24 Inches (Size Matters 2)

I figure I should use reverse psychology. If I talk about what he can't have, he'll want it even more.

"That's not my proudest moment with the MarketWatch anchor, Stacy Sawyer," he says. "It wasn't planned; it just happened."

"Just happened?" I ask. Give me a break. Things like that don't just 'happen.'

"Well thankfully you've got me, dear," Lorna purrs devilishly. "That'll never happen again."

I can almost detect a grimace on Mason's face, but he does a good job of hiding it. It goes undetected by my mother.

"You should really think about settling down, Becca," my mother says. "You aren't getting any younger."

I've heard this spiel before. Settle down. Get married. Have kids. As unconventionally career-minded as my mother is, she's also annoying conventional in terms of the advice she insists on dishing out to me.

"I'd settle down if I ever found a man worth settling down for," I reply.

>

I can feel Mason's eyes on me. He has a look that says he's mentally undressing me. Good. That just means my approach is working.

"You can understand that, right Mason?" I ask. "A woman needs a strong, powerful, driven man. A man who is equally powerful in his career and personal life, and who can keep up with me and … what's the correct word here? Keep me satisfied?"

"Satisfied?" he asks. He's shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes, I need a man who has his fingers on the pulse of my life, if you know what I mean," I smile. "Would you know anything about that, Mr. Kane?"

I can see him take a nervous gulp. His large Adam's apple bobs up and down his throat. I have him in my grasp, and I'm loving it. It's not every day that a woman can say she's made Mason Kane, the Wolf of Wall Street, nervous.

I sit up straight, purposely pushing my breasts out and I give him a deeper view of my cleavage. My mother doesn't notice. She's a few glasses of wine deep at this point in the evening, and is in her own world. I decide to take advantage of that.

Carl brings us a plate of figs, sliced lengthwise and drizzled with honey.

"Do you like figs?" I ask Mason.

"Sometimes."

"You have to know how to eat them," I say, and I decide to demonstrate.

I pick one up and hold it delicately in between my fingers. I make sure Mason is watching and I slowly bring it to my mouth, parting my red lips and then dragging my tongue across the flesh. I lick the sweet honey off of it by dragging the tip of my tongue across its glistening, soft, split ripeness.

Mason's visibly uncomfortable. There's a hunger growing in his eyes that can't be sated by the food on this table. He's shifting his weight from one side to the next in his chair, and not knowing what to do with his hands, he leans back and rubs the back of his neck. I wonder how hard his cock is right now.

There's only one way to find out.

We are sitting across from each other and I push one of my legs forward until it meets his. I slip my feet out of my heels. I'm wearing silk stockings, and I drag one smooth foot up his leg.

He coughs in surprise.

"Are you okay?" my mother asks him.

He waves her off. "I'm fine. I think a bite of food went down wrong, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

I decide to drag my silky foot up further until it's pressed against his soft inner thigh. He's shifting in his seat again until I bring my foot to the secret center of his crotch and I feel him—his 12-inch cock is as hard and thick as a cucumber, and I stifle a smile. I bring my second foot up until both feet are cradling his manhood. I stroke him with both silky feet, slowly at first, and then at a faster tempo.

He's trying not to look at me. He's trying to suppress the desire pulsing through his veins. He tilts his head back, tugging at the Windsor knot of his tie.

"It's hot in here," he says, loosening his tie some more.

"Carl!" mother shouts. "Please adjust the thermostat. Mr. Kane appears to be uncomfortably warm."