Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (25 page)

“Don’t move,” she said, a command she reinforced by digging her nails into his shoulders. She wanted to hold his climax out of reach, and not just because she wanted to exert control over him.

“I can take care of you,” he said, reading her mind. “I’m fine.” To prove it, he lodged himself deeper, his jaw set with a look of male determination that sent butterflies fluttering through her chest. And Janet Albright wasn’t a fluttery person in any way.

“I know. Take care of me by serving me at my pleasure. When I demand it. For now, just feel.” She tightened her muscles on his delicious length and savored the torment she gave him, making him stay still. His fingers would leave bruises on her fair flesh. He groaned, thighs twitching beneath hers. “I could make you come like this,” she purred. “Milking you with my pussy, not allowing you to move until you couldn’t help yourself. You’re so very disciplined. It tempts me to do all sorts of things.”

“I can tell.” He gave a desperate half laugh, but then, when she did it again, he gripped her nape, ran his thumb along her jaw, giving her a decidedly more dangerous look. “When I have you under me, I will fuck you unconscious, Mistress.”

“Promises, promises.” She caught his thumb in her mouth, bit down, sucked on it as she worked her muscles on him again. His breath caught in his throat, even as his eyes got more feral. She was pushing the wild animal to the forefront, and loving every moment of it. “What if I fuck you to unconsciousness first?”

Max’s other hand curved around her buttock, fingers teasing the seam. His mood changed, the edgy game they were playing becoming something else as he looked at her. His eyes were moving over her face as if seeing her for the first time. “Let me come inside you, Mistress,” he said. “I want that. And so do you.”

He brought her to his lips, starting the kiss slow and devastating, his fingers burying in her hair, mouth opening farther to seal over her lips, tongue working against hers. Her pussy clenched again, but this time in reaction to his emotional seduction. He cinched his arm around her waist, where no movement at their joining point was possible for either, just that deep penetration, her muscles working against his length, her clit pressed against his hard abdomen, breasts high on his chest. He kept his attention on her mouth, a never-ending kiss where he teased her lips, tongue and the insides of her mouth to the point the nerves were vibrating like a second erogenous zone, hungry to keep him there, filling her, connected to her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezed down with everything she had, pushed against his hold so he knew she wanted to move. Three strokes and his hands convulsed on her. She would figure out how to get him out of the spa if he fainted, but now she had a feeling it would take far more than that to overcome this powerful man. He was moving forward and taking her with him.

“Come for me, Max.”

“You too, Mistress.” He held her tight, working her clit against his body as he reacted to her lift and fall with his own thrusts. “Fuck…”

It was a hard, short climax for her, so intense it gave her a series of shuddering waves that prolonged his own. When he released with a groan, she reveled in the feel of his seed searing inside of her. The water would take away any sticky moisture when they finally parted and left the pool. Yet what was inside of her would trickle onto her wet thighs. She might let him lick himself off her flesh. Or maybe she’d let it stay there, a reminder of what he’d given her.

They finished together, wrapped around one another, breathing hard. He had his face pressed to her throat, her arms still around him, and Janet felt a sense of restful peace she hadn’t felt in so long. Just holding and being held, the world revolving around them.

Gradually, she became aware of the patter of the rain on the tin roof again, saw the dripping waterfall of it off the eaves. She expected it was a good thing it was raining; else her neighbors on the other side of the privacy fence might have gotten an earful.

“Let’s get out and go inside,” she said at length, feeling her fingers pruning. “We can lie on the couch and turn on the fire logs.”

* * * * *

“If I agree to this camping idea, where would we be going? For all I know, you might be ferrying me to some fringe survivalist camp where you and other ex-military types are plotting to take over the government.”

Max chuckled, making her head bounce against his chest. Janet was running her wicked fingernails through his chest hair, teasing his nipple, following the curves and planes of him down to his rib cage, his bare hip, then back up again. She’d wanted him lying on her wide sofa, with her body comfortably draped over him, so that was where they were, lazy as a pair of cats next to the flickering fire logs.

The delivery pizza had been polished off, mostly by him, though Janet had talked herself into three slices. The empty box was under the coffee table. Two empty glasses topside still had the dregs of the hot toddy he’d made them. She dipped a finger in his, tasting the residual sugar and honey, then put that sweetness against his flesh to lick it off. The intimacy stirred him as much the touch. He curved his fingers in her hair, tugged a little, responding to the tease.

“You can hardly blame me for trying to enlist you in our cause,” he said. “I’ve seen you whip giggling interns into ninja assassins in less than six weeks. But since you were whining about indoor plumbing and hair dryers, you may not be as tough as I told them you were.”

She pinched him for that, and he fended her off by grasping her wrist. When she gave him that look that said she wanted to do as she pleased, he waited a charged beat before opening his fingers slowly, letting her go. Still holding his gaze, she pinched him again, hard. The sharp edge of her nails left little burning bites along his flesh that made him struggle to stay still. She put her mouth over them, soothing the pain with her tongue and stirring up other parts. Then she got quiet again, laying her head on his chest once more. He stroked her hair again, liking the feel of that, as well as how she lay between his thighs, her body pressed against his cock, which was proving it was capable of whatever she might demand from him next.

“You want to go up to your bed, where there are warm blankets and my feet aren’t hanging off the end of the couch?” He had to stay mindful of the side table beneath his heels, where a trio of delicate ceramic flowers were arranged. If she became any more aggressive with her nails and teeth, he might react as if a doctor had hit his knee with a rubber hammer and send one of them shattering against her headboard.

“I’d say yes, but I don’t have the energy to get up.”

He grunted, levering himself into an upright position and shifting her so he had her supported in his arms. He stood up then, taking her with him. “No need for that, Mistress. All you need is me.”

She made a noncommittal noise but crooked her arm around his neck, adjusting so she was deeper in the cradle he provided. It said a great deal about the size of her personality that, until he held her like this, it wasn’t obvious how petite she really was. Small-boned, light frame. He thought about those leg fractures and tightened his arms around her, but the way he might hold an egg. Firm and protective, but not crushing.

He took the stairs slow. Halfway up, she touched his face, guided it toward hers for a kiss. He stopped there, holding her securely, even as he was caught by the power of her simple touch. With every gesture, it seemed as if she gave him everything. He’d had an impression that Dommes withheld a great deal, but inside the world she spun, nothing was further from the truth. She made things in his heart swell up, made him want to say unlikely things to her. He thought of the times he’d seen her take a sub to the point he was fervently kissing her shoe, telling her of his love, his devotion to her, but that was the endorphin rush, the mindless drive of lust. This heated kiss on her staircase in a suspended moment of time was something different.

At least for him.

The thought was an uncomfortable one. When he lifted his head, she touched his mouth, but she didn’t say anything right away, her dark eyes studying him. He wasn’t sure if that helped or added to his concern. “Take me to my bed, Max,” she said at last.

He’d only had a brief impression of her bedroom last time, since he’d been blindfolded most of the time he’d been in it. The mahogany tester bed gave him pause, then a wry smile. It looked like it belonged to a queen. The half panel arched over it was lined with velvet, and the headboard had leaf and heart patterns carved into the dark wood. The bed was piled high with thick comforters and pillows, and he could well imagine Her Majesty sleeping, a petite but formidable coil beneath it, her servants coming to wake her in the morning. The wardrobe and dresser matched the bed, but she’d softened the severe furniture with watercolors of Victorian scenes, well-dressed couples strolling in the park, picnicking in a meadow.

Letting her feet down by her bed, he pulled back the covers. As he did, her fingers slipped off his shoulder down to his chest. She liked to tug on his chest hair, give him that tiny pain. As she walked up the steps affixed to the base of the bed and stretched out on the mattress, she released her hair. The thick coil of it wound sinuously over the pillow. Her hand slipped to her breast, molding the curve, thumb tracing her nipple before she parted her thighs, put the other hand there. His chest tightened along with his cock, seeing the slumberous desire in her eyes. She was tired, but she wanted him. Again.

He had no idea what time it was. It must be late, given that he’d come after work, but time had stopped for him once he’d crossed her threshold. Maybe she was as much sorceress as queen. He wondered that Ulysses had ever wanted to leave Circe’s island. Of course, there was the matter of his men being turned to pigs…

When he shared that with her, her sinful mouth curved. “Not to mention his wife and child waiting at home. He loved them too dearly to be derailed for long, even by a sorceress’s deceptive charms. He was an honorable man.”

The shadow through her gaze was unexpected, and he put his hip on the bed, his hand on her face. “You are the best of both worlds,” he said. “The integrity and loyalty of Penelope, the seductive power of Circe.”

He meant it, but he knew he only had the faith of wishful thinking. He had no true understanding of what was going on in her head, how he really differed from the others, except for location. When he leaned down toward her lips, she put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “What is it, Max?”

Her voice wasn’t the appeal of an insecure woman, but a tone he often heard at the office, as she fixed some luckless person with a direct stare that could command truth out of Pinocchio.

“Me, being a dumbass.”

She considered that, her touch sliding along his neck, fingers tracing his collarbone. “You broke this once.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t tell her the where, who, what or why, but how was okay. “Couldn’t get out of a blast zone fast enough, timing got fucked. Thrown about fifty feet, landed on something harder than me.”

She nodded. “We’re playing a game, you and I, but it’s an honest game.”

“I know.” Propping himself on an elbow, he traced a line down her sternum to her upper abdomen, stopping just above her mound to curve his fingers over her hip bone. “You demand honesty from every sub you’ve driven to his knees, every one of them who’s begged you for more. A couple times you’ve been close enough to me at the club I saw it in your eyes, how you feel when he declares his devotion to you, his desire to serve your every need. It’s a game you both understand. At the end of the night, he puts on his clothes, goes back into the world, and that’s that. He knows the emotions he expresses to you in that room don’t translate to anywhere else.”

“We’re not at the club.”

When he lifted his attention to her face, it was clear she would say nothing else, give him no more than that. Leaning in, he brushed his lips over hers, pressing there a long moment before sliding out of the bed. He pulled the covers over her to her waist, making sure she’d be warm. “It’s time for me to head home.”

She sat up, bending her legs beneath the blankets to link her hands over them. As he moved to the doorway, he remembered his clothes were still by the hot tub. He should have brought them in, because they were probably going to be damp from the humid air. He wondered if she was going to try to stop him. She didn’t. He went down the hallway, past the picture of the young dancer she’d called Nelle, and headed for the steps.
Damn it.

Going out to the porch, he found his clothes, put them on. As he strapped his watch to his wrist, his mind was rotating. He knew what he wanted, needed. In time, maybe she’d offer that, but he’d forced her hand just now, looking for more of a response. He wasn’t sure if it was the right play, but that was the deal. Certain things couldn’t be a game for him at all, honest or not. Even so, an ache was growing in his chest, suggesting he was about to close a door that he’d be a fool to shut.

Earlier, she’d trimmed the rose he gave her, put it in a glass on her kitchen table. It made him hurt, seeing that single rose, the swirl of dark-blood and vanilla colors.

He fished out his keys, held them. Shaking his head, he put them back in his pocket, pivoted and headed back into the house. Things were silent. He passed the couch where they’d had their hot toddies, dozed. The blanket he’d draped over her was still rumpled from where it had folded around her. He took the stairs two at a time, paused where he’d kissed her. During that embrace, he’d thought about her generosity, a thought he knew was at odds with his behavior now.