Falling for Sir (20 page)

Mine.
Mine. Mine.
She wouldn't forget
that.

The watchers grew quiet, absorbed in this
display. Her thighs quivered as he forced them wider still, drew her cunt to
the edge of the chair cushion and knelt up with his cock pushing at her mound.
His mouth feasted on her clamped tits. He nibbled around the tight screws,
lapped at her aerolas. Then he pressed his cockhead through her sopping wet
folds and felt that glorious heat close around his prick, pulling him in.

To heaven.

* * * *

Marianne pressed her head back into the soft
embrace of the tapestry chair and closed her eyes as he plumbed every inch of
her tingling pussy. Her legs were not only spread over the arms of the chair,
but he hooked them over his arms too as he slickly plowed in and out. She gave
herself up to it, to him, her arms around his neck as he took her in full view
of the watching Club members, fucking her so hard that the chair moved a few
inches across the carpet and almost tipped backward.

Just before he came, he moved his mouth from her
clamped nipples to her ear and whispered. "This is for you,
Marianne."

She squeezed her inner muscles, holding him,
gripping his cock, and felt the hot gush as he began to release inside her
body. He jerked, groaning, his breath warm in her ear, his shoulders tense
under her arms, but his shaft stayed hard and thick inside her. She couldn't believe
it when he started pounding her pussy yet again. He must have managed to
withhold a little, she realized in amazement.

And then, shortly after that she lost all
conscious thought as her clit seemed to swell and then burst in sheer agony and
delight.

She squealed, trembling, digging her fingernails
into his back, scoring the flesh.

Jack rammed his cock one last time and then let
himself finish, joining her in a frenzied climax that left them both shattered.
The room, the furnishings, the watching crowd at the door—all of it
disappeared. It was just the two of them fucking and brutal, forcing each other
over the edge, time and time again.

* * * *

Marianne walked into the elevator as she did
every morning, but something felt missing. Of course, as they were approaching
Thanksgiving a lot of people took extra time off, but it wasn't the lack of
bodies in the elevator, she realized with a sudden sinking feeling. It was the
fact that she knew there was no chance of seeing Jack around the building
today. Everyone else was relaxed and happy the boss wasn't around, but for
Marianne, the energy she'd felt when he was there had gone away with him. She
stood in that small box zipping up to the sixteenth floor and felt alone,
staring with dull eyes at the flickering numbers above the door.

It would be another six days before she saw him
again. Her heart hurt at the prospect of so many days.

How fitting, she thought, that the sun had
finally gone away and grey rain fell across the streets where she walked. A
bitter chill had set in that morning, proving at last that it really was
winter. Inside and out.

She gave herself a hasty lecture for making an
ass of herself over her boss. As she passed through the office Christie popped
up in her line of sight, cradling a coffee cup in both hands. "Why didn't
you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Oh no. Her pulse
almost stopped.

"About Rawlings. You knew, didn't
you?"

Marianne pushed open her door and Christie
followed her in.

"About the leave of absence," her
shadow whispered urgently.

 
"I've no idea what you're talking
about."

Christie perched on the corner of her desk.
"Marchetti arranged for him to go into rehab. Apparently if he doesn't get
his act together they're giving him early retirement. While he's gone David's
been promoted."

She was relieved this gossip wasn't about her,
and glad David was getting a chance. He'd obviously been held down under Bob
Rawlings' thumb for too long, and was truly talented.

"You talked to Marchetti, didn't you?"

Marianne laughed sharply. "What makes you
think it was me. I'm quite sure I'm not the only one he's pissed off with his
antics."

Christie leaned close, a knowing light in her
eyes. "Yes, but you are the only one brave enough to beard the boss in his
lair. And," she took a sip of coffee and smacked her lips, "I suspect
you're the only one he'd listen to."
 
She grinned. "You're the only one he couldn't stand to lose. I
think he'd do anything for you."

She thought of him telling her that he'd send
her off to Grant Petersen to get around her rules about dating the boss.

Maybe he wasn't kidding. Maybe Christie was
right and he would do "anything".

Although she tried to brush this development off
as nothing to do with her and simply Bob Rawlings' long-deserved comeuppance,
Christie's words stayed with her that day and warmed her spirits. Jack may not
be around, but was he thinking of her too, wherever he went?

To celebrate David's promotion, a small number
from the design department went out for the lunch buffet at Darbar and for once
Marianne felt part of the group. If other people suspected she'd had a hand in
the Dickwad's removal —and it seemed more than likely that Christie would tell
them her theory—they didn't mention it to her directly, but there were a lot of
smiles and shoulder taps. She felt like Dorothy accidentally dropping with her
house onto the wicked witch of the west.

It was unbelievable to her that no one else had
ever dared complain to Jack, but if that wasn't true and there had been others
then she was indeed the only one he'd listened to.

She met with Mrs. Bracknell and her party
planning committee that afternoon. Miracles continued to rain down upon her
head when the old lady squeezed her arm and told her she thought she was doing
a great job.

"Looks like he has someone else to keep him
in line now. I'll soon be able to retire, won't I?"

Marianne was surprised. "I think
Marchetti's would be lost without you, Mrs. B."

The woman squared her shoulders and pushed her
bifocals back in place because they'd slipped down her nose. "Well, you
needn't think I mean to stay here until I drop dead in the shafts. I have a
life too you know, for pity's sake." And she trotted off with her files
under her arm.

A few days later, on her way into the office,
Marianne stopped at the coffee shop as usual and then bought a New York Post
from the stall outside. She didn't have a chance to open it until later that
morning, but her gaze fell immediately on the photo of Jack and Alana in Cindy
Adam's Page Six column. Under the title "Wedding Bells."

It was a short piece of gossipy text hinting at
an imminent wedding. A close-up of Alana's left hand was placed beside the main
photo and it showed a huge rock. Apparently a cushion-cut, pink diamond. Oodles
of carats.
 

How nice.

She crumpled the paper and threw it into the
trash.

When someone tapped at her door a short while
later she forced herself to invite them in.

A tidy, petite brunette peeped around the door.
"Oh, hi. Marianne, right? I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I—I was just
stopping by to pick up some of Bob's things. He said this portfolio is
yours."

It was Rawlings' wife she realized belatedly.
"Oh, yep." she got up hastily and grabbed the portfolio. "Thanks
for bringing it in. I was lost without it."

Mrs. Rawlings edged all the way in and hovered
nervously. Marianne sat down again and waited, uncertain what to say next.
Well, this was uncomfortable. She thought, for one dreadful moment, the woman
was about to lay into her for getting her husband dethroned. But then she said,
"I came to see Bob one night a few weeks ago and he was too busy in his
office, so I sat in here and used your phone. He said you wouldn't mind. I hope
that was ok."

"Sure. No problem."

"You see, I didn't realize until some time
later that I must have left something behind in here. I dropped my purse as I
got up from your chair. I thought I picked everything up again. But, I must
have left....it was a business card. You didn't happen to see it, did
you?"

Slowly Marianne realized what the other woman
was talking about. Surprises were certainly falling thick and fast around here
lately. She opened her drawer and took out the card for The Club. "I did
wonder how this came to be on my chair," she murmured, handing it across
the desk to the woman she'd previously thought of as a poor, sad, downtrodden
wife. "Here you go."

"Thank you!" Mrs. Rawlings grabbed it,
her face transformed from pretty to beautiful as she beamed and the slightly
careworn look vanished. "I was so worried about what happened to it."

"Don't worry. I kept it safe." She paused.
"How's Bob?"

"Bob?" His wife was hastily stuffing
the precious card back inside her purse. She looked up vacantly. "Oh, he's
alright." Then she smiled again. "He'll be away for a few
months."

"Yes. I hear Mr. Marchetti sent him to
sunny California. Almost makes me want to go into rehab myself."

"True." The other woman laughed softly
and batted her lashes. "Maybe he'll like it so much he stays out
there." At that prospect her eyes gleamed and her smile grew even wider.
"Well, thanks again, Marianne. It was sweet of you to hang onto the
card."

A few moments later she was alone in her office
again.

So demure Mrs. Rawlings was a member at The
Club, getting a little vengeance on her awful husband and keeping herself sane
no doubt. Good for her.

Unfortunately for Marianne, visits to that place
had not done much for
her
peace of
mind. It had only gotten her out of one fix and into another.

Orgasms, she decided, were vastly overrated.

That afternoon she bought another goldfish and
named it Bam Bam. When she introduced it to Pebbles the two got along
immediately. As far as she could tell. But then they had an uncomplicated life
and no other fish in the bowl but the two of them.

She also bought the couple some new decor to
enjoy - a sunken Spanish galleon and an open casket of treasure. Really made
the bowl "
pop
".

* * * *

The sun was hot and high when he stepped out of
Dubai International Airport. With the business of the new branch on his agenda
and with Marianne Miller constantly on his mind, he was not prepared for the
shock of finding his brother, Charlie, waiting there to meet him in place of
the usual limo.

"I decided to see what you're up to big
brother," he exclaimed, leaning on the hood of a Corvette convertible,
arms folded, smug grin on his tanned face. "I hear conflicting
reports."

Jack arched an eyebrow and tossed his luggage
into the back seat. "From whom?"

"Oh, the usual from Mrs. B. And the
slightly more unusual from Alana Shepherd."

The two men climbed into the front and pulled
away from the airport with Charlie driving at his usual speed and Jack clinging
to the beige leather door handle. "You spoke to Alana?" he shouted.

"She called to tell me she was worried
about you. Something about you putting off the engagement again and going off
the rails for a younger woman."

Naturally his little brother got nosy, Jack
mused, and Alana loved to stir the pot, living for the drama. He'd told
Charlie, countless times, that he wasn't going to marry again, but his brother
hadn't given up. Just like Alana.

"There is no engagement to put off."

"What?" Charlie yelled back.

Jack simply shook his head and put on his shades
against the glaring sun.

"So tell me about this new girl you've been
chasing."

How could he tell Charlie anything about
Marianne, when he didn't even know what they had together? She was keeping him
at arms length every day. In the beginning he'd assumed sex was all he wanted.
That soon changed, but why and how and exactly when, were all questions he
couldn't answer. No way was he having this conversation in shouted bursts with
Charlie driving like a bat out of hell.

"It's just Alana making mountains out of
molehills as usual," he said finally, looking away from his brother and
letting the warm wind pummel his face. Hastily changing the subject he asked
Charlie, "What happened to the Bugatti?"

"In the shop for a tune up. I hired this
little beauty while I'm out here." Thus Charlie forgot the subject of
women, because cars and speed always won out over the appeal of the female sex
and their quirks. "Great song." He turned up the radio, blasting
music. Jack was actually quite proud that he recognized the tune as another
version of one of the songs on that Blu Cantrell disc. Something about needing
time to breathe. How appropriate.