Expert Service (Pleasure Chest 3)

6

Scarlett

The ring of the phone in the room is harsh and loud, breaking the bubble we’ve created. What just happened comes crashing down on me, and cold reality settles in. I just gave a blowjob to my boss. My colleague. Shit.

It was amazing too, which is why my body is screaming for him to touch me. I want him inside of me more than I want to breathe. But this was stupid. I didn’t lie. This was a terrible idea. We’re frozen, listening to the ring of the phone, Chris’s mouth pressed against the skin of my breast. Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, he pulls back, reaching into his suit pocket to get his phone.

“Hello?” His voice is deep and rough, and I imagine that raw tone used on me as he takes me. My whole body shudders at the thought. His hand is still possessively on my ass, and I feel his fingers press into me. Chris sighs, “Yes, of course. That will be just fine. See you soon.” He hangs up the phone, tossing it onto the table behind me. “That was Chelsea Miller from Colson Foods. They want to move dinner to an earlier time. Our car will be here in twenty minutes.”

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath, scrambling off his lap. “I need to change.” I grab my dress off the closet door into my room and head into the bathroom. I need to disappear into the bathroom because we don’t have time for him to fuck me, and my body is still screaming with the kind of arousal I’ll never be able to endure through dinner. I hang my dress on the back of the door, peeling myself out of my skirt, tights, and panties in record time. I brace myself against the sink, fingers already brushing against my clit, when the door opens. Shit shit shit. I forgot to lock the door.

Chris has his shirt off, and I barely have a moment to look at the glory that is his body before he yanks me against him. “Allow me to help with that.” His hand snakes into my hair again, lifting me up and tilting me back just enough that I’m totally at his mercy. His other hand is at my pussy, already stroking, already driving me mad. “I know desperation when I see it,” he says, voice full of sinful promise. He slips a finger inside me, and then another, burying himself to the knuckle. I gasp, try to move, but his hand in my hair keeps me still. My hands find his shoulders and I grab on as he slowly starts to thrust into me with his hand.

“I know you thought we were finished out there,” he says, punctuating his words with hard, deep strokes of his fingers. “You were wrong.” His thumb strokes over my clit, and my body starts to shake. “When we come back from dinner,” his voice drops low and quiet, “I’m going to take you. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but the feeling of my cock inside you.”

He starts to move faster, and I can’t think. “Oh, god. Don’t stop,” I say, my fingers digging into the muscles in his shoulders.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. “For me to fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked in your life?”

“Yes.” The admission slips out of me like a sigh, my body relaxing into this new reality. My orgasm is building swiftly, and Chris knows it. He fucks me with his hand, and I can’t do anything to stop the pressure building inside me—don’t want to do anything to stop it. His thumb is stroking my clit with every thrust, and each tiny wave brings me closer to that edge of pleasure. My voice is coming out of me in tiny moans, his fingers drawing it out of me. Our eyes are locked, and I can see the lust as he looks at me, watching me take the pleasure he’s giving me.

Chris pushes down on my clit as he curls his fingers, and I lose it. I come, my voice breaking out in full-throated moaning as my pussy squeezes his fingers. I can feel my orgasm running down my legs, but Chris doesn’t stop grinding his hand on me and in me as the pleasure has its way with me. It grows in waves, and my knees feel weak and watery. When it’s finally over, leaving me breathless and happy and oh so relaxed, Chris slowly removes his fingers from me. He doesn’t release my hair as he brings his hand to his mouth, sucking my juices from his fingers.

The sight makes my heart tick up a notch, telling me it’s ready for more of this.

“Mmm.” Chris makes a sound that goes straight to my clit as he tastes me. “I’m going to look forward to tasting more of this tonight,” he says, releasing me. I catch myself on the bathroom sink, weak from his attention. He smirks at me, like he knows exactly what he did to me and enjoyed every second of it.

He opens the door and heads out in to the main room, and I hear his voice calling back to me as he walks away. “Oh, and Scarlett,” he says. “Leave your hair down.”

7

Scarlett

Dinner is torture.

Don’t get me wrong, the food is delicious—an Italian restaurant that I’d never be able to afford on my salary. The conversation isn’t half bad either. Chelsea Miller from Colson Foods is a fun person to talk to and has a lot of personality. If she lived in Seattle, I imagine that we’d be friends.

No, the torture comes from the fact that every move Chris makes I can feel. There’s something between us now, something that’s unsettled and raring for us to finish. Though he makes conversation with Chelsea, his eyes almost never leave me. I can feel them watching my every move. When I make eye contact with him, he smiles a tiny smile, one that lets me know he’s remembering how I came apart on his hand.

And he touches me. His hand on the small of my back as we enter the restaurant. Brushing my shoulder as he pulls out a chair for me. On my hand as he makes a point in conversation. On my thigh under the table, inching upward. It’s all I can do to keep from blushing, because I know what each of those touches means. Every one is meant to remind me of what he said, of what’s coming when we make it back to that hotel room and there’s nothing stopping us from tearing each other apart.

This is such thin ice we’re walking on, and yet, I don’t think either of us would care very much if we drowned. There’s something here, and neither of us is going to turn away until we explore it. I try to focus on Chelsea, on giving her the attention that she deserves, but it’s proving more difficult that I thought.

Turns out Colson Foods was Chris’s first client with Ellison. He put them on the map with a cute campaign that anthropomorphized Colson’s products and the videos went viral—just like Colson’s market share. Ever since then, his name has been on everyone’s lips, including mine. But Chelsea is the one that convinced Colson to go with Ellison in the first place. They were skeptical about the cutesy commercials and wanted something more straight-forward. She pushed until they gave, and it’s a good thing that they did. I guess that Chris owes a lot to her, which is why she gets the honor of a one-on-one dinner. Or it would be one-on-one if I weren’t here.

I feel a brush of his fingers under the tablecloth again and I look over to find him grinning. That kind of smile entirely transforms his face, going from brooding and sexy to boyish and charming. But before I can really think about which side of him I like better, Chelsea asks, “So, Scarlett. I haven’t seen you on any trips with Chris before. How’d you land that gig?”

“Bad shrimp,” I say, trying to contain my laughter.

“What?”

I take a sip of wine. “There was a platter of bad shrimp at the New Year’s party. I hate seafood—always have, so it wasn’t on my list of things to try. But most people in Seattle can’t get enough. So half the company was sick with food poisoning, including the three people who directly outrank me and would have been chosen first.”

Chelsea laughs, a deep booming laugh that sounds almost strange coming from a woman. But it’s so sincere that you can’t help but laughing along with her. “That’s one hell of a stroke of

luck.”

“It’s definitely something like that,” I say, smiling into my glass.

There’s another brush on my thigh, and my fingers tighten on the stem of my glass, because this one is higher than the others. I send Chris a quick warning glare, and all he does is raise an eyebrow. I straighten my spine, determined to keep my face cool and impassive, not responding to him. The last thing I want is Chelsea getting wind of something happening between us under the table.

“How are you liking New York?” she asks me.

Chris’s hand creeps higher. “I haven’t seen much of it, to be honest,” I say. “Plus, it’s a lot colder than I was expecting.”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty bad winter. Last year was far more mild.”

I nod my head and I take a sip of wine to cover my anxiety. Chris has reached my mound, his fingers gently pushing through my dress, stimulating my clit and getting me far too aroused to be in a restaurant like this.

Chelsea engages Chris in something minute about their current negotiations, and his hand disappears. I stifle a sigh of relief. I want his hands on me too much. If he keeps touching me, I’m afraid that I’m going to give something away. I know that some people love it, but exhibitionism really isn’t my style. I would much rather just be seen by the one person I want. I know that Chris sees me. Now we just have to wait until we’re alone.

It takes another hour of small talk and small touches for dinner to wind down. Finally, we’re ready to go, and my body is so keyed up that I’m ready to pull Chris into the first dark corner we see and make him fuck me. But on the way out to the restaurant, he’s a perfect gentleman. He takes my arm as we say our goodbyes to Chelsea, and he helps me into the cab so I can avoid stepping into the slush. He tells the cab driver the address of the hotel, and that’s that. I turn towards him, ready to pounce on him. That’s what people in the movies do, right? They maul each other in the back of a taxi until they get back to the hotel and rip each other’s clothes off. But Chris stops me.