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  Grant turned slowly, his eyes narrowing on me, as he removed his sweater.

  Light fur, dark brown, stretching nipple to nipple. A well-defined chest with small flat nipples. A trail of darker hair disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers. “You won’t need those either,” I said, licking my lips.

  He toed off his shoes and socks, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. When he pushed them down, I held my breath. He was nude beneath them. His cock long and thick. Not a curve or a kink, it stood straight from a ruff of dark hair covering his groin.

  Without saying a word, he lifted the cover and moved to the center of the bed, placing both of his hands behind his head as he watched me, a muscle flexing at the side of his jaw the only other indication of his tension.

  I walked to the night table and pulled open a drawer. I selected a condom from the tray where they were neatly stacked. When I sat on the edge of the bed, I drew a deep breath. “Here, inside this room, you aren’t my servant. In fact, I’d prefer if you’d try to see me as a companion rather than a servant. We share this big house. It’s more than enough room for us both. If this is something you want, I’m willing.”

  Grant’s face eased. His eyes glittered in the lamplight. “Are you changing my contract?”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. “Fuck the contract.”

  “If I tell you I like caring for you…”

  “Then feel free to see to my comfort.”

  “If I want more?”

  I took a deep breath. “Then take it.”

  He sat, leaning toward me, and brushed a kiss atop my shoulder. “What about your preferences, Kendall?”

  “You’ll discover them, I’m sure. You’re very intuitive,” I murmured, tilting my head to invite the slide of his lips along my neck.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to say?” he asked, his voice deeper, sexier than ever.

  I shook my head. My nipples were tight and dimpling, the tips extending. A shiver of anticipation crept across my belly.

  Grant tossed aside the covers and pulled me toward him. I crawled over him, straddled him, and groaned when he fisted his hand in my hair and pulled me close for a kiss.

  There was nothing conservative or tentative about that kiss. He devoured my mouth, lips pressing hard, his tongue sliding inside, tasting me, teasing mine. The hand that wasn’t forcefully controlling my head, roamed my back, then cupped my bottom, gripping it.

  When he forced my head back, he was breathing hard. “I find I’m out of patience.”

  Before I could think of how to respond, he moved me, gently but firmly arranging me facedown, over his lap. His hand dove between my legs, fingering my folds, gliding in my moisture, but then sliding away. Fingers spread over one buttock, warming my skin then lifted.

  The slap he gave my cheek caused me to shout. It wasn’t gentle. Shocked, I wriggled, but another slap landed and despite the fact I wasn’t sure I liked this game, the feel of his cock beneath me, so rigid and hard and digging into my skin, made me crave a taste of him.

  Again and again, he smacked me, choosing different spots, carefully aiming, I realized, to move closer and closer to the center. Without thought, I opened my thighs, begging silently for a slap against my swollen pussy.

  When it came, I moaned, buttocks lifting, breasts rubbing against the sheets. How had Grant known I’d love this? I certainly hadn’t.

  Another wet slap, and then his fingers entered me, swirling inside me, thrusting deep. I fisted my hands in the bedding, writhed like a cat, rubbing his cock, lifting my ass.

  When he pulled free, I whimpered. He rolled me off his lap, then moved me again with his strong hands, arranging me so that my head fell off the end of the bed and my legs were spread wide. When his breath brushed my stomach, I tightened. He lifted my thighs and placed them over his shoulders, and then with his thumbs spreading my folds, he speared his tongue inside me, lapping in circles, thirsty swallows and groans coming from him as he pleasured me. And then his thumb tapped my clit, and I clamped my thighs tightly around his head, holding him there, demanding he end my torment.

  A thumb pressed against my asshole, and I jerked. I’d never been touched there. But I couldn’t get out the words to issue a complaint, as I was panting too hard, gasping, my breaths coming so fast and the blood rushing to my lowered head making me dizzy.

  When his tongue touched my rosette, I gave another harsher whimper and sank my fingers into his thick hair, pulling to move him away. Beyond embarrassed, I was also incredibly aroused. Grant had no inhibitions. In a single act, he’d told me without saying a word there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for my pleasure.

  He licked his way back up to my pussy, spread my folds and settled in, licking and sucking, nibbling now and then at my clit until I throbbed, there between my legs, feeling my lips thicken, my clit harden and enlarge. When his tongue stroked around and around my clit, I hissed between my teeth because the sensation was too much. His lips latched around it and sucked, pulling at it, my toes curled, my entire body bowed. Then I screamed as an orgasm rolled through me.

  I was shaking when I came down. Crying. I’d never felt anything so powerful, never come undone like that.

  Grant gather me up and pulled me fully onto the bed, his arms cradling me against his chest as he kissed my cheek, my ear, then nuzzled into the corner of my neck.

  When I could breathe again, I turned my head to meet his gaze. His face was flushed, one corner of his wet and swollen mouth curving in a satisfied smirk. I clutched his cheek, fingers sliding around his ear and into his warm hair. “I don’t have any words…”

  His smile stretched across his face, teeth gleaming. “I’ll enjoy this service.”

  “Yours or mine?” I asked, arching a brow. “Where’s that condom?”

  A plastic wrapper scratched against my shoulder, and he scraped it down to my nipple before placing it in my hand. He allowed little room between our bodies, but I managed to roll it down his turgid cock.

  A moment later he rolled over me, centered himself and thrust inside. Thickened tissue eased around him; fresh moisture lubricated his cock as he drove inward. Filled to bursting, I raised my legs. His hands pushed them farther apart, and I stared at the cornices surrounding my high ceilings, at the chandelier glittering above but not nearly as brightly as did Grant’s lush green gaze as he watched me.

  Who was servant and who truly served didn’t matter. I’d wanted solitude, calm to think and write. But I’d found so much more. Something I hadn’t known I’d needed. Someone who knew me better than I did myself.

  Grant’s movements were quickening. His thrusts shortening. With a shout, he came, jerking his hips, his movement losing rhythm. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and held him until his body stopped shuddering.

  Afterward, we lay in a tangle, still upside down on the bed.

  “The butler’s buttons…” I began softly.

  “Mmm?” he hummed, nuzzling my neck again.

  “They’re awfully inconvenient.”

  He drew back his head, studying my face. “Too much of a walk? You lazy thing.”

  “Too much of a walk for you, I think.”

  “My apartment is pretty far away.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Two floors and the opposite side of the house.”

  “This is your space, Kendall,” he said, his voice softening.

  “I know you don’t like change, but we can make it ours.”

  Grant came up one elbow. “I won’t be a kept man. I mean to continue to earn my way.”

  “We both have our work.”

  “This isn’t work.”

  Happy for the moment, I felt a twinge of doubt. “Then what is it?”

  “Pleasure. Companionship. Is that enough for now?” he asked, smoothing back my hair.

  “And when you want more…or less? You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  He shook his head, a light of mischief in his eyes. “I won’t tell you. I’ll tak
e it.”

  Red Line

  Kathleen Delaney-Adams

  It had gone on for weeks. Weeks of glances that left her weak-kneed and breathless. Weeks of tossing and turning between silk sheets, her dreams filled with images of spreading her legs for him. Weeks of donning her tightest, softest sweaters: the sweaters that clung to her breasts, accentuating what she considered her greatest asset. Weeks of lustful daydreams during board meetings because she couldn’t seem to shake thoughts of him no matter where she was or what else she was supposed to be doing.

  Still he didn’t approach her, didn’t talk to her, merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment if she happened to “accidentally” brush pass him or sit across from him on the train. But his eyes. His eyes flirted with her and just, well, asked for it.

  She called him Mr. Throb. Not flattering as far as pet names go, but the mere sight of him set her pussy to throbbing a wild sort of beat she was half-convinced he could hear over the rumble of the train and the din of commuter conversation. Not to mention the nights, more than several, she had tossed and turned in her bed while recalling in agonizing, lustful detail the curve of his ass and the bulge in his trousers. He was hung all right, it was obvious through the clean-cut crispness of the suit pants he invariably wore, and she was wet every time she thought of his cock swelling and rubbing against his trousers as he boarded the train or sat, one leg elegantly crossed, his long fingers tapping impatiently on his knee. She wanted those hands on her, ravaging her skin. She wanted to undo his zipper with her goddamn teeth and get a taste of what hung inside those well-fitting pants. More so, she wanted an end to this sexual torment that was so out of character for her and out of place in her controlled, orderly life.

  She moaned and rolled over on her stomach, her own slender fingers working her soaking cunt. She shoved three fingers inside viciously and rode her own hand, pumping until she came, panting with frustration and pent-up, unreleased longing.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath and reached up to turn off the light for yet another night of fitful sleep.

  The next morning, she stood shivering on the platform, eyeing the approaching train impatiently. After a restless night, she was nearly late for a meeting, and she loathed keeping the board waiting. As the first female vice-chair of the company, she had a great deal to prove. This ridiculously obsessive distraction must stop, she thought decisively. Enough. She would call that young lawyer back from Donahue and Donahue and accept his dinner offer. She nodded emphatically to herself, tugged at her tight skirt and shifted her briefcase to her other shoulder.

  Enough.

  The doors to the train opened, and she hurried inside. The train was packed more than usual this morning, and she jostled her way through the crowd and down the aisle until she could move no farther.

  “Excuse me,” she said distractedly to the body she was crunched against, looking up briefly to smile apologetically.

  “Oh.” It was him. Mr. Throb.

  His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

  “No problem.” His voice was husky, almost a purr, and she felt immediate heat between her thighs.

  He lowered his gaze and continued to read the Tribune.

  She was pressed hard against him, and she shifted a bit, bracing her heels on the floor to keep her balance and settling in for the ride.

  His body was hard, toned. He exuded the sort of power that made women less independent than her beg and crawl and lie down on their backs as soon as he entered a room. She prided herself on knowing she would never stoop to that behavior, but damn if every jolt of the train didn’t push her closer to him, forcing an increasing awareness of him, of his muscular body and lanky stance, and her breath quickened with longing.

  All at once, she realized she might never have an opportunity like this again. Forget about control and power and her own mounting desperation. Her internal debate lasted all of five seconds before she found a gutsy, reckless sort of courage.

  She slid her hand between their bodies and easily bridged the very narrow distance to his crotch. She found his bulge immediately. Huge. Huge and growing ever more so. Tentatively, she rubbed his length slowly with first her fingers than her hand. He raised his head from the paper and met her eyes, raising one eyebrow questioningly. But he didn’t say a word, nor did he pull away.

  Emboldened now, she allowed herself to squeeze his cock in her hand and quicken her movements, pulling and massaging him. He shifted toward her subtly, granting easier access to both his cock and her own pleasure.

  Her pussy was saturated. She could feel juice on her panties and thighs. When he began to rock his hips in rhythm with her tugging hand, her own hips began to rock as well.

  She nearly came right then, but she wanted, needed, more. She unzipped his trousers with deft fingers. His cock sprang out, tip glistening. Jesus. She moved her body to hide him from the view of the passengers around them, and slid her skirt up her thighs. A slight thrust forward of her hips, and he was inside her cunt.

  They moved together slowly at first, learning each other, finding a rhythm. Dimly aware of the train and the surrounding passengers. With the Chicago skyline speeding past in a blur, she attempted to maintain a modicum of self-control. Then a soft moan escaped his sensuous lips, and she knew she was lost. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to him, to his cock, to her own shattering desire.

  He pumped himself into her, her own need matching his, thrust after thrust. She grasped on to him for support as his cock became more demanding, more insistent. Her pussy was stretched tight around every blessed inch of him, and she felt pain and pleasure vying for her attention. Her tits were smashed to his chest, and sweat trickled down her back as their fucking grew more fervent. Suddenly, she trembled and clung to his shoulders for dear life, her cry muffled in his shirt as she came. He was still deep inside her, and her eyes fluttered open when she felt him spurt into her pussy.

  He shuddered one last time, then drew slightly away from her, his hands on her waist for a moment until she regained her balance. He smoothly tucked his cock back into his pants, adjusting his suit. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed her an impeccably white handkerchief. She dabbed at her sticky thighs gratefully, smoothed her skirt, and pulled out a compact to check her lipstick. Flawless.

  The train halted abruptly and she glanced out toward the platform.

  “Ah. This is my stop.”

  She winked at him and hopped off the train before he could respond.

  As the train pulled away, she caught a glimpse of him, mouth agape, looking boyishly startled. Damn, if he wasn’t just adorable. Only when she knew she was out of sight did she allow herself to collapse onto a nearby bench, giggling and congratulating herself. Yummy. Wrung out, drenched with juice, pussy throbbing with pain, she pulled herself to her feet and prepared mentally for her meeting. Thank god I got that out of my system, she thought.

  Yet somehow the weekend was an agony. She attempted every semblance of normalcy—a workout at V-Tone Fitness, an afternoon at the spa with a colleague. She even went so far as to meet Young Lawyer for drinks at Vincent. Although she enjoyed his company well enough, and even agreed to a second drink “in the near future,” she couldn’t get Mr. Throb out of her head—or cunt. She dripped every time she thought of him riding her in that packed car, his engorged cock embedded inside her, his broad shoulders keeping her on her feet. She was ruined for dating now, she might as well accept that fact. Who the hell could live up to that kind of crazed lust?

  To say she was a wreck by the time Monday morning rolled around would be the understatement of the decade. She had a reputation for a cool, aloof demeanor, but as she stepped onto the platform she realized her hands were shaking. Sighing, she shoved them into her pockets and boarded the train.

  There. There he was, toward the back of the car, standing in the aisle with legs spread confidently, one hand on the back of a seat for support. He didn’t look like a wreck.

  She managed what
she hoped was a calm smile in his direction before sitting in the first available seat. Her legs felt weak. Her entire being felt weak and simply, well, melty.

  She flipped through the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar to distract herself as the train began moving.

  She felt him before she saw him, and raised her head slowly, tilting it back to meet his eyes. He was holding a single stemmed white hydrangea in one hand, and an impeccable white handkerchief in the other. The Impeccable White Handkerchief.

  Although she was by no means the sentimental, softhearted girl type, she felt a rush of what could only be described as swoon. The handkerchief was a nice touch indeed, not to mention the flower. She would never have pegged him for the romantic type, but a woman could get used to romance. He was quite the package, the one in his pants notwithstanding.

  “You dropped this when you rushed off the other day.” His smile was reproachful, teasing. Delicious. “I didn’t even get your name, let alone the chance to buy you a drink.”

  A flush of liquid heat started deep inside her cunt and spread all the way up into her cheeks as she laughed delightedly at him. “You are quite the gentleman,” she replied. “Perhaps I should allow you a second date. How about coffee sometime?”

  He pretended to ponder for a moment, then nodded slowly.

  “Let’s not wait for sometime.” He grinned at her upturned face.

  As the train stopped at Fullerton, he reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. Instantly creamy at the touch of his skin on hers, she forgot entirely that it wasn’t at all like her to allow the tables to be turned so smoothly. She remembered nothing save every exquisite molten moment of their first encounter. She wondered how she could even walk under these circumstances as she followed him out of the station and onto the sidewalk.

  He turned the corner then pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. His mouth savaged hers, and she sagged against him in blissful acquiescence. Her arms circled his neck as he devoured her.