Fair Game (8 page)

She shivered against him, and when he raised his gaze to hers in the mirror, her green eyes had turned the color of a queen’s emeralds.

“Stop that,” she whispered, then turned and lightly pushed him out of her way.

Josie sat and leaned back in the gold chair, crossing her legs, her shoe swinging. Fluttering her fingers, she reasserted control. Or so she thought. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He unbuckled his belt.

“No, no, no, you are not just going to drop your pants for a second or two. I want everything off, jacket, shirt, slacks.” She shot him a saucy grin and leaned forward, voice lowered once again. “Everything except your panties.”

Oh man, she was laying it on. The lady was into payback. “Yes, ma’am.” He hung the suit on a free hook, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. Finally, he toed off his shoes and peeled off his socks.

Then he prepared himself for whatever comeuppance she planned to dish out.

 

 

HIS eyes were a smoky blue under the dressing room lights. Hair dusted his tanned chest, trailing down his defined muscles and flat abdomen, tapering to a thin line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his slacks. Josie’s mouth watered. She didn’t like excessively hairy men. She wasn’t attracted to pasty white skin. Kyle had just the right amount of everything. Especially the bulge in his pants.

When she’d seen him eyeing the lingerie, picking things out for her, she’d gotten wet. When he called her
baby
, she’d actually lost her breath. She didn’t go in for silly endearments like sweetheart or darling or honey—that had been a tease for him—but low and husky, his voice made the pet name sexy, hot.

She finally found her own voice. “What are you waiting for?”

“For you to tell me exactly what to do.”

Oh yeah. Just as he’d told her what to do yesterday. She wondered if he’d actually be wearing her panties. “Take off your pants. Now.” She paused, tipped her head. “But do it slowly.”

He revealed a centimeter at a time. Green satin. Then a glimpse of red, the little flower. She covered her mouth. His image would be reduced to the ridiculous. She’d have a leg up on him. He might even decide to call it quits and return to business only. Men could be so touchy about their masculinity. If he balked, it didn’t matter to her. Getting back to all business was fine. Even if he did make her as hot and wet as Little Red Riding Hood running from the Big Bad Wolf. She’d long since figured out there was a sexual undertone to
that
fairy tale.

His zipper undone but a hand blocking her full view, he hesitated, caught her gaze, his eyes a blazing blue, and she knew he’d back out, wouldn’t show, wouldn’t give her that last inch.

He fooled her. Grabbing his slacks at the waist, he shoved them down, then kicked them aside.

Good God. A wave of heat flushed her whole body. The crown of his hard cock burst above the satin’s elastic top, the embroidered flower stretching over his length. The material could barely contain his cock and balls.

“Is it so tight it hurts?” she whispered with a touch of awe. God. How could he be so gorgeous?

He laughed. “It hurts my pride more than anything.” Then he lowered his voice to match hers. “But the way you’re looking at me makes it worth it.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like you could eat . . . me . . . up,” he said, his voice husky.

Even as she watched, come pearled along his tip. Her tongue slipped out; she licked her lips. He was right. She could eat him up, all of him.

It was like looking at a sleek, powerful swimmer in his Speedo.

Or Superman in his tight super-suit. Everything was there right before her eyes. She could almost taste the bead of come, and her mouth watered. Her stomach tightened with need. If she’d thought to emasculate him, she’d done the opposite. Her thong somehow enhanced his maleness, brought out the potent animal in him. Not that she hadn’t known that was there. He oozed masculinity from every pore. She could smell it, taste it, feel its vibration in the air, and she wanted it badly.

She wanted to touch him, cup him in her hands, drink that tiny drop of his male essence, close her eyes, and savor the hot saltiness.

It wasn’t as if she meant to, but suddenly she was on the carpeted floor at his feet, his cock right before her. She couldn’t breathe, she needed him so badly.

“Don’t,” he said, and his voice seemed so far away.

She looked up. “Why?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared down at her.

Eyes locked, she leaned closer, breathed in that musky male scent. Then she put out her tongue and unerringly found the tip of his cock. He tasted like sweet cream with a dash of salt. She licked him all over her lips.

A growl rose up in his throat.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered. “You weren’t supposed to look so good in them.” She wasn’t supposed to succumb to the need to touch and taste.

“I didn’t look good in them until you got down there on your knees.”

She nuzzled her face against the smooth material and the hardness of his cock. This wasn’t going as she’d planned. He was supposed to beg to get out of them because he felt ridiculous. His eyes, however, weren’t begging for
that
. Taking her hand, he folded her palm against his cock.

Sliding her thumb across the slit, she stroked him. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the elastic and touched flesh. Hot, hard flesh. He groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair. She ached to take him with her mouth, and yet she loved the pleasure of caressing him with her panties still wrapped around him. Holding on to his thigh, she tightened her grip. She’d gotten just a hint that day in the elevator. Time stopped, and all she could hear was his breath, her own, and a low rumble of need in his chest.

“Christ, you’re going to make me come.”

Then his body jerked, and she covered his crown with her other palm as he bathed her hand. He made barely a sound, but his fingers stroked through her hair. So much come, it dribbled down the front of the thong. Looking up, she found his eyes on her, and just as she’d made him taste her fingers after she’d masturbated, she put her palm to her mouth and licked him from her hand.

“Damn you,” he murmured.

“Now give me my panties back.”

He gazed down at her forever, his eyes totally unreadable.

“Everything fine in there? Can I get you anything else?” Damn. The saleswoman. Josie had somehow forgotten where they were.

“We’re doing great, thank you,” Kyle said, not a hitch in his voice, not one single giveaway that he was standing behind a flimsy curtain, naked except for a pair of her soaked panties. “Could you bring us the red bustier from the same rack?” he called. “And perhaps some matching panties or a thong. I’d like something frilly for her to try on.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He’d done it again, gotten the upper hand. She was the one down on her knees, not him. His musky, distinctly male aroma, the taste of him . . . it fogged her brain. She’d stroked him; he’d come in her hand. It was nothing more than teenagers did in the backseat of Daddy’s car, yet she salivated for his full cock in her mouth, his touch on her, fingers, lips, tongue, everything.

Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. Naked but for the slip of green satin, he was undeniably magnificent, even after he’d orgasmed. He stole her breath all over again. Which made her realize she hadn’t said a word for long, long moments.

“I’ve decided you should wear my thong home,” she directed, hoping it would reclaim some of her control.

His lips twitched. “It’s wet.”

“Exactly.” His come had soaked in, creating a patch of dark jungle green amidst the brilliant emerald. She handed him his pants.

He gave her a full-blown smile. “I think you have the makings of a dominatrix.”

“Here you go, sir.” The saleslady was once again outside the curtain. Josie couldn’t answer him.

Kyle stuck his hand through—“Thank you”—and came back with a delicate red corset and several pairs of panties. Then he lowered his voice. “For you.”

Josie took the fripperies. Her pupils were wide, her breathing fast, her lips still glistening with traces of the semen she’d licked and sucked from her fingers.

His cock had surged once again when she’d done that. Here was a woman so sensual, so tantalizing beneath the tough business facade. He would have more of her, here, now, later, often.

“Your turn,” he whispered. Then stepped into his pants and zipped. His feet and chest remained bare, and she seemed mesmerized by his nipples.

“My turn for what?” Her eyes were slightly unfocused, as if she were still in the moment when his cock was in her hand, when she had total control of him.

“Your turn to model lingerie for me.” He had a little payback in mind. His own orgasm had been too incredible to let it go at that.

“But
you
were supposed to model for me.”

“Which I did.” He grabbed his dress shirt, pulled it on, but didn’t button it yet.

She hung the panties and corset on the hooks. “I didn’t intend to try anything on. All these things were just window dressing.”

“Not in my mind. I want to see you in them. Now take off your jacket.” He flicked the one fastened button at her midriff.

Then he did up his own shirt.

She stood still, watching, until he unzipped again to tuck in the tails. Then, belt buckled, he raised an eyebrow and fluttered his hand. Finally, he put her fingers to the one button. “Do it.”

Josie swallowed. She had a beautiful throat, long, slender, a pulse beating. Undoing the jacket, she pushed it aside. Her nipples beaded against the white blouse. He’d yet to see her naked. Even yesterday while she masturbated, he hadn’t glimpsed her sweet pussy.

He slung his tie around his neck, then sat to put on his socks and shoes. “Josie.” Just her name.

She pursed her lips. “Whatever.”

Yanking off the jacket, she hung it on the hook beside his. Her tight nipples told the real story, and her scent permeated the cubicle. Hot, wet woman. She wanted this. She just didn’t want him to know how much.

His shoes done, he leaned back in the chair, toying idly with the end of his tie.

She pulled her blouse from her slacks with little artfulness and slipped the buttons loose, then went to the cuffs and undid those. With fast movements, she had the blouse off and on a hook, revealing her white, unpadded cotton bra with a pink flower in the center between the cups. When she reached behind to unsnap it, her small breasts thrust high, nipples stark against the white. Kyle felt yet another surge in his pants. If he wasn’t careful, he’d need relief all over again, when right now he wanted to concentrate solely on her.

“At least try to be sexy,” he drawled.

Something flared in her gaze. “I
am
sexy.”

She sure as hell was, sexy and delicious, but she wasn’t about to give up an inch of her power if she could help it. Power to her was making him the one out of control. She’d wanted him to wear her underwear simply to see if he would. To gauge how far she could push him, how much he was willing to do to have her. Wearing panties under his clothing wasn’t his usual fare and didn’t do anything for him sexually, but neither did it challenge his manhood. He’d done it solely to let her
think
she could lead him around by his cock.

She’d learn he liked the lead equally as much as she did.

She shimmied the straps down her arms, then let the garment drop to the carpet. “I
am
sexy,” she whispered this time, running her hands up her smooth abdomen to cup her breasts.

She plumped them in her hands, then pinched her nipples, making the tiniest, sexiest little sound of pleasure. Her chin down, she looked at him through her lashes, searching for his reaction. He gave her none, yet he was dying to stroke himself. He sat, legs spread, hands on the arms of the chair, and simply said, “More.”

The
more
was up to her. He didn’t care what it was. She grabbed the silver bustier, his first choice. Wrapping it around her body, it fit snugly with each hook and eye she fastened until her breasts swelled above the tight top. Just a hint of rosy nipple peeked out.

“There. Satisfied?” She challenged him with one hand on her hip, and a slight purse to her lips.

“Most women would have undressed completely, then put the bustier on.”

“I’m not most women.” She arched a brow, shot him a glare. But that pulse beat at her throat, fast and strong. She got off on sparring with him.

“Well, now I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

Josie glanced quickly at the curtain.

“Nervous?” He was well aware that his voice might carry beyond their cubicle. If the saleslady stood at the head of the hallway leading into the dressing area, she’d hear every word. It turned him on, made him want to push Josie past the hint of inhibition in her glance.

“Of course I’m not nervous.” When she loosened her belt and unzipped her pants, he knew she damn well wasn’t going to back down from any challenge he issued.

She flipped off her low-heeled pumps—she’d worn them without socks or nylons—then bent, sliding the slacks down her legs. Gorgeous long legs, smooth lickable skin, the globes of her ass framed by a high-cut white cotton thong. When she stood, the stitched flower at the waistband matched the one on her bra. Holy hell, the woman was perfect. Lithe, toned, enticing.

He said nothing, simply handed her the thigh highs.

Peeling back the small bit of tape, she upended the package and shook it. Fishnet spilled out into her hand. She held it a moment, stroked a finger along it. “You know, I’ve never worn these things before.”

“I’m glad you’ll wear them first for me, then.” She was green satin and white cotton, now he’d make her decadent, naughty fishnet. He was going to enjoy this transformation.