Revenge Sex (10 page)

Jessica licked her fingers, then rubbed his
semen into her chest, around her nipples, trailed it down her
abdomen.

They were in her bed; his place was too far
away.

Jessica checked her watch. She had twenty
minutes, plenty of time to dress and make it back to work.

“We should do this more often,” Vince said,
relaxing against the pillows, arm over his head, eyes closed, a
shit-eating grin on his face. “Lunchtime quickies are great for
reenergizing the afternoon.”

“I usually don’t have time.” Jessica normally
showered after a booty call, but she’d seen the benefits of wearing
the scent of sex as if it were perfume.

She didn’t want to think about how she was
blurring the lines between work and personal, that she was actually
coming on to her boss, that it could only end in—

“Hey,” Vince said, thankfully cutting into
her thoughts. “I got a line on a controller position for you.”

Her heart jumped all the way to her throat.
There was only West Coast, only Clay. Jessica swallowed, ratcheted
back. “Oh?” Good, she sounded mildly interested.

“Jack is turning in his resignation on
Friday.” Vince had gotten his current contracting job through his
buddy Jack, who happened to be controller.

Jessica nodded for him to go on, but her
belly was crimping. She couldn’t leave West
Coast,
couldn’t leave Clay. Things had gotten all
messed up.

Vince scrubbed a hand through his gray hair,
then smiled. “Give me your resume, and I’ll have him put in a good
word for you.”

She rolled out of bed, reaching for her
clothes on the vanity chair. “I have a good shot at making
controller at West Coast.”

Vince snorted. “Look how long you’ve been
waiting. They like their good-old-boy network. Women don’t get a
chance there.”

Silicon Valley was a small world, especially
when you were a contract tech writer who got around. This wasn’t
the first time Vince had said the like.

“They aren’t sexist,” she insisted, zipping
up her skirt. “It has to be the perfect fit.”

Vince shot her with a finger. “You’re the
prefect fit. They should have given you the job already.”

He was killing her buzz with a dose of
reality. But Clay wasn’t like that. He hired the best person,
regardless of gender.

A niggling voice crept into her head. So why
was Clay interviewing outsiders this week?

“He’s going to give me the job,” she said
emphatically. Clay wouldn’t pass her over.

At least she’d been sure of that until
Wednesday night, when her whole world had tilted on its axis.

Vince rolled, then crawled across the bed
like a sleek jungle cat, leaning down to grab his jeans. Then he
looked at her. “Did you ever think that if you worked at another
company, you could have your darling Mr. Blackwell any time you
wanted?”

“I don’t expect to make these fantasies
reality.” But a telltale flush crept across her face. She was
not
going to tell Vince what she’d done with
Mr.
Blackwell
, or why she’d wanted a lunchtime quickie.

“You’re living in Lalaland, sweetheart,”
Vince said, but his voice held its usual good-natured chuckle.

“I’ll email you my resume.” She agreed so
he’d stop nagging her.

She finished dressing, freshened her
lipstick, fluffed her hair. By the time she was on her way back to
the office, she’d convinced herself he was wrong. Everything would
be fine. As she walked upstairs to her office, everything else
ceased to matter but what happened in the next few minutes behind
Clay’s closed door.

The scent of sex was all over her. Clay would
go wild once he got a whiff of it.

Chapter Eleven

He’d completed the entire goddamn meeting
with the door closed, Jessica’s no-nonsense voice in his ear, and
the heat of her thigh only an inch from his. The top three buttons
on her blouse were undone beneath her blazer. Clay could smell the
sex on her. The only outward effect above the table? His hands
shook.

But below decks, his cock was like iron.

Goddammit. She’d been out fucking. A
lunch-hour booty call. Hadn’t she learned he was attune to whatever
she did, that he was the male lion sniffing out every move she
made, that he was insane with the thought of another man touching
her, fucking her, making her come.

She was talking, her sexy voice getting under
his skin. “Yes,” he said. He’d say
yes
to anything at this
point. He wasn’t listening to a word she said. Instead he was
thinking how that prim, professional skirt would look shoved up
around her waist.

“Good,” she said. “Then that’s how we’ll
handle the CIP account.”

What had he agreed to?
Who
the hell cared? A
ll he wanted to do was bury his face
between her breasts, taste her skin, lick her clean.

It was out of the question.

She gathered the spreadsheets, closed the
folder, pushed back from the conference table.

And he scented on her like a hound dog. Sex.
Come. Woman. Her small pendant swung on a thin gold chain. Her
cleavage beckoned.

“Are you all right, Clay?”

Her words came from far away. There was only
lust, desire, her skin, her sexual aroma, and how badly he needed
to touch her. He didn’t even feel himself move, yet his hands were
on the arms of her chair, rolling her closer, until her knees were
between his spread legs.

“No, I’m not fucking all right,” he growled.
Then he did what he’d been thinking about for the last half hour,
shoved his hands up her skirt, high on her thighs. “Fuck,” he said
through clenched teeth. She wasn’t wearing panties.

“Clay, what are you doing? Anyone could walk
in.” But she didn’t push him away. Instead, she shifted so that his
thumb slipped into her heat.

“I don’t care,” he said, the words guttural.
He leaned over her, put his mouth to the creamy skin above her
breasts. He tasted salt, he smelled come. He licked her.

Jessica moaned and held him to her. Clay
wanted everything at once, his cock in her, filling her where
another man had just been, her nipples in his mouth, his hands
everywhere the other had touched.

Cupping her ass, he hauled her out of the
chair and onto his lap. The skirt riding up, she spread her legs
over him.

“We can’t,” she whispered even as he licked
her skin, bit her nipple, teased.

He came up for air. “Oh yes we fucking can.”
He was no longer her boss. He was simply a man. Holding her tight
against him, he rocked his cock along her center. She’d leave marks
on his clothes, a brand. He didn’t give a damn. “He fucked
you.”

“Yes.”

He shoved a hand between her legs. “You’re so
damn wet.” She soaked his fingers as he played her clit. Her body
moved, she groaned, clutched him tighter. “Did you call him Mr.
Blackwell?” He had to know.

“Yes.” She rode his fingers, gasping. “I
begged him to fuck me.” She put her lips to his ear. “Fuck me, Mr.
Blackwell, please fuck me. I need it so bad.” Then her hands were
on his belt, working, tugging, unzipping, touching.

He’d thought he’d die when her fist wrapped
around his flesh.

He caressed her; she stroked him. He entered
her with two fingers. She repaid him by reaching down to cup his
balls, squeezing, turning him mindless. Mutual satisfaction.

Then her shudders rippled through him. He
didn’t know if it was a full orgasm or simply a series of
foreshocks. “How many times did he make you come?”

“
You
,” she stressed, “made me come
three times.” Then she clamped her teeth on his earlobe. “Make me
come now, make me come hard.”

He went deep inside, his thumb on her clit,
his fingers on her G-spot. Her body rode him as much as he fucked
her sweet pussy, his cock in her relentless grip all the while.
Madness. He felt her contraction around his fingers. God, how it
would feel if that was his cock. The orgasm went on and on,
shimmying through her body, her scent rising, clouding,
intoxicating. He smelled the other man, too.

He wanted in badly. He should already
be
inside her, yet with his last micron of sensibility, he
remembered protection. He had none. That’s when he clamped his big
hand around hers, and with only two more strokes, he covered her
sex with his essence.

* * * * *

Nothing had ever felt so intimate. Clay
rubbed his semen into her mound, her abdomen, concentrating.
Jessica pulled his hand up and licked his fingers. Only then did he
meet her gaze. There was something in his, a dark thing that called
to her, made her want to get crazy all over again.

“Wear it all afternoon,” he whispered. “Don’t
wash it off.”

“I won’t,” she said with equal softness.

She’d come in here wanting him to touch her.
She’d had sex with Vince to entice Clay. Yet he hadn’t made a move,
not the entire half-hour meeting. Until the last moment.

“You need to go.” His breathing was still
harsh.

“Yes.” She didn’t move. She never wanted to
get off his lap.

“Anyone can open that door. I don’t want them
talking about you.”

In the beginning, she’d been the one who’d
mentioned discovery. He hadn’t cared. “No one will know,” she said.
Yet her skirt was still pushed up her thighs, her pussy exposed,
his cock right there, so very tempting.

“You can’t come in here covered in come
again.”

Her chest tightened. Why couldn’t he just
enjoy? “I have a right to have sex at lunch if I want. You should
keep your hands to yourself.”

He grabbed her chin, forced her head up. “You
did it on purpose. That’s why you weren’t wearing panties.”

She held his gaze steadily for five
heartbeats. “I never wear panties.”

His pupils dilated until there was almost
nothing of his iris left.

“I like being naked under my business suits
when no one else has a clue.” She was lying, but it was worth that
flare of his nostrils.

“For Christ’s sake, Jessica, we’re at
work.”

She climbed gracefully from his lap—thank God
she didn’t scramble—pulled her skirt down, straightened her jacket
and the open neck of her blouse. She’d planned it down to the last
detail, the open buttons, the lack of underwear, Vince’s semen, her
sexual sweat.

Damn him, Clay had wanted it all.

But now he was all zipped up, morphing right
before her eyes back into Clay, CFO, boss. She wanted to smack
him.

“Didn’t you ever do Ruby at work?” she
snapped.

“Let’s not go there.”

Jessica clenched her teeth. “You’re right.”
She didn’t want to know anything about Ruby. He’d
left
Ruby,
but he clearly wasn’t looking for a replacement. He’d put her in
her place, but it was no more than she deserved. What had she been
thinking, trying to seduce her boss in his office in the middle of
the day?

She grabbed her file folder off the table,
held it up. “I’ll take care of this.” Then she was off to the
door.

“Jessica,” he said.

She didn’t stop. There wasn’t nothing left to
say.

Yet back in her office, she could feel the
warmth of his come on her, smell him, taste him. And she knew she
was hopelessly hooked on Clay Blackwell.

* * * * *

Jessica
wasn’t going to let the end to Wednesday’s afternoon tête-à-tête
get to her. And she wouldn’t let it get to her that Clay was his
usual professional self over the course of the next two days. He
could turn it on and off so easily. Which meant she needed more
extreme measures. She certainly wouldn’t give up—though probably
she should—but here was the thing:
Clay had
said they couldn’t do it at work, not that they couldn’t do it
somewhere else.

So, Friday night, after forty-eight hours of
Yes, I should
versus
No, I can’t
, Jessica stood in
front of her mirrored closet door in panties and bra. What to wear?
She’d left work at five, not a minute later, rushing home to her
small condo in Mountain View. She’d showered, done her hair, her
makeup, then rummaged through her lingerie drawer to find her
sexiest panties and bra. Sure, she’d told Clay she didn’t wear
panties at work, but she didn’t have the courage to follow
through.

The laced-edged bra pushed her breasts into
an actual cleavage. The black, high-cut panties rode the curve of
her butt, not quite panties, not quite thong. She thought they
called the style
cheekies
or some such thing.

She rolled open the closet door. Think sexy.
Most of her clothes wouldn’t do, but there was one possibility.
Linda had given her the outfit. Linda used to do her nails before
she became a real estate agent. They’d become great friends over
Jessica’s nails, until eventually, Linda always scheduled Jessica
as her last appointment, then they went out for drinks and dinner.
Linda knew all about Vince. When she’d gotten her real estate
license, Linda had gone through her closet, changing her style for
her new career. The ensemble Jessica chose was elegant yet sexy, a
black silk blouse with the sheer sleeves and a slim skirt that
outlined her figure.

She left the blouse unbuttoned to the center
clasp of the bra and fastened an onyx tear-drop necklace that hung
down into her cleavage. She completed the look with black high
heels and black stockings. She rarely wore them, but they were a
staple for any woman’s closet.

She stood back once more to assess herself.
Sexy in all black, Jessica smiled. With her blond waves, she looked
absolutely fuckable.

Now, all she needed was the special perfume
that would drive Clay mad. At the hollow of her throat. On her
lips. Between her breasts. She had one stop to make. It wouldn’t
take long. Vince was so easy. All she had to say was that she had
an unquenchable desire for a blow job. She’d steep herself in the
scent of sex.