Authors: Emma Jay
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Contemporary
Instead he sat up, keeping his hand on her breast, drawing her onto his lap, her back to his chest so his hands were free to stroke the length of her body. He lowered his mouth to the curve of her throat as he dragged the fingertips of his free hand from her knee up the inside of her thigh, parting them so she straddled his lap, so that she was open for his touch.
He brushed his fingers over the outside of her damp panties and then slipped them beneath the elastic, over her wet cleft. He murmured something in Spanish, something that sounded reverent, and she dropped her head back against his shoulder.
And then saw his driver, Arthur, watching in the rearview mirror. She tensed and tried to squeeze her legs together, but Vicente's hand was in the way. She shifted, wanting to cover herself. Vicente made a soft, soothing noise against her skin.
"He likes to watch. Let him see your pussy, Veronica."
"I—can't,” she whimpered, torn between the exquisite pleasure he offered and shame.
"He won't touch you. You're only for me. But this gives him pleasure, too."
He stroked his fingers over her outer lips, so wet, pushing her panties to the side. The cool air of the car left her feeling exposed, but he kept her legs open with his knees, open for Arthur's gaze. She should be creeped out to be exposing herself to a stranger, but felt safe in Vicente's arms, secure. She had known him for three and a half months, hadn't she?
"Don't be shy,” Vicente said. “You're just like an actress in a movie. Show him your pussy while I touch you. Show him your pleasure."
Embarrassment heated her skin, but excitement raced through her at his words, excitement that had her pushing against his hand.
"So wet,” Vicente murmured, tracing the petals of her flesh, making her swell, flicking the rise of her clitoris. “So pretty. Doesn't she have a pretty pussy?"
Arthur made a sound of assent and Vicente dipped a finger inside her. She lifted her hips toward his touch, wanting him to press his palm against her clit, wanting him to make her come. She didn't care who was watching.
"What color do you think her nipples are?” Vicente released her breast to lower the slender strap of her dress, letting the fabric hang on the distended tip.
"Pink,” Arthur said, his voice rough.
"I think so, too.” Vicente coursed his palm over her shoulder, down her arm. “All this smooth creamy skin. Pretty blonde hair. Has to be pink.” He hooked one finger in the fabric, urged it down. “Mm, rose. Darker than I thought. Beautiful, though.” He curved his hand around her breast, rubbing the full flesh lightly. “I can't wait to taste you."
"Now,” she whispered, bumping her ass against his cock.
"I'm trying to decide,” he said, his fingers toying at her opening, two sliding in knuckle-deep, then out again. “Should I lick you or fuck you?"
"Fuck her,” Arthur suggested hopefully from the front seat.
Vicente lifted his fingers, slick with her juices, to his lips, drew them into his mouth. She turned her head to watch his pleasure as he licked them, then rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I don't know. You taste so good. I want to taste all of you."
Desire thrummed through her, so that every nerve in her body seemed concentrated between her legs, where she could so easily picture his dark head, his stubble rubbing her inner thighs, his tongue lapping, driving her out of her mind.
"Yes, please,” she managed.
"But I want to be inside you,” he murmured, rubbing his lips over her earlobe. “I want to feel you squeeze around me. I want to feel you move under me."
The picture popped into her head in even more detail. “Yes. Please.” The second word dragged from her throat in a moan as he slid two fingers into her body, thrusting gently, his thumb resting lightly against her clitoris so that desire shot through her like electric shocks. She shifted so that her ass caressed the length of his cock. Why didn't he unzip and slide into her?
"Is this the place?"
Arthur's voice invaded the haze of passion that enveloped her, the crazy need that sapped the will from her. Vicente removed his touch and tugged her underwear back in place.
"I could drive around the block a few times,” Arthur offered.
For a moment she pictured it, Vicente driving into her from behind as they circled the neighborhood, and the thought made her hotter than it should. No, she wanted him over her in bed, filling her, his weight on her. She wanted to take her time exploring his body, and allowing Vicente to explore hers.
"No, thanks.” She climbed off Vicente's lap, edging toward the door, clutching her purse.
She didn't hear Vicente move behind her and glanced back. Did he want to stay in the car, drive around the block and fuck her? Had she blown it by wanting him in bed with her?
But then he shifted, leaned forward to say something to Arthur, and followed her out of the car.
Her dress was twisted around her waist, so it rode high enough to expose her panties and she received some questioning looks and leers from passers-by on the sidewalk as she hurried toward the door of her building. Had they seen her in the car? By the state of her clothing, they had to know what she and Vicente had been doing, and the knowledge sent another pulse of heat through her. Behind her, Vicente closed the door of the car and followed, wrapping his arm about her waist and drawing her back against him as she struggled with the door. He smoothed one hand down her stomach and his other down her arm to guide the key into the lock. Even that felt like a sexual move.
"Do I make you nervous?” His lips brushed the shell of her ear.
She pushed the door open, surging into the building ahead of him, then turned to look at him, walking backwards down the hall, the strap of her dress falling down her arm as she held a hand out to him.
His eyes followed the movement of the fabric, barely clinging to her nipple, and he caught her waist, pressing her back against the wall of the hallway, pinning her with his weight, with the length of his body fitting against her better than she expected, lowering his mouth to the swell of her breast. Her head fell back against the wall and she curved her hand around the back of his head as he slid his tongue under her dress to tease her nipple, his hand under her hem to cup her ass, squeezing, parting her legs.
Footsteps in the hall made her jolt, and she slid her hand to his jaw to turn his head toward her.
"Upstairs,” she whispered. “Elevator."
He eased back just enough for her to push him toward the elevator, kept his fingers linked with hers as she pressed the button. Then he curled his fingers in the hem of her dress, rubbing his chin along the line of her shoulder as they waited.
Every nerve in her body pulsed for his touch, and she was just about to grab his hand and press it to her breast when the elevator binged and the doors slid open.
Empty, thank God. Entwined, they stumbled inside and the doors had barely closed before Veronica reached for his cock, curling her fingers around it through his pants, measured how thick and long it was, She parted her legs to rub herself against him, feeling him pulse against her, her swollen lips cupping him even through their clothes. The elevator ride never felt so endless.
Vicente urged the strap of her dress down further, baring her breast to suck her nipple into his mouth. She arched her back to offer herself more fully and the thin strap busted. She twisted her fingers through his hair and caught sight of them in the mirrored wall, her dress pushed up and drooping down, his head bent over her, her leg lifted, rubbing against his hip as she opened herself to him. So sexy.
"Make me come,” she moaned. It wouldn't take much, just a caress or two.
He chuckled against her throat, squeezing her ass. “Not yet."
The elevator bell rang and Vicente straightened slowly, drawing her dress into place. She watched his face, his hooded eyes dark with promise. Only a few more steps. Reluctant to be apart from him for that long, she slid past him, led the way down the hall. She pivoted in front of her door, wrapped her arms around his waist, curving them up his back, pressing into him, rubbing gently, enticingly. He slipped his fingers under her hem and tucked them in her panties, began easing them down her hips, and her front door opened from the inside.
The chorus of “Surprise!” died down as Vicente lifted his head and backed away, allowing her twisted dress to fall back into place and her panties to return to her hips with a snap.
Veronica looked past her former best friend Cindi's face into the shocked faces of her parents.
"Are you crazy?” Cindi chased Veronica down the hall to her bedroom after Veronica showed Vicente to the bathroom, so he could wash the scent of her from his skin. Cindi closed the bedroom door behind her and stared at Veronica. “That's not who I think it is, is it?"
"Yes, it is.” Veronica whipped her ruined dress over her head and walked to the closet, flipped through, already knowing nothing in there matched the sexiness of the dress, unwilling to dress in anything plain, unwilling to let Vicente see her as anything other than a sex goddess tonight. Most of her wardrobe was career-wear that he'd already seen. She chose a silky white blouse and her favorite jeans, which did great things for her ass. But first...
She skimmed out of her panties, looped them around her wrist, then dragged on her jeans and tucked the panties in her pocket. Then she shrugged into the blouse and buttoned it.
Cindi reached over and opened Veronica's lingerie drawer. “Aren't you forgetting something? Seriously, you can't sleep with your boss. You should be thanking me instead of storming off."
"My parents, Cindi? Geez, I wouldn't have wanted them here anyway.” She leaned close to the mirror and fluffed out her hair, afraid of leaving Vicente out there too long. What if he'd already left? She wouldn't blame him, but her heart dropped at the idea.
Her parents stood across the room when she emerged from her bedroom, but she didn't have the nerve to face them yet. She scanned the room and found Vicente leaning against the breakfast bar. Someone had supplied him with a drink, small compensation for what he'd—what they'd both missed out on by this impromptu surprise party. He watched her as she approached, his dark eyes hooded.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper-aware of the difference between how he'd seen her moments ago and how he saw her now. “You don't have to stay."
"You didn't tell me it was your birthday.” His gaze remained steady on hers.
He hadn't looked away from her since they came through the door. Maybe he was just afraid to make eye contact with her father. Or maybe he was fantasizing about her. Her face heated and her pulse thrummed as she imagined what he was seeing.
"Yeah, I didn't plan on celebrating. Not this way, anyway.” She turned to stand beside him and survey the crowd. She took a sip of her own martini, nerves thrumming. Her body still hummed from the unfulfilled sexual charge and now she'd add embarrassment to that. What must he think of her? “I really had no idea,” she added.
She glanced over to see his dimple deepen as he sipped from his own tumbler. Scotch, from the smell.
He reached over and toyed with her collar. “This is more what I'm accustomed to seeing you in."
She arched her throat, wanting his knuckles to brush her skin, feeling the heat of his fingers, but then he released her and set the glass on the counter behind him. Did he notice she wasn't wearing a bra beneath the silky fabric? The blouse felt as good as the dress had, caressing her skin, pebbling her nipples. She wanted to lean into him now, feel the heat of him against her breasts, feel his hands on them. God, she was shameless.
"I think I will go,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Wait.” She stepped in front of him and reached into her pocket, looking into his eyes. She slipped her panties from her pocket and tucked them into his, sliding deep, lingering, brushing her fingers along the side of his erection before depositing her gift and withdrawing.
He lifted his eyebrows, the dimple denting his cheek when he slid his hand into his own pocket. Understanding lit his eyes and he drew his balled-up fist to his nose, took a deep breath, and walked off with a grin.
She stared after his lethal grace until he walked out the door.
Vicente was running late the following morning. Damn it, he'd wanted to be in his office, wanted to watch Veronica sway by, wanted to see how she'd react to him today after last night. His own hand hadn't satisfied him last night, not even thinking about her, and he wondered if he could convince her to go to dinner with him tonight. With the eyes of the office around, though, he'd have to be discreet in his invitation.
After last night he didn't know if he had that kind of control.
Paper coffee cup in hand, he stepped out of the elevator and his heart dropped. She sat at her desk, head bent over her work, her hair clipped up in its normal style. Her blouse was buttoned to her collarbone and a structured jacket covered that. Was she planning to pretend nothing had happened between them last night? She'd given him her panties last night. He could still smell her on his hands.
She didn't look up as he passed, but stiffened in her seat, so she was aware. Anger heated him more quickly than the coffee. She was going to pretend nothing had changed. He walked into his office and slammed the door. Moments later it opened again and his secretary, Laurie, a round matronly type, very efficient, bustled in with his day's schedule, but he only heard the drone of her voice as he looked through the glass wall at Veronica. She glanced up once, reddened to see him watching her, and went straight back to work.
The mouse had returned. He growled, feeling very much the accused predator.
He flicked his gaze at Laurie, who held out his folder for the day. He took it and dismissed her with an uncharacteristic monosyllable. She considered him a moment, then turned to walk briskly away.
Would Veronica be acting the same way if their evening hadn't been interrupted? Would they have spent the night together, come in to work together? Would she still be shy after everything he'd planned to do to her body?