Hostile Takeover
Page 30

“Yes sir. You made me wet.”
“Hmm. I want your skirt up around your waist, your bare ass on the chair. Spread your knees out and hook your ankles around the chair legs to keep them that way. Tell me if the position becomes physically uncomfortable.”
The reason he’d put her in the corner seat became obvious, since he was flanking her on one side, and the balcony rail and a profusion of potted plants were on the other. The table cloth was floor length, so it was pooled over her lap. But if the waiter moved around the table to grate pepper over her salad or refill her drink, he might see her skirt up, bare ass pressed to the chair’s wooden surface.
Ben watched her follow his direction. “Might teach you to wear a looser skirt to work next time.”
“Then whose ass would you stare at? Janet’s? Even you’re not that brave.” She scraped the chair legs across the metal floor as she wiggled and managed it. The wooden seat reminded her of last night’s punishment but, thanks to Rachel’s balm, she could make full contact with it.
“Center yourself between two of the chair slats. I want your cunt right over an opening so you can feel the air flow.” It was impossible to discern what he was thinking, his face impassive, voice even. Whereas she was getting more flustered with every word he spoke.
When she was in the proscribed position, her legs were spread, ankles hooked on the chair legs as he required, pussy exposed to the cool night air. Reaching out, he slipped the next button of her blouse so he had a better view of her breasts, cradled in lace. He stroked a finger over the top of the right one. Oh God. She had a feeling those two words were going to go through her mind quite a bit tonight, no matter how much trouble it gave her with the Higher Power. Hopefully, He understood. He’d made Ben, after all.
“Hold the chair sides by your thighs unless I tell you otherwise.” He tucked the panties into his pocket, unhurried, even as their waiter topped the stairs. Another second and he would have seen what Ben held.
Noah was a Goth, complete with eyeliner and tongue stud. He wore the white shirt and slacks the restaurant required, but the tie was a pencil-thin black silk, the tack a tiny skull and crossbones. His hair was long and smooth, tied back from a slim, well-sculpted face. With all that and his thin, sensual lips, he made her think of a young vampire.
When he saw Ben, he smiled with genuine pleasure. “It’s great to see you, Mr. O’Callahan.” He gave Marcie a courteous nod, a quick appraisal that was flattering but not insulting, then cocked a brow at Ben. “You’re not classy enough for this one. Is she slumming tonight?”
“There goes your tip,” Ben said dryly. “I’ll take the grilled porterhouse. She’ll have the seared shrimp, and start us off with the goat-cheese salads.” He added a few more instructions related to the cooking of the meat and the spices that would be used. He didn’t ask Marcie her preferences, and of course she wasn’t sure she could have made an intelligent response, regardless.
Her exposed sex was being teased by a rippling breeze moving over the balcony and coming up from the first level, filtering through the slim seams of the metal flooring, which allowed rainwater to flow out. Her breasts weren’t graphically exposed, but as he bent to retrieve the menus, Noah’s gaze slid briefly over the curves.
“We’ll have those drinks and salads brought right back up, Mr. O’Callahan.”
Ben nodded. As the waiter headed back down the stairs, he stretched his arm over the back of her chair, touched her nape. “Keep your back straight, Marcie.”
She hadn’t realized she’d hunched a little under Noah’s perusal. She sent herself a mental slap for that one, tossing her hair back and giving Ben a smile as she made sure those breasts stood out high and proud for her Master. Then she almost swallowed her tongue as he put his other elbow on the table and traced a finger along the bra edge again, only this time he dipped into the cup, rubbed over her nipple. It was already puckered and eager. She pushed her ass harder into the chair, against the dull cut of those slats. It wanted to rise up, to communicate the throbbing desire from her pussy with a shameless undulation.
“Stay still. I expect you to behave, act like a good girl, even if you are a brazen slut.”
“You make me into one.” She locked everything down, trying to obey. “Like Lucas said, you’re a corrupting influence.”
His heavy-lidded green eyes were close, his firm mouth. “Bullshit. That pussy of yours is greedy for cock.”
Your cock. But she didn’t say it, knowing not to spar with him in this realm. When his hand dropped beneath the table’s edge, she almost came off the chair as he calmly fingered her clit, slipping down to stroke the wetness of the labia. “Tilt your hips so I can reach your cunt.”
She did, clenching the sides of the chair as he slid a finger in her, then two, then—holy God—three.
“So fucking wet,” he rumbled in her ear, brushing his mouth beneath it, against her pounding pulse. “Tonight I’m going to put you on your knees. You’re going to suck me off, and when I’m about to come, you’re going to turn around, put your forehead to the floor, and I’ll fuck your ass. I may not ever let you come. Keep you this fucking desperate to please me.”
“Yes sir.” She whispered it, closing her eyes as he withdrew his touch, then pushed in again, emulating what his cock could do there. Because she was tight and it was a narrow angle, it made it all the more excruciating.
Sliding his fingers free, he brought them to her mouth. She licked herself off them. Without prompting, she picked up her napkin, finished wiping them off using some of the water from her water glass. It wouldn’t do for her Master to have sticky fingers while he tried to eat.
“An anticipatory sub. Sometimes that can get you into trouble.”
She paused, remembering her thoughts about that last night. Her fingers lay on his. “Does taking care of you when you need it get me in trouble?”
“No. Not right now.” As his eyes flickered with some unfathomable emotion, she returned her hands to the sides of her chair. Noah came back with their goat-cheese salads, arranged on attractive teal-blue square plates. When he poured their wine, she noted Ben stopped him when her glass was no more than a third full. She didn’t hold alcohol well, was pretty much loose as a sun-warmed snake after two glasses. Given the night that was ahead of her, that might not be a bad idea, but with Ben and their battle of wills, she needed all her wits around her. And it was obvious Ben intended her to feel the full edge of anything he did to her.
“Thank you, Noah.” Ben nodded. “I’d like an extra service, please.”
“Anything, Mr. O’Callahan.”
Ben turned his attention to Marcie. Instinct had her lowering her gaze instead of locking with his. When his next words came, she was glad for it.
“I want you to go down on my companion here, under the tablecloth. If she comes within three minutes, there’s a hundred-dollar tip in it for you.”
She was pretty certain she paled and flushed at once, a medical impossibility, but Ben leaned in, his hand sliding under her hair to tighten on her neck. “We’ll see if you come on a Master’s command, or if you’re a mindless slut, just as I suspect. And when you come,” he drew closer, his breath teasing her lips, her cheek, “I expect you to scream. Hold nothing back. The fact we’re in public doesn’t matter. Only what I desire does.”
Okay, she’d never done anything like this. Sure, she’d fantasized about exhibitionism, but the reality was way different. As it moved into evening, the people on the sidewalks below were turning into larger groups. More patrons would eventually be brought out onto the balcony, given that it was a really nice night. If she wanted to stop, if it was too much, she was pretty sure Ben would stop, but that would mean she’d backed down. His usual subs would do a strip tease in the middle of Jackson Square if he commanded it.
Her throat was dry, so it came out as a whisper. “Yes sir.”
When Ben gave him a nod, Noah put the tray on the adjacent table. With a graceful movement of lean male strength, he squatted and disappeared fully beneath their round table. When his hands touched her spread knees, Marcie tensed, she couldn’t help it. She heard a muttered, reverent, “Jesus, she’s got a gorgeous pussy,” and clutched the chair, a tiny sound of protest coming from her throat.
“Ben…”
“Hold on, Noah.” Ben was studying her face. His fingers on her nape were stroking. “Give her a moment.”
“Not a problem.” Noah’s voice was muffled as his mouth brushed her inner thigh, a gentle reassurance. His fingers slid down her calf, more calming caresses.
Unless this was a hard limit for her, it was obvious Ben was going to proceed with it, but he was giving her time. Plus an unexpected reassurance. “I wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you whom I didn’t trust,” he said, his fingers tightening on the back of her neck.
“I know.” It was just so much, so fast. But she could handle it. She leaned her face into his hand, wished he would keep touching her. But Ben was a ruthless Master, she knew that. As soon as he could tell she was ready, he settled back in his chair, picking up his wine. Ready for the show he’d orchestrated.
“Proceed, Noah. Three minutes.”
It took everything she had not to whip her legs out from behind the chair legs and close them, but Noah helped. He settled his grip on her quivering thighs, steadying and holding them open at once, and then he went right to the heart of the matter. She sucked in a breath, biting down on her lip. Holy God…the tongue stud vibrated. He played over her pussy lips with it, letting her get used to the feel of it, tickling her a little so she had to work hard not to squirm, and then he brought it right to her clit.
She sucked in a breath. He knew his business, working it against her in tiny movements that had her already aroused body rocketing up a ramp, set to take off and explode. She saw Ben’s attention on her exposed breasts, the way they were vibrating with that compressed movement. She couldn’t move, couldn’t move, but oh God, she wanted to rise up, grind her pussy in Noah’s face, throw her head back against the chair. But her Master didn’t tell her she could come. Three minutes, three minutes.