and tell her he only wanted to have sex with her, but she wasn’t surprised. She’d known through all of her growing lust that he wasn’t a happily-ever-after kind of guy. And hadn’t she learned her lesson anyway, trying to find that elusive ending?
With a ringing clarity she realized Ford’s prohibition against relationships was perhaps the only way she could be with him. She couldn’t date anyway, not with the situation with John.
God, could she really do this? She hadn’t had an orgasm brought on by the touch of a man in so long.
Ford’s offer to make her feel very good in her sexually-neglected condition was like dangling a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie in front of her after a long week of strict dieting, telling her to “go ahead, put it in your mouth.”
Could they meet just for sex now and then, without John or the firm finding out? She imagined them having sex in Ford’s limo, in a luxury hotel room, lounging next to his pool. Her stomach flip-flopped as her rationalizations began to work, breaking down her walls. As long as they both went into it with clear expectations, she couldn’t get hurt. In fact, it was very honest. Everything was completely clear. And that felt safe to her.
Her aching desire was becoming critical. She swallowed hard. She was going to require some attention soon—either from him, or if she wasn’t going to do this, she was going to need some time alone. Glancing at the lofty shelf of legal volumes behind him, she wished desperately they were anywhere but the firm’s library. She swallowed again, trying to moisten her dry throat. In her fantasies this had gone a lot smoother.
“Now that I’ve laid it out, you can make a decision.” And with that disclaimer, Ford was back. The unusual vulnerability vanishing back into his familiar mischievous confidence. His eyes glinted, lively with power.
Sliding his hands down, he closed his fingers around the backs of her knees and jerked her closer to him so she was now wedged between the muscular spread of his parted legs. She grabbed the sides of her seat, her heart beating a wild drumbeat under her hard-nippled breasts.
He moved his hands up her thighs, pressing her legs apart, causing her skirt to ride further up. Leaning in until his face was close to hers—his mouth close to hers—he whispered, “I am successful because I make good choices. You are a good choice.” He caught his fingers just under the already indecently high hem of her skirt and forced it the rest of the way up her legs. “Let me,” he growled.
“I’ll lose my job.”
“Evie…” He breathed out her name as if it were something decadent, his lips close enough to warm hers. Her body quivered as the weight of her need swamped her. It took everything she had not to press her lips to his. “When you picked out this short skirt to wear for our meeting, tell me you didn’t hope I’d do exactly what I’m doing now.” He squeezed his fingertips into her thighs again. “Now move your hands so I can do it.” She hadn’t realized she’d placed her hands over his again, trying to stop his progress.
He was so close to her wet pussy, his fingertips digging into her skin, his mouth nearly on hers, and she suddenly couldn’t remember why she was fighting him. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The moment froze. She was acutely aware of the sound of their breathing, both ragged, both heavy. Then the corners of his mouth rose and his eyes flashed triumph. She knew that smile. She’d seen it before at the negotiation table, always at the point when Ford knew he’d won.
Damn him and his dimples.
“Yes, love,” he breathed and slipped his hands under her skirt, sliding his fingers the rest of the short distance to the crotch of her panties. Every nerve in her body sizzled and she fought the urge to thrust herself against his hand.
Though his lips were so close, he didn’t kiss her, but leaned his face against hers. “Now listen to me Evie.” He nuzzled his nose against her cheek, his breath tickling her earlobe, making her nipples diamond-hard. His voice, the low growl of a stalking lion, coaxed her. “It’s past eight o’clock at night. Everyone’s gone home.” He pulled his head back, his leaf-green eyes meeting her blue ones. “We’re completely alone.”
He shifted, moving one hand to the back of her head to cup her skull in his palm. Tightening his grip, he secured a fistful of her hair and tilted her head back to look up at him. She gasped. It didn’t hurt, but his handling was oddly forceful and she was stunned when a powerful spasm of lust reverberated from her core at the rough treatment.
He inclined his face, his hand still gripped in her hair. She could almost feel the brush of his lips on hers as he spoke. “In fact,” he purred, “I could bend you over this table right now and fuck you until you screamed and no one would even hear.” He put emphasis on the “fuck”, hitting the K hard, and the raw sound of the word affected her physically, as if he’d run his tongue down her body.
Her body was shouting at her, “Bend over the table! Bend over the table!” betraying her determination not to get caught screwing a client in the library. She managed a barely audible, “You could?”
He pushed his other hand the remaining fraction of distance up her inner thigh and found the spot she knew he’d intended. He stroked one strong finger down the wet satin between her legs and this time she didn’t even try to stop her moan as his fingertip pressed hard over her swollen clit. “Yes,” he said simply, “I could.”
“Oh god,” she closed her eyes and whispered, forgetting everything except how much she wanted this man. How long she’d wanted him. Human beings aren’t meant to be solitary creatures and Evie had gone too long without touch because of John.
Her need to be close to a man—to touch him intimately and be touched by his strong hands in return—clawed to the surface and took over. That neglected, essential instinct in her would not be denied this chance. It was as if she’d been in hibernation and was now finally awaking to a warm and glorious sun. And she wanted to bask naked in it.
She licked her lips. “Please.”
Kneading three fingers against the fabric that clung to her engorged labia, Ford kissed Evie on the cheek and then moved to her ear, dropping kisses in the indentation under her earlobe before nuzzling his way down her neck. Her head dropped back and her lips parted as wildfire seemed to surge through her veins.
“My pretty Evie,” he whispered against her skin. “I think you need to come.” He adjusted the movement of his fingers to a circular motion that made her head swim. From somewhere deep in the recesses of her thoughts came a small, worried voice—you should make him stop. But her visceral need for touch, intimacy, release, told that voice in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Moving his lips against her ear he asked, “Do you want me to make you come?”
Daring to touch him, she lifted a hand to the bicep of the arm and she could feel the cords of his muscles roll under her fingertips as he worked his fingers against her pussy. His solidly built arm felt like a buttress under her palm, and she closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. He felt strong. Safe.
How was it this man felt safe to her when there was nothing safe about him?
A glowing euphoria was expanding from the center of her core under his skilled fingers. She was amazed—it wouldn’t be long before her pleasure exploded into an orgasm that promised to be spectacular. And badly needed. Before she had time to second guess, she nodded her head vigorously, whispering, “Yes, yes,” against his hot cheek.
“Yes what? I want to hear you say it.”
Frustration and unease twisted in her, but not wanting to give him a reason to stop touching her, she followed his instructions. “I want you to make me come.” Her voice sounded meek, reflecting her embarrassment. She wasn’t shy, but she’d never flat-out asked a man to give her an orgasm before.
Pulling his head back, he met her eyes, his green ones hooded and smoldering. He stilled his fingers and she nearly groaned at the loss. “Then here are my terms, Evangeline. First, you must do exactly as I say.” He raised his eyebrows as if challenging her to protest. When she didn’t, but only stared back at him, open mouthed and—she was sure—wide-eyed, he continued in a purr. “After I make you come—and I will make you come—it will be my turn. You are going to kneel between my legs, do what I tell you to do, and then you’re going to let me come in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow it.” He raised a hand to her chin and pressed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Agreed?”
Holy hell, he was negotiating their sexual encounter.
Yet, though she’d been close to climax moments before, somehow his taking charge had shifted the potential of her orgasm to another level. A level she didn’t even know existed. And she wanted that orgasm.
Ford’s voice was low and intimate. “Evie, after I’m done taking care of you, you will want to please me. I’m willing to guarantee your satisfaction.” Amusement played around his lips, quirking them into that bad-boy, pursed smile of his that made her crazy. She had to close her eyes to block it out so she could think as he continued. “If you don’t have the best orgasm of your life, you are free to forfeit your end of the bargain. Do we have a deal?” He lowered his lips back to her neck and nuzzled her skin as he waited for her answer.
The best orgasm of her life?
God yes, we have a deal.
Actually, she’d agree to anything if he’d keep talking to her like that and touch her again. Her frequent fantasies of Ford involved him spending a lot of time with his head between her legs, his face wet with her juices. And she could use that “guaranteed” climax.
Only Ford would negotiate a sexual transaction the same as he would any other business deal. How many times had they sat at that table and planned negotiations together for Ford’s development deals? The only difference here was that Ford was sucking her earlobe and bartering to exchange orgasms. Could she approach it with the same kind of business mindset?
She’d have to, given that she and Ford couldn’t have a relationship, each for their own good reasons.
Taking a deep breath, she got down to business, concentrating on the terms and attempting to analyze whether she was getting a good deal. It was hard to put thoughts together with Ford nibbling under her ear, but she didn’t become a top paralegal without learning how to think fast under less than ideal circumstances.
It felt like a win-win. Maybe even better than a win-win. Evie truly enjoyed giving blowjobs—relished it, even. But what kind of negotiator would she be if she took his first offer? “I will agree to your deal,” she spoke the words next to his ear, her head thrown back as she fought to keep her voice steady. “But only if you use your mouth to make me come, not just your fingers. I want the full treatment.”
He pulled back, beaming a smile at her, his dimples triggering a sensuous twinge between her legs. He looked proud. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, love. And I will happily agree to that concession.” His deep voice vibrated through her, his lips so close to Evie’s she could feel his breath on her. “That had been my plan all along. I can’t wait to taste you.” His eyes practically blazed. She’d never seen him so vitalized. It was almost as if…
Yes. This was really doing it for him—bargaining over their sexual encounter.
It was certainly a first for her, and, she had to admit, it held a unique appeal in its candidness. Everything clear up front. Everyone gets what they want.
Licking her lips, Evie tried to let out a slow, controlled breath in an effort not to look rattled. “Then, Mr. Hawthorne,” she said in her best, professional voice, “I believe we have a deal.”
She’d just negotiated an oral contract for oral sex with the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on. She could have laughed out loud. It made her feel powerful and risqué, and the combination was quite an aphrodisiac, so said her hard-as-pebbles nipples and her throbbing pussy.
“Excellent.” He sat back, eyes dancing with delight. “Let’s establish a safe word.”
“A safe word?” Her stomach twisted as she tried not to sound as stunned as she felt. Certainly she knew what a safe word was, but something like that was for people into extreme sex. It wouldn’t be needed for anything like what she’d just agreed to. Would it?
“Love, we’ve made an agreement in which you’ve promised to do everything I ask. It’s important for both of us that you know you can stop at any time if you’re not comfortable or if I’m hurting you. Do you understand?”
“That sounds reasonable.” And it did. A safe word. Something she could blurt out that would make any discomfort or pain cease immediately. A swell of warmth sparked to life in her chest. Something about Ford establishing this kinky-sounding safe word made her feel protected. He was concerned for her, putting her choices first. She liked the concept of a safe word.
If only life had a safe word. She’d scream it in John’s face.
“Good. Do you have a safe word you normally use?”
“No!” she practically shrieked. His green eyes appeared momentarily wounded at her sharp exclamation. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… No, I don’t have one.” She shifted uncomfortably.
“You’ve never used one?” She shook her head and an unreadable look passed over his face. “Okay,” he said gently. “Then let’s come up with one for you. Most importantly it should be something memorable, but something you would never normally say or think about during sex.”
“Like jellybeans?” As soon as the word came out of her mouth, she felt her face flush hot. She’d said the first inane word that came to mind and was mortified at how cutesy it sounded. She should have picked something urbane or edgy, like “sommelier” or “mosh pit”, not a word associated with the Easter Bunny.
But Ford grinned, dimples beaming. “Yes, exactly like ‘jellybeans’. I love it.” In spite of his assurances, her face grew even hotter. Had he just mentally compared her ridiculous safe word to all the others he’d “worked with” in the past?
Leaning in, he brushed a kiss on her cheek and whispered next to her ear, “You’re even prettier when you blush, Evangeline.” And suddenly her blush felt like that of a schoolgirl’s with a crush.
This is a transaction, she reminded herself, not a date. Keep it together.
In an effort to focus, she took a deep breath, forcing down her misplaced affection for the completely unavailable man in front of her. The man whose cologne, mixed with his natural, male scent, made her heady as he pulled his face back from her cheek.
His flirtatious smile disappeared and his face grew serious. Her stomach flip-flopped. They had begun.
Hammering to life again, her heart was in her throat. She’d just put herself in Ford’s hands with no idea what he’d ask her to do. Could she do it?
“Stand and pull up your skirt, love.”
Chapter Three
FORD GAZED LEVELLY at Evie as if he had every confidence she would not defy him. She bit her bottom lip, a gesture she’d always thought she hated in women but realized maybe she’d just never truly been put in a situation that warranted it.
And this was definitely a bottom-lip-gnawing situation.
Standing up, her face still feeling flushed pink, she raised her skirt slowly until the hem inched up to reveal her panties, displaying for Ford her bare legs and the vee between her thighs, covered with red satin. She felt exposed, but she watched in fascination as his eyes traced lazily down her form. Pursing his lips in that sexy way of his, he cocked his head, taking his time in examining her. He wasn’t going to make this easy.
Over his shoulder she could see her reflection in the huge windows against the blackness of the night as she stood in front of him in the library flashing her panties. The shock of that sight alone would have made her call the whole thing off if she hadn’t needed the release he promised so goddamned badly.
With Ford still seated and Evie in her tall heels, he was nearly at eye-level to her crotch. He wrapped his long fingers around the outside of her bare legs. Though his fingertips felt hot against her, she shivered at the contact. The nerves of her skin felt raw, sensitized to the slightest touch.
His eyes fixed to the small triangle of red fabric that comprised the only barrier between her tingling core and Ford’s face. He curled his hands around to her butt, her cheeks naked due to the thong she was wearing. Squeezing her ass, he pulled her toward him and ducked to bury his mouth and nose against the damp, scarlet satin, breathing deeply before mouthing her folds from over the fabric.
She moaned, hardly even aware she’d made the sound. What Ford had done in smelling her—tasting her—through her clothes without any prelude seemed somehow animal, instinctual. It was as if he meant to claim her. The thought made her sigh, but it wasn’t a noise brought on by the actions of his lips against her. It was a sigh of pleasure, knowing what was coming.
Ford wouldn’t hold back the way many people did during their first encounter with a new partner, feeling them out before they felt comfortable enough to really let loose, if they ever did. No, as he’d said, Ford was an overachiever, and she was about to reap the benefits of his drive for excellence, if she could just play along and keep up.
Between her legs, he nuzzled his lips against her. It was decadent. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been treated to oral sex. Though John appreciated the blowjobs Evie loved to perform, he wasn’t generous with reciprocation. The few times she’d talked him into it, he’d performed the act with such apathy she’d stopped him out of boredom.
In contrast, Ford’s lips clutched at her and drew her in as if he couldn’t wait to devour her. A delightful throb steadily gained momentum in her core as he coaxed her closer toward ecstasy.
Hooking his fingers under each side of her thong, he peeled it off, dragging it down the length of her legs until she stepped out of it, her bare sex now flaunting what she was sure were engorged, rosy lips for his attention. Picking up the discarded lingerie, he stuffed it in his pocket.
“Hey, I’m gonna need those back.” Evie plucked at the hem of her skirt, inching it down slightly. She felt awkward standing in front of him stripped of her panties while he raked his eyes over her.
“We’ll see,” he murmured. Cupping his hands on the sides of her legs, he slid his fingers up under her skirt to her hips, and looked up at her. Eyes sparking and voice alive with the same controlled excitement, he said levelly, “Miss Evangeline, I don’t recall telling you to pull down your skirt. Now lift it back up or I’ll have to remove it entirely.”
Evie’s mouth dropped open at his nerve, yet her hands obeyed him instantly, lifting her skirt as she was told, to expose herself again.
What was this man doing to her?
Normally so independent, she stood in front of him on knees weak with desire, displaying herself to him and hungry to obey his sexual demands. Clenching her vaginal muscles, she shivered at the potential there, the taut focusing of the nerve ending toward their instinctual, ultimate goal of blissful oblivion.
She longed for that oblivion. If she just gave herself over to him and let Ford take control—take his pleasure with her—then maybe she wouldn’t have to think for those glorious moments when he was in charge. And maybe for the first time in six months, or perhaps ever, she could stop feeling so exhaustively alone. Let someone else take care of her, think for her. Right or wrong, it sounded so refreshing and free.
Being on her own, by default, meant she was always in charge—always the one responsible—whether she wanted it or not. And she was so tired of it. She couldn’t remember a time when she was taken care of, though she knew she must have been, at least when she was a baby. When she was five years old, she’d make herself cereal in the morning, sometimes with milk if they had any, and then would dig through her mom’s purse while the woman slept, passed out, hoping to find enough change so she wouldn’t have to beg for a free school lunch again.
Growing up that way had created strength inside Evie, but also a powerful weakness. And it was just the leverage John had needed to use her. As a trial lawyer he knew how to read people, spot their wounds and exploit them. And that’s just what he’d done to her. He’d dangled the promise of the safety and security in front of her until she’d let her guard down.
How ironic that ending up hurt and alone had only fueled her desire to let someone else be in charge. That need burned stronger than ever in her gut, and Ford was pushing all the right buttons. She’d never connected sex with a longing to relinquish control before, and the combination was like a powerful drug to that deeply unsatisfied part of her psyche.
She wasn’t just ready to do whatever Ford asked her, she was excited to do it, hot to do it, wet to do it. This was a temporary solution with no strings. Perhaps giving Ford control and abandoning herself to the pleasure he promised could allow her to forget. Forget her responsibility, forget to be afraid, maybe even let her feel safe and protected in someone’s strong hands for at least the time it lasted.
Still seated in the library chair with his hands on her hips, he pulled her to him, his gaze pinned to her naked mound.
Can he see how wet I am?
Moving his palms around to cup her buttocks, he squeezed her ass cheeks and pulled her against his face again, burying his nose and mouth into the neat strip of hair that disappeared between her legs. She gasped when his warm lips brushed her sensitive labia. Nothing except her own fingers and her vibrator had been this close to her clit in half a year. She had to fight the urge to clamp her fingers in his dark hair and crush his face between her legs until he brought her to climax again and again. She suspected he could do it.
He snaked his strong tongue out to explore her, and she groaned and gave in to the urge to place her hands on his head. His hair was so soft. Looking down, she forgot to breathe. Ford Hawthorne’s face was between her legs, his tongue licking her, just like she’d fantasized about so many times. But this was so much better than her fantasies. She didn’t have a vivid enough imagination to have come up with the way this felt. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. She didn’t even know how to process the pleasure and joy that was bubbling in her, but she could lose herself in it.
He drew away from her and she groaned at the loss of his hot mouth against her flesh. “On the table,” he demanded. Standing, he lifted her easily and dropped her bare bottom onto the development contract they’d been word-smithing not twenty minutes prior. He pulled the chair in front of her and helped her brace her heels on the armrests on either side of him. Reaching under her leg and around her ass, he scooped her toward the edge of the table, forcing her legs wide, until she was spread open in front of him, laid completely bare.
“Mr. Hawthorne…,” she said, self-consciousness swelling again and allowing her nerves to find purchase.
“Shh. None of that, Evangeline.” His tone was firm and the message clear. He wouldn’t hear protests or allow her to entertain embarrassment. Laying his hands on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, he pressed her legs wider, his eyes traveling slowly all the way down from face to her naked pussy. “Your body is so beautiful,” he said softly. Leaning in, he laid a kiss above his hand on her thigh, inches from where she really ached for him to be. “But this part is especially pretty,” he murmured, sliding his hand all the way up her leg and stroking a finger into her folds. She sucked in a breath as his touch sent shock-waves through her. “God, Evie,” he nearly moaned her name. “You’re so wet. You’re ready for more than just my tongue.”
She tensed, not sure whether she wanted to wrap her legs around him or remind him to stay on task. Without more delay, he pushed a finger inside, studying her as if he intended to memorize her reactions, adjust to her cues. “So tight.” He looked up at her, grinning mischievously. “When is the last time you’ve been thoroughly fucked, Miss Radmin?”
She blinked at him and couldn’t make her mouth work. The only response her brain could produce was that she wasn’t sure she’d ever been thoroughly fucked. That sounded like something she’d remember.
Thankfully, Ford didn’t wait for her answer. He slid his finger in and out of her slowly. “No worries, love. I’m going to make up for some of the fun you’ve missed.”
With his other hand, he tucked his first two fingers in a vee around the sides of her pussy, trapping her labia tightly against the finger he still had inside her. Her firm clit was caught snugly between her folds so that every movement of his finger dragged her own engorged lips against her clit.
Damn. He is good.
Letting her head drop back again, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh god,” as she rocked her hips, not able to remain still with so much pleasure building inside her. Exhaling, she realized she was holding her breath as she anticipated whatever fabulous thing he’d do next.
Lowering his mouth to her heated core, he removed his finger. He was taking his time, making her wait in agony for every new treat. He replaced his finger with his strong tongue, snaking it between her folds to dip in and taste her.
Evie moaned and let her head loll, her brain struggling to keep up with the intensity of the feelings he brought to life in her. Maybe it was her sexual dry spell or because she was so hot for him, or perhaps it was Ford’s skill, but she’d never experienced anything like the mind-bending rush of desire coursing through her from his touches.
Abandoning all thought, she leaned back and shifted her weight to her arms, pressing herself more firmly into his face. He’d guaranteed her satisfaction and it had taken him less than five minutes to convince her he’d have no trouble over-delivering on that promise.
Ford moved his tongue up and down rhythmically on her, finding her clit and flicking it. She was almost embarrassed at how much she was enjoying him. Fighting the urge to squirm against his mouth, Evie arched her back, eager for his tongue to bring her over the edge and ease her need.
She should drag it out, relish it, but she was too desperate. She just needed the satisfaction of an orgasm brought on by a man who worked only to please her. It had been too long. That hunger combined with her lust for this man, and she was in over her head. Her only choice was to enjoy the ride.
He released her folds from the clench of his fingers and wrapped his arms under her legs and around until he had an ass cheek in each hand.
“Damn,” he whispered against her, “I’m so hard for you I’m tempted to throw out this whole agreement and just fuck you until I’m satisfied.” Evie whimpered and flexed her fingers against the solid wood of the library table, wondering if her nails could dig nicks into the oak. She looked down at him, intending to burn the sight of him between her legs into her memory for future uses on lonely nights. He met her eyes, his lips curling into a sexy smile, wet from her juices. “But a deal’s a deal, Miss Radmin.”
Closing her eyes, she nodded, breathlessly agreeing. “A deal’s a deal, Mr. Hawthorne.”
He lapped his tongue up the full length of her pussy, once, twice, before adding his finger again to fuck her while his mouth produced magic. The tingling pleasure multiplied and then multiplied again. Feeling as if she was too small in her own skin, she fought the urge to cry out to release the pent up, glorious feelings he was tonguing to life in her.
Damn, she was almost there already.
She tried to back off from the precipice, determined to make her side of the deal last as long as she could hold out. She’d never actually tried not to come before, and it seemed to have the opposite effect on her, her pleasure careening headlong toward the euphoric escape of orgasm.
Staring down at him, her eyes greedily drank in his broad muscular shoulders, his strong back. She wished he would take off his shirt so she could touch his tanned skin and watch his muscles roll and contract as he worked to pleasure her. Pausing, he looked up again, his gorgeous eyes meeting hers.
“Evangeline, do you have any idea how often I’ve sat across from you at this law firm and thought of fucking you with my fingers while I sucked on your clit?”
Goddamn, the things this man said.
His voice was low and sultry. “When I make you come, say my name.”
Evie nodded as if in a trance, thinking she’d agree to anything as long as he didn’t stop what he was doing to her. “F-ford?” she stammered, realizing she wasn’t clear on his instructions. She’d never called him by his first name before, not to his face.
“No,” he growled, and pushed a second finger into her without warning, making her gasp. Sucking her clit between his lips, he nuzzled his tongue against the nub while he had it trapped. She gave up holding back on her expressions of pleasure. She was sighing and moaning so much that she almost missed his instructions. “You will call me ‘Mr. Hawthorne’. Now lie back.”
There was something so wrong about his insisting she call him by his formal name, given he had his fingers buried in her pussy, but it magnified the idea that he was in control, and the thought did things to her. She’d think about it later, dwell on why surrendering her control fueled a raging fire in her. She’d never wanted such things before. Of course she’d never negotiated a deal with a hot billionaire for oral sex before, either.
The forgotten contracts crinkled noisily under her back as she lowered herself to the table, making the only other sounds in the deserted library besides Ford’s wet kisses and her soft moans. Before closing her eyes again, she noticed the ceiling had upgraded acoustical tiles, making it fancier than a standard office ceiling.
She’d never even looked up at the library ceiling before. Of course she’d never been on her back on a library table with her legs spread before, whimpering in inevitable ecstasy. Ford was introducing her to all kinds of firsts.
Without slowing his pumping fingers, he tilted his head, sucking one side of her folds into his mouth entirely, suckling them for a moment before shifting his head to give the other side the same treatment.
Oh.
No one had ever done that before. “Please,” she whispered again and she didn’t know if she was begging for mercy from the onslaught of arousal so strong it felt like torment, or begging him to bring on more.
He stood but didn’t move his face from between her legs, his efforts reaching a feverish rhythm. His long fingers continued to fill her and her pleasure spiked again. Her legs tensed on the arms of the office chair, scooting her slightly away from him. With a growl of displeasure, he wrapped his arms up around her thighs, jerking her back to the edge of the table again to bury his face in her aggressively. This time he settled into an unyielding cadence against her. Short, quick sucks of her clit before allowing a moment of relief as he lapped his strong tongue along her pussy, all the while penetrating her with his fingers.
She writhed, moaned, and grabbed for the edge of the table to stay pressed against his face.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck!
This wasn’t going to be an orgasm, this was going to be an awakening, an act of god.
He pressed his fingers into her thighs a little too hard and the pain cut through the pleasure, but it didn’t bother her. It was better. “My name,” he commanded. “Say my name when I make you come.” His deep voice vibrated against her and her body responded instantly.
The orgasm slammed through her like a tidal wave. “Oh god, Mr. Hawthorne. I’m coming. Mr. Hawthorne, it’s so good. Oh…oh…” Her cries trailed off as she surrendered her mind to the oblivion until there was nothing but the rapture. Wave after wave of it. Nothing to think about. Nothing but what he’d made her do, made her feel.
He held her legs until she stilled. As she slowly returned to reality, she clamped her lips closed, realizing she was continuing to whisper his name over and over again like an incantation.
He untangled his arms to sit back as she righted herself unsteadily. His face glistened with the wetness from her excitement and without blinking he used the sleeve of his custom shirt to clean his beautiful face.
Even that pricey, custom shirt was disposable to him. Deep in her mind, a small voice warned her she was no different. But she was not thinking about that. Not thinking at all.
Rather than awkwardness descending as it easily could have at that moment, she met his eyes and something passed between them in the charged air. There was an intensity in his stare and neither of them spoke. The echoes of her cries in orgasm seemed to reverberate like living memories in the shadows of the somber legal books around them.
Was it like this for him all the time? Was this what went on behind the blacked-out windows of the limos? Or was this different for him too? Better?
From the look in his eyes, one thing Evie was sure of was that he’d enjoyed doing what he’d done to her. And so had she.
Maybe she should just quit her job and fuck Ford all day. She didn’t need to eat, right?
“Wow,” she finally managed, making him smile. He wasn’t kidding. Best orgasm of her life.
“If your response is any indication, I’m guessing I delivered the satisfaction I promised, love. Now stand up. My turn.” He pursed his lips into that cocky smile that showcased his dimples and always made her panties a bit wet. If she’d been wearing any. In that gravelly, bedroom voice of his, he added, “I know exactly what I’m going to do to your mouth.”
A wide and wicked grin stole across her face and she looked down quickly, trying to hide it. She had no idea what he had in store for her, but the truth was she was ready to perform any lewd act this man could come up with in his sinful imagination.
She was usually more hesitant than that. Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe the stress of the last six months, coupled with no sexual relief, had finally caused her to go crazy. But whatever it was, she was ready at that moment, with no commitment from either of them, to be Ford’s whore. And that didn’t sound the least bit bad or degrading to her.
Actually, it felt empowered. She was doing what felt good to her and fuck everyone else. It felt filthy and wild and all the things a smart, responsible girl should never be.
And Ford’s slut was exactly what she wanted to be at that moment as she sat with her naked ass on the wet and ruined contract documents that John had reviewed earlier that day, adding only grammar-picking comments and no compliments on Evie’s hard work.
No. In this moment she wasn’t worrying, for once, about her long-term plan, the consequences, or the investment versus the reward. In fact, she could think of nothing else but doing whatever Ford wanted as long as it would get him to do that to her again.
But, despite her enthusiasm, something nagged at her. She was playing with fire.
I. Don’t. Care.
She wanted to burn and burn and burn, until all of her stress and worries were reduced to ashes, and everything left simply felt good.
He helped her off the table and she stood on shaking legs, smoothing her skirt back down as she studied his handsome face. He’d been confident enough to guarantee her satisfaction and now she knew why. Cupping her jaw in his hand, he smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip.
“In all my years in business I’ve made deals that have netted me billions, but I think this may be the best deal I’ve ever struck.” He smiled and gripped her close, letting his hand trail down to her lower back and pulling her against him. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her—thought she might die if he didn’t—but instead he spoke softly, his eyes locked to hers. “Kneel down and take me in your mouth.”
Her lips parted and her still-sensitive core twanged with pleasure at his bald demand. She’d expected something like this but it still shocked her when it came. He didn’t mince words. And where her first thought perhaps could have been shock, to her surprise, it wasn’t. Her first thought instead was how much she wanted to do exactly what he demanded. She clenched the muscles in her well-serviced pussy realizing she still wasn’t done enjoying him.
“Okay, Mr. Hawthorne,” she whispered, and she knelt.
*****
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