subject: Tomorrow’s Lesson
At some point tomorrow I will stop by your office. I will have a gift for you. I will expect you to not be wearing any panties. Do not disobey me.
from: [email protected]
date: June 6, 9:03 PM
subject: Practicing Now
Removed. Ready. Waiting.
Those three words alone made him groan. But what was most intoxicating about her response was the attachment. She’d sent him a photo of her red lace panties on top of her desk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
New York City, afternoon . . .
Thank God it was June.
Summer was an easier time to go commando than the cold months.
Thank God she was buried in deskwork today too, with the majority of her meetings of the phone variety. Casey liked to wear short skirts and heels, or short skirts and boots. Today she’d opted for a tight, knee-length skirt, since she didn’t need to perform any accidental Marilyn Monroe shows. She’d never dressed panty-free at work before, and she felt like she had a naughty little secret when she popped into the conference room to visit with the product team for a meeting. No one knew, of course, but the knowledge that she was bare had kept her thoughts on Nate all day long. Being naked down there also meant she was turned on all day. She was an electrical line, exposed and crackling, waiting to spark.
She’d even wandered past reception a few times, peering down the elevator banks for him. Each time, she struck out, and cursed under her breath.
The minutes ticked by, and she was sorely tempted to break out one of her products, to lock her door and spend a few minutes with The Wild One, since that magical device did the trick in mere minutes; sometimes in seconds. But she resisted. Even if no one would know, she didn’t want to be the CEO of a sex toy company who actually did get herself off at her desk. Better to be a woman in control at the office.
Now it was past three, and that man needed to show up soon because she was getting pissed. She was turned on and she was frustrated, and that was not a pleasant combination. She didn’t like games or being toyed with. Leaving her door open, she picked up her phone and returned a few calls.
Midway through a conversation with a retail partner, he appeared.
Wearing a dark gray suit, a navy tie, and his jacket slung over his shoulder, held with one finger, he leaned against the doorway. Her throat went dry. He was so damn sexy. He didn’t even break a grin, just gazed at her with that same intense stare she’d seen in the hotel room. “I’ll call you back,” she said into the phone and hung up.
“Hi,” she whispered, her voice sounding crackly and dry.
He nodded, then stepped inside, turned to the door and pushed it shut. He walked over to her, and when he reached her desk he set down a black box with a red bow on it.
“For later. But first, I need to know if you did as instructed.”
She nodded, her eyes wide, her cheeks flush with heat.
He shook his head, and raised his finger to tsk her. “I need to know, Casey. That means,” he said, stopping to take his time, as if he were tasting each letter like a meal, “show me.”
Oh God. Her heartbeat sped up, and heat thrummed in her body.
He gestured with his fingers, signaling for her to move back. She pushed back in her chair, inched up her skirt, and opened her legs. She was so damn glad the only windows in her office looked out over the New York skyline, not the rest of the company.
His eyes narrowed, and he emitted a barely audible moan of appreciation. He walked around her desk, bent down, and cupped her chin in his hand. “Such a beautiful, bare pussy,” he said as he looked her in the eyes, then brought his lips to her ear. “I bet you want my mouth on you right now.”
“I do,” she said, her voice feathery.
“Wait,” he said. “Wait for later. Wait for me.”
Then he dropped his mouth to her lips and devoured her. He claimed her mouth, kissing her so passionately it was as if kissing was making love, kissing was fucking, kissing was sex with their lips. Heat pooled between her legs, where she ached. When he let go of her mouth, her vision was still fuzzy, and she was floating above the earth on a cloud of lust. It took a second to register what he was doing. He was reaching his hand between her legs, sliding one finger through her wetness, then bringing it to his mouth to lick it off.
“That’ll get me through the next five hours of meetings about our expansion into New Zealand. At eight o’clock, I will be at your apartment. Don’t open the box until I arrive. Wear something unbearably sexy that you think will drive me crazy. Because it will. And have a drink ready for me when I walk in the door. Whiskey will do.”
Shivers raced across her skin, lighting her up from his commands. No one had ever talked to her like this. He was so direct, so controlling, and so fucking sexy with his orders. She’d never expected to enjoy this kind of play, but as he walked out the door, she wanted to slam it shut and take care of herself, to slide her fingers across her wetness, and bring herself to release.
But she still had a modicum of self-control.
She would wait.
She would wait five hours. She would wait until he could take care of her intense, overwhelming need to come.
* * *
He hadn’t told her specifically what to wear, but she was savvy enough to know what qualified as unbearably sexy. She donned a tight leather skirt that hit her mid-thigh, right at the top of her black stockings. A bit of lace from the stockings peeked out. He was a legs man, so she chose strappy heels.
Up top? A cherry-red bra.
That was all. She didn’t wear a shirt. She smiled to herself as she appraised the outfit in the mirror. The lack of a shirt was her homage to her own need for control. She had chosen this ensemble because she wanted to open the door with only a red lace bra on top. It was her way of being true to herself. She hoped Khashi, her neighbor across the hall, wouldn’t happen to return from work then. A sexy plastic surgeon, he kept odd hours between his job, and the ladies he entertained.
At 8 p.m. precisely the buzzer rang. Electricity sparked in her bloodstream as she buzzed him in. She didn’t know what was in store for her tonight, but she couldn’t wait to find out what he’d planned.
As she walked to the door, she fluffed out her hair and glanced around her apartment. He’d been here many times. He knew the kitchen with its exposed red brick walls, he’d lounged on her soft teal couch, and he’d seen the reprints of artwork on her walls. It was a warm and homey loft in the West Village. One window was open and the June breeze blew inside, along with the faint sound of traffic rattling through the Village on a New York night.