Unleashing the Receptionist: ...the Receptionist, Book 3 (8 page)

Now a thumb has certain advantages compared to a cock. (Don’t take this the wrong way, guys.) A thumb can be more of a precision tool. It can aim for certain spots and when it finds them, it can do all kinds of wicked things.

Especially a thumb belonging to a man like Ethan Cowell.

I knew it had to be him. His hands were bigger than Simon’s, and he had a commanding way with them that turned me into a rag doll. He worked that thumb deep inside me, while keeping a firm finger on my clit as well. My entire pussy burned and pulsed. I scrabbled at the bedcovers, letting out quick little gasps of breath. Behind my blindfold, everything looked like dark red velvet. The whole world narrowed to one thing—the sensations coming from the bottom half of my body.

I wanted more, harder. I tried to put one of my hands under my body to join Ethan’s, but Simon stopped me. I knew it was him by his smell, a hint of soap mixed with sweat. He dragged my hands over my head and tied them to the bedposts, so my arms were stretched out wide.

Strangely relaxing, I discovered. With no means to pleasure myself, I had to allow Ethan to do his thing.

“That’s right, luv,” crooned Ethan. “You relax and leave it to me. Have I ever let you down?” His thumb wiggled against that very particular spot, the one that sent shooting stars straight to my brain.

I shook my head no.

“Of course I haven’t. And I never will. Now lift up, sweetheart.”

Hard not to, when his hands were inside me, pulling my rear up into the air.

“So lovely, you have no idea. Simon, I feel something’s lacking. She’s still squirming around like a little wiggle worm. Do you have any restraints with you?”

“One second.”

I held my breath, adjusting myself to the new position in which my face was buried in the covers, my hands stretched overhead, and my ass pointed toward the ceiling. Quite honestly, I didn’t care where it pointed as long as Ethan’s hand was inside my pussy, working his magic. How can imprisonment be so liberating? It’s a strange phenomenon, and it would take a more highly educated person than me to figure that out.

But it was true. In the darkness, I released all claims to my own body and what was happening to it.

A rush of air told me Simon was back. And then Ethan’s hand withdrew from the depths of my sex. I gave a sob. “Don’t leave!”

He responded with a quick slap on my ass. “No one’s leaving. Relax. Don’t make me warn you again.”

I shut my mouth tight. I knew that tone of voice. That voice meant business. Then someone—I thought it was Simon—began wrapping a length of silken rope around my buttocks. I shifted, confused, as Ethan brought my legs together tight. They usually wanted them wide open. But this time Simon wound the bindings around the tops of my thighs, all the way to the curve of my lower back. When he pulled it tight, my body cinched together, my thighs squeezing the lips of my pussy together. I was already aroused to the point of screaming. Now my poor swollen sex pouted into emptiness, pressed between the flesh of my thighs and the tight rope.

Again and again the cord went around me. It crossed my sex, its bristles brushing my clit. I gave a strangled cry. I tried to shy away from the contact but how could I move? I was bound in such an odd position. I felt both disconnected from my rear end and completely immersed in what was happening.

They worked quickly now, no doubt knowing that I couldn’t tolerate such an extreme position for long. Already I was becoming lightheaded.

“You okay?” Simon asked.

I gave an incoherent murmur in response.

“You look incredible,” said Ethan in a hoarse voice. “Your beautiful rear tied up in a perfect, lush little package. Just waiting to be tasted.”

I felt his teeth on my ass cheek, a quick nibble followed by a soothing swipe of his tongue. He repeated this a few times, getting closer and closer to my pussy, which pulsed in the open air. I waited in my personal darkness, heart pounding, shivers racing up and down my spine. Then he put his warm mouth to my sex, licking my exposed lips with sensuous strokes. I don’t know what he did with the cord, whether he took it between his teeth or used his finger, but suddenly it was moving across my clit, back and forth, a hard friction setting off explosive sparks of ecstasy.

I shrieked into the comforter.

“You like that, do you?” Ethan panted. “Nothing like a juicy, sex-drenched silk cord sliding across a swollen pussy. Almost as good as a whip handle. Hand me that, Simon.”

Something harder than the rope took its place. I knew that whip handle. Ethan and Simon weren’t much for whips, generally, preferring their hands or a paddle, but one had appeared one day in my condo. They’d never used it, but I’d often eyed it, especially the handle, which was wrapped in strips of brown leather. Now it rubbed against my aching, craving pussy in a deliberate motion that sent me into a frenzy. And I couldn’t move away from it, couldn’t move toward it, couldn’t do anything but let it tease me.

I let out a long, guttural grunt, like a wild beast. The handle worked its way into my folds, slipping in and out of me, inhuman and relentless. My groans swelled into desperate cries. The handle increased its pace, rubbing, arousing, stoking a burn that had no place to go except to explode into a million pieces. I screamed as the intense orgasm shot through me, lighting up my entire body with incandescent light. The bright shockwaves were still streaking through me when a hard cock buried itself in my depths. It rutted into me as if it owned me, as if I was there for its pleasure, and I reveled in it. When that cock withdrew, another took its place. And even though I panted from sheer blissed-out exhaustion, I came again, helpless ripples cascading through my system.

I don’t remember the details of what happened next, except that they unwound the cord from around me, untied my wrists, stretched me out on the bed, face up, and slowly massaged my circulation back to normal. Simon, most likely, rubbed a warm washcloth over my still-tender intimate area, until I felt immaculate and pristine, like a treasured possession. Finally, when I was limp and boneless, they untied the blindfold and cuddled me between them, three warm, trembling spoons, with my face nestled against Simon’s muscular back.

“Go to sleep now,” Ethan whispered in my ear, his rumbling voice more a vibration than a sound.

“Why?” I mumbled.

“Why what?”

“Why…” I struggled to form the thought before sleep took over. “Can’t ever get enough of you. Why?”

Two male voices chuckled on either side of me. My eyes drifted shut.

“We’ve been asking ourselves the same thing, haven’t we, Simon?”

“I think we’ve decided not to worry about it. We’re all here together. That’s what matters.”

Chapter Eight

Was Ethan right? I knew the fact that we’d found each other was a miracle. But I couldn’t stop thinking about their secrets. They moved so well together. They meshed so smoothly—with or without me. Did they really need me at all? Of course I knew they wanted me. I wasn’t foolish enough to doubt that. As a threesome, we were sensational. But I kept thinking about all the things they’d experienced together before they even know I existed.

In a way, it felt like I was barging in on a married couple.

More than anything, I wanted to prove myself to them. Prove that I could hold my own, that I could be a full partner in every sense of the word. I wanted them to know they could confide in me, count on me, that I could save them just as they had saved me.

Of course, in the process I was sneaking behind their backs and hiding important bits of information. So maybe I had things a little backward. No surprise there.

I got to work early the next day and booted up the spy program. No more going easy on Standish, liar and weasel. Mission: Nail the Accountant. Just call me 007, emphasis on the double O—that stands for orgasm. Time to get some dirt on this dude who’d lied his way into our cozy little firm. I dressed for the occasion in a peekaboo bra and a thong, covered by a plaid skirt and a white cotton blouse whose buttons just happened to be hanging by a thread.

Standish arrived with a smile like morning sunshine. How dare he? I hid my sense of betrayal behind an equally lying smile.

“Good morning,” I sang, like Snow White talking to the birdies in the forest.

He blinked and adjusted his glasses. Oops, had I overdone it? “Good morning to you.” Looking rather dazzled, he meandered toward his office. I waited until he’d fussed with his tea, pulled up his chair, opened his laptop.

Then I got to work. I knew exactly what the hidden video camera showed. The desk, the chair, me. I stood up and yawned, stretching my arms until the top button of my blouse popped off.

“Oops!” I faced the camera and looked down at my button. In the process, with an ingenious sleight of hand, I managed to get rid of the next button as well. My blouse hung open, my white peekaboo bra showing through in all its obscene glory, showing off my dark nipples in between little patches of lace. “Oh, no,” I said, pulling a distressed face. “I wonder if I have any safety pins.”

I pretended to bend over to look in my desk drawers. But really I was trying to catch a glimpse of the computer screen. There was Peter Standish, goggle-eyed, standing in front of the monitor with his hand down his pants. I bent to search the bottom drawer and felt my skirt ride up the back of my thighs, up, up, until I felt nothing but air on my rear. I knew what he was seeing. Bare ass, my pussy hidden by nothing more than the tiny string of the thong.

Standish’s hand moved faster. I watched him watch me, wiggled my butt just so, watched the effect it had on him, the way his face went slack with lust, the way his eyes bulged.

“What are you doing?” Simon’s voice jolted me, as did the sharp slap on my ass. I jumped, feeling heat flame in my cheeks. I quickly hit the off button on my computer, but not before I saw what Simon’s spank had done to Standish.

It had sent him off like a rocket. He bent over double as he came and came into his own fist.

I straightened up. “Nothing. Looking for a safety pin. Look at my blouse!”

I turned and showed Simon my missing buttons.

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Simon drawled.

“I thought you guys were at an early meeting.”

“Did you?” His eyes went emerald green the way they did when he wanted me.

“No physical contact, remember?” I whispered. “Ethan’s rules.”

He studied me. He knew I was up to something. I knew he knew I was up to something. The truth lay between us like a thundercloud about to burst.

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to break any of Ethan’s rules, would we?” Emphasis on the
any
, with a wink to remind me of last night. As if I could ever forget. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“And Ethan?” I managed.

“He’ll be in later.”

I nodded tightly.

As he rounded the corner of my desk, he paused. “You might want these, Dana.” He fished around in a little plastic container on my desk and pulled out a handful of safety pins.

I went into the bathroom to fasten my blouse. I heard someone go into the men’s room. It had to be Standish, probably cleaning himself up. I studied myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed pink, my black hair looked even more unruly than usual. What was I doing? I’d learned what I wanted to know, but what was the point? This wasn’t me, this spying and sneaking around.

Time for a standoff with Standish.

I turned on my heel and marched into the men’s bathroom. Standish was washing his hands at the sink. He let out a squeak when he saw me.

“I’m on to you,” I said.

“You’re…what…don’t know what you mean…” he babbled.

“I’m not talking about you jacking off in the storeroom.”

His face turned a clear, bright red color. “I didn’t…how did you…it wasn’t…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. As long as you tell me what I want to know.”

He started to choke. I stepped forward to pound him on the back, but he shied away.

“Right, no touchy. You want to watch, but not touch. You’re a peep-show guy. That’s cool. I don’t care about that. I hope I gave you a good show. Did you like it?”

He looked desperately around the men’s room as if looking for an escape hatch or, more likely, a magic portal into another dimension.

Then he gave up and faced me, looking shamefaced. “Yes. I…I loved it.”

Part of me softened toward him at that moment. Maybe I was a performer at heart. I liked hearing that. But I shoved my ego aside.

“Why have you been lying to me? To us?”

He gaped. “Lying?”

“You’re not from the IRS.”

“IRS?” If anything, his face went even more purple. “I never said I was. I’m an accountant, that’s all. I was sent to sort through the problems left behind by the old accountant.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Yes, of course.” Then he bonked himself on the head with the heel of his hand. Normally that gesture would have made me laugh, but I was finally getting somewhere and I wasn’t about to ruin it. “Damn it.”

“Margo Lang didn’t want you to mention her?”

He wrung his hands. “No, she said you all hate her. But she owns part of the company. She said you were hiding profits from her.”