Womanizer
Page 31
“No, you’re having fun with it. If you want my golden little bush . . .” I start laughing.
“God, you make me hot.”
“I’m not done,” I assure him. I really want to taunt him now.
“You talk about how much you like dick, I’m going to lose it,” he warns.
“Dick. Oh yes, I love it.”
“You saying naughty things makes me insane.”
We’re so hot for each other when we arrive at his place. Callan brings out the red scarf I’d worn as a hair band and I tremble head to toe as his touch begins to brush over my skin and my nipples. He wraps my bandana around my eyes.
I can’t see him—but this intensifies every touch to the maximum.
Callan turns me around and presses me against the wall. I thrust my butt out as he opens his mouth on the freckles on the back of my shoulder and licks his tongue over them, twirling it over my skin, opening his mouth even wider to suck on my shoulder.
He kicks my legs wider apart. “Make room for me.”
I flatten my palms on the wall and turn my head, and he’s there, taking my mouth as he drives in.
He’s in me—his flesh full and throbbing—and I groan and start slowly dying.
He jams his hand around my waist and between my legs, caressing my clit as he takes up a rhythm.
“How does that feel, Livvy?” he asks. His gruff voice sends pricks of pleasure running through my skin.
I lick my lips, aware of how fast I’m breathing. Of Callan’s own deep breaths.
“It feels . . .”
I trail off, no words for it.
Nobody, nobody, knows how to work and play better than Callan.
At Carma, we’re all business. But every evening, it’s all playtime.
And I’ve become this man’s favorite playground.
He’s played with me every night for the past two weeks. We usually end up at his place so he can take work calls during the evening, but we’ve ended up at my place too. We’ve been bingeing like troglodytes on each other.
I’ll say this: Sleeping with the boss is sexy.
Going to work every day for him is sexy. Talking to him about work is sexy. Being taken over by him is sexy.
Even the danger is a little bit sexy.
Except the few times when it’s . . . worrisome.
“The only bad thing is that if anyone finds out I’m doing the sexy with you, they’re all going to think I got ahead because I slept with you,” I told him one night when we were at my place.
“The important thing is that you’re going to know that they’re right.” He touched a finger to the tip of my nose.
“Callan, shuuut it!” I groaned.
He laughed, then shifted over, his big weight on top of me. “Come on, Livvy. You’ll have your own business. You and I will be fighting over the market.”
“Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith? I kind of don’t like that.”
“What do you like, huh?” he’d asked, rocking his hips.
The heat in his eyes had stirred awake my every pore, and I’d tilted my pelvis beneath him, nudging his hard cock with my hips.
“That,” I breathed.
“Really? You like . . . this?” We were naked. My condom basket had really taken a hit.
He’d given it to me slow at first, teasingly, and then hard, harder, and hardest—and I’d walked into the office the next day with a sore V and a big grin on my face.
That week, when I head up to his office with some papers Mr. Lincoln wanted him to have, I couldn’t resist baiting him as he skimmed them.
“I’m disappointed,” I said, breathless.
“Explain why you’re disappointed,” he said, setting the papers down.
Standing next to his chair, I leaned down to his ear. “You’re this wicked bad boy, always teasing me. Instead of taking advantage, hugging me and feeling me up, you’re being too much the gentleman.”
“We’re in the office, Miss Roth. Let’s not forget we have work to do. Expansion plans for GRT. Plus . . . you’ve got to get your head in the game. Alcore’s wide open.” His hand cupped my knee under my skirt and trailed sinuously higher up the back of my thigh.
“But the news is bad on its last quarter,” I said, confused and breathing a little hard when his finger started skimming up the back of my leg.
He cupped my butt and sat me on his desk as he took up the papers again and continued skimming. “Sometimes a financially sick corporation with carryovers and write-offs can merge with a healthy one to make big business,” he told me.
And I found out he’d just made a tender offer for the company.
Now it’s Friday evening, and there’s a get-together at Carma to celebrate a milestone. It’s an employee- and family-only event. It’s well underway when I arrive wearing a low-back silver dress with my hair in a sleek ponytail.
Familiar faces from Carma swarm the party room, and I greet those whom I know and smile at those I don’t.
All the time, I keep scanning the room in search of one face in particular.
At the far end, my eyes snag on a tall, dark-clad figure.
My mouth dries up when I see the back of his head. I remember reading Gone Girl, how amazed I was by the description of his wife’s skull, how well he knew the back of her head. And Callan’s skull is the first skull in my life that I seem to know with that same intensity and with such vivid memory. The hair short-cropped at the base of his neck and slightly longer and wavy at the top.
I somehow manage not to stumble as I walk forward, even when I feel his eyes suddenly compulsively rake me head to toe and in between.
Am I still wearing a dress?
Because he’s looking at me as if I’m not.
He’s dressed in a black suit, and his jacket hugs his shoulders like my arms want to.
I don’t, of course.
I spend the night mingling with a drink in my hand, stealing looks and wishing I could just stand there with him.
I catch Callan’s gorgeous face canted in my direction nearly every time I let my eyes wander his way.
He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversations, but his eyes darken a bit when our gazes clash. We’re staring at each other when George taps my shoulder to ask me if I’m okay, why I’m so distracted.
I see Callan’s eyes slide to him and his jaw clench, his smile fade as someone whispers something in his ear.
“Oh. I’m great!” I say, pulling my gaze free.
Two minutes later, I head out of the room and into the ladies’ room. I look at myself in the mirror; I’m flushed just from being close to him and wanting to be closer. Urgh.
I wash my hands and take a moment, then ease outside just as Callan steps out into the hall.
My heart skips, and we share a smile as I quickly step into a little nook in the corridor.
When he notices I’m blushing, he just chucks my chin and says, “Are you hungry?” Fixing me with a look that makes me even warmer.
“Starved.”
His mouth devours mine softly.
“Me too,” he whispers, lips curving lightly at the corners.
I’m about to leave when he takes my fingers in his and gives them a little reassuring squeeze. “Meet me out in the car at half past twelve.”
“Okay.”
We sit through dinner at separate tables, both of us laughing and engaged in conversations while locking gazes, over and over.
The night feels endless until, at twenty before twelve, Callan smiles that toe-curling, smirkish smile and motions toward the doorway. A dull ache thuds in my chest as I set my drink aside, grab my clutch, and tell the other interns I’m beat and heading home.
I refrain from saying that I’m taking the CEO home with me.
The moment I step into his house, his hand leading me inside, he stretches an arm out and shuts the door.
He kisses me, hard. Possessive. Driving his tongue as deep as he wants, his hands massaging my bum as he presses me back against the door.
I pull free and meet his hot gaze. I catch my breath, our eyes holding. I push him back a few steps, past the foyer and to the middle of his living room. Then I lower myself to my knees, and his chest expands as he holds his breath, his eyes on fire.
I take him out and run my tongue over him, watching his face. But it feels so intimate and I’m so engrossed with the hard velvet feel of him and taste of him, I close my eyes and simply suck him, not even for his pleasure but my own selfish one.
“God, you make me hot.”
“I’m not done,” I assure him. I really want to taunt him now.
“You talk about how much you like dick, I’m going to lose it,” he warns.
“Dick. Oh yes, I love it.”
“You saying naughty things makes me insane.”
We’re so hot for each other when we arrive at his place. Callan brings out the red scarf I’d worn as a hair band and I tremble head to toe as his touch begins to brush over my skin and my nipples. He wraps my bandana around my eyes.
I can’t see him—but this intensifies every touch to the maximum.
Callan turns me around and presses me against the wall. I thrust my butt out as he opens his mouth on the freckles on the back of my shoulder and licks his tongue over them, twirling it over my skin, opening his mouth even wider to suck on my shoulder.
He kicks my legs wider apart. “Make room for me.”
I flatten my palms on the wall and turn my head, and he’s there, taking my mouth as he drives in.
He’s in me—his flesh full and throbbing—and I groan and start slowly dying.
He jams his hand around my waist and between my legs, caressing my clit as he takes up a rhythm.
“How does that feel, Livvy?” he asks. His gruff voice sends pricks of pleasure running through my skin.
I lick my lips, aware of how fast I’m breathing. Of Callan’s own deep breaths.
“It feels . . .”
I trail off, no words for it.
Nobody, nobody, knows how to work and play better than Callan.
At Carma, we’re all business. But every evening, it’s all playtime.
And I’ve become this man’s favorite playground.
He’s played with me every night for the past two weeks. We usually end up at his place so he can take work calls during the evening, but we’ve ended up at my place too. We’ve been bingeing like troglodytes on each other.
I’ll say this: Sleeping with the boss is sexy.
Going to work every day for him is sexy. Talking to him about work is sexy. Being taken over by him is sexy.
Even the danger is a little bit sexy.
Except the few times when it’s . . . worrisome.
“The only bad thing is that if anyone finds out I’m doing the sexy with you, they’re all going to think I got ahead because I slept with you,” I told him one night when we were at my place.
“The important thing is that you’re going to know that they’re right.” He touched a finger to the tip of my nose.
“Callan, shuuut it!” I groaned.
He laughed, then shifted over, his big weight on top of me. “Come on, Livvy. You’ll have your own business. You and I will be fighting over the market.”
“Like Mr. and Mrs. Smith? I kind of don’t like that.”
“What do you like, huh?” he’d asked, rocking his hips.
The heat in his eyes had stirred awake my every pore, and I’d tilted my pelvis beneath him, nudging his hard cock with my hips.
“That,” I breathed.
“Really? You like . . . this?” We were naked. My condom basket had really taken a hit.
He’d given it to me slow at first, teasingly, and then hard, harder, and hardest—and I’d walked into the office the next day with a sore V and a big grin on my face.
That week, when I head up to his office with some papers Mr. Lincoln wanted him to have, I couldn’t resist baiting him as he skimmed them.
“I’m disappointed,” I said, breathless.
“Explain why you’re disappointed,” he said, setting the papers down.
Standing next to his chair, I leaned down to his ear. “You’re this wicked bad boy, always teasing me. Instead of taking advantage, hugging me and feeling me up, you’re being too much the gentleman.”
“We’re in the office, Miss Roth. Let’s not forget we have work to do. Expansion plans for GRT. Plus . . . you’ve got to get your head in the game. Alcore’s wide open.” His hand cupped my knee under my skirt and trailed sinuously higher up the back of my thigh.
“But the news is bad on its last quarter,” I said, confused and breathing a little hard when his finger started skimming up the back of my leg.
He cupped my butt and sat me on his desk as he took up the papers again and continued skimming. “Sometimes a financially sick corporation with carryovers and write-offs can merge with a healthy one to make big business,” he told me.
And I found out he’d just made a tender offer for the company.
Now it’s Friday evening, and there’s a get-together at Carma to celebrate a milestone. It’s an employee- and family-only event. It’s well underway when I arrive wearing a low-back silver dress with my hair in a sleek ponytail.
Familiar faces from Carma swarm the party room, and I greet those whom I know and smile at those I don’t.
All the time, I keep scanning the room in search of one face in particular.
At the far end, my eyes snag on a tall, dark-clad figure.
My mouth dries up when I see the back of his head. I remember reading Gone Girl, how amazed I was by the description of his wife’s skull, how well he knew the back of her head. And Callan’s skull is the first skull in my life that I seem to know with that same intensity and with such vivid memory. The hair short-cropped at the base of his neck and slightly longer and wavy at the top.
I somehow manage not to stumble as I walk forward, even when I feel his eyes suddenly compulsively rake me head to toe and in between.
Am I still wearing a dress?
Because he’s looking at me as if I’m not.
He’s dressed in a black suit, and his jacket hugs his shoulders like my arms want to.
I don’t, of course.
I spend the night mingling with a drink in my hand, stealing looks and wishing I could just stand there with him.
I catch Callan’s gorgeous face canted in my direction nearly every time I let my eyes wander his way.
He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversations, but his eyes darken a bit when our gazes clash. We’re staring at each other when George taps my shoulder to ask me if I’m okay, why I’m so distracted.
I see Callan’s eyes slide to him and his jaw clench, his smile fade as someone whispers something in his ear.
“Oh. I’m great!” I say, pulling my gaze free.
Two minutes later, I head out of the room and into the ladies’ room. I look at myself in the mirror; I’m flushed just from being close to him and wanting to be closer. Urgh.
I wash my hands and take a moment, then ease outside just as Callan steps out into the hall.
My heart skips, and we share a smile as I quickly step into a little nook in the corridor.
When he notices I’m blushing, he just chucks my chin and says, “Are you hungry?” Fixing me with a look that makes me even warmer.
“Starved.”
His mouth devours mine softly.
“Me too,” he whispers, lips curving lightly at the corners.
I’m about to leave when he takes my fingers in his and gives them a little reassuring squeeze. “Meet me out in the car at half past twelve.”
“Okay.”
We sit through dinner at separate tables, both of us laughing and engaged in conversations while locking gazes, over and over.
The night feels endless until, at twenty before twelve, Callan smiles that toe-curling, smirkish smile and motions toward the doorway. A dull ache thuds in my chest as I set my drink aside, grab my clutch, and tell the other interns I’m beat and heading home.
I refrain from saying that I’m taking the CEO home with me.
The moment I step into his house, his hand leading me inside, he stretches an arm out and shuts the door.
He kisses me, hard. Possessive. Driving his tongue as deep as he wants, his hands massaging my bum as he presses me back against the door.
I pull free and meet his hot gaze. I catch my breath, our eyes holding. I push him back a few steps, past the foyer and to the middle of his living room. Then I lower myself to my knees, and his chest expands as he holds his breath, his eyes on fire.
I take him out and run my tongue over him, watching his face. But it feels so intimate and I’m so engrossed with the hard velvet feel of him and taste of him, I close my eyes and simply suck him, not even for his pleasure but my own selfish one.
