22. Wicked Game
Wicked Game
Arden
O ne minute, I’m trying to convince myself we should keep going as we have been. The next moment, she’s smiling at me from the service drive, and I’m lost.
I trail my lips down to her neck, breathing in her sweet scent, my cock growing thick against my thigh. I’ve fantasized about having her here so many times. Now that she’s in my arms, I don’t know where to start.
I want to smother myself in those tits and drown in her pussy. Not poetic. Not well-spoken or polite. But true. Craving her for so long has turned me into an animal.
Slow down. Have a conversation.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, we talked about the things we’d do to each other if we were together. Applying the brakes would feel criminal.
I groan and squeeze her hip. “You wore a pencil skirt. You know what I do when I imagine you in one of these?”
Crimson paints her cheeks, but she meets my eyes. “Yes.”
“And what should I do with you now that I have you here?”
“Anything you want,” she whispers.
She’s too innocent to understand how far the wrong man could take things when he hears that word. Or maybe she isn’t and simply knows that, for her, I will always be the right man.
She steps back, slips out of her navy blazer, and drapes it over the arm of the sofa.
“We can talk. You can tell me about your drive.” I’ll force myself to be patient for her.
Her lips curve, and she touches my jaw. “You shook your head when you said that.”
White teeth clamp down on the corner of her lip as she pops open the top three buttons on her collared shirt.
My gaze trails down to her newly revealed cleavage and back up to her beautiful eyes. Hands hovering without direction, she stalls and drops them to her sides. Then she watches me and waits.
She’s owning this moment with deliberate and enthusiastic consent. She also wants me to tell her what to do. One doesn’t cancel out the other.
The fact that I know her well enough to understand her unspoken demand only adds fuel to the fire of love and lust and tenderness inside me.
When she passes control to me, she forgets about needing to be good and lets herself feel good.
I cup the side of her head and trace the curve of her eyebrow with my thumb. “I’m going to give you instructions.” Like we do on the phone. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still on the pill?” She started taking them over a year ago to help with menstrual cramps, but she hasn’t mentioned them recently.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been tested, and I’m healthy. I’m taking you raw unless you tell me otherwise,” I warn.
Breaths shallow, she says, “Yes.”
“You have the power here. All you ever have to say to me is ‘No’ or ‘Stop’. If your mouth is occupied, then tap my thigh.”
Her eyes widen and her blush deepens.
“I don’t care if I’m already balls deep in your pussy or seconds away from coming down your throat, there’s no such thing as too late to change your mind.” I use deliberately blunt language. It gets my point across with no room for misinterpretation.
“I trust you,” she says, and there goes my heart, squeezing in my chest so hard I feel it behind my eyes.
Reaching behind me, I turn the lock on the door. “Walk to my desk, then undo the rest of the buttons on your blouse.”
She takes two steps toward the center of the room, her hair in its complicated-looking twist gleaming gold in the lamplight. Hesitating, she looks over her shoulder at me. “Are you coming?”
My lips curve. “Let me admire the view first. I’ve played out this fantasy in my head hundreds of times. I don’t want to rush.” It’s more complicated than that. I’ve been waiting for her, living off pieces of her, for years. Instinct wants me to push her against the door and fuck her fast and hard.
But it’s her first time in years, and her past is complicated. We’re going slowly this time and having fun with it, even if it kills me. The game we’re about to play will be familiar to her, if only because we’ve walked through it on the phone so many times.
She walks to the desk, then turns to face me. Hands shaking, she pops more buttons open but leaves the bottom two closed. Then she looks back at me. To see what I’ll do?
Nothing at all, sweet Charlotte. “I’m guiding our play, honey. Not dictating it.”
“I know. I don’t . . . love this part of my body after pregnancy. Maybe I should leave the shirt on. You might find it a turnoff.”
It takes me a moment to process what she’s saying. The very idea doesn’t compute. I walk to stand before her and place my palm on her lower abdomen. “Stay covered or don’t. You choose, but not because of me. The evidence that you grew a child inside you is beautiful. Believe me, the last thing I’ll feel is turned off.”
Her eyes glitter, and she takes a series of fast breaths. When I remove my hand, she finishes unbuttoning her shirt, then watches me warily.
Her cleavage is a luscious shadow, the white lace of her bra a pretty frame, and below it, the dip then swell of her abdomen is decorated with a silvery web of scars.
“Charlotte.” I shake my head and trace my thumb over the soft skin. “You’re perfect.” I press my lips there before straightening and guiding her where I want her next to my chair. “Sit on the edge of my desk, hands propped on either side of your hips.”
She complies, and I kiss her slowly, taking my time and pulling the pins from her hair until it tumbles down her back. “You are so damned beautiful.”
Before I lose control, I pocket the hairpins, back off, and move to my office chair, lowering myself into it with my thighs spread wide.
Charlotte plays along with the fantasy—she’s the one who planted it in my head in the first place, after all—and makes an adorable huffy sound when I click my computer mouse and fire the monitor to life.
“We have an appointment to discuss the drafts I sent you,” she says.
I’ve never wanted to fuck an employee. It’s not the idea of abuse of power that gets me hot. It’s not the skirt or her fake job either. It’s Charlotte in the skirt, leaning on my desk with her blouse undone, and ready to play.
She crosses one sexy leg over the other and bobs her high-heel clad foot impatiently. My eyes cross with the effort not to pounce.
I clear my throat and adjust myself in my pants. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Ms. Miller.”
“Sir, if you don’t have time to discuss the Haluski project, I can come back later.”
I bite back my laugh. Haluski is a type of egg noodle she made for her chicken soup recipe two days ago.
“Be patient, sweetheart. Think of yourself as motivation for me to finish sooner.”
The file I open is a spreadsheet of household expenses. Whatever I screw up in my distraction won’t matter because I won’t save it.
As I click through the spreadsheet, I squeeze her full breasts with my left hand, then slide the cups of her bra down, one after the other, until they’re fully exposed.
Casually, I toy with her hard nipples, tugging and tweaking them. Her breaths come in rapid little pants. I can’t resist looking over to take in the sight.
“You’re making it difficult to concentrate on numbers today, Ms. Miller,” I scold.
Her blush renews, and I feel the heat as it rises under her skin. I’m touching her at last, and everything is more visceral. “Are you all right, honey? Not running a temperature, are you?”
She grins and shakes her head.
Forcing myself to stare at the computer monitor, I move my hand to her knee and randomly click on spreadsheet cells with the other. I slide my palm up Charlotte’s leg and under her skirt, stopping when I reach the lace edge at the top of her thigh-high stockings. First, running my fingers over it, then dipping beneath it. She shivers, then squirms closer, as if trying to move me where she wants me.
Her silky skin under my fingertips is heaven, but I give her a stern look and remove my hand entirely. “It appears your current position is a problem. Stand up. Turn around. Bend over and place your hands stretched out in front of you on my desk.”
She whirls to comply. Still seated, I nudge her ankles farther apart with my foot and coast my hand over her lower back, guiding her gently into position before giving one luscious ass cheek a squeeze. “Spread those pretty thighs as far as they’ll go, sweetheart. Arch your back. Good posture is critical for your job performance.”
Charlotte snickers and makes a valiant attempt to widen her stance but doesn’t get far. “The skirt is too tight for that. Sir .”
“Do I detect sass in your tone, Ms. Miller?” Since I’m behind her, she can’t see my grin, but she has to hear it in my voice.
“Who in their right mind would sass Arden McRae III?”
“You would. You always have.” I fake a sigh as I wheel my chair directly behind her. Perfect height, just as I predicted. “It makes me want to spank you.”
She freezes, then looks back at me over her shoulder, dropping character. “Really?”
I wink and show her my thumb and pointer finger a half inch apart. A little bit.
She shivers, then faces forward once more, arching her back in a sexy feline-like stretch. “If you think a spanking is necessary, sir.”
I grab her round cheeks and give them a jiggle, then I stand and deliver a mild swat. The sound she makes is anything but pained.
Self-control over my own arousal is next to non-existent at the moment. “I can’t wait to see this ass shake and bounce when I’m inside you,” I mutter.
She moans quietly and pushes farther into my grip.
I unzip the navy skirt and pull it down to reveal Charlotte’s white lace panties. “These are pretty, but they’re in my way. Slide them off, but don’t stand up.”
Watching Charlotte reach back and draw her tiny panties down her thighs has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. When she kicks both the skirt and underwear off her ankles at last, I run my palms over her ass. “Three more swats, Ms. Miller. Just to be sure the lesson sinks in.”
“Holy . . . why is this so hot?” she whispers.
I chuckle, then slap her ass hard enough to make her flesh compress, then bounce back with a satisfying jiggle. Not hard enough to bruise.
“Oh, God,” she says.
I rub in the sting and check to be sure we’re on the same page. “Tell me how that felt, sweetheart.”
“It made me feel warm and . . . needy.”
“Here?” I slide two fingers along her slick seam, and she pants.
“Yes.” She moves against my hand, attempting to give herself more pressure.
“Are you ready for more?”
“Yes, sir.”
I withdraw my fingers. “Last two. Be brave,” I tease.
Charlotte shivers and sways her pretty behind.
I slap down on her right cheek, then immediately swat the left. She gasps, then giggles.
When I press a kiss to one soft globe, then the other, she makes an incoherent sound of arousal.
At the sound of my zipper lowering, Charlotte stops moving entirely. She doesn’t appear to breathe as she waits for what comes next. It’s not a reaction that’s going to work for either of us.
Squeezing the base of my cock to get it under control, I rise over her to press a kiss to her temple. “Are you still with me?”
“I’m with you, but I’m nervous,” she says.
I need her relaxed and eager. I have no intention of doing a single thing to make her fear me.
I straighten, then retake my seat behind her, exposing all her soft, private places to my avid attention once more. Her breaths leave her body in shuddering pants, and slippery arousal trickles down her inner thigh.
This is the first time I’ll taste Charlotte Miller’s honey. It’s the first time I’ll feel her clit swell and twitch against my tongue. I’m not rushing through it to get to the end.
“I’m going to bury my face in this pussy and lick you until you come, but I’ll start slowly. This first taste is sacred.” I press a sucking kiss to the little bundle of nerves at her center. Careful, but not too gentle.
She makes a sound of pure pleasure, and her torso collapses entirely onto the desk.
“Fucking delicious,” I growl, and she shudders.
I’ve never touched her like this before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how she likes it. I bought my own model of the vibrator I sent her, just so I could hold it and learn what “medium-high” meant.
My girl likes stronger intensity. Feather-light touches would leave her frustrated. So I give her what she needs. Over and over, driving her up, watching her signals to see what makes her crazy. My own need is a constant ache, but I don’t even consider giving in to it until I’ve taken care of Charlotte.
When she slaps at the wooden surface beneath her and cries out, I give her more, reaching around to swirl my fingers over her clit. Her pussy squeezes and welcomes my tongue as I eat her and fuck her with it.
“Arden,” she says. “ Arden .”
I lift my head, my lips moving against her ass cheek. “What do you need? Tell me.”
“You,” she wails.
“You have my tongue and fingers. What more could you possibly want?” I need her so ready for me that she’s forgotten about everything but wanting my cock.
The sound she makes is half laugh and half sob. “You jerk.”
“Seems a little hostile for a woman expecting me to give her an orgasm.” I ease a finger inside her, and her muscles squeeze the digit. Still too tight. If I pushed my cock into her right now, it would hurt her.
Charlotte moves on my hand, trying to get more of me inside her.
“Easy, sweet Charlotte. Come on my fingers and tongue first. Then I’ll give you what you want.” I add a second finger, scissoring them to stretch her, and tongue the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.
When she takes those fingers easily, I crook them inside her to find her G-spot, massaging it with every thrust.
“What is . . . ? Arden . . .”
Charlotte comes with the sound of my name hanging in the air around us, her body convulsing as she flexes around my fingers.
When she calms, I wipe my face on her inner thigh, then rise and hold her against me, my erection digging into her soft curves. My lips fall to the hollow below her ear. “That’s my girl.”
She is. If she wants to pretend that coming to me is about a single moment or a one-time deal, she can do that. But it’s a game she’s playing with herself, just like when she calls me sir. This—her in my arms—is real. We’re not going back to what we were. It’s too late for that.
“Arden,” she whispers, grinding against me, her frustration palpable. “I need you.”
“Then you have me.”