His breath rasped out, fingers digging into the netting, which made his biceps bunch, the muscles of his stomach get even more rigid. “So,” she purred. “Since it’s all about me, if I decided I have all I want for tonight, would you go home and jack off to Internet porn?”
“No.” He bit his bottom lip, dropping his head back against the truck’s rear windshield, just above the netting. It exposed his throat—not deliberately this time, but that didn’t make it any less inviting. She restrained herself though, wanting his answer. Another tease of the ridged head with her nails, a sharper scrape this time.
“I’d be lying there in the dark, fantasizing only about you. Thinking of your mouth on my cock. Your cunt closing around it. Sitting on top of me, while I held your breasts, still in that shirt. I love the way that looks, no bra.” He groaned as she tightened her grip. “I’d bite your nipples through the cloth when you came again.”
God, this was like a drug. It always was, but in this different environment, with this different man, it was the contrast between a one-drink buzz and a much stronger proof. Perhaps not a substance manufactured by man, but natural, uncut arousal, emotions mixing with the physical to make it even more addictive.
“But what if I don’t want you to come like that? What if I want you to keep your hands away from yourself, give me that pleasure when I decide I want it?”
He brought his chin down. She’d shifted close enough now it followed the line of her nose. When she adjusted so they were eye to eye, she bit his lip but drew back before it became a kiss, leaving that tempting flesh swollen from the pressure she’d put on it. The look in those gray eyes now was unmistakable. The lion was deciding if it was time to leap. She was on the fence herself, not sure if she wanted him to take her down, or rein himself back at her command. Both options had an appeal.
“I’d say…” He closed that inch, too quick for her to withdraw, and caught her lip in a sharp nip. Then he leaned back with a challenging, heavy-lidded look, holding on to the truck webbing with strong fists. “When can I pick you up for that second date?”
Chapter Five
Janet sat on the roof of the K&A building, her lunch open next to her, untouched. The potted ferns surrounding her waved in the breeze. A trio of tiny bells, hung from a stake in the soil of one of the plants, chimed softly. From this height, she could see the Mississippi, the boat traffic coming and going. This little spot was all hers. She’d discovered it during her first year at K&A, when she’d brought some maintenance men up here for roof repairs. Over time, she’d designed her own space, importing a couple of lounge chairs, an umbrella for shade, the plants.
When she didn’t care for company at lunch, she came here. If it was an early spring or fall day, when the weather was irresistible, she might forward her phone and bring her laptop up here to work a couple hours. If Matt decided a contract needed another minor revision after the hard copies had already been sent out and filed, or rescheduled a meeting at the last minute that involved twenty people in four different countries, she’d come up here for five minutes. He probably had no idea how many times her ability to do that had saved his life.
Today, however, she wasn’t seeking solitude to avoid homicide. She had a lot on her mind. She also wanted to finish a task she didn’t particularly care to explain to anyone.
Adjusting her reading glasses, she focused on the shirt in her lap. She kept a button jar in her desk, stocked with buttons that would match what was on most men’s dress shirts. She’d found several that could replace the ones on Max’s shirt, the ones that had been lost in the Progeny parking lot. Wetting the thread with her lips, she peered through the glasses to thread the needle and then tied it off, shaking out the shirt over her knees. Up here by herself, she could do the girly thing, put it to her face and inhale his scent. She’d kept it neatly folded in a bag under her desk all morning, yet had barely resisted the urge to take it into the bathroom and do just that, several times. She shook her head at herself.
He could have tried to fuck her. Demanded to do so. But he hadn’t. On one level, he’d served her almost like a sub, bringing her pleasure, giving her release multiple times. But usually in a session, her focus was on putting a sub through his paces, getting him so wound up, he’d beg for anything, including the right to come. Max had been so hard that it had been difficult for him to get his trousers fastened again, to position himself behind the wheel when it was time to take her back to her car, but he hadn’t demanded anything from her. Moving slow, letting her hold on to control. Yet she wasn’t really controlling anything, was she?
He’d assured her at the dock that no one would come up on him unawares, and she’d believed him without question. When he dropped her off, walked her to her car, he’d taken her keys, opened her door for her. She’d noted his visual sweep of the interior, making sure she was the only occupant of the car. Gestures like that, as automatic to him as breathing, inspired a woman’s instinctive trust. She knew the dangers of that, but she’d learned those dangers from a much different kind of man. Since then, she’d grown up, gotten better judgment, though having confidence in it had been a hard-won battle. When one made such a series of terrible, horrifying mistakes, it took years to believe in oneself again. She’d made it, and she wondered if a man like Max was the prize for such a journey.
Before he’d let her get into her car, he’d slid an arm around her waist, his fingers stroking her backside through the thin skirt. She hadn’t ever put on the panties. Though he didn’t linger, it was obvious he desired strongly to do so. The cock pressed against her hip was still more than ready to serve her. He put his mouth to her ear.
“Next time you put your hands on yourself, think of me, Mistress. I’ll be thinking of you. And suffering like hell, because I won’t be touching what’s yours.”
She couldn’t figure him out, and that would keep her going back for more. Neither Dom nor sub, yet elements of both that conflicted with and complemented her own skill set. So what did that leave?
Despite the bright sunlight, Janet shivered. The nip was still in the air, because the sun kept coming and going. She’d known that before she came up, but she’d left her sweater downstairs. It proved her level of distraction.
She hadn’t set a second date with him. Not just to torment him, but to give her some time to think. However, today was Thursday, the day he was going to come with her to the ballet school. There she’d be, supervising a bevy of hormonal teenage girls, who’d be thinking the same things she was thinking about him. Only whereas he was beyond their reach, he was solidly under her fingertips, everything offered.
The access door to the roof opened with a metallic squeak. It irritated her mildly, but she expected it was one of the maintenance workers who sometimes came up to tweak one of the heating and air units. On the rare occasions their visits coincided with her lunch time, they didn’t usually speak to her beyond a cordial greeting.
When she looked up, anticipating such an exchange, she was surprised to see her boss.
Matt Kensington’s height and breadth spoke of his father’s military and football background, but the dark hair and eyes, the rugged beauty of his face, were a combination of his father’s Texas roots and his mother’s Italian ones. His full name was Matthew Lord Kensington. Occasionally a business rival would make the cutting joke that Matt preferred to go by Lord Kensington. The joke wasn’t made too often, however, probably because the honorific fit him so well no one could argue with it. The sheer authority that emanated from him said it wouldn’t matter his era or circumstances of birth, he’d always end up leading men. Not from fear or intimidation—though he was quite capable of those traits—but out of respect for his leadership abilities.
He asked for a hundred and twenty percent from those who worked for him, and he gave a hundred and thirty percent of his own effort to lead by example. He had the prescience of a demigod and an uncanny ability to see a situation in full spectrum, even while he tracked details like a medieval monk working on an illustrated manuscript. As if that wasn’t enough, the four men most loyal to him augmented his strength with equally impressive capabilities of their own.
Her lips curved in a rueful smile at the small but significant evidence of his capabilities. He’d brought her sweater. As he reached her, he shook it out, swept it around her shoulders, snugging it up around her collarbone. As he did, he touched her cheek in an affectionate caress and then lowered himself into a sideways seated position on the lounge chair across from her. As he opted to stretch his long legs out beside her crossed ankles, rather than staying flatfooted and having his knees up to his chin in the low lounge chair, she made a mental note to bring a chair up here more suitable for him. He’d never come up before, but she wasn’t surprised he knew about the spot, or that he’d known to find her here.
If she had a chair up here that could accommodate a larger man, perhaps another man, one of a similar size, might one day join her.
“Did you need me for something?” Automatically, she checked to make sure her phone was still on forward.
“No, the universe is spinning adequately without either of us today.” In a surprise move, Matt turned so he was stretched out on the lounge, adjusting the back so he was only slightly reclined, his feet braced on either side of it. He lifted his face to the sun as it re-emerged, closing his eyes. “Nice day.”
“Hmm.” She bent her head back to the shirt, focused on the button she was sewing. “How many times have you visited Angelica’s webcam today? Or do you just keep it on full time now?”
“I’ve managed to limit myself to ten minutes every hour. Our nanny probably feels like she’s under a microscope, but I just want to see her play with her fingers and toes.”
“I hope Katherine is doing her job, not playing with her fingers and toes. Or any other part of her anatomy.”
Matt snorted, didn’t reply to that. He kept his eyes closed, one set of fingers casually resting on his thigh, the other holding the frame of the lounge by his head. He’d left his jacket below, so he had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up. Pulling the needle through the similar shirt in her lap, Janet smiled, remembering the week Savannah had returned to work. It had taken awhile, Savannah needing to recuperate from the C-section and hysterectomy, and then on top of that she’d opted to stay home several months with Angelica, coordinating her workload with her executive staff from the house.