He Touches Me (8 page)

I rub my moist palms against my new-­to-­me skirt as I walk. He's laughing on the phone and looks up. He waves his hand, gesturing me into the office.

I stand near the door, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, twisting my hands. I have to say something. This is his mom's friend. She'll tell ­people, ­people he knows.

“What is it, kiddo?” Michael stands, shaking the wrinkles out of his khakis. “Did Mrs. Williams agree to a meet and greet?”

“Ummm . . . yes.”

“She did?” He wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me close, flattening my breasts against his big broad chest, smacking our hips together. “Congratulations.”

He's warm, enticingly warm, and he smells clean, as though he's recently showered. A tingle builds low in my body and I'm horrified, my desire for Michael wrong. I care . . . cared for Blaine, and I know I won't ever feel that way about Michael.

I might never feel that strongly about anyone ever again. I was broken when I met Blaine. Now, I'm shattered, unable to trust, to believe.

My traitorous body doesn't care about my aching heart. As Michael rubs his big palms over my back, my nipples tighten. He must feel them through my thin tank top. I wiggle, embarrassed, and he hardens, his arousal as obvious as mine.

“Michael?” I'm confused, my thinking clouded by the soul-­destroying pain.

“Easy, kiddo.” He holds me and I selfishly allow him to, craving the comfort of his touch. “I rushed you before. That's the kind of guy I am. I rush. But we'll move at your speed going forward. We'll take it slow.”

Blaine also took our short-­lived relationship slow. Is that why I fell so hard for him, why I trusted him? “Mrs. Williams thinks I'm your girlfriend.”

“Mrs. Williams thinks Philippe, her cat, is the reincarnation of her first husband.” Michael chuckles, his chest shaking, rubbing against my breasts. “Don't worry about Mrs. Williams.”

He steps back, his hands lingering on my hips. His eyes have darkened to a stormy blue. “The gang is going for drinks tomorrow.”

I can't. This isn't fair to him. I'm an empty shell, unable to care about him or anyone else. I open my mouth.

“Join us as a friend, Anna,” he adds. “That's all I'm asking. Be my friend.”

I stare up at him, surprised he knows my name. “I have to work at six . . . I think.” Am I strong enough to continue working for Blaine? Will he want me to work for him? To see him every day will be torture.

“That gives us an hour.” Michael smiles. “I'll drive you to your mysterious second job.” He squeezes my hips and releases me. “I won't take no for an answer. We'll celebrate your meet and greet.”

I turn, step over the threshold and look back over my shoulder. He's gazing at me, looking at me as though I'm not broken. “Thank you,” I whisper.

 

Chapter Seven

I
DON'T REMEMBER
the bus ride. It must have happened, as I'm standing in the lobby of Blaine Technologies, wearing my suit, the fabric armor protecting me from the hurtful world. The receptionist chatters as she walks to the elevators. I can't focus on her words. I fancy I smell Blaine, his dreadful cigar smoke lingering on the recirculated air.

Fran waits for me as I exit the elevator. Her smile fades. “Oh Anna.” She wraps her arms around me. I don't hug her back, my body stiff, my arms at my side. “He'll be back.”

“I came here.” I take a ragged breath, unshed tears stinging my eyes. “I didn't know if Mr. Blaine wanted me to return but you paid me for the full week and . . .” I shrug, unable to say any more, emotion choking my throat.

“You are my assistant, not Mr. Blaine's.” Fran's face hardens. “And I paid you for the day, not the week. Come. We have work to do.” She walks briskly to my desk and I follow her. The boxes I've sorted have been removed, more boxes taking their place.

There will always be another box to sort. I hear Blaine's voice in my mind. The door to his office is closed, access to his domain barred to me. Unable to think about him, the pain too acute, I focus on my job, sorting the files.

I work as quickly as I can. My shoulders ache. Sweat trickles down my spine. My world narrows to the manila folders, the boxes around me serving as protective walls. In this space I can't be harmed, but I'm also alone, so very alone.

I hear Fran's voice. I put three more files in order before asking her to repeat her question. She doesn't respond. I look up. She isn't at her desk and her computer screens are black.

A white roll filled with chicken, lettuce, and tomato is set on a china plate on the corner of my desk. Although my stomach rumbles, the food doesn't appeal to me. I take a swig from the bottle of water she's left me, the liquid soothing my dry lips and my parched throat. It does nothing for my heartache.

Does Blaine think about me? I return to my task, trying to crowd out thoughts of him. It doesn't work. I smell sandalwood and musk, his scent. I hear the rumble of his voice. I remember the feel of his rough callused hands on my back, my breasts, between my thighs.

“Blaine.” I sigh.

“Anna.”

I lift my head. Blaine leans against his office door, watching me. He's immaculately dressed in his black suit, white shirt, gray tie, but his black hair is mussed, the wayward lock freed, falling over his forehead. His eyes are a bright brilliant green, glittering like jewels in his tanned face.

“You left me.” Accusation edges my words.

“I tried to leave.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, freeing more strands. “I lost control with you, Anna. I could have hurt you.”

“You did hurt me. You walked away from me.” I hug my body, protecting myself from the pain. “Like my mother did,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to the open boxes.

“No!” Blaine grips my shoulders and turns me toward him. “I'm not your mother, nymph. I was coming back to you.” He draws me close to his body, his strength, scent, heat grounding me, reassuring me he's here, he's truly with me. “I needed space, to think, to come up with a solution. I don't think well when I'm near you.” He nuzzles his chin into my hair. “But I'll always return to you.”

He'll always return to me. I shake, crying silent tears, and Blaine holds me, loosening the elastic band in my hair, petting the frizzy strands, soothing me, reassuring me. He's here. He had planned to return. He hadn't abandoned me.

“I'm sorry.” My voice is muffled against his chest.

“For what?” Blaine leans back and rubs the moisture from my cheeks. I must look like a mess, I've never been a pretty crier, yet he looks at me as though I'm the most beautiful creature on earth.

“I shouldn't have doubted you.” I gaze up at him, feeling foolish for having created drama over nothing. He came back to me. He merely needed space. I flatten my palms over the lapels of his black jacket, relishing his solid form.

Blaine brushes his lips over mine. He tastes of black coffee and honey. “I doubted myself. This is new to me too.”

“It's scary, isn't it?” I press deeper into his body, my safe haven, my shelter in the storm. “But not as scary as the numbness I felt before meeting you.” And when I thought I'd lost him.

“Yes.” Blaine shudders, his chest vibrating against my breasts. I unbutton his jacket and slip my hands inside, sliding my fingertips over his soft cotton shirt. His muscles ripple under my palms, his body enticingly warm, and his grip on me tightens.

He holds me and I hold him, gathering strength from each other, two damaged souls learning to trust again. Blaine threads his fingers through my hair, separating the strands, the elastic band falling to the carpeted floor. I rest my cheek against his silk tie, inhaling his scents, rubbing circles into his back.

He's hard, the ridge in his dress pants pressing against my stomach. My nipples are taut, my breasts aching for our touch. “So did you come up with a solution?” My voice is husky with my rising desire.

Blaine sighs, his chest rising and falling against me, and he pulls away. “I'll need your help, Anna,” he admits. Red streaks across my control-­freak billionaire's cheekbones.

“What do you need from me?” I'll do anything he asks.

Blaine takes my hands, his fingers rough and warm. “I need you too much.” He leads me into his office, flicks on the lights and shuts the door behind us, ensuring complete privacy. “It's . . . overwhelming.” He releases my ­fingers.

I wait for him to tell me how to help. Blaine stalks to the floor-­to-­ceiling windows and gazes out, gripping his hands tightly behind his back, his spine straight and his shoulders squared.

I stand beside him. The stars sparkle in the dark sky, appearing close enough to touch. Cars move along the streets, everyone in a rush to get somewhere. I'm in no rush. I'm where I want to be.

“I always put you first but . . .” Blaine pauses, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left.

But . . . I lower my gaze. His erection pushes against the zipper of his dress pants and I understand what my generous lover can't put into words. “If you come first, you'll have more control.”

He gives me a curt nod and continues to stare at the sky, his chin raised.

He's asking me to touch him. Heat flows up my body. “I like your solution.” I slide behind him and I place my palms on his fabric-­covered thighs.

Blaine jerks, his reaction exciting me, filling me with a feminine power.

“Easy,” I coo, as though I'm soothing a wild animal. Blaine's muscles flex under my hands, and I rub, inching my fingers closer and closer to his hardness.

I'm in control. I glide my hands over his length, savoring his size, the proof of his need unyielding under my fingertips. He widens his stance, allowing me more access, and I press my hips against his firm ass, moving against him as I stroke him through his pants.

“Too many clothes.” I sigh softly, frustrated by the barrier, wanting, needing, to feel bare skin.

Blaine tugs on his tie and removes the strip of silk from around his neck. He's undressing. My heart pounds. I've seen him once without his jacket, never without his shirt.

He turns. I step backward and he meets my gaze, his green eyes dark. “I'll show you, Anna.” He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses the garment on the tabletop. “I'll show you everything.”

He watches me as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt. I glimpse tanned skin, delineated muscle, and scars, many, many scars. His finely honed form is decorated with silver stripes and more ominous bullet-­sized circles.

I raise my eyebrows in silent question.

“We carry our pasts with us.” He places his shirt on the table, his muscles rippling as he moves. There isn't an ounce of excess fat on his body, every inch of him hard.

His past has made him this hard. He's been hurt, as I have. I learned to become invisible. He shielded his body with layers of fabric.

Blaine stands still, bare-­chested and vulnerable, trusting me not to hurt him. His shoulders are broad and his waist narrow, his skin golden tan and silver scars. A thin band of black hair trails from his navel to the waistband of his pants, drawing my gaze downward.

“Beautiful.” The word escapes from my mouth, and his lips curl upward. Warmth spreads through me, a deeper level of caring. I won't ever hurt him, this man I trust, I believe in.

Blaine unfastens his pants, the zipper rasping, and I tremble, eager to see all of him. He pulls his pants and white boxer shorts down, and his cock springs free, his shaft long and thick, black curls covering his base, his balls hugging his body.

I studied him closely, thoroughly, admiring his contrasts, the dips of his muscles, his firm male form. Blaine clasps his hands behind his back, the unspoken message clear. He won't touch me or himself. His body is mine to pleasure.

“I've never done this before.” I step hesitantly toward him and I flatten my palms against his abdomen. His stomach flutters, his reaction to my simple touch emboldening me.

“Will you guide me?” I graze my short blunt fingernails up and down his sides, stroking him as in the past he has stroked me. “Tell me what you like, how to please you?”

I lean forward and swirl my tongue around his flat nipple, tasting the salt of his skin. He juts his jaw. I nip at his flesh and he shudders. A dab of pre-­cum forms on his tip.

“No teasing, Anna,” Blaine rumbles. “Not this time.”

“Not this time,” I agree. I swipe the pre-­cum over his skin with one of my thumbs, the liquid warm and glistening. “I'll take care of you, Blaine.” I curl my fingers around his shaft and he groans. He is silk over steel, soft yet rigid, magnificently male and all mine.

I pump him slowly, gently, not wishing to cause him pain, only pleasure. Blaine watches me, his eyelids partially lowered and his lips flat.

I find a rhythm, growing bolder, more confident. All of his power is now mine, his control resting in my palms.

Blaine shifts against me. “Tighter, nymph.”

I grip him tighter, working him harder. His cock bobs, a live creature trapped by my fingers, his body a source of wonder.

“Yes.” Blaine sways into my hand, the muscles in his thighs flexing.

He's beautiful and I want to see all of him, to watch his face as I stroke his cock. I sink to my knees, the carpet soft and luxuriously thick. Blaine's balls move as he rocks. I cup them, squeeze them gently, and he groans, the rumble rolling up his chest.

We're positioned in front of the windows. ­People could be standing on the sidewalk. If they glance upward, they'll see me kneeling before my CEO's naked body, his cock in my hand, his tip jutting inches from my mouth. I extend my tongue and lick Blaine's flesh, tasting his musky essence.

“Anna.” Pearls of perspiration form on his tanned forehead. The cords on his neck lift. His biceps flex, his hands gripped behind his back.

I run my fingers along Blaine's length and I trace his rim with my tongue, delve into the slit, flick over his tip. A strangled noise rises from his throat. He's at my mercy and I have none, determined to drive him over the edge, push our relationship past the point of no return.

I look up at Blaine, meet his gaze, and I push my lips over his cock head. He sucks in his breath and stops moving, his muscles coiling, contracting. I inhale, pulling on his tip, and Blaine's body shakes.

I am woman, powerful and strong. I take him deeper and deeper, sliding my tongue along the bottom of his shaft, filling my mouth with his cock.

Blaine watches me as I slide my lips along his shaft, edging closer to his base. I imagine he's not the only one watching me, that a security guard patrolling the grounds gazes up at us, silently observing as I suck my CEO's cock, envious, wishing my lips were on his body.

I grip Blaine's tight ass, pulling him into me, and his tip taps the back of my throat. I frown, disappointed. In the films I've watched, the woman always takes all of the man's cock.

“Tilt your head back and relax,” Blaine instructs. I obey and he nudges deeper. I fight the urge to gag, my eyes watering. He sinks into me, and my lips seal around his base, my nose buried in his coarse black hair, my chin pressed between his balls.

“Perfect.” Blaine pulls out slightly, allowing me to breathe. “You're absolutely perfect.” He threads his fingers through my hair, his fingertips massaging my scalp. “Fuck me with your sweet virgin mouth.”

I drag my lips along his length, maintaining a steady suction. Blaine guides me up and down his shaft, the tempo building, building, until he relinquishes all of his control, giving into his dark desires.

A thrilling wildness reflects in his eyes, a stimulating savagery edges his touch as he drives into my mouth. My lips hum with the force of his thrusts. His balls smack against my chin.

Blaine fists my hair, sending pinpricks of pain shooting over my skin, while he uses me, ravishing my mouth again and again. I eagerly submit to his sexual demands, embracing this side of him, a side he doesn't show other ­people.

Blaine grunts, sweat trickling down his chest, his body growing even harder against me. He's a beast. My pussy moistens and my breasts ache. My beast. I dig my fingernails into his clenched ass, marking him, branding him.

“I can't last, nymph.” Blaine's hands drop to his sides. “I'm going to come and come hard.” He folds his fingers into tight fists, his knuckles whitening.

He expects me to pull away. This is my first time and pulling away would be the safe response, the cautious response. I'm tired of being safe.

I want to be reckless. I want all of Blaine. I take him deep and suck hard.

“Anna,” he roars, driving his hips against my face, skin smacking skin. His spine bows and hot cum shoots down my throat.