Maxim
Fuck. I want to blame the drink. I really do.
But I can't break my one rule. The only law I live by.
Never, ever lie to myself. I thought a little mouse was watching me.
Amusing. Entertaining, despite what I told her.
Lying to others, no problem. No rules broken.
Every time her gaze touched mine, it stroked my cock.
A soft glide that made me want to grab her hand, wrap her small, brown fingers around it, and force her to squeeze.
Hard enough to make me fucking feel that shit.
That's the greatest danger I face. Day after day, enemy after enemy.
What really threatens me? What looms in the distance is that one day I won't be able to feel a damn thing.
Every day I draw closer and closer to that end.
Hell, I thought I was there until her gaze landed on me.
Skittered in and squeaked away, and damn it, I discovered I could still feel.
We check everybody's background. That's the truth.
Needing to run a deeper check? That's the lie.
I wanted to teach her a lesson. I wanted to scare her.
I wanted her to feel afraid, to know that she shouldn't go chasing strangers down the hallway.
That she shouldn't put her beautiful brown eyes on a man and expect him to show restraint.
She's a first-grade teacher, but she has adult lessons to learn.
I intended to drag her into the elevator, scare her a bit, and then send her on her way.
No damn it. Never ever lie. I wanted her, and I didn't know if I was going to act on that bombshell until she admitted she wanted me too.
Now, I have her, and I am going to fucking ruin her.
I won't keep her for longer than three days.
That is not a lie. I will take her, claim her, own her.
I will love every fucking second of it. Then I will walk away and not look back. She's too good for my world, too pure.
That is not a fucking lie.
Laura, such a plain name when she is anything but.
Her skin is bronze-colored, but the curves it covers are anything but hardened metal.
No, her curves are rich and lush. Her breasts are full and heavy, and her ass…
Her ass is a perfect sickle. My perfect weapon, now being used against me.
She has her hair wrapped in a column shape on her head.
The curls carefully slicked, straightened, and contained. I can't wait to wreck them.
I told her to come here, and she did. The steps to stand between my legs are the crossing of a threshold, but now that she's come this far. I will take it from here. "Too many clothes, myshonok. Take them off."
She bites her lips, looks around the living room as if she expects someone to come charging through the door. Her eyes do that flitting thing again, but it's away from me, so no longer cute or charming. "The windows, the door… Someone might see."
"Little one, I thought you were ready for adventure."
"Not ready…" she looks at the window again.
"We're in a penthouse suite. Hardly the same as a street-level tavern. Even if it was, I thought I was clear. When I tell you to do something, you do it."
She bites her lip again so hard I'm sure I will see the impression of her teeth when she's done.
She holds my gaze, and I am so proud of her, my little mouse.
I like it. I like the way she stares me down.
My cock is pressing against my zipper, demanding its freedom.
Just from a fucking look. She reaches around her back to begin lowering her zipper.
Her little striptease would outdo a seasoned Las Vegas exotic dancer, and she hasn't even taken the dress completely off yet.
It slides slowly over her serpentine body before it finally hits the ground.
She has some kind of pasty over her nipple area.
The surprise of seeing my little mouse, braless, yanks my gaze back to hers.
"I couldn't wear a bra under the dress." She bites her lip again before continuing. "The straps."
I nod. Maybe what she says makes sense. I can't focus on the words. I'm enraptured by the sight of her before me. Nearly nude, wearing nothing but those damn half circles of tape and the small triangle of her thong.
"Take them off," I say, staring at the half-moons. She raises her trembling fingers to the first one, but I grab her hand.
Will it hurt? She shrugs and gives a half-nod. "Maybe. Just a little. Not much. No more than removing a band-aid. If it's done carefully."
I cup her breasts, feeling their weight. Glorious. "Then why would you do it?"
She shrugs. "That's the way of the world. We're supposed to do everything we can to hide our curves. Which doesn't make sense because most men—"
"—want to see them. But be fair, little one. First, men wouldn't get any work done. And second, I couldn't have you walking around like this all day. Do you know how many men I'd have to kill to keep my sanity."
Her breath hitches, then sinks to a whisper. "You wouldn't…"
"Of course, I would. If I had to choose between killing someone or letting them see you like this. Mysh, that would be no choice at all. Which is why you don't have to worry about any man coming through that door. Now, let's get these off of you."
"I, uh, usually I'm at home, and I use lotion to help loosen the glue…"
"I have lotion…" I take her hand. "Come with me…"
I lead her down the hallway to the bedroom. Not the bathroom. I want her surrounded by my scent, my space, my fucking bed before I ruin her for any other man. She follows, her small hand trembling in mine, and I squeeze it. Not to comfort her. To remind her who holds the leash now.
The bedroom is all shadows and amber light from the city below.
Floor-to-ceiling glass, but we're too high for anyone to see.
I release her hand and move to the nightstand, picking up a bottle of unscented lotion.
Plain. Functional. I pour a generous amount into my palm and warm it between my hands. "Stay right there, myshonok."
She stands in the center of the room, bathed in the glow of Boston at midnight, wearing nothing but that scrap of a thong and the pasties.
Her arms are crossed over her stomach, shy, but her cinnamon brown nipples are hard peaks beneath the adhesive.
I can see them straining. Hungry for my mouth already.
I close the distance. I don't rush. I let her feel my heat, my size, the way I dwarf her.
I cup her breasts again, lifting them, testing their weight in my slick palms. Fuck.
Perfect. Heavy and warm, the skin like silk over ripe fruit.
"You did this to yourself for a dress," I murmur, thumbs circling the outer edges of the first pasty. "Hid these beautiful tits behind tape because the world told you to."
"I... yes." Her voice is breathless.
I drizzle more lotion along the top edge of the pasty, working it underneath with slow, deliberate fingers.
The adhesive loosens. Her breath catches.
I peel it back, just a fraction, and the dark, tight bud of her nipple peeks free.
I lean down and lick it. One hot, flat stroke of my tongue.
She cries out, her hands flying to my shoulders.
Her nails dig in. Good. I want marks. I want proof she held on while I dismantled her.
I don't mean to kiss her. I mean to destroy her piece by piece, but the moment my mouth leaves her breast, the temptation is too brutal to resist. I band my arm around her waist, yank her flush against me, and seize her lips with a violence that should terrify her.
It terrifies me. My tongue invades, claims, conquers, and she meets me with a hunger that rattles my bones—a sweet, untrained enthusiasm that sends lightning down my spine.
She moans into my mouth, her body arching, her fingers gripping my hair with a desperation that mirrors my own, and for one suspended second, the predator and the monster forget who he is.
I break away with a rough growl, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths mingling in harsh, shared gasps.
Shaken. I am fucking shaken. And when I open my eyes, I see the same earthquake staring back in hers.
I break the contact, rip my eyes away. Since I don't lie to myself, I admit that I'm a coward.
My forehead buries itself in her collarbone while I pant.
She moans, and I surface to realize that I've returned to working her breast. My hand finding its way like a homing pigeon.
The lotion has done its job as the edges of her pasty start to curl.
She's a fucking vision. "Such a pretty nipple," I praise against her skin.
"So hard for me already. Look how brave you are, letting a monster taste you. "
I work the pasty off completely, sucking the freed peak into my mouth.
Hard. I use my teeth, just enough pressure to make her gasp, then soothe her with my tongue.
I lavish attention on one breast while my hand massages lotion into the other, loosening the second pasty.
By the time I remove it, she's arching into me, mewling, her hips seeking friction.
I lift my head. Her eyes are glazed, her lips parted.
I pinch both wet nipples, rolling them between my fingers, watching her face carefully. Studying every flicker of sensation.
"Please," she whispers.
"Please what?"
"I don't... I don't know."
"Yes, you do." I give her a sharp pinch. She whines, high and sweet. "Your body knows. This body belongs to me tonight. Every fucking inch. And I say when you get relief."