Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (45 page)

He pulled the crotch of the garment to the side to plunge his tongue inside her, and she cried out, locking her legs on his shoulders, heels pressed into his broad back. He took his time, settling down to play and tease until she was making helpless noises in her throat. Then he ducked out from beneath the hold of her legs. Before she anticipated what he was doing, he’d turned her onto her stomach. He pressed his chest against her back, curling those powerful hands around her wrists, gently tugging her arms until they were out to either side of her. The stiffening evidence of his cock was against her buttocks, his thighs between hers, spreading her open to accommodate him. He kept the majority of his weight off her, letting her feel just enough of it to make her feel sheltered, pinned in the right way.

He kissed the back of her neck, the sides. He spent a great deal of time on her throat, the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, the line of the major artery, pumping fiercely beneath his heated mouth. Then he moved to the bump of spine at the nape, pushing her hair out of the way so he could tease the two slender bones that ran all the way to the base of her skull. He kept his hands on her wrists, thumbs caressing her thundering pulse. Now he was flexing against her ass, a teasing, coital rhythm that had her rising up against him in matching response, feeling him get harder, thicker, more ready.

She had her eyes closed as he moved to her cheek bone, her jaw, and she tilted it up to give him access to the soft skin beneath. “You are everything, Mistress,” he murmured against her flesh. “Beautiful. Fearsome. Perfect…”

There was a word hanging in the air there, something she could feel him wanting to say. However, even in this charged, enchanted moment, he was mindful of her past, caring of her feelings. When two were cuffed, not just one, it made the possession even more powerful

“Please say it, Max.” She trembled, hard, and he laid his cheek against hers.

“Mine,” he murmured. “My Mistress.”

He’d said it spontaneously the first time. This time, she’d requested it.

“Yours,” she agreed, closing her eyes. His hands tightened on her wrists, then he let go of one of her hands so she could turn it to meet his, palm to palm, fingers twisted together.

“And I’m yours too, Mistress. Always.”

He let her go then, but only to slide that muscular arm around her waist, bringing her up to her knees as he tugged her thin panties down to her thighs. He came back down over her, pelvis flush against her ass, cock pressing against her tender flesh as he shifted his hold so his forearm was banded above her breasts. It allowed her to rest her chin on his forearm, press her cheek to his shoulder. He guided himself into her, sliding in slow. She moved her hips, accommodating, adjusting to his thickness and length, and made a tiny feminine noise as he came to a stop deep inside her. His free arm was braced next to her, the anchor point for them both as he began to move.

Usually, she needed some clit stimulation to come in this position, but her whole body had become an erogenous nerve center, ready to detonate. Plus, when he started to move with more demand, his testicles began to hit her clit with each stroke, the stretch of her labia to accommodate his thrusts sending little frissons of sensations to that rich nerve center. She curled her hands around his arm over her chest, wanting, needing to hold on to him as he took them both somewhere she’d never gone before.

The climax was almost unbearably pleasurable, coiling up tighter and tighter, like the moment before a dancer bounded upon the stage in a dramatic
grande jete
, a leap for the heavens.

“Let me hear you come, Mistress. Make my cock harder.”

The words were like the stage manager in the wings, that dramatic whisper.

Go.

She made that leap, pouring all her energy and desire into it, breaking loose of every restraint, every binding and fear of the past to give him all of herself. To soar.

She cried out his name, mixing it with screams of pleasure as he kept thrusting, taking her over that cliff and sending her flying, a
grande jete
with no end, so she reached the heavens in truth. She bit his arm, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder, holding her with bruising strength now. He understood—she wanted to feel his lust override his gentleness. Everything was primitive yet euphoric, animal demand meeting a profound, mind-numbing experience.

Toward the end, he came again as well, a tight, intense release that shot her into a series of rippling aftershocks. She reveled in his male groans against her ear, the jerk of his hips as he spilled his seed inside of her.
Yes, yes, yes…

When the carousel came to a stop, they were clinging to one another, chests rising and falling in rapid counterpoint. His mouth was against her throat again, hers against his arm. She squeezed him inside of her and won a half-chuckle, half groan. “Jesus, that feels good.” So she did it again, and a few more times after that, enjoying his grunt of response each time, but then she was out of energy.

He shifted them so he was curled behind her, giving her his heat against that Texas post-sundown coolness she was only now beginning to notice. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close. She didn’t feel a need to talk and apparently neither did he, the two of them listening to the night sounds outside and the slowing rate of their thundering hearts.

She remembered what Gayle said.
Many of them eventually go into law enforcement, security, things where they can indulge that craving, the edge they need…

She closed her eyes. Whatever would be, would be. Maybe she couldn’t bear it, but she couldn’t bear being without him either. She’d cope, make sure that side of the scale kept the upper hand. Maybe that was how Gayle did it. Love could be fragile, yet once it passed that “all clear” sign, it became one of the strongest things on earth.

Now she wiggled her toes in the thick hiking socks he’d left on her feet. Her bra had been cast aside, her panties at her knees. “This is a sexy look,” she ventured. “I predict the Victoria’s Secret models will be walking the runway in their lingerie and knee-high camping socks at next year’s fashion show.”

He grinned against her jaw, sliding a hand down her belly to tease her mound with his long fingers, then tucked them between her legs, resting them against the slippery petals of flesh. “For the record, I find it a very sexy look. Much sexier than those stupid wings and New York fashion stuff they pile on them to detract from what us guys really want to see.”

“Mmm.” She tightened her thighs on his fingers, rubbing her ass against his damp cock.

“Stop that,” he mumbled. “Christ, you’re going to kill me. Take a nap.”

“You know, women in their forties are just hitting their sexual peak. You better build up some stamina, sailor.”

When he chuckled sleepily, she smiled against his biceps, pressed a kiss there. Then she became still against him, letting him ease into a light doze, content to be held by him as he slept. The current moment was all anyone was ever promised, after all. She wasn’t going to waste it on worry about tomorrow.

“What did you do to your fingers?” Lucas asked, touching one of the Superman Band-Aids Janet had on the pads of two of her fingers. “I like those, by the way.”

She examined the design. She’d bought them to tease Max, but the way he’d put them on her fingers, kissing them to take the hurt away afterward, had led to a different kind of teasing. “Max showed me how to use a bow when we went camping this weekend.”

“Was there video? I’d pay good money to see that.” Ben slid a hip on her desk. He peered at the Band-Aids as well, shook his head. “So did you take down a three-point stag? A forest ranger? Other campers?”

“I would never harm an animal for sport,” she informed him loftily. “And other campers only if they were annoying. No, we were target shooting.”

She’d thought of snipers as men with fancy, high-tech rifles, but she’d learned that high-powered bows were also used by SEAL snipers, to take out targets without the muzzle flash that could give away their position. He hadn’t brought one of those, of course, but a basic, decent-quality bow they could use for practice. They’d done that, gone hiking, eaten Gayle’s meals and enjoyed gorgeous scenery, special places Max knew from visiting the park before.

On the second night, when they were sitting by the fire, Janet had read to him. She’d brought a couple books, a Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child thriller, as well as a biography of Margaret Thatcher. He’d asked her to read to him from the thriller, stretching out on his side, teasing a lock of her hair, occasionally pressing a kiss to her hip where she sat on a log. When he noticed her shifting from the log’s hardness, he changed their positions, putting her between his legs, becoming her chair on the soft forest floor, letting her lie back against his chest while he propped against the log.

He might make her a camper yet. It had been peaceful, in a very different, very pleasing way.

“You will locate no YouTube footage of this trip,” she informed Ben. “And get off my desk. I have work to do.”

He grinned and rose. “I told Marcie what you said, about helping her with the wedding. She’ll probably be calling soon. Why a wedding needs to be planned this far in advance, I have no clue, but I’m leaving it to you women. You all just tell me when to show up.”

“I’ll pencil it into your calendar,” Janet said dryly. “And add a weekly reminder, so you don’t plan anything over it.”

“Good idea,” Lucas snorted. The two men moved into Matt’s office for their morning meet. It would be a short one, because in an hour they’d all be at the airport, on their way to South America for the next three days to oversee the ownership transfer of a plant there. Max wasn’t on schedule today, and she knew he was going to visit Amanda after dropping Dana off at her church. She wondered if he’d come back by the office to have lunch with her, but Dana might pull him into doing some volunteer task at her place. Or maybe he had some other errands to handle, or something going on with Dale. She’d just spent several days with him, for Heaven’s sake. They weren’t at the point they were reporting schedules to one another, after all, and she was both amused and irritated at herself for thinking along those lines.

Get a grip, Janet
.

Still, when lunchtime came, and the office was quiet without any of the K&A men around, she decided to take the trolley to Dana’s church. Ben and Marcie wanted Dana to officiate, so she and Janet could go ahead and discuss some early details. It was a gorgeous afternoon in New Orleans and she’d enjoy the stroll from the trolley to the church, as long as she wasn’t mugged in the dubious neighborhood where it was located. The Taser in her purse was there for backup, but usually her direct, icy stare told any idlers she wasn’t an easy target.

When she entered the church through the office area, the church secretary told her Dana was in with the minister. “But if you want to wait in the nave, Ms. Albright, I’ll send her to you when she comes out of the meeting. Probably about fifteen minutes.”

Janet nodded. “Is Max Ackerman here?”

“No ma’am. He was out at the basketball court earlier, but I think Dana said he had to run an errand.”

Janet nodded, then followed the hallway to the main body of the church, taking the side door into the cool chamber. As she moved down the aisle between the pews, she absorbed that universal hush, the sense of peace, that all churches seemed to contain. It made her think about their birch forest, how similar the two places were.

She’d never considered herself much of an outdoorsy person, but there was something to be said for camping with a man who knew how to care for a woman, cushioning her from the more unpleasant aspects of outdoor living. He’d had bug spray, toilet paper, wine, homemade lasagna…the man was a treasure.

She slipped into the second pew from the front, studying the altar. The wooden crucifix had been carved by one of the parishioners, primitive and moving at once, the stretch of Jesus’ arms, the agony of his lean body, contrasting with the acceptance on his face. If a person chose to believe the story, he’d seen both the good and evil in men’s hearts and loved all of them anyway.

She thought of Jorge, the things he’d done to her, to others. The world he’d inhabited had been a world of violence and blood. Yet at one time, he’d been a baby in some mother’s arms. Had his mother hoped for good things for him, the way Max’s mother had hoped for her son? What would Mary have done if the angel had told her the whole story? Yes, her son would bring hope to the world, but he’d also be betrayed and crucified. He’d die an excruciating death when he was barely in his thirties, because of the message of peace and hope he’d brought.

What would Jorge’s mother have done if she was told the baby in her arms would beat a woman’s legs into broken kindling, smash her face, all to keep her with him?

Rising, she moved to the altar. While Dana’s church wasn’t Catholic, she’d suggested the tradition of having candles available so people could light them for loved ones, to add to the strength of their prayers. Peter’s wife didn’t hesitate to mix religious traditions to capture the interest and needs of her parishioners. Janet picked up the taper, put it in the flame of one of the lit candles. Her hand was trembling, she noticed, her chest tight, but she firmed her grip, took a breath and touched the taper to an unlit candle.