Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(51)
“I told you about bringing Rick Lewis here,” Ben said to Savannah. “Matt’s going to find out. Wallenda will tell.”
Savannah made a face at him. Wallenda waved a snapping hand in Ben’s direction, the black nails flicking like switchblades. “You ignore him, cher. These Kensington men, they are untamed beasts, the best kind, no? You have any new pictures of that angel baby to show me?”
As Wallenda and Savannah started talking about Angelica, Ben reached over to the desk area behind Wallenda’s counter and snagged a pen and small pad. He scribbled a note on it, and moved to the end of the counter where there was an opening for Wallenda to pass through. With his back to them as he fished out his wallet, his body screened his motion from Savannah’s side. He dropped the notepad and the hundred-dollar bill on the corner of Wallenda’s desk. He paused only long enough to know the woman had seen it, because she gave him a subtle nod and knowing twitch of her lush lips.
Good. Now he wandered away with a definite purpose. Marcie had moved into a different section of the store, and his steps toward her slowed when he realized what she was looking at. Wedding lingerie, lots of white lace, heavy silks.
Admonishing himself not to be a chickenshit, he made his feet move and came up behind her, sliding his hands up and down her arms. "I like that one," he said, about the one she was touching.
It was almost all lace, except for some sunbeam-shaped partitions of satin between the lace of the floor-length skirt. For a minute, he imagined Marcie in the decadent thing, in a honeymoon suite hotel room. One that overlooked a Venice waterway. When he swept her off her feet, the lace would spill over his arms, the swatch of silk at the bodice giving him tantalizing glimpses of curves as she reached up and touched his face, her brown eyes incandescent…
“I might come back and get it,” she said.
"Not put it on and show me right now?"
She shook her head. "These are special. You only wear these for a wedding night."
“Yeah, I suppose so.” He put his lips to her throat. She automatically tilted her head to give him access, her body leaning back into his. When his hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb passing over her nipple, her body jerked, and her breath caught. “What are you doing?”
“Whatever I want.” He bit her throat, then bumped her with her body. “Walk to the employee storeroom door over there. Now.”
The other women were involved on the other side of the store, but it wouldn’t have mattered to him if they were gathered around them. The sticky note he’d left Wallenda had only four words on it: “Fifteen minutes of privacy.”
A shudder went through Marcie when he gave her the order. She obeyed instantly, which only sharpened his need. He released her to walk behind her, drinking in the sight of her hips swaying, her hair brushing her shoulders. He closed the distance between them in time to reach over her head and push open the storeroom door. Nudging her inside, he closed it behind them, putting them in semi-darkness, amid an array of filmy silks hung on racks, stacked boxes, and a fortunately placed cushioned chair with worn velvet upholstery, in a 1970s gold color.
He nodded toward the chair. “Go over there and take off your shirt. Bend over and clasp the top of the chair.”
Her eyes only grew more full of response, physical and emotional. She moved with her usual grace to the chair, and pivoted to face him as she removed the shirt, showing him the sinuous ripple of her upper body as she drew it off and draped it over the chair arm. He bit back a reverent oath at the sight of her generous curves, barely contained in lace. Holding his gaze an extra moment, she turned toward the chair, her knees brushing the seat as she leaned over it to grasp the worn wood of the back.
Christ, she had an ass made for sin, denim molding over it just right. He moved in closer, bringing his hips against it as he reached under her and slipped the button of her jeans. Sliding his fingers inside, he found more lace, and she sucked in a breath as he pushed beneath the elastic band to caress her smooth mound, tease her clit and labia with the pads of his fingers. Then he was pushing the jeans and panties to her knees, which buckled fully to rest in the seat of the chair.
Banding an arm around her waist, he used his other hand to open his own jeans and get his boxers out of the way. His cock nudged her pussy and he swore as he found her so wet she practically sucked the head into the tight opening.
“You little slut,” he whispered, and she quivered. “You’ve soaked your panties.”
Making sure she had her balance, with her knees on the chair seat and hands clasping the back, he removed his grip on her to strip his belt. He looped it around her upper body, tightening it over her breasts, just above the nipples, and wrapped the tail end of the strap around his fist, resting between her shoulder blades.
Yeah, he wanted to add that anchor point, because otherwise he might fuck her through the side of the chair. Especially when he ran a palm over the marks the cane had left last night, and she did that little shuddering thing again. He pinched one, hard, and she caught her lip in her teeth, her eyes closing as she dipped her head in profile to him, her thick hair falling over her shoulder.
“You need a gag to keep them from hearing you scream, brat?”
“Yes, Master,” she said in a throaty voice.
“Tough,” he said ruthlessly. “You don’t want them to hear, you’re going to have to bite it back. I want to see you fight it, and blush that appealing pink color when you fail.”