Текст книги "Bite Me"
Автор книги: Cynthia Dane
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter 7
KATHRYN
“Get those numbers to me by the end of the day, please,” I say to Anita as we step out of the elevator. “I’ll call them first thing tomorrow morning to set up the relevant conferences.”
She stops in the middle of the hallway to jot this down. I go ahead without her, because I don’t have time to wait for my assistant to do her job. Besides, she knows where we’re going.
Unfortunately.
I see Ian through the open door to the office we’ll be sharing for at least a week. We’re on one of the private floors of his family’s primary building, so graciously offered by Ian when “we” decided to work on the presentation together. I know what this is about. He’s babysitting me to make sure I don’t fuck up again.
You know what? At this rate, I need it.
The office is small and even a bit cramped, but it’s fully equipped with everything we could possibly need. Tinted windows to keep the cleaners from distracting us as they go up and down the hall in the evening. A drafting table with a light box so we can go over every detail of the designs. Endless coffee from both our assistants making runs to the café downstairs and the machine in the corner of the room. And, of course, the big table in the middle of the room, where Ian is currently sitting with his laptop open and papers spread all over the place.
He’s casual. For him, anyway. He’s wearing a charcoal long-sleeved shirt with the top two buttons unsnapped. No tie. The shirt is tucked into a pair of black pants with a bold black belt holding it together. A silver watch with a giant face sits on his wrist. Patek Philippe, of course. The most casual thing about him is his dark hair, which looks as if he’s been running his hands through it all morning already. His coffee’s cold.
“Morning,” I say, standing in the doorway with my bags hanging from my shoulders and elbows. Anita has even more. I’m moving half my office in here for a week, and right now I’m not sure what arm my purse is hanging from. “How long have you been here?” I am so not late. In fact, I’m ten minutes early.
Ian shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I came in early.” A pen taps against his lips. He doesn’t look up from his screen. A covert look tells me it’s all spreadsheets and graphs. Boring, but necessary. “I’m going over the numbers my father and I came up with a week ago. Never hurts to quadruple check. I’ve already found one minor discrepancy which will need to be fixed before the presentation.”
Anita stumbles in behind me. I tell her where to put my bags and how I want my work station set up. Also, to get herself a cup of coffee. Girl looks ragged.
I notice that there’s no sign of Ian’s assistant anywhere. Unheard of in our line of work.
Within an hour I’m completely set up at the other end of the table. Within an hour Anita has her own cubby in the far corner, where I have her doing the menial shit that doesn’t need my personal attention. The girl has been working so hard for me lately, helping me with this stupid project of my father’s, that I think I’m going to treat her to lunch today. And every day until the presentation is over and I can breathe again.
My first order of business is to make multiple copies of the proofs from the designers. There will be copies permanently in my briefcase. Some in my apartment. Some in this office. Ian happens to look up and see me store the office copies in a cupboard.
“See? I’m on top of things.”
His lips grow taut. “I wouldn’t think otherwise.”
He’s been silent the whole day. The only time we speak is if he needs me to pass him something or if one of us has a quick question about some boring business aspect of what we’re doing. We’re sterile. We’re careful.
I don’t know why. I mean, I’m not hurting to talk to Ian Mathers about anything, but it’s weird that a guy who is usually so chatty to people he knows isn’t talking to me. He talked to me before the meeting on Friday. So why not now? Is he angry at me? He… couldn’t be. Not after what I heard Friday night.
God, I had almost forgotten about that. I don’t know how. My brain must be trying to save me.
“Where’s your assistant?” I finally ask, taking a five minute break to lean back in my chair and drink the latest cup of coffee Anita has deposited in front of me. “I know you’ve got a hottie or two running around doing your bidding somewhere.”
I never meant to be sexual in my banter. And yet there it is, an implication rolling off my tongue, which I quickly hide in my coffee.
Ian stares at me, hand covering his mouth in that lazy way. Oh, sorry, am I boring you, Ian? The thought of me apparently wasn’t boring you the other night.
“I try not to rely on them too much.” He looks back to his laptop and clicks a few things. Soon enough he leans back in his chair as well, arms extending above his head before folding behind it. His shirt strains against his torso, outlining his muscles. Damn, the man works out. Earlier he muttered something about taking an hour break in the afternoon to use the gym, but he hasn’t gone yet.
“Why not?” I ask. Anita has saved my scatterbrained ass more than once.
His mouth twitches into a wan smile. Smug. So fucking smug. “I rather rely on my own abilities to get my shit done.”
I slump my shoulders and frown at him. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t say anything…”
“Passive aggression isn’t attractive.”
His smile widens. Finally, some semblance of emotion coming from this guy. “Now, you know how aggressive I can be.”
“Uh huh.” What’s he referring to? His business prowess? His Doming? His ability to slam a woman against the wall and growl into her ear as he fucks her?
Whoa, where did that come from?
I glance at Ian, but he’s already reading something on his laptop again. His look is so pensive that it’s almost brooding. Ugh. I love brooding men. Doming them, anyway. They make the best subs.
Now I’m imaging Ian Mathers as a sub, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh at the impossibility, or…
Or bite my lip and wonder some more.
I already know what kind of sub he would be. The worshipful kind. He’d be a sub who makes a girl feel like a fucking goddess in the bedroom. A master of oral sex in whatever position she wants. The kind to hold her hips as she rides him and controls the angle of his cock. All he would ask for is the extreme honor of coming inside her, one of the hottest, more intimate things a Domme can allow. Most Dommes I know never let their male subs come inside them. They’re either directed away from the body or allowed to mark one place outside of the woman’s mound. Never her face.
I don’t really care. I don’t see letting a man come inside me as a sign that he has too much power. But he better be wearing a condom. I’ve never done bareback.
Ian would be the kind of sub to beg to come in me. Then he’d eat me out until I came, either for the first time or the tenth time. With any luck, the whole experience would be so hot that he’d get hard again in time for me to want his cock once more.
And then I’d ride him until I died.
“Kathryn.”
The way he says my name – and subsequently knocks me back from my weird as hell fantasies – isn’t anything like the way he said it at The Dark Hour, when he….
“Yes?”
“I’m going to the gym. Text me if there’s something really important. You have my number.”
I nod. I’ve had his number for years, not because we’re anything more than acquaintances, but because I have everyone’s number. Everyone’s. “I’ve got your number.”
“Cool. See you later.”
The office feels empty without him. Even though Anita is here, sitting in her corner typing a thousand emails, all I can think about is the way Ian said my name now. And the way he said it at the height of his climax, his mind thinking only of me as he fucked one of the hottest women in Hollywood.
I’m flattered. I’m frightened. I’m feeling things that I haven’t felt for him since I was fifteen and wondering if the stories about him and his cock were true. Damnit, Ian, get out of my head! Don’t you understand that it could never happen between us? We both want completely different things from the other person.
You want things from me you could never have. I want things from you that you would never do in a million years.
There’s no compromise here. I need to stop thinking about you, for my own sanity.
Chapter 8
IAN
I’m losing my fucking mind.
For three days now I’ve sat across from Kathryn Alison at that table and tried to get my shit done. For three days I’ve been slow as molasses answering emails, updating spreadsheets, and making speech notes. Makes me want to call in an assistant.
Except this wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for her.
Kathryn doesn’t know she’s doing it. Or at least I don’t think she knows that she’s seducing me. Women with that kind of power are so dangerous that I often don’t deal with them for more than a night. I prefer women who need or want me to seduce them. I’m a lot more likely to get what I want from those types of women.
See, I keep imagining impossible scenarios with Kathryn. When she reaches back in her chair and stretches, I imagine popping open those buttons and burying myself in her breasts. When she sucks on the straw of her water bottle, I see her puckering up, waiting for me to kiss her. When she yawns in the morning and early in the evening, I see a woman who is about to suck my cock.
I bet she’s great at that. Most Dommes are. They’ve gotta give out great rewards to their male subs.
I want to lick the shoulders she shakes the sleeves of her jacket off. I want to stick my hand down her pants and feel my fingers choke in her folds, in the seam of those tight pants. And dear God do I want to spread her out on the table and drive myself into her until we both come.
My cock inside her, surrounded by her warmth and reaching deep, deep into her until I’m so buried that she’s screaming about how full she is.
I want to see her writhe beneath me, that beautiful blond hair circling her face like a halo. I want to hear her gasp my name…and call me sir.
She said it the other day. On the phone with one of her father’s investors. “Yes, sir. That won’t be a problem, sir.” Holy fuck, she said it quickly without a second thought, but I was so enthralled with the way those sounds rolled off her tongue that I proceeded to fantasize about the most impossible thing ever.
Dominating Kathryn Alison.
Bend her over. Spank her. Gag her with my cock. Spill my seed on her and admire how filthy she is. Filthy for me.
I Dom, not to control and hurt, but because I want to completely own the person I’m with. Even if it’s a one night stand, I’m a lot happier hearing her at least pretend to give herself to me, body and soul. Subs are so powerful. They trust you with their bodies, their hearts, the scars they already have on them. They want you to make them feel safe. And dirty. Safe to be dirty.
To fulfill their fantasies. And yours.
Kathryn understands this too well. It’s why this fantasy of mine will never come true. Very few Doms switch. Dommes like Kathryn, who have to psych themselves up to be the go-getters the world tells them they’re not? They’re even less likely to give up control. I’ve had sex with a couple of Dommes. Just regular sex, no role-play. Even when I was on top of them, thrusting into them, bending them over, pressing them against walls… they were very much in control of the situation, even if they were careful to not threaten my power. Those hookups only work when we’re both too horny to care but can’t find non-Doms to fuck. Sometimes you just want a hot pussy, and sometimes they just want a hard dick.
It’s too different with Kathryn. This isn’t shrugging and deciding to go for it. This is much deeper.
And I’m losing my mind.
***
Right now I’m at my big desk at home, trying to finish up the work I couldn’t get done with Kathryn around. It’s Wednesday night and I’m tired. So tired that twice now I’ve thought my cat Saoirse was my mind playing tricks on me. She’s a dainty little black cat, a master of knocking shit over and chewing on power cords until she gets a nasty jolt. (And to the point her owner had to anti-cat every power cord in the condo.) Normally at this time of night she’s snoozing away on her pillow in the living room, but tonight she’s hopped up on something and jumping on and off my desk at strange intervals.
Normally I love sitting here to work at all hours of the day. I live on the nineteenth floor of this high rise and have a fantastic view of downtown, especially at night when the lights twinkle and the darkness turns my condo into a cave of creativity. But not tonight. Tonight? I’m staring at my reflection in the tinted windows, willing myself to get my shit together.
I’m not perfect. Like any man, I lose my ability to contain my bearings once in a while.
I called and left Stephanie a message yesterday. I haven’t heard back from her. I don’t think I will.
Plans are already being made to go out and find a woman this weekend. I am going to purposely avoid a blonde. They are too dangerous right now.
They all make me think of Kathryn.
Do you know how good she would look in my condo? Her sophistication would class this place up. I can see her, wearing one of those designer suits at my kitchen counter, Blue Tooth in her ear and stiletto heel dangling from her foot. I want her here, though. I want her with me at my desk, asking me what I want.
“What can I do for you, sir? What can I do to relieve some of this… tension?”
I’d tell her to show me her breasts. After I have my fill of them, I’ll have her crawl beneath my desk and take my cock out of my pants.
Fuck, I’m hard. That’s what I get for daydreaming about Kathryn Alison sucking my cock when I should be working. I haven’t even touched myself since I screwed up with Stephanie. That, unfortunately, was my last orgasm. Now, I’m not saying that I’m a guy who has to get off once or twice a day, but five days is cutting it a bit close for the blue balls.
I haven’t done anything because I’m afraid I’ll fantasize about Kathryn.
It’s inevitable. My thoughts are so full of her that she’s consuming me. I’m not even sure I like the woman outside of general friendliness. I try to forget about that time we were teenagers. It feels like a lifetime ago, anyway. I try to think of her as a woman I recently met. Someone I have no history with, because then I don’t feel so weird thinking about her running her tongue up and down my cock, her lips sucking on my tip while her hand works the entire length of my shaft.
By the time I wrap my hand around my cock, I’m so stiff that I let out a groan of relief.
I close my eyes and imagine that everything I do to myself is coming from Kathryn. All I have to think about is how I want to finish. Should I come in her throat and make her swallow my seed? Holy hell, I would love to see that. Watch me dribble down the side of her mouth while she tells me how good I taste.
Or I could let her take me to the brink, pull out, and finish on her breasts. I want to see the white disappear into her cleavage and drip off her nipples.
I groan. The head of my cock is wet already.
I’d call myself pathetic, but hey, I’m a man reacting to things as men do. I’m not gonna feel shame for having the hots over a woman and wanting to fuck her. She’s not a family member. She’s not a forbidden person. I don’t even hate her, although sometimes she looks at me with such disdain that… shit, that turns me on too. I want her to beg for me, but I’m cool with the idea of her warring with her own mind. Fuck. Now I’m imagining her spread before me on my desk, her body begging for my cock while she cries out in pleasure and frustration. The frustration is because she knows we shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t help herself.
I know what I would do. I’d pull out of her mouth and release myself into that blond hair. It’s been causing me so much trouble lately. Sure, enough women have told me that it’s a pain in the ass to wash out. I don’t care. It’s my fucking fantasy.
And in this fantasy, she’s sucking me off until I hit the point of no return. I’m gonna come. I push her off me and orgasm into that blond mane, watching her eyes widen in surprise.
In reality, my cock finds solace in my hand. My climax forces my forehead against my desk, my groans suddenly loud enough to echo in my condo. Somewhere, the cat skitters away. Good. I want to be alone.
It’s a hard orgasm. One of the hardest I’ve had on my own in a long time. Even after I finish ejaculating, I still feel my whole body shudder, and I remain against the desk, shoulders slumping and breath easing out of me.
Just another testament to what that woman does to me.
You know what? I can’t live like this. I can’t spend every day thinking of her, having her infiltrate my love life and turn everything upside down. I can’t deal with Kathryn Alison sitting there, not knowing what she’s doing to me.
I’m almost hard again when I accept the cold truth. I want… no, I need… to fuck her.
Seventeen-year-old me wants a mulligan. Only thing? For the first time in my life, I have no idea how I’m going to seduce a woman. She won’t respond to my usual come-ons. She won’t respond to what I like in bed.
And I really don’t fucking care. I’ll give her whatever she wants. I only need to know how she feels wrapped around me, her body rippling with pleasure as I bring her to her own brink. I want to know what sexual ecstasy feels like with Kathryn.
The rest I can deal with later. Baby steps, Ian.
Chapter 9
KATHRYN
“Fuck, Kathryn….”
I keep hearing that echo in my head. It’s been tearing me apart since Friday. At first I managed to ignore it, as if nothing happened. Now it’s Wednesday night, and I’ve given up. That man’s voice is in my head, whispering, groaning my name as I imagine him shuddering inside of me.
My bed creaks beneath me as I go for it. My vibrator is inside me, and of course I imagine it’s Ian’s cock, big, strong, and surging into me until I can barely take it anymore. My hand grabs my comforter and squeezes it half to death. My chest constricts. I’m having an orgasm, but I feel so detached from it all that I might as well be watching someone else come.
Then it hits me. Gently, at first, and then it’s like being hit by a fucking truck. I shriek from the intensity, and that’s from a damned dildo.
I don’t care. I’m propped up on one arm, shoving that thing deep inside and wishing it were Ian grabbing my hips and holding me on his cock while my muscles milk him dry.
Just like that, it’s over, and I collapse. Right away my fantasy is replaced with this overarching sense of shame.
“I can’t believe I jacked off to that guy.” There’s no way. I have a hard time believing that Ian would be anything like in my fantasy. I know him too well. Know of him too well. Absolutely nothing would play out like I want it to in my head.
It would be the Ian Mathers show from beginning to end. Some women apparently find that hot… but I’m not interested. I want to feel like a queen, not a servant.
I also want to feel him inside of me for once, so there’s that.
Ten minutes later I convince myself to get up and shower. Afterward, I towel off in my bedroom, sexually sated, but still frustrated for other reasons. The pressure of the presentation next Friday. How I feel every time I’m around Ian. The fact that I’ve called Eva five times now to bitch at her, but she’s drowning in schoolwork and keeps texting that she’ll “get back to me” and then never does.
I’m halfway into bed for the night when my dad calls me.
“How’s the project coming?” he asks, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming “I’m the one not coming and that’s a problem!” I mean, if it were anyone else… but it’s my dad! “I hear from Dominic that you and his son are hitting the office every day. Any snags?”
He has no fucking idea.
Of course, I don’t share any of that. Besides, my dad and I don’t have that kind of relationship. He was never a man I went to when I had boy troubles. Neither was my mom. Hell, she was worse. My mom was as interested in me as I’m interested in getting spanked by some guy.
I tell him about my plans to keep another fuck up from happening. I tell him that I have the first draft of my presentation finished and would like him to take a look at it this weekend. I then tell him about an idea I had regarding the museum part of the project.
When he hangs up, I’m too awake to go to bed. I sit in front of my vanity and start brushing my hair for the second time tonight. Somehow more snarls have crept in. This is why I wear it up when I can. I am a master of the French twist. Works great in the summer when it’s five-hundred degrees.
Except it’s about seventy in here right now, so I wear it down, covering my shoulders and framing my face. The mirror says that I’m not wearing any makeup, but I pretend that I am so I don’t want to shriek in horror. Okay, I’m pretty average looking. But if a man like Ian saw me without makeup, he’d probably laugh. I don’t know why I assume that.
Why do I? You know what happened after that incident when we were teens? I never heard from him for years. When we reconnected, we never brought it up. Pretended it didn’t happen. It was a ten-minute event in our lives. We had kissed. We had made out. He had squeezed my breasts and I had brushed my hand against his cock. For fuck’s sake, I felt his cum on my thigh. There’s almost nothing sacred between us, and yet it’s like we’re strangers.
I’m being mind-fucked by Ian Mathers. I don’t think he knows it, though. I don’t think he cares.
One, two, three more brushstrokes. I’m done. With everything.
