Play with Me

He maneuvers me against the wall, framing my body with his. “We are together, and if you didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t have signed that notarized letter.”

“We aren’t together, and now we won’t ever be together. I have to leave. I can’t stay. I can’t let you get fired over me.”

“I won’t let you go, and I won’t get fired.”

“I had a right to privacy. Terrance should have asked permission to share my personal affairs, and don’t tell me I signed a form or I might hurt you right now. Kent and my alcoholic asshole father—who thinks if he puts ‘functional’ before the ‘alcoholic’ it’s actually acceptable—weren’t supposed to know I’m here. If I wanted them to know, I would have told them.”

“Kali—”

“And I didn’t run away from those people, like you accused me of. I chose to shut them out and be happy. This was supposed to be my place and now it isn’t. Now they know I’m here and everyone here knows about us.”

“This is your place, Kali, and I’m not letting you go without a fight.” His fingers twine in my hair, tilting my head back, forcing me to look at him. “We might be new, Kali, but we’re damn good together.”

“What about—”

“We’ll figure it out. Together, Kali. We’ll figure it out together.” And then his mouth closes down on mine, his tongue stroking past my lips, his palm molding me close to him. I try to resist, but it’s more because I feel I have to, because I should. Only I don’t want to resist this man. Not now and not since the moment I met him. I cave to my need for him, moaning as I sink into the kiss. I know we are headed for trouble, and I’ve had enough trouble. But I have not had enough of him.

I tug at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin next to mine. To know if it will feel as good as I’ve imagined it would. My fingers slide beneath the cotton material, absorbing his body heat and the warmth of taut skin over hard muscle.

His mouth trails over my cheek to my ear. “Together,” he promises again, his warm breath teasing my sensitive flesh and sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I whisper, and I don’t let myself think about trouble or tomorrow. I cling to him, arching my body into his, trying to get closer to him, afraid I will never get close enough.

He cups the back of my head, slanting his mouth over mine, kissing me deeply, passionately. Breaking only to seductively trail his lips over my jaw, my neck, my ear, and I am lost in the haze of desire.

“I want you naked,” he murmurs, tugging my dress up over my hips, and, with that, an unwelcome jolt of reality hits me.

I grab at my dress and pant, “Wait. We can’t. Not here. We could get caught.”

“The door is locked.” He turns me to face the wall, pressing my hands to it, his on top of mine, his big, wonderful body encasing me. He leans in close, his mouth at my ear. “And,” he murmurs, “if you’re still worried about getting caught, I need to do a better job of distracting you.” He tugs on the zipper of my dress, and I open my mouth to resist, only to moan as his tongue begins to follow the metal downward. And his tongue is magic burning through me, sending waves of sensations to every nerve ending I own.

He slides the material off my arms, kissing my shoulders, caressing my sides, my breasts, my nipples. My knees wobble, and his hands brace my hips. My dress pools at my feet and he lifts me, kicking it aside as I slip off my shoes, leaving me in only my bra, panties, and thigh highs. I am exposed, open to him, but I am not shy. I am not intimidated or inhibited. My nipples are tight, my sex slick.

His hands go back to where mine rest on the wall, encasing me with his body, his cheek rasping over mine, as he whispers, “This is where I touch you, lick you, and fuck you. What do you say to that, Kali?”

I moan from nothing more than the promise of what he will do to me. And I know I thought this was trouble, but I no longer know why. My answer is easy. “Yes. Please …”

Part Ten

Sex therapy…

I am nearly naked, still facing the wall and living the fantasy of being at Damion Ward’s mercy, and he wastes no time leaving us with zero barriers. He unhooks my bra, and my nipples tighten and ache with the promise that his hands will follow, but they do not. Instead, he gently shackles one of my hips, his hand caressing my backside before his knee widens my stance, his fingers tracing the silk string along the crevice of my cheeks. I moan with anticipation and his hand scoops low, closing around my panties and yanking them free.

I gasp, weak-kneed with arousal. “That’s two pairs you owe me.”

“Don’t wear them and I won’t rip them off,” he says, his hand flattening on my belly, caressing up my body, until I am no longer leaning on the wall but am cradled to him, my back to his chest, and his hands covering my breasts, teasing my nipples.

I am already panting by the time one of his hands glides down my belly, into the “V” of my body, and his fingers are suddenly pressed into the slick heat of my arousal and stroking my clit. Waves of sensation rush over me and I reach behind me, clinging to his jacket and trying to turn for his mouth.

He turns me and presses me to the wall and I don’t wait to find out what he plans. I reach for his tie, needing to feel his skin against mine. The sound of his cell phone ringing freezes me in place.

“No,” I whisper. “Tell me no.”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and turns it off, stuffs it in his jacket, then shrugs off the jacket and tosses it to the ground. “Problem solved.”

My lips lift and I laugh. “Problem solved,” I repeat, but my hand is shaking as I drag his tie from his neck and help him unbutton his shirt, a gnawing ache in my belly at the reminder that we are breaking rules and there could be consequences. I don’t want him to suffer.

He grabs my hands, and his eyes find mine. “Easy, baby. Relax. Nothing is wrong. Everything is right.”