Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (10 page)

His brow creased. “No ma’am. I’m just figuring out the terrain. Determining where the land mines are.”

She tucked her hands around the coffee, warming them. “Call me by my name, Max. Please.”

“Janet.”

He brought his chair closer to hers, which kept her between the rail and his body. She didn’t feel trapped though. Instead, she was enclosed, a blanket on a cold night. He slid an arm around her waist, threading it between the chair and her body, and his palm wrapped below her hip, his fingers curving over her ass as he brought her up toward his mouth, his head bending to her.

She didn’t wait for him. She met him halfway, and dove headfirst into the sensation. He met her, fire for fire. She wasn’t on the chair anymore. He’d hooked his other hand under her knee, turned and pulled her onto his lap, her buttocks pressed solidly down on his erection as he pushed his fingers into her hair, gripped hard, the sculpting clay not a deterrent. Their mouths stretched and strained, tongues lashing, wet lips rubbing together. She clutched his shoulders, the warmth of the coffee that had lingered in her palms replaced by the solid heat of his body. She wished she hadn’t worn this pencil skirt that kept her from straddling him, though she knew they were pushing the boundaries even now, probably back under the scrutiny of the coffee house manager.

As if Max figured it out at the same moment she did, his grip tightened, but to pull her back, even if only a few inches. “Time to get out of here,” he said. “I want you under me. Those gorgeous legs wrapped around me. I want to taste your cunt.”

Her breath shuddered out, her fingers tracing his lips. He licked them, drawing in one to suck on it, hard, give it a sharp bite. The need pulsing from him was pure animal. No rules, no patience to talk about who was in charge. Unlike what most outsiders thought of it, BDSM gave civilized rules to uncivilized behavior. Right now, the pure instinct that predated it drove them both.

Rising, he dropped bills on the table, picked up her bag. He offered his hand, but when she put hers out, he closed his fingers around her wrist, drew her up to him, against his side, and they moved toward the exit that way. His hand dropped to her hip, then lower. The man enjoyed fondling an ass, and had no compunction about doing it in front of others, though in all fairness, he wasn’t exactly in a place that disapproved of blatant sexual expression. He seemed fascinated with the tightness of the skirt, fingers following the way the fabric hugged and curved under her buttocks. He stroked, explored, interrupting himself only to open the door and guide her through it, so they exited to the parking area.

The parking lot lights were a light sheen on the truck’s flank. His hand was back to doing that distracting pattern across her sensitive buttocks. But two could play it that way. When they reached the truck, she put her hands on his chest, pressing him up against his door. As she leaned into him, he dropped the bag and shifted his grip to her hips, bringing her even closer to him. He bent for another kiss she was sure would cause her brain to explode, but she tilted her head down, denying him. Those provocative lips slid across her temple instead.

Her hand moved up his chest to the base of his throat, then to his jaw, curving around it before she tightened, digging her nails into his neck enough to make him understand the wordless demand. As he turned his jaw away from her, he took it an extra step, understanding her desire. He laid his head back against the window glass, exposing his throat fully to her.

Power and pleasure flooded her, and she put her mouth on that strong column, suckling and biting it as he’d done her, wanting to leave those same marks on him. In answer, he gripped her ass in a two-handed hold so aggressive her boot heels left the pavement. The skirt was too tight, too stiff a fabric to give way before his sizeable erection, let it push into that valley between her thighs where she could feel that sweet pressure against her clit. Now she wished she had changed into her street clothes. But she took what the moment could offer her.

She yanked at the dress shirt, not caring when buttons came loose. Such a properly dressed gentleman, he had the thin white cotton T-shirt beneath, and she clawed at it as well, pulling it loose from his waistband, bringing the hem up to his throat. He kept his hands on her hips, letting her do as she wished, inflaming her further. He was restraining himself. Catering to her needs, her wishes. Her nature. Yet she could feel the power and response building in him, stoked by her actions. Eventually, it would be too much. He’d tear loose of his self-imposed control and sweep them both away.

It was an unspoken give-and-take, an intuitive power exchange so erotic because of the lack of defined boundaries and words, its unpredictability. She felt as free as a wild animal in truth. She could desire and demand anything from Max. He was strong enough to handle it, and her, and still make her feel safe. At least in this moment.

Hard muscled flesh. Manna straight from heaven. She put her mouth on his pectoral and went right for sensitive places, closing her teeth delicately around his nipple, her tongue swirling around it. He was silent, but his body was a full orchestra, arched into that latch point, abdomen muscles taut beneath her other hand, her thumb caught beneath his waistband as her fingers splayed across the defined ridges. His heart beat rapidly beneath her other hand, pressed against his chest. The hand he had on her hip gripped hard, and he’d brought the other up to cup her head.

Normally she’d have snapped out an order to keep both hands down, but what he was doing, fingers digging in then stroking, moving down to grasp her nape, felt too good. He was following the line of her neck to her shoulder, a motion that sent tingles of sensation down her spine to her tailbone, and from there into the deep crevices of her body, creating a bittersweet yearning.

She ran her tongue along the crease between pectoral and upper abdomen. This man’s body was sheer fucking perfection, developed to fight, to serve. And all hers at the moment.

She noticed he’d managed to catch hold of the skirt zipper and ease it up way past mid-thigh. The breeze touched her skin, replaced by the solid heat of his hand, sliding up the back of her thigh to cup her ass, bared by the black thong. She bit down on the nipple, and he pinched her in reply, his other arm circling her waist to band her closer to him.

“Excuse me. Sir, ma’am?”

Max shifted the hand he had on her nape to her jaw, her cheek, keeping her face pressed to his chest, averted from the man who’d approached them. His hand came out from beneath her skirt, smoothly working the zipper down in the same motion so she was covered.

“No disrespect, but the club doesn’t allow sexual play in the parking lot. You can take it offsite or back inside.”

“Understood. My apologies. I got a little carried away.”

“No worries.” The security guard’s stern tone eased, the man recognizing he wasn’t going to be dealing with a belligerent guest. “Can’t blame you a bit. The two of you were hot enough to make me think about waking the wife up when I get home tonight.”

Max chuckled, pressing a kiss on the top of Janet’s head, an idle caress as the man moved away. She straightened, pushing away from his grip, though her fingers stayed latched on his T-shirt. He put his hands on her elbows, keeping her in his grasp as well.

“I think we need to slow this down. Time for me to call it a night.” She met his gaze squarely, though saying the words, removing her hands from his body, was like pulling frozen hands away from a warm fire. “Will you walk me to my car?”

He shook his head. Giving his T-shirt a casual tug downward so it covered his rock-hard abs but leaving his shirt open—no choice, given that she expected several of the buttons were under the cars around them—he fished his keys out of his pocket and shifted to unlock his vehicle. Pulling open the door, he picked up her bag, put it in the back and then extended a hand. “Get in the truck.”

“The mating call of the Southern male,” she said lightly, but her pulse had leaped at the command. His gaze had fastened on it, making her think of his mouth there once more. “Where are we going?”

“To a place where you can look up at the stars while I put my mouth between your legs.”

They held gazes for a long moment, then Janet lifted a shoulder. “More sure of the terrain now? No land mines?”

“The reward balances the risk.”

She sidled back up to him, pressing thigh to thigh deliberately. When she reached up, stroked through his hair, he obligingly brought his head down, put his lips on her shoulder, held them there while a single, hard shudder ran through her. He wasn’t a Dominant. He was simply…overwhelming. Different. Unclassifiable. She should go home. It was time to evaluate where she was going with this. Where he was taking her.

He rubbed his lips along that bare stretch of skin between blouse collar and throat, making her fingers curl deeper into his scalp. “Janet. Truck. Now.”

“All right, Tarzan,” she whispered, a smile flirting in her heart, on her lips. He put his hands on her waist, lifted her into the truck. He’d made it an order but waited for her consent before proceeding. He was the oddest mix of things.

He’d lifted her into the driver’s side. The seat was a long cushion, no console, the gear shift on the hump between the floorboards. It reminded her of an old farm truck, and when she scooted over so he could get in, turn over the ignition, the powerful roar of the engine enhanced the impression. She hadn’t moved any farther than necessary to get her legs over the gears, and he pleased her immensely when, once he put the truck in gear, he settled one arm over her so she could lean against him. It helped with talking over that engine noise as well. She propped her chin on his shoulder to speak into his ear as they pulled out into traffic.

“You’re Texan, aren’t you, Southern male?”

He glanced at her, amused, and when he lifted his hand from the wheel to shift, she was already on it, smoothly changing gears as he worked the clutch. Her Mustang was a straight drive as well, a dying breed. The light in his eyes said he appreciated her ability to coordinate with him. And she appreciated that he didn’t indulge in any adolescent comments about her ability to handle a stick. “Yes ma’am. I thought you knew everything about everyone at K&A.”

“Contrary to rumor, I don’t routinely scour personnel records. I rely on intel from office gossip.”

“You should have gone with the personnel records. You would have known I left my last job because they objected to my side hobby. Taking women out into the swamps to cut up their bodies for the gators.”

“Are we going to do the watching the stars thing before the murder thing?”

His arm tightened around her, fingers sliding under her buttock to take a firm grip. “Count on it.”

“Well then. That will give me time to think about my escape plan.”

“I doubt you’ll be thinking much.”

She laughed then, a throaty, sultry sound that drew his gray eyes to her in a way that sobered her. She traced his mouth with her nails as he turned his attention back to the road. “How did you know something was going to go wrong? That day with Savannah?”

“It was a gut feeling. You develop it in the field. A tickling sense that something’s not quite right.” He shrugged but then gave her an intent look. “That’s not what I want to think about right now.”

“What do you want…right now?” She felt the give of the light layer of hair beneath his T-shirt as she trailed her fingertips down his sternum. His chest hair was dark blond, like what was on his head. She wanted to see all of it, not just what was visible from the scoop-necked collar.

Keeping one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road, he nevertheless lifted his arm from around her shoulders and reached across her to the zipper of the skirt. He pulled it up a few inches from the slit, but he needed a second hand or her help to get it higher. She put her hand over his.

“Tell me what you want, Max.”

He gave her that glance again, then he made a turn on to a service road. “I want you to put your fingers inside yourself. I want to taste you while I’m driving.” His gaze went to her face, then higher. “And I wish you didn’t have that stuff on your hair. I think about your hair all the time. What it would feel like, all soft on my chest, my stomach.”

She could follow that track in her mind, see herself going down on him, opening up her mouth and sucking on his cock. She fantasized about tying him up while she did it, watching every muscle fighting his bonds. No, she never tied up her subs like that, but fantasizing was a safe indulgence. Though with Max she wondered if she’d be tempted to cross the line into reality, see if he could keep her mind out of the clutches of the past.

Lifting her hips off the seat, she worked the zipper up so she could put her fingers beneath the pencil skirt. Nudging the thong aside was easy enough. He slowed the vehicle to turn down another road. She helped him shift to lower gear, and they bumped down a dirt road. He’d opened the window and she could smell the water, hear the nighttime wildlife. Fortunately, it was almost cold tonight, meaning the bugs wouldn’t eat them, and the stars would be bright in the sky. Such thoughts didn’t help her coordination.

Her pussy was soaking wet, no surprise there. Her fingers went in easy and deep, with a quiet sucking noise that she wasn’t sure he’d heard, but when she glanced up and saw he’d brought the truck to a halt, those intense eyes glittering in the darkness, she suspected he had. She pulled her fingers free, brought them up between them. They’d stopped in front of a dock and what looked like someone’s private boat access. One dim light on a pole illuminated a small gravel parking area.