No, not if. She knew it was a foregone conclusion that she ultimately had to reject all this. But then, that was a few minutes from now, wasn"t it?
Even knowing how pathetic and flimsy that was, she couldn"t resist the chance to be here, quiet under his will, so aroused at how he was doing his work while at the same time exerting his Mastery over her… She wanted him to take her here, on his office carpet. She wanted him to open his slacks and let her suck him to climax. She wanted to fall asleep this way, tied up in all these delicious unrealized imaginings.
Though the way his hand was stroking through her hair suggested an absent-minded gesture, she could sense how attentive he was to her presence, to everything she was feeling. Those who thought men couldn"t multitask had never met Jon Forte.
She had no doubt he could design the answer to free energy for the world while making her so aroused she might die from the feeling.
“Jon.”
At the familiar male voice, she came out of her reverie, her pulse jumping at the quick rap of knuckles on the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it push open.
It was Peter.
Chapter Eight
Jon flexed his hand on her nape, a reminder as she began to push herself away from his knee. A flutter of embarrassment and uncertainty went through her, the muscles under his touch going tense as wire. “I"m on the phone with Brad in Costa Rica,” Peter said without preamble. “They have an error code on the CNC. Brad"s thinking it may have been damaged by a power surge. His guys have traced the ladder logic to a certain point, but now they"re thinking we need to send over a factory expert to look at it. I was thinking I"d let him tell you what"s up first, just in case you have a different take on it.”
“Okay, put him on speaker.”
If there had been any discernible pause, anything she could call a surprised hesitation or shock at finding her here, she didn"t detect it in Peter"s voice. He also didn"t greet her, didn"t address her, didn"t acknowledge her separately. He was treating her as a slave doing her Master"s bidding.
She might not have been in any BDSM clubs until her ill-advised visit to Club More, but when she was at the peak of her crazed fever to integrate this in her life, she"d delved into hundreds of Internet scenarios that stoked her own desires. However, it wasn"t even that which told her Peter"s behavior was appropriate, expected. She just knew.
The realization sent a hard jolt through her, a combined physical and emotional reaction she couldn"t control. Peter touched her shoulder, an intimate slide of his fingers over the line to her collarbone. Through that casual touch, he would recognize there was no bra beneath, even if the stretch of the nearly transparent silk over her erect nipples didn"t. He pulled her hair, a mild tease, before he moved toward Jon"s desk and punched the button on the phone on the desk. “Brad, I"ve got Jon here. Go.” Last night had been a shock to her system, the details of which she"d begun to deny and avoid almost before she let herself revisit them. So in all her years of picturing the first true Master-sub experience of her life, she never would have imagined this. Or how overwhelming and stimulating it was, such that the shaking was getting worse. She had to lock her jaw so her teeth wouldn"t chatter. She kept her eyes down, fastened on Jon"s polished shoe. She wondered who did that for him. Probably a dry cleaner. The laces were precisely double-knotted. The thin dark sock etched out the bones of his ankle.
She couldn"t help herself. She made a track along the curve of that ball joint with her fingertip, a whisper of a touch, then followed the slope of the shoe"s mouth.
He was asking questions of the invisible Brad. The questions were involved, technical issues regarding machine programming and gears, engine parts. Listening to him talk like that, all while having her at his knee like this, was quite possibly the most erotic thing she"d ever experienced. He hadn"t stopped that absent stroke of her hair, but as she slipped a finger inside his shoe, trying to trace his insole, he gave a lock of hair a quick tug, a reproof. She stopped, but kept her hand on his foot. He didn"t tug again, so she was glad the contact was okay. Her cheek was against his thigh after all, lips near the outside of his knee.
From the position of his legs, Peter was apparently leaning against Jon"s desk, his ankles crossed. Unlike Jon and Lucas, he wore jeans, Nikes. He probably had his arms crossed over his broad chest, biceps contracted in a way sure to catch a woman"s eye.
Until this moment, she realized she hadn"t even thought about her blouse being open several buttons. In this position, Peter definitely could see the bare curves. Instead of being appalled, she was excited. She was safe with Jon. A Master who would take care of her, like he said.
“Call us if that doesn"t work,” Peter said at last. “We can always send someone down, and I"ll be back there next week.”
“Hey, bring Dana with you again. She scalped me last time and I want to win my money back.”
“You"re an embarrassment, Brad. You should know better than to play Blind Man"s Bluff with a blind woman. I"ll tell her you"re ready to lose more of your money though.” Peter cut the connection after a few more comments back and forth. “Thanks, Jon. I knew you were on a tight timeline on that drawing, but this was holding up production.”
“No problem. I"m pretty much ready to send this down to scanning. Just need to put the revision number on it. Rachel"s good for the concentration.”
“I"ll bet she is.” Peter pushed off the desk and moved to stand beside Jon, studying the drawing in progress. As he did, he gave her shoulder that teasing caress again, and then he caught the collar of her shirt, eased it off her shoulder. Rachel held her breath, every nerve ending conscious of Jon"s fingers as he adjusted his sensual, slow massage so Peter could trace her bare collarbone. When he dropped to the upper curve of her breast, it made her jerk, sent a jolt through her nipple like electric shock, even though Peter didn"t touch it. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
It wasn"t trepidation making her quake like that, not by a long shot. She was burning up with desire, two men"s hands touching her at one Master"s behest.
…let my friends gang rape you in an alley…
No. It wasn"t like that. It wasn"t. She thrust it from her mind, her hand tightening on Jon"s foot. Whatever this was, she wanted it clean and pure, a treasure she could lock away from all that, because she was smart enough to know it was going to end soon enough. The fact Peter was so comfortable with her here had to mean that there"d been others. Jon was a young, single man, and they"d obviously shared subs before. It was as she"d realized earlier. Whatever this might mean to her, and what it was for Jon, could never be the same thing.
“Hey.” She didn"t even realize her aroused trembling had become something else, or that Peter had left, until Jon bent and put both arms around her, pulling her deeper into the vee of his legs. Her back was against the stool between them. She was twitching with an emotional reaction that felt too close to a panic attack for comfort. “Easy.
Breathe. You"re amazing, Rachel.”
“You like your women edgy and neurotic?” She gave a harsh chuckle, but she was holding onto his arm that stretched over her breasts. “God, Jon, that was…I didn"t even…it didn"t bother me. I wanted…more.”
“I know.”
“This is the way it starts.” She needed to get up, needed to put space away from him. “I can"t get lost in this.”
He kept her captured inside his arms easily. “Rachel, if you"d been here alone, and Peter had done that, what would you have done? No, stop squirming. Close your eyes, imagine it. I"m not here. He is. You"re sitting on the sofa, and he leans down, unbuttons your blouse, pulls it off your shoulder to admire your breasts. How does that feel?” She set her jaw. “Wrong. He"s engaged.” At his silence, she knew there was more to it, but she couldn"t say that, any more than she could call Jon…what everything in her wanted to call him. She settled for a whisper of the truth. “You aren"t there.” He cupped her jaw, tilted her head up and back to his mouth and claimed her lips.
Hot, strong, forceful, so she continued to quiver in his grip, submitting to the demand.
When he lifted his head, she was nearly limp. “You"re damn right I"m not.” She saw that flash of steel, his lips set in a serious line. “You"re teaching tonight, right? But tomorrow your schedule is clear?”
She should wonder how he knew that, but all she could think about was the picture they made, her on her knees, pulled back against him, her body arched up to him this way, breasts straining against the partially open shirt, every part of her hungering for him. His long legs caging her on either side. Those blue eyes filling every corner of her vision. She nodded.
“All right then. Tomorrow night, I"m going to come to your place at seven o"clock.
It better be spotless, the way you normally keep it. I"m particular to eggplant parmesan and a good red wine, and from what I saw of your kitchen, you like to cook. You"ll put out one place setting. Mine. Any food you eat or wine you drink that night will come from my hands, my mouth.”
It would never happen. Between now and then, the enchantment of this moment would disappear and her fears would return. The spell only existed in his presence.
She"d be calling him frantically, hoping to get his voice mail, telling him she"d had something unexpected come up. She"d run away to check into a hotel for the night.
She"d—
“I"ll be on time, so five minutes before I get there, you unlock the door. Then you kneel by my chair. Submissive position. Hands behind your back, back straight, knees parted to shoulder width. You leave your hair down. You don"t do that too often, do you? Because you think you"re too old to wear it down like a girl, but you can"t bear to cut it.” Before she could respond, he continued. “Turn up your heat to keep warm, because other than this beautiful hair, you"ll wear only that pair of cherry-red heels.
