Hostile Takeover, Hill, W [recommended books to read .TXT] 📗

and well-trained—the man in question had realized within the first thirty seconds this was an intentional message for Ben. As such, he’d made the judgment call, decided to simply monitor her, making sure she intended no vandalism, and then reported it to Randall after the fact, earning the disciplinary action as a matter of form only.

Either way, she’d taken a calculated risk, one that had panned out.

She rocked against her touch, her lips pressing hard together. Fingers dipping in, coming out, smearing more fluid against her cunt. She was saying something, urging herself on, and when Ben recognized the words on her lips, his cock convulsed hard in his hand, demanding to spurt his response.

Please, Master…let me come. Let me serve you. Master… Master… Then, Ben…please. Master.

He traced her face, her body. Pre-cum trickled down his shaft, dampening his fingers, making him tighten his grip once more. He couldn’t. This was…he was going to shake her until her teeth rattled. Security or not, she was all by herself in a parking deck in the middle of the night. If some vagrant had stumbled on her, or anyone…

She slowed then, so near climax her body had to be sheened with perspiration. Now she stretched out both her arms, a clear message of submission. She breathed deep, drawing herself back from that edge. She wasn’t going to come, because he hadn’t been there, hadn’t given her permission.

That realization hit him hard in the chest as she at last let go of the hood. She probably had red indentations in her palms. When she pushed herself up, he saw her hair had come down, a twisted, dark tail against her neck.

She opened the tie on one ankle, moved more stiffly to do the other. Turning onto her hands and knees once more, she reversed the provocative process, sliding out the dildo until the head released with that sudden pop that made her convulse, press her thighs together. He could see the tracks of her arousal on her thighs. That tight rosebud entry point flexed as it released the phallus, such that he felt that impact all the way to his testicles.

Tucking it all in the velvet bag, she took out a handkerchief and wiped what appeared to be some drops of her arousal off the hood, then tucked that away as well. Turning to face the camera fully, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Then she picked up the coat, slipped it on her shoulders. Tossing her hair back, combing through it with her fingers, she managed to walk away with that same sauntering confidence she’d shown in his office earlier in the day when she’d been teasing him. When she reached the stairwell door, she even threw the same sassy look over her shoulder.

Speak of the devil. His gaze lifted as he heard the tap of heels outside of his door. A moment later, his intercom buzzed.

“I’m here, Mr. O’Callahan.” That sultry purr. “So is your nine o’clock. Are you ready for Mr. Alexander?”

That effectively brought him up short. Clamping down on a variety of responses, he tucked himself back in, ejected the security footage to lock it in his middle desk drawer and tore open a sanitized towelette to clean his hands. He was proud to find his voice was even, controlled when he responded. “Yes, Marcie. Send him in.”

Fortunately, Don Alexander was a no-nonsense sort who preferred to get straight to business. He wouldn’t question why Ben didn’t rise from his desk for a morning handshake. If Don knew where his hand had been, he’d probably thank Ben for the lack of courtesy.

The legal muscle for one of their latest in-process acquisitions took a sprawling seat in Ben’s guest chair and unlatched his briefcase, already firing off the info he was here to get. Ben knew what he needed, had it ready, so his gaze slid to the view outside his door while Don did his required diatribe.

Marcie’s desk was at a diagonal angle to his door. She was wearing another one of those straight, tailored skirts, only this one was a little higher and had several short, coquettish slits in the front that layered like flower petals. When she adjusted her seat, he caught a glimpse of the lace top of her thigh-high stockings. As if she was unaware of his perusal—yeahright—she ran her finger beneath the skirt edge, flipping up one of those layers to check the hold of the—holy God—garter holding the stocking in place. Her hair was twisted up in a soft, loose style, and today she wore a lightweight sleeveless turtleneck in a pale blue color. The long stretch of fabric from throat to hips drew a man’s gaze right to her generous breasts. He could discern the puckered state of her nipples. A faint impression only, something that could be explained away by the well-air-conditioned office, instead of inappropriate attire, but he’d put money on the fact her bra was so thin it allowed that subtle effect, while keeping those heavy breasts up nice and high.

His hard-on wasn’t abating in the least. She was wearing the heels she’d worn on his car, the little tease. Two sets of buckles, so she’d included the restraints, which yanked his mind right to the image of bending her over her desk, spreading her legs out wide and binding her ankles to the desk legs. He’d fuck her, then make her do her work in that bent-over position while he enjoyed the view from his desk.

Janet might have a few words to say about that. So would Matt. As for Lucas…hell.

He pulled his attention away from Marcie, though he could smell her unique fragrance. She’d probably shaken Don’s hand, leaving a lingering scent on his palm. He gave Don some answers, asked a few questions of his own, which sent the man riffling through papers again. It left Ben free to shift his gaze back to the only thing that mattered to him at