Jingle Ball

She dragged her tongue up the underside of the cane, her lips faintly tinged red. “You know I am.”

Des took the candy stick from her and acknowledged her whine with a laugh. Then he slipped it in his own mouth, sliding it up and down before he knelt between her parted legs. She was so pink and wet, so swollen with longing. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. But rather than sliding his already insistent cock into that tight, waiting sheath, he circled the candy cane over her cleft while she gasped.

“It burns a little,” she whispered, but from the way she was writhing, she didn’t seem to mind.

He ran his tongue around her where the candy met her skin, worrying her opening with his tongue, flicking teasingly as she grew wetter. She drove both hands into his hair, yanking him down to her groin. Unabashedly asking for what she craved. He nuzzled her, sucking her clit, occasionally licking the candy. Pressing his cool tongue against her heated flesh.

Her moan announced that Cole had joined in. He filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing them so roughly that her nipples reddened and stood out like hard little knobs. When her cries reached a crescendo, Cole kissed her hard, his tongue wetly sliding in and out just like Des worked her quivering pussy.

Her pants sliced through the din of noise in his ears. Somehow he heard his name, though Cole managed to stifle most of her cries. In no time at all she was coming against D

es’s lips, pulsing her release into his waiting mouth.

Jesus, she was delectable. He needed more. He slipped his tongue in deeper, thrusting through her incessant aftershocks. She was even sweeter now, chilly and hot both, and her spasms wrenched a groan from him that reverberated all the way through his newly rigid cock.

He didn’t move away until she ceased moving entirely. Her sexy body in motion was a lovely thing, and it was just as beautiful still. Her huge eyes were half-closed, and a smug smile lifted the corners of her mouth as Cole tweaked her nipple and whispered in her ear.

His best friend stepped away and dressed quickly, throwing a jaunty wave over his shoulder on his way out. “Best Monday ever.”

Des looked back at her as she giggled. “Y’all are crazy.”

“And there goes the southern fucking accent.” With a mock groan, he set aside the candy cane—he intended to enjoy eating every damn bit of it later—and clutched his chest. “All I gotta hear is one more Des in that satisfied I-just-came voice and I swear I’ll ruin my goddamn rug.”

She inched her butt forward, loosening her flimsy bonds on the arms of the chair and cupped his face in her hands. “Des,” she whispered tenderly.

The amusement on her face vanished as he knelt like a statue, not saying a word. Her palms felt like heaven on his stubbled cheeks and he longed to reach up for them, to hold them there while he moved forward and surged into her sweet body.

Where he belonged.

Screw the ethics that kept him rooted in place as if nails in his heels pinned him to the floor. Hell, he was fooling himself anyway, wasn’t he? Sex acts still counted as sex. Still could be perceived as taking advantage. He was no better than a guy like Gerald. Worse even, because he’d tried to dominate Wendy instead of allowing her to decide how far she wanted to go. Offering her an escape wasn’t the same as making sure she didn’t need one.

He swallowed the grit in his throat and shut his eyes to avoid the look in hers. It was the coward’s way out, and he took it gratefully. “Let me give you a ride home tonight,” he said instead of everything else he wanted to.

Already she was pulling back. “I can walk.“

“Wendy. I’m giving you a ride home.”

His eyes opened as she dropped her hands in her lap. “Okay.”

* * *

For the next couple of weeks, Wendy learned the true meaning of mandatory overtime. She also got up and close and personal with the terms rate of return, high performance and I’ve been fucked so hard I can barely walk.

On one hand, she was happier—and more sexually satisfied—than she’d ever been. On the other, she was so conflicted and confused she didn’t know what to do.

Her life had turned into a frigging Dickens novel, assuming Dickens had ever let his freak flag fly. Lately she’d hoisted hers into the stratosphere. She still couldn’t decide if she was happy she’d lost so many of her inhibitions or if she was concerned that she was changing into a person she wouldn’t recognize afterward.

As great as everything was going, as happily boneless as she felt after every one of her “sessions” with Cole and Des behind closed doors, she couldn’t deny the thing that was bugging her. Well, there were several, but one was worse than the rest.

Des refused to have sex with her.

He did everything but. He’d explored her body so thoroughly she figured he could play connect the dots from memory with her freckles. He gleefully went down on her and eagerly came in her mouth. Teased her with all manner of interesting implements from candy to sex toys to a cylindrical ornament from the tree that now held a place of honor in his top drawer.

She even asked him to fuck Cole, just in case he had some sort of penetration aversion. He’d done so without complaint. He was just averse to her.

As the days passed, the boys got bolder about calling her into their offices while Van and sometimes even clients were in the reception area. They seemed to delight in making her chew through her lip to keep from crying out while Cole pounded into her from behind and Des licked them both from below. Or other wickedly inventive things.

And Van was starting to pay attention. She’d called Wendy out for being scatterbrained more than once and seemed entirely too curious about why she was spending so much time with the guys in private. The time she’d emerged from Cole’s office with a fresh run in her pantyhose and her high heel unstrapped hadn’t helped matters.