Pushing Her Buttons Page 4

  He hurt me so many ways I couldn’t begin to catalog them.

  “Well, I won’t.” He tucked me back into his embrace and formed our bodies together. His touch was tender. A promise. “I won’t.”

  I fell asleep that way.

  We both forgot to eat.

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday

  We woke up late the next morning, still tangled together in the soft nest of his bed. I felt wonderful, like I’d slept for a year. I hadn’t slept that deeply in…well, I couldn’t recall.

  He rose up over me and settled his hot mouth on mine. He tasted wonderful, his breath addictive.

  “Good morning,” he rumbled through the kiss.

  “Mmm.” Apparently I was incapable of forming a coherent response.

  And then I was incapable of forming a coherent thought. Because his mouth nibbled and sucked its way across my cheek and over to my ear and then down my neck. Delicious shivers and shimmers sparkled through my body. My nipples peaked, my clit tingled. I arched into him.

  He continued grazing at that tender flesh as his hand teased its way from my shoulders to the swell of my breast. His clever fingers found and plagued a puckered nipple.

  “Umm,” he murmured against my skin. The growl sent a wave of hunger and delight sluicing through me. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.” A warbled pant.

  “Then you might like this too.” He licked his way to my other breast.

  Yes. I was probably going to like it.

  He sucked the tip and a shaft of pure bliss shot straight from my tits to my cunny.

  “Oh God.” I wiggled my hips, trying to encourage him to do it again, but he didn’t. He just teased. Around and around and around my aching engorged nipple until I wanted to scream. “Please.”

  His response was immediate. Immediate and brutal and damn exquisite. He sucked one nipple—hard—as he pinched the other.

  He chuckled at the way I howled. “You like that,” he said. “A little rough.”

  When I whimpered in reply, he did it again.

  Hell. He could have done that all day. But… “I have to go to work.”

  He glanced up at me. A mischievous smile quirked his beautiful lips. “Yes. You do.”

  But he didn’t stop his delicious torment. He splayed his palm across my belly, exploring and delighting me with his direction. Because it was down.

  He was going down. I spread my legs as he neared. He chuckled again.

  I felt his breath first. It was warm and soft and riffled through downy tufts. He skimmed over my pubis, just raking me with a hint of sensation. I wanted more. I wanted him to rub deeper, slip into me, take me, possess me. But he didn’t.

  He toyed with me, taunted me, teased me. His tongue began a dance on the outer lips. A swipe, a lick and a dab. Every so often it would slip a little deeper, nudge at my throbbing button. But then—when I was almost there, when I could just grasp my elation—he would withdraw and start again from the beginning.

  I planted my feet on the bed and tried to thrust up into him but that only made him withdraw farther.

  “Put your ass back on the bed.” He pressed gently at my hips. When I complied, he nodded. “Open your legs, like this.”

  He arranged me so I was splayed before him. Shivers of anticipation racked me. Excitement raged. When I squeezed my cunt walls against it, a bit of that excitement oozed out, dampening me still further.

  “Now.” He glanced up at my face. “Do not move. Not an inch. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  His evil smile should have warned me. But I was too far gone for logic. Also, he was lowering his head again. I was focused on that.

  He drew a finger across my tender slit, starting at the top and dancing all the way to the very back. “You’re wet.” It sounded like an accusation.

  “Yes.” God. “When are you going to fuck me?”

  His only response was a dark chuckle. His tongue followed his finger’s path.

  Desperate for more, I lifted my hips. I had to. His response was a quick, short slap to my pussy. It was hard and hot and right over the mound that so craved his touch.

  Little shivers of pre-orgasm scuttled through me and I groaned out loud. “Yessss.”

  He followed the smack with a kiss. Long and slow and sweet. Then he nuzzled in and did what I had wanted him to do for so long. He took my throbbing clit in his mouth and sucked. His tongue swirled around that fat nub, teasing it in an endless array of flicks and jabs. He licked at the underside of it, where it was so tender, until I began to writhe.

  And he stopped.

  Again!

  Panting, I clutched at his hair and tried to drag him back. Back to where he belonged. Where I needed him. But he resisted. When I opened my eyes to glare at him, to plead, perhaps, he was staring at me, a solemn expression on his face.

  “I told you not to move.”

  “I have to move. You’re driving me crazy.”

  He shook his head. Sable curls flopped from side to side. “I told you not to move.”

  “Jesus. Will you just fuck me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “When you pay your debt.”

  Well, that shut me up. My mind spun. “W-what debt?”

  He scooted back up to the top of the bed and kissed me on the lips. I tasted myself on his tongue. His fingers, bless them, delved into my cleft again, rubbing small, slow circles around my clit. My pulse throbbed madly. I’d never been so aroused. So swollen. So tender.

  “Yesterday I gave you a command. You disobeyed.”

  Oh. Shit. The G-string.

  “I just—”

  “Ah ah ah.” He tapped my lips. Drew a soft line along the seam, as though this hint of a touch would silence me. It did. “Until I get my due, no orgasms for you.”

  I gaped at him. Seriously? I was mad to come. Literally insane with aching, throbbing lust.

  “You can’t do this to me!” I wailed. I actually wailed.

  He had the temerity to laugh. And then he softened it with a kiss. “Sorry, sweetheart. Rules are rules. If you disobey, I will punish you.”

  “You already spanked me.” Did I really need to remind him?

  His grin was wolfish. “What makes you think that was a punishment?”

  My mouth opened and closed several times in succession. Rather like a landed trout. “What was it then?”

  “Foreplay. Now come on.” He sat up and took me with him. Every aching part of me protested. “Time to get dressed for work.” He shot me a dark look. “And when you’re ready, when you are all dressed, come back over here for your inspection.”

  Why oh why, did that send a sharp sliver of delight through me? I stood and collected my clothes.

  He watched as I dressed and then walked me to the door. “Oh, and sweetheart?”

  I glared at him. “What?”

  “Don’t diddle your cunt in the shower.”

  “I’m horny. And you won’t do it.”

  “Don’t. Do. It. I’ll know if you do. And that will only make it worse.”

  “Make what worse?” My voice was soft, unsure. Although I was sure, pretty damn sure, of the answer.

  He kissed my neck, a long, slow suck, a nibble, a lick. “Your punishment, of course.”

  Of course.

  I swung away, out of his clutches, and stormed across the hall. I had to swipe my keycard several times before the door opened. I tried not to glance back at him, but I did. He leaned against the doorjamb, deliciously naked. His cock was at full stand.

  If I was suffering through this, at least he was aching too.

  “Don’t forget,” he called in a singsong voice. “No touching.”

  * * * * *

  My shower that morning was a quick one. It was damn frustrating that the pulsating showerhead was right there within reach and I couldn’t use it on my steaming clit. But as frustrated as I was—and I was—I gloried in it.

>   Every time I thought of the G-string he wanted me to wear—all day—every time I thought of him across the hall waiting for me, every time I thought of the coming inspection, my body seized. I was on razor wire, so close to orgasm I could almost taste it.

  Almost.

  But the decision before me was monumental. It was more than the mere choice of whether or not I would wear the G-string. It was bigger than that. The real question was—was I going to do this again? Would I take the risk? Could I?

  That’s the real trouble with addiction. You can love something and hate it at the same time. Not that I was addicted to sexual submission. I wasn’t. Hell, I’d gone for years without it. I just hadn’t enjoyed those years. Certainly not the vanilla sex that came along with eschewing a powerful, sensual partner. But I could live without it.

  Every day, though, had a huge gaping hole right in the middle of it. I’d been haunted by the deep dark suspicion that my life was wanting. Plagued by a secret ache for something more.

  And this man, this man had brought that passion, that hunger, that spark roaring back to life. Brought me roaring back to life. And I reveled in it.

  Did I want to go back to French-kissing fish-lipped props in the elevator? Pretending I liked having their mediocre pricks floundering around inside me? Almost getting me there…but not quite?

  Life with my ex had been exciting. Beyond words. But then he had changed. And our sex life had bled into the real world. And then started hemorrhaging. He had forgotten all about the lines. Forgotten the safety words and the reason we were doing it in the first place. He had forgotten his wife was a person.

  And it had become a nightmare.

  I didn’t want to go back to that place. I couldn’t.

  Would it be different this time? Would he be different?

  As I toweled off, I stared at that damn G-string lying on the bed and I weighed my options. Go back to the way it was before—miserable—or continue exploring this adventure.

  I picked up the device and dragged a thumb along the striations on the rubber. The striations that would scrape against my clit all day.

  Hell. I could walk away if things turned sour. I had before.

  I fingered the leather straps and shivered to think how they’d look wrapped around the tops of my thighs, my belly, my ass.

  Hell. I could always take the damn thing off if it became too much.

  Watching myself in the mirror, I steeled my spine and slipped it on. Adjusted the straps around my thighs and drew the thong between my damp lips. Settled the flange against my clit and…

  Ah.

  Ah.

  The rubber triangle, so like a tongue, lapped at me with each movement.

  Heaven.

  There was one more strap. One that slipped around my waist and held the whole contraption in place. I tugged it tight and snapped it shut and…

  Oh. It was too tight. Each step would be a torment. Each breath a caress.

  Panic flared. No. I had to take it off. And then to my horror, I discovered the snap at the back was a lock.

  It was locked on. I was locked in. Bloody hell.

  Panic flared. I got dressed in a flash and stormed across the hall. Pounded on his door.

  He opened it looking relaxed and svelte and way too handsome. He smiled. “Come on in. I made breakfast.”

  He had. I smelled bacon. All of a sudden, I remembered just how hungry I was.

  I put out a lip. “I’m not hungry.”

  He kissed me and tugged me over to the table set with crystal and china and…bacon. “Of course you are. We missed dinner. Sit.”

  I winced. I couldn’t sit. The damn contraption was too tight.

  He froze halfway to his seat when he saw my expression and he licked his lips. “Are you wearing it?” His voice was a guttural growl. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple. He remembered to finish sitting but his attention was locked on me.

  I picked up a piece of bacon and crunched my way through it. It was perfect. Just the way I liked it. “How do I get this thing off?”

  He swallowed. “It’s not coming off. Not until tonight.”

  “You cannot expect me to wear this to work.”

  He sat back. A smug smile teased his lips.

  “Seriously? I’ll be mad, insane, by lunchtime.”

  “Come home early.” A raspy, resonant response.

  I threw up my hands. “I have meetings.”

  “Cancel them.”

  “I can’t. We’re meeting the new boss.”

  “Tell him to go to hell.”

  “Very funny. Come on. How does this come off?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. His grin blossomed.

  “You’re a beast.” Was I laughing? Where the hell did that come from? One small gamine grin and I crumble into his arms? Seriously?

  Apparently.

  “Let me see it.”

  “What?”

  “Lift up your skirt. I want to see it.”

  “No.”

  He quirked a brow. “Are you refusing? Someone’s hungry for extra punishments.”

  I flinched. I didn’t think I would survive any more of his punishments. Slowly, I lifted the hem of my skirt until my pussy, framed in leather, was exposed. I was well aware of the vision I offered. I’d stared at it long enough in the mirror. I also saw it in his eyes.

  Along with hunger. Pain.

  “Come here.” His voice thrummed, gravelly and low and raw.

  I stepped closer.

  He put his hand on my thigh, just above the band, and stroked. “Jesus. You’re so beautiful.” He set a finger on the rubber flange and rubbed.

  My knees buckled. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said.

  “You can.” His face was a mask. “I can.” He let my skirt fall and stood in a rush and yanked me into his embrace. A savage kiss. “Try to come home early.” A ragged whisper.

  He walked me to the door. In a hurry. Like he was afraid he would change his mind or something. God. I wished he would. It wasn’t yet nine and I was in agony. How would I make it to five?

  * * * * *

  It was torture. And not just the rubber flange that nudged at my clit with every step, every movement. Although that was torture as well. It was thinking about him. Thinking about him thinking about me. That he was hard for me, wanting me, nearly drove me out of my mind.

  Concentrating on work was impossible. Hell, even simple conversations were way beyond me. I had my assistant run the staff meeting—planning our strategy for meeting the new owner—while I sat in my chair and tried not to rock myself to orgasm. When the call came that Carter had been held up in Denver or Buffalo or someplace like that and would reschedule the meeting some other day, I nearly passed out with relief.

  I was home by lunch. He met me at the door. Like he’d been waiting.

  He slammed me against the wall and kissed me until we were both panting. He worried my neck with his lips, nipping and sucking and tugging in a frenzy. Found my breast and pinched my nipple. Ground his hot cock against the flange, against my aching clit. I pushed back, lifting my leg and hooking it around his thighs and locking him to me.

  “Oh God. Oh God. I need you. I need you.” He stepped back and began to strip, never breaking eye contact. I did the same, right there in the marble foyer. In no time flat we were both bare. Well, except for that damn harness.

  “Get me out of this.” Yeah. I hissed.

  He fell to his knees and riffled through his pockets until he came up with a small, delicate key. He turned me around. Buried his face between my ass cheeks and teased me with his tongue as he fumbled with the lock.

  He dropped the key. I heard it tinkle on the floor. “Fuck!”

  I danced from foot to foot, writhing in frustration and lust, an agony of anticipation. “Open it. Open it.”

  He tried again, muttering under his breath, “What the hell was I thinking?” And then the lock clicked. The hideous device fell open. I was free.

&nb
sp; As it fell, it landed on my foot and I kicked it far, far away. “Never use that on me again,” I snarled.

  We came together in a heated rush. His feral kiss nearly consumed my soul. But then I gave it right back, full bore.

  “Jesus.” He twisted me around and levered me to the floor and spread my legs and mounted me. He slid in and I came. “Jesus. You’re so wet.” He pulled out and slammed in again and again. Each time I exploded in a fresh rush of bliss.

  He was so fat, so full inside me. His cock stretched the walls of my cunt and he came at me from one direction after the other so each fervid thrust was like a new man inside me, a fresh fuck.

  “Harder,” I gasped. “Harder.” I wanted him deeper, deeper still. I wanted him pounding into me, plugging me and coring me, caressing my womb.

  He responded with harsh grunts, gasps, growls in my ear. He nipped my lobe and then scraped his teeth across my neck. Showers of sheer delight rained through my body, twanging and twining and twirling me into a crazy multicolored, dizzying bliss.

  And then he flipped me over. Like a beast. He shoved my legs apart and dragged me closer and sank into me once more, from this new angle. And from this new angle, found me.

  Everything within me seized. His strokes became quick and short and his cock swelled even more. With each plunge he tapped that spot, that delicious glorious spot that gave me myself over and over and over until I could barely breathe.

  I panted in tandem with each desperate thrust. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He pulled out one last time and then filled me again. And filled me. Hot, sticky sperm surged from him, flooding an already swamped delta. His juices mingled with mine. Something about it, something wild and raw, set me off again.

  He was in me. Would linger. Part of him would seep into me, soak into my thick and swollen walls. Be with me. Forever.

  I shuddered one last time and collapsed.

  He fell on top of me and rolled to the side, dragging me with him, wrapping me in his arms. He kissed my hair, my neck, the tears on my cheek. “Oh Sam.” A sigh.

  And through the haze, through the bliss and the unending shivers still dancing through my womb, I froze.

  “H-how do you know my name?” I’d never told him. I’d never even brought names up. I certainly didn’t know his.