His hard-on wasn’t abating in the least. She was wearing the heels she’d worn on his car, the little tease. Two sets of buckles, so she’d included the restraints, which yanked his mind right to the image of bending her over her desk, spreading her legs out wide and binding her ankles to the desk legs. He’d fuck her, then make her do her work in that bent-over position while he enjoyed the view from his desk.
Janet might have a few words to say about that. So would Matt. As for Lucas…hell.
He pulled his attention away from Marcie, though he could smell her unique fragrance. She’d probably shaken Don’s hand, leaving a lingering scent on his palm. He gave Don some answers, asked a few questions of his own, which sent the man riffling through papers again. It left Ben free to shift his gaze back to the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.
Weren’t you supposed to stay on the other side of that line, you prick?
Marcie was studying her laptop, but as if she felt his regard, she lifted those lashes. He caught the familiar moistening of her bottom lip, that involuntary tell of vulnerability, of possible uncertainty, as if she was weighing a decision. But then the decision was made. Like a flipped switch, her expression became hot, focused, challenging. With a surreptitious glance toward Don, she slipped her hand back down to her thigh, fingers following the silken surface of the stocking. Pushing under one of the front overlapping slits in the skirt, she traced the nylon up, up, into the dark shadows of the skirt fabric. Her fingers moved over, down, her knees parting. Biting her lip, she lifted her chin in reaction as she obviously found her pussy, stroked.
To someone coming down the hall, it would appear she was still working on her computer, but beneath the desk, where he could see, she was getting more stimulated, her movements a little more jerky. Which meant she’d been hot and worked up when she put her hand down there. Given that she’d come into work with a battle plan to drive him insane, he wasn’t surprised. Her pussy was probably so slick and ready for his cock he could just cross the room, shove her against the wall and slam into her like a torpedo chamber ready to fire.
She kept her hot gaze on him, with those occasional maddening little flicks toward Don. If he looked left, he’d get the same view Ben was getting. Then Ben would have to kill him.
Something broke inside him. No, not broke. That was entirely the wrong word. He found his footing, something kicking in that was much stronger than concerns about Lucas and Cass, about inappropriate or appropriate behavior on his part. It was the feeling he had right before he entered one of Matt’s volatile acquisition meetings. Foot in the stirrup, ass on the warhorse, lance in hand, no entendre intended. Decision made.
The whiskey and damn indecision from last night disappeared. He knew how to handle this situation. Misbehaving subs, those who stepped out of line, were his particular area of expertise. His craving.
“Is that all you needed, Don? All right then, I’ll have my intern fax over…”
He dealt with Don with courtesy, showed him out the door, using iron discipline to keep his cock from straining at the end of its chain. Marcie had of course returned both hands to her keyboard, her skirt smoothed back over her thighs. She rose, smiling. Nodding to Don, she reached out to grip his hand when the man offered his. She was going to touch him with the hand she’d had on her pussy, leave that scent on his fingers. From the calculated look in her gaze, Ben knew she intended it.
He stepped between them, though it wasn’t a wide space. While Don looked a little startled by the abrupt intervention, Ben ironed it out with some further BS about the documents he needed. As Don responded, Marcie’s fingers brushed Ben’s back, the line of his spine, tugging playfully on his dress shirt, since his coat was hanging up behind his door. Her touch felt good, too good. Ben stepped away, taking Don down the hall and back to reception.
After he turned him over to Janet, doing a few more minutes of necessary bullshit chitchat, he pivoted on his foot and headed back down the hall. Since he was striding back to his office like a wolf running down a kill, he made himself stop before he hit the corner that would take him into view of his office area. Holding himself there, he took a breath. Thought it through.
That pause didn’t change anything. He knew what was needed, and wouldn’t turn back from it. Wherever the hell this took them, she’d pushed it too far. Time to give her a taste of what she thought she wanted.
After executing her Plan B, Marcie had been too wired to sleep, her body needy, hungry, but she didn’t give it the orgasm it was screaming for. She wanted to stay like this, wild, reckless, so she’d have the courage to make some really terrible decisions in judgment in the morning. Like masturbating right there where Don Alexander might have seen. But the look in Ben’s eyes, the flame in those green eyes, had been worth the risk. She’d broken his chain of self-control, she knew it. He’d obviously seen the security footage, because there was an edge to that look, a promise of retribution.
As she heard his footsteps, she had a moment to be thrilled and terrified at once. She’d pushed him past anything she could control. It gave her a primal urge to bolt, but fortunately he was turning the corner, already too close. Just the smell of his aftershave, the remembrance of the heat of his skin beneath his shirt when she’d stroked him just now, without Don’s knowledge, was enough to weaken her knees.
She was still standing by her desk, but he didn’t pause. Locking his hand around her wrist, he strode past her, yanking her into step with him. With a little hop and skip, she was with him. He might drag her by her hair if she stumbled.
He took her to the private restroom at this end of the hall, one that had shower facilities, everything for a man who often worked long hours at the office. He pulled her in there, slammed the door behind them, twisted the locks shut.
“Ben—” That was all she got out, because in the next blink, he’d shoved her against the wall and slammed his mouth down on hers.
Oh. Oh. She whimpered in the back of her throat at the strength of his aroused, powerful body against her. His hands were in her hair, yanking out pins so it spilled onto her shoulders. He gripped the strands hard, fusing her mouth to his. His tongue demanded entry, and it made every part of her tight, the way he lashed it against hers, pressing it down, learning her mouth more intimately than she thought was possible.
His hands stayed on her face, though her body writhed uncontrolled against him, her tight nipples pressed to his chest. She tried to push herself against his hard groin, but he thrust his thigh between her legs so his knee thudded against the wall, flexing muscle pressing against her mound.
“You fucking slut,” he muttered against her lips. “Hot little cunt.”
How he could make such awful words sound like an endearment, a caress, she didn’t know, but he did. She was shameless enough to nod, to confirm it. She was a slut, her pussy wet, all for him. Only for him. This was that moment she’d dreamed about, overwhelming, crazy, impossible to control, and she didn’t want any control. She wanted to be chained to him. Collared and belonging to him in every dark, dangerous way that horrified the civilized world.
If it were hundreds of years ago, and he were a pasha, she’d want to be his slave girl, subject to the sting of his lash. If he was a pirate, she’d be the nobleman’s daughter he kidnapped and corrupted, night after night, turning her into a wanton, willing to do anything. Fight at his side, press her lips to his polished boot. Curl next to his feet to be there for anything he needed.
She savored every millimeter of his palm against her face, her throat, his fingers buried in her hair. Her lips stayed parted, open as he plundered, took for himself. Her pulse thundered in her throat, roared in her ears. Her clit throbbed against his leg. When the thigh muscle shifted with his stance, she gasped into his mouth. But she stayed still, his to do with as he desired.
He broke the kiss, pulled her to face the mirror over the sink. “Hands on the counter,” he growled, gaze pinning her in that reflective glass. “Get rid of the shoes. Keep standing straight. Press your cunt against it.”
She obeyed, kicking off the shoes, knowing that her teeth were chattering with nerves. There was something raw and volatile in this room, something she’d glimpsed that night at Surreal when he hadn’t known she was there. This was the kind of Master he was. Hard, ruthless, edgy. Dangerous, the kind of Dom who took the challenge of finding out what his sub was and needed down to her soul, without allowing her to say a word. He was a lawyer—he had no trust of words, though he certainly knew their power.
It didn’t matter. She wanted him any way she could get him. She could do this.
Her nipples were so stiff, it was as if she was wearing no bra at all. He slid his hand along the right stocking, traced the garter as she made a tiny mewl. The loss of her heels made her feel even more vulnerable. Dipping his fingers under the hem of the skirt, he pushed it up so it folded around his wrist as he found her panties, the soaked crotch. She moaned.
“Wet as you can be. You were going to touch Don with this hand.” He lifted it with his other, his fingers tight on her wrist, emphasizing how much stronger he was.
She wouldn’t show fear, even though she was shaking like a cornered mouse. “Yes.”
Pushing the crotch of her panties aside, he sank two fingers into her, without hesitation, knowing her body intimately. She cried out, but managed to stay still as he ordered while his thumb settled on her clit, began to rub. He brought her hand to his mouth, sucked on her fingers, took the taste of her pussy into himself. It was a good thing he was pressed up against her, because her knees would have buckled.
“You didn’t come last night,” he muttered, “all spread out on my car. Why not?”
“Because…you didn’t give me permission.”
“You’ll come now.”
It was lightning, whatever he did, the skillful rhythm, pinches at just the right moments, the way his gaze met hers in the mirror, the feel of his body against hers, taking her over. She had a compulsion to resist, an automatic survival instinct before the vortex about to sweep her away, but it was useless. The climax she’d held out of reach last night, stoked to trip off at the slightest provocation, swept up through her, flushing her skin.