That Man 2 (13 page)

“Go
kibbitz
with him,” I heard Blake’s grandmother shout out as I headed his way. With legs of Jell-O, I don’t know how I made it through the dense crowd without tripping in my six-inch heels. Someone was looking out for me.

I stopped in front of him. Still seductively perched against the doorway, he smiled that cocky dimpled smile. My breath hitched in my throat, and my heart thudded so loudly in my chest I could hear it. And I’m sure he could hear it too.

“Hi,” I managed.

“Hi, tiger,” he breathed back. His gaze traveled from my head to my toes and then his smoldering eyes looked directly into mine. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I squeaked. One-word answers with one syllable were all I could muster.

“Do you know where we’re standing?”

“No.” I swore I wasn’t even sure where I was.

“Under the mistletoe.”

“Oh.” I gazed up and saw a small leafy branch with red berries dangling from the doorframe.

“Do you know what means?”

“No,” I murmured.

His piercing blue eyes searched mine. We were a palm’s width apart, so close I could feel his heated breath on my face. Sensations coursed through me I had no right feeling. Heart palps. Shortness of breath. And hot tingles all over. And I couldn’t blame it on the alcohol because I hadn’t had a drop to drink. His velvety virile voice sounded again in my ear.

“Jennifer, it means I have to kiss you,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s good luck.”

“Oh.”

My vocabulary was down to one word. I swallowed a gulp of air. He was having an unnerving effect on me. I wanted his lips on mine in a sinful way. Nibbling, gnawing, biting. Parting them with his tongue. Sucking.
Jennifer, get a grip. He’s your boss!

“Bla—”

Before I could finish saying his name, his mouth crashed onto mine, and his hand fisted my ponytail, yanking back my head.

Oh. My. God. From the very second his lush lips latched onto mine, there was something familiar about him. Something déjà vu. The way he gripped my ponytail and wrapped it around his hand and pulled back my head. The delicious pain mixing with the delicious pleasure. The fierceness of the kiss. The way it made my head spin out of control. Oh. My. God. Could it be? Could it be
him?
And then when his tongue parted my lips and entwined with mine, there was little doubt in my mind. The taste of champagne on his palette. The way his tongue tangoed with mine. The moans, the groans. Oh God! It
was
him!
That
man I’d kissed at my engagement party. Holy, holy, holy fuck! I gripped his collar as I did the first time we’d kissed, this time because I thought I might faint if I didn’t cling to him.

The world around me disappeared. Muted. I could vaguely hear Mariah Carey singing in the background, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” A chorus of moans and groans accompanied the song as his tongue tangled with mine in a hot sensual dance. He tugged harder on my ponytail, tightening his grip, until I was throbbing at the roots, desperate for more.

My heart racing, my breathing harsh, I finally tore away. “You’re
that
man,” I gasped, one hand flying to my wide-open mouth. My eyes forgot to blink as a whirling dervish of emotions whished around in my head.

Excitement.

Shock.

Confusion.

Desire.

“Yeah, tiger. I’m
that
man.”

My eyes met his in a flurry of flutters. “How do I know for sure?”

A saucy smile curled on his lips. “You were wearing a peach silk dress, those fake diamonds in your ears, and silver shoes with little bows. And there was a SpongeBob Band-Aid on your knee.”

I gasped. He’d recited everything I was wearing that night, right down to the Band-Aid on my razor nick.

“Convinced?”

I nodded feverishly as he trailed kisses up my neck. Holy, holy fucking shit! Blake Burns, my boss, was
that
man! That beautiful stranger I’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare. Right here in this club. Almost in this exact same spot.

“Good. Let’s get of here,” he breathed into my ear. “I think you need to be more than kissed.”

Beneath my dress, all air escaped my lungs. He lowered my hand from my face and lifted it to his lips. Tenderly, he kissed the back of my palm. Clasping the hand he’d just kissed, he led me through the sardine-packed crowd. Dazed, I followed him, trying hard not to trip on my six-inch heels and hoping my knees wouldn’t buckle. I focused on the warmth of his hand, gripping mine. People were too busy socializing to notice our escape. Or his hand entwined with mine.

“Where are we going?” I mumbled under my shaky breath.

“Somewhere private.”

A hot throbbing wet mess, I let him lead the way.

Five minutes later, we were standing face-to-face in a remote part of the club, far away from the party, in a dimly lit intimate room that resembled a bedroom. It was minimally furnished in shades of gray with a built-in big screen TV, a sleek credenza bearing an orchid plant, and a massive bed draped in satin sheets. The walls were upholstered except for the one facing the bed, which was mirrored. Catty-corner to it, was a door that could either be a closet or a connection to another room.

My heart raced as my eyes stayed fixed on the inviting bed. “What is this place?”

“A private room I keep here,” he whispered as he walked me backward toward a wall until I was plastered against the upholstery. His hips pressed against mine, and his palms against the padding, bracketing my head. His warm lips gnawed at my neck, my shoulders, my chest, and then made their way back to my hungry mouth. Oh those delicious lips! He deepened the kiss as his erection dug into my belly.

Reality to brain. Come in, please.
My breaths morphed into pants; my temperature soared. I was making out with my boss, Blake Burns, in what must be his fuck pad.
That
man whose lips had consumed mine on the night of my engagement party. Yes,
that
man! This was all so wrong. Yet so right. So unreal but really happening. I should have been flipping out and running for the door, but my mind was in meltdown and my legs in cement. I forced reason into my brain.

“I should go.” I could barely get the words out.

He nibbled my ears. There must have been a string attached to my pussy because hot tingles danced all around it. And then one word: “No.”

“You’re my boss,” I gasped.

“Yes, and I’m ordering you to stay. You want this as much as I do. Now, come to Santa, baby.”

Before I could say another word, his lips returned to my mouth. His warm, long-fingered hands cradled my face as his tongue nudged my lips to part. Back inside my mouth, it twirled and whirled with mine, doing that dance. I was melting into him. Unable to resist. He was right. I did want this. Maybe even more than he did.

I clenched my eyes shut as our mouths became one, clinging hotly together. A hand reached behind me, squeezing into the narrow space between my back and the wall. The hiss of the zipper inching down my dress filled my ears. And then I felt two supple hands slide the sparkly confection off me. In a breath, my bare breasts were rubbing against his soft velvet jacket. My sensitive nipples ached with want. I opened my eyes a slit’s worth as he read my mind.

With tiny gasping breaths, I watched as he tweaked my buds between his thumbs and index fingers. His eyes, now hooded, gazed down at them. A delicious smile curled on his lips.

“Oh, baby, they’re even pinker and more perfect than I imagined.”

A buzzing sensation coursed through me as my hazy brain digested his words. He’d called me “baby” again and insinuated that he’d fantasized about me. Me, Calamity Jen!

As he played with my nipples and sucked my lips, a new ache crescendoed between my legs. I wanted him. I fucking wanted him. A want like I’d never experienced before. Every nerve in my body was sparking and my heart was on fire.

And then I jolted. A hand reached down into my lace bikinis and found its way to the molten folds between my thighs. After stroking them, his skilled fingers glommed onto my clit and circled it. Flutters of pleasures met his touch. I let out a moan. Or was it a groan? Either way, ecstasy powered it.

“Jesus.” he said, his voice a deep breathy whisper. “You’re so fucking wet for me, you bad girl.”

No one had ever called me “bad” before. I’d always been a good girl through and through. I came from a good family, did good things, had good friends, went to a good college, got a good job . . . and had been engaged to a good guy. So I’d thought.

Fuck. I want to be bad
, I thought as I let him slide my undies down my legs, inch by sweet inch. That classic Christmas song, “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” filtered into the room through hidden speakers. He rewarded the good; punished the bad. Honestly, who gave a fuck what
that
Santa thought.
My
secret Santa was showering me with wonderful surprises.

My panties hung low at my feet with my dress.

“Step out of them,” he purred in my ears. One foot after another, I did as bid. Except for my heels, I was totally naked and wrapped in his strong arms.

“Good girl.” Okay, so now I was good. I was so delirious with rapture, I didn’t know the difference between good and bad. And I didn’t give a damn.

With one hand, he worked his slacks, freeing his cock.

I glanced down and gasped. His erection was even bigger than I remembered, and it was pointed my way. With eyes wide, I watched as he slipped his hand into one of his slacks pockets and pulled out a small foil package. A condom. His ripped it open with his teeth. The hissing sound sent another rush of moisture to my core.

“Put this on me,” he commanded.

Inch by thick inch, I rolled the sheath up his monstrous shaft. The heat of it singed my fingertips.

With a satisfied smirk, he lifted me up against the upholstered wall and growled, “Now wrap your arms and legs around me.”

He was my boss. Still in my stilettos, I did as he asked. I held my breath as he nudged the crown of his hot cock into my center. We were perfectly lined up. Slowly, he slid it inside me, stretching me, until he filled me to the hilt. My fingernails dug into the fabric of his jacket, and I winced with sweet pain. Holy shit! I thought he was going to split me open.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I said as my muscles relaxed and got used to his size.

“Christ, tiger, you’re so tight and wet. I want to fuck you so badly.” His eyes burned into mine. “I’m going to show you what it’s like to be fucked and by a man who knows how.”

I absorbed his words, absorbed his girth. He was so different from Bradley. So hot, so full, so big. So divine! Gripping my bottom, he began to pound into me. I clung to his biceps and tugged at his hair, unable to suppress my moans. My hips rocked with his. I knew I should be thinking about the consequences of my actions, but any logical thought at the moment was impossible.

“Do you like this?” he breathed.

“Yes.”
Oh yes!

Good girl, bad girl. It no longer mattered. With each forceful thrust, he was pushing me over the edge. Creating exquisite sensations inside me I’d never experienced. A pressure, so electrifying, so intense I was seeing stars of Bethlehem.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes. Oh please, yes!”
Yes, yes
,
YES!
I fisted the lapels of his velvet blazer.

He pumped harder, faster, rubbing against my clit with each unrelenting stroke. His breaths came in pants. My own pants gave way to whimpers. I was desperately craving a release.

“Don’t hold back,” he growled between gritted teeth. “I want to hear you roar, tiger. The room is soundproof.”

All it took was a squeeze of my clit. “Come for Santa,” he breathed into my mouth.

With a roar of his name so loud it echoed, I imploded. Tears leaked from my eyes as fierce waves of ecstasy swept through my body. A moment later, he let out his own primal roar. His hot pulsing cock exploded inside me, soaking me with his release, as I shuddered around him.

Through the speakers, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” piped into the chamber. Spent, Blake rested his glistening sweat-laced forehead against mine as I clung to him. His breathing calmed. I was still shuddering and sobbing softly.

“Merry Christmas, tiger,” Blake whispered in my ear.

“Merry Christmas.”

Christmas had come early.

Blake

C
hrist. I’d wanted to kiss her ever since the first time my lips touched down on hers. Taste her mouth in mine. Bite her lips, dance with her tongue. It had been weeks of torture and frustration. I’d jerked myself off so many times I had calluses.

It was different this time. Better. So much better, if better was possible. I was no longer a blind accident. I could tell. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

She tasted so fucking good. I could feel her heartbeat in her mouth and her pulse in her neck as I trailed kisses down the slender length. The way she groped at my clothing and my hair bordered on savage. I was as ruthless as she was. We couldn’t get enough of each other.

I couldn’t stop tongue-fucking her mouth. Even before I saw those tender tits exposed in their full glory for the first time, I needed more. I had to have all of her. Have all of me inside her. When my fingers reached down to her clit, I knew she was ready. She was so fucking hot and wet. With the office Christmas party raging outside and Christmas carols drifting inside, I disrobed her and took her against the wall.

I’ll never forget the expression on her face when she saw my whopper cock. Her eyes glittered like two green gumdrops and her rosebud lips quivered. Yeah, she’d seen it once before—accidentally at my parents’ Shabbat dinner. But only from a distance. A funny thought crossed my mind. Mr. Burns, as I sometimes affectionately called my dick, was ready for his close-up. Oh was he! A good thing I’d packed him a debut outfit. A top-of-the-line lambskin condom.

Her fingers trembled as she inched it up me. I thought my thick, hard-as-nails cock might bust the delicate sheath. But she got it up without a tear. Without wasting a second, I put the broad tip to her pussy, and in a hot breath, I penetrated her.