Tied(11)

Like I give a damn. “Whoever isn’t okay with it, I’ll make sure they stay in-house. Pass them off to Jack or Matthew—and if we lose a few, my father will get over it. Nepotism has its advantages, Kate. I say we f*cking exploit them.”

“Our bonuses will take a hit.”

I shrug. “It’s only money.”

If you don’t have a boatload of extraneous cash and investments lying around, I wouldn’t recommend adopting this attitude. But since I do . . . I can.

Then I point out, “In six or seven years James will be in school, then we can both go back full-time. Unless we have a few more kids between now and then—and since the activity that gets them here is at the top of our Favorite Things to Do list, that’s a definite possibility.”

There’s a light in her eyes that wasn’t there when I came home. Knowing I help put it there makes me proud of myself—not that that’s an unusual feeling, but in this case it’s especially awesome.

Kate squeezes my hand enthusiastically. “So, we’re doing this? We’re really doing this?”

“You and I and James will go into the office tomorrow and have a sit-down with Dad, George, and Frank.”

She throws herself at me—chest to chest, arms around my neck, legs straddling my thighs. “I’m so excited!”

“As excited as you are about getting the go-ahead from Roberta in two weeks?”

Kate squints. “Ah . . . not that excited—but very close.”

And then we’re kissing—tongues dancing and tasting. I fall back on the couch, taking her with me—keeping her on top.

Her lips tease their way to my ear. “I love you,” Kate breathes, before licking around the shell. Heated lust gathers in my gut, then furrows out to my thighs and arms—and my dick.

I return the sentiment. “I love you.”

Kate’s mouth lowers to my neck, torturous in its feather-light brushes against my skin. “And I love our life.”

My hand tangles in her hair, loosening the bun, making it fall. “Me too.”

She drops to her knees on the floor and I sit up, legs spread so she can nestle between my thighs. She looks up at me with hungry, dark eyes and a naughty-girl smile—my favorite combination.

Kate unbuckles my pants and I lift up to accommodate her as she yanks them off. More slowly, she peels my boxers down and my impatient dick bounces up to greet her.

“And I love your cock.” She drives the point home by running her wet tongue up and down it, then swirling around the head.

I look at her beautiful face and grin. “I love my cock in your mouth.”

Her lips vibrate against me as she chuckles—and the sensation make my legs tremble. Then she suctions with her lips from base to tip—tauntingly—without actually taking me inside. When I’m on the brink of losing my f*cking mind, she opens up and slides my dick into the tight, hot wetness of her mouth.

My head lolls back and I groan.

She swallows me slowly, inch by inch. It’s maddening and feels eye-crossingly fantastic at the same time. I can’t decide if I want her to suck me hard and fast or to draw out the blissful torture for hours. Maybe days.

When I’m nestled in Kate’s throat, she pauses, breathing softly.

And I hiss, “Fuck . . .”

Kate was always skillful at giving head—a real natural. But in these last years, her talents have reached epic proportions. She’s a maestro and I’m her well-endowed instrument. She practically trained the gag reflex right out of herself, and she actually enjoys deep throating—and swallowing.

She once told me it made her feel powerful. Watching my face as she works me over. Seeing the signs of pleasure she’s controlling—letting me revel in. It’s a pretty accurate take on the situation, because at the moment I’m at Kate’s complete and total mercy.

And that, kiddies, is the best f*cking seat in the house.

She sucks me hard as her head glides up, so just the tip remains between her beautiful lips. She swirls with her tongue again—this time with more pressure, less teasing. Then she bobs up and down quickly—meaning business—all tongue, decadent sloppy wetness, and rough brushes of teeth. Her cheeks hollow out and her hand massages my balls, giving them a gentle, erotic tug.

I moan and curse and chant her name.

I grip her hair and guide her up and down on my dick with just enough force to make her hum in appreciation.

“Yeah, baby, just like that. So f*cking good.” I gasp.

Kate’s lips tighten and her head moves faster.

“Jesus, Kate, I’m gonna come.”

My hand clenches and I hold her in place, and every muscle in my body contracts in screaming, unanimous pleasure. My teeth grind and my hips thrust, and with moans of her own, Kate swallows enthusiastically until I have nothing left.

My breathing is harsh as she gifts me with one last flick of her tongue. Then she comes up smiling and climbs onto my lap. And I’m boneless—totally, sublimely relaxed. Screw wine: a blow job is the best way to unwind after a long day at work.

The only thing that would make it better is if I could return the favor.

As I enclose Kate in my arms, I add another tick to the running total of orgasms I owe her. This makes . . . fifteen. And I plan on settling up all in one night—the night Roberta says Kate’s good to go. Don’t worry—as long I keep her hydrated, there’s no physical danger from too many orgasms. I asked.