Chapter Ten
Dawn was starting to seep over the horizon before the carousing finally wound down and the Club emptied. For some reason Cross had chosen not to lift the restriction on ‘his property’ so Verity had remained unmolested for the remainder of the night - a fact for which she was eternally grateful. Bleary with exhaustion, she stumbled back to the locker room to retrieve her coat and bag. As she turned to leave, she flinched back with a yelp at the sight of Cross lounging in the doorway.
She hadn’t seen him for a few hours, and had assumed he’d found someone else to occupy his time. His tie had been removed and the top button of his shirt was open. Combined with the relaxed slouch against the door jam, it was about the most casual she’d ever seen him look.
Unbidden, her eyes drifted down his neck until they reached the vee of newly exposed skin. It was tanned, she noted. She’d always found it impossible to imagine him without his suit and expertly knotted tie - part of her believing he probably slept in the ensemble, if he slept at all - and had assumed that any tan lines would end at his collar. Apparently that was not the case.
Was she still staring at his throat?
Yep.
Perhaps it was exhaustion, or delayed shock but she found herself incapable of the simple task of shifting her gaze.
This was becoming embarrassing.
She closed her eyes, gathered the tattered remains of her self-control and resumed her departure.
“Good night, Mr Cross.”
One hand on her shoulder halted her progress.
“A word, before you leave.”
Her shoulders slumped. So close… so damn close. Before she could summon the energy to ask what he wanted, he’d turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to follow.
When they reached his office, she hovered in the doorway, anxious to end the conversation as swiftly as possible.
“And what word would that be?”
Cross pushed the door closed. “Undress.”
Verity swayed and her head spun as an unexpected and unwanted wave of lust battled with the exhaustion she was feeling. After the events of yesterday, the resulting poor night’s sleep and the twelve hour shift she’d just completed, she was dead on her feet. She could barely open her eyes, let alone any other part of her anatomy. And yet parts to the south seemed eager to give it a try.
The look on his face told her he wasn’t about to take no for an answer anyway, and that she’d bargained away her right to say it when she took his money.
Trying to disguise any eagerness on her part she gave what she hoped sounded like a defeated sigh, turned to the bed and began to strip off her clothing, unable to suppress a groan of relief as she extricated herself from the vicelike grasp of the vicious bra.
Cross tapped his finger on the desk. “I think over here would be more appropriate.”
She glared at him and then gave a tired shrug. “Whatever.”
Actually, the desk was probably a smart move. If her body hit that mattress there was every chance she’d be asleep before he managed to unzip - though whether he’d notice or care was another matter.
The desk proved to be exactly as uncomfortable as she’d expected, not helped by him abruptly dragging her exactly six inches to the left.
Shifting her weight in an attempt to relieve the pressure from the sharp edge digging into her hip bones she muttered, “Ready when you are.”
Cross ran an appraising hand up between her thighs and chuckled softly. “So it would seem.”
Verity felt a wave of humiliation wash through her at the unmistakable, wet sound of her obvious arousal. Her libido had truly appalling taste in men! But she couldn’t prevent her muscles from clenching around his exploring fingers.
Sliding open a drawer, Cross extracted a condom.
She frowned and twisted her neck to look at him. “I thought the tests came back fine?”
“They did, but the contraceptive needs 72 hours to take effect.”
Would have been nice if they’d told her that, Verity thought darkly, returning her attention to the highly polished surface beneath her. Though perhaps they did and she wasn’t listening.
Determined not to look round again as she heard the sound of his zipper, Verity traced the grain of the wood with her eyes. She might be compliant and there was no way to deny her body’s response to him, but she’d made no promises about enthusiasm.
She felt him nudge her knees apart and then her eyes flew wide as something of wholly unexpected proportions pushed firmly against her slick opening. Good God, what the hell was he packing down there?!
With surprising patience he steadily worked his length up inside her, using a gentle rocking motion rather than sharp thrusts which would have achieved his goal much quicker. But despite his care, Verity felt herself stiffen and arch away from the intrusion, the stinging stretch dragging an involuntary whimper from her throat.
A soothing hand ran down her spine and she almost laughed, was he expecting her to relax as that monster rearranged her internal organs? He paused the assault, his gentle stroking the only movement as he waited for her to adjust. Eventually the pain faded and her locked muscles began to release their tension.
Only then did he begin to move and this time the whimper she gave was not from pain. Every nerve in her stretched skin seemed to fire into life - she could feel the cool surface of the desk beneath her chest, contrasting with the steady warmth of his hand on her back, the scratch from his flies against her arse and soft brush of his expensive wool suit between her thighs.
The rhythm changed again, he was now withdrawing a couple of inches after each stroke only to push back in a little deeper each time. By the time he was fully seated inside her, Verity was shivering and shaking from the effort of remaining insolently passive. Closing her eyes she tried to shuffle through her favourite playlist in her head, listing the songs alphabetically, first by artist and then by title, but Cross was having none of it. Tangling his fingers into her hair he roughly jerked her head back. “Oh no,” he growled into her ear, “you’re going to watch.”
For the first time she looked straight ahead and suddenly his pedantic positioning of her earlier made sense. Running floor to ceiling, up the wall in front of her, was a narrow strip of unbroken mirror, perfectly placed to reflect the action.
The sight of his fully clothed, heavily muscled body caged around her naked form was disturbingly erotic and despite herself she felt her toes begin to curl as the next thrust slammed home with considerably more force. In fact it was only the harsh bite of the desk edge, digging into the tops of her thighs that stopped her tumbling straight over the precipice as his pace increased.
Thankfully she could feel him tensing as his own release drew closer. She could do this, she could hold out for just a little longer. It wouldn’t be much of a victory but it was all she had. Then his hand dipped between her thighs and she nearly bit through her lip to stop herself moaning.
One fingertip traced her sex and with impossible precision brushed along the ridge of her clit. It was only the reflected smirk on his face that prevented her from simply surrendering in that moment and letting the sensation win.
Absolutely determined not to give him the satisfaction of making her cum on his cock, she clenched her teeth and tried to distract herself. But his skillful fingers, now relentlessly circling that tight nub of nerve endings made any coherent thought almost impossible. Then he tilted his hips, hitting a different spot deep inside her and stars exploded inside her skull.
With sinking certainty she realised this was a game she was going to lose. It didn’t matter how tired she was, how much she fought it; he knew exactly what he was doing and was going to push her over that edge if she wanted to go or not.
In desperation, she did the only thing she could think of, and steered into the slide. White knuckling the edge of the desk, she rolled her hips and let out a cry designed to test the soundproofing of his office. He might be about to make her cum, but she be damned if he’d know it. Giving what she felt was an Oscar worthy performance of shrieking and writhing, finally culminating in the good, old, crowd pleasing favourite of: “Yes, Yes, Oh God, YEEES!!”
Despite the obvious theatrics, her movements were enough to drag a snarl from his lips as he stiffened and climaxed.
For a long moment, their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room, then Verity propped herself up on her elbows and pretended to hide a yawn. Watching their combined reflection she caught the minute narrowing of his gaze as he tried to assess what had just happened. He wasn’t sure, she realised with delight. Deciding to increase that sense of doubt she allowed a small smirk to twitch the corners of her lips as she reassembled her clothing and shrugged into her coat.
“Night, Boss,” she said, her smile growing broader as his expression darkened. “See you tomorrow.”
She’d nearly made it to the door when he gave a sigh. “You’re tired. Take tomorrow off. Get some sleep. I’ll see you on Sunday.”
For a second she almost felt bad for being such a bitch.
Then he added, “You’re starting to look haggard. And that’s not the image I want for the Club.”
Nope, she decided, summoning all her self-control to stop herself slamming the door behind her - not feeling even a little bit bad - and he hadn’t seen her in full bitch-mode yet.
But he would.