Taking It All Read online

  Ohhhh, that feels good. My insides clench as I draw slow circles, round and round.

  Images flash in my head. Images of him.

  The gorgeous jerk. The jerk I don't know.

  Young. Sexy.

  Aroused.

  Instead of cooling off my burning bits, those images stoke the flame.

  I stroke faster, imagining it's his hand down there. He's lying next to me, watching me writhe as he torments me with his touches and kisses.

  Faster.

  He tweaks one of my nipples, rolling it between his finger and thumb and murmurs, “That's it, baby. Open those pretty legs for me. Let me see all of you.”

  My legs part as if I'm obeying his command.

  Faster.

  My muscles are tugging into tight knots. My blood pounding through my body.

  He kisses a scalding path down my stomach and replaces his finger with his tongue.

  Ohhhh... I'm dying.

  My inner thighs stretch.

  Wider. I open wider.

  Inside, my walls clench. I'm empty. Achingly empty. I want him inside. Need him inside, stroking away this terrible agony.

  His tongue flicks up and down over my clit and with each quick stroke the throbbing increases. I'm tight all over. Burning up. Breathless.

  “That's it, baby,” he says, his low, husky voice vibrating through my body. “Let me see you cum. I want to watch.” He laps at my pussy. “Damn, you taste good. I want to taste your cum. Let go. Let me eat you up.”

  Wave upon wave of pleasure ripples through me. With each throbbing pulse, I feel my body trembling more, tightening more. The tension is unbearable. I toss my head from side-to-side.

  “Cum now,” he demands.

  Whoosh. An inferno blazes from my center out. Up to my scalp. Down to the soles of my feet. My empty pussy spasms. Sensations I can't even describe blast through me. It's the most powerful orgasm of my life. And I want it to last forever. I keep stroking. He's eating every last drop of my honey, lapping it up, and growling like a hungry bear.

  Thump, thump, thump. My racing heart pounds, sending scalding hot blood throbbing through my veins.

  Ohmygod, I'm going to...

  A second orgasm tears through me. Another blast of heat rockets up and down my body. My inner walls spasm. Delightful tingling electrifies every nerve, from my head to the tips of my toes. I'm soaring on a current of bliss. I've never felt anything so mind-blowing.

  This time I stop stroking my clit. It's too sensitive now. I ride the waves of pleasure, savoring every second, until they're tiny ripples. The spasms ease to little twitches. The heat cools. The thumping in my chest slows.

  Holy shit, that was insane. And it was just me imagining him.

  Do I want to know what it would really be like?

  Yes.

  No.

  Maybe. Even though I shouldn't.

  It doesn't matter. It won't happen. I'll never see him again. I can be content to fantasize about him.

  My body is heavy.

  Relaxed.

  I think I just might...

  Fall...

  Asleep.

  * * * * *

  Nooooo!

  Stupid alarm!

  My body is tingling all over.

  What a dream! Wow. If only I could have recorded it. I would watch it again and again...and again...

  I don't want to get up. I don't want to go to work.

  Reality sucks.

  I smack my screaming alarm clock, roll out of bed, and drag my (still tingly) body to the bathroom to get ready for work.

  Work.

  Colbe.

  Sigh.

  Despite having an orgasm while I slept, I'm in no mood for work today. Actually, I'm in the mood for work; I'm in no mood to deal with my supervisor, Colbe. But a girl can't change some things. Nothing I can do about it.

  I hurry through my morning routine, dump a pot of coffee into my travel cup and head to work, slurping and singing (shrieking) along to Blink 152 as I maneuver through morning rush hour traffic. It's one of those rare perfect days when it's neither too hot nor too cold. So I enjoy the fresh air blowing through the window. A rare treat in Michigan.

  I make it to work with a whole whopping two minutes to spare, steer into the parking lot and...chug, chug, chug...

  My fucking car dies. With the ass end hanging out in the street.

  The kind, patient (*eyeroll*) driver in the car behind me lays on the horn. Because everyone knows that honking will miraculously get a stalled car going again.

  Humanity sucks.

  I crank the key. The car turns over but doesn't start.

  The jackass in the car behind me honks again.

  So I honk back. And I gift him (he's being a total dick, so he has to be a male) with a gesture that's sure to convey my undying affection for him.

  Up yours, asshole.

  Then I let my head fall forward and smack my forehead on my useless, debilitated car's steering wheel.

  Could anything else go wrong in my life?

  I may be homeless in a couple of weeks.

  I'm in so much debt I'll never dig myself out.

  And I've recently acquired an ex-fiance.

  Frustrated and furious, I shove open my car door and glare at the car behind mine. The stupid black Jaguar, catching a break in traffic, backs up slightly then steers around me. But instead of continuing through the driveway, it stops.

  Great, the asshole is determined to make my day even shittier.

  I open my mouth to tell my impatient coworker to just get the hell out of the way so anyone else who's running late has a chance of getting inside before they hit the thirty-minute-late mark. But before a word comes out, I literally bite my tongue.

  Why do I bite my tongue?

  Because it's in the way.

  Why is it in the way?

  Because I'm not thinking about what I'm saying or doing. I'm concentrating on that face.

  It's him. Colbe's friend.

  Does he work for Parker Enterprises?

  I'm new. And it's a big enough company. It's possible. Highly probable, actually.

  His mouth is agape. I guess he wasn't expecting the crazy girl flipping him the bird to be me.

  Ha. He doesn't know me very well.

  His lips curve into a semi smile that makes me forget I'm standing in the middle of a narrow driveway, blocking traffic.

  Then he shifts his car into drive and steers into the nearest parking space. I try to ignore him as I dig in my purse for my cellphone. At least Butthead bought me an auto club membership. The towing will be free.

  As far as affording the repairs, though...

  “Need some help?” Colbe's (hot, obnoxious) friend asks as he saunters up, all knotted up in a (well-fitting) suit, perfectly-pressed white shirt, and tie.

  “No.” I wave a hand, indicating his clothes. “Wouldn't want you to get your nice suit all dirty. Besides, there's no reason to make you late too.”

  “Eh, the boss won't mind.” He shucks his jacket, and, as I try not to watch, memories of last night play through my head like a freaking movie. The button down shirt he's wearing underneath is fitted but not snug. Still, I can make out the broad line of those shoulders and the thick bulk of his biceps. The man is ripped.

  “Must be nice,” I say. “My boss is an ass. Gives me grief if I'm even a minute late.”

  “Is that so?” He points to the driver's seat. “Climb in, shift out of park, and steer.” Once I do as he says, he circles to the rear of the car and starts pushing it.

  It rolls forward.

  I'm impressed. I have no idea how hard it is for a grown man to push a car by himself, but this one is doing it easily. He's either really strong, or my car's made out of plastic or something. After I steer into the closest parking spot and shift it back into park, he walks around to the front of my car and flips his hand.

  I poke my head out the window. “Thanks for pushing me. But you don't really want me to op
en the hood, do you?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Because you're wearing a white shirt,” I remind him as I climb out. “Besides, I don't see any tools. What're you going to do without any tools?”

  “I'm going to see if I can get your car started.”

  “No, you're not.” I lift my phone. “I was about to call the auto club. I can get it towed.”

  He rolls up a sleeve, displaying a muscled forearm. “Let me see what I can do first.”

  “But--”

  “Please,” he says with a not-so-pleading voice as he rolls up the other sleeve.

  I let him know with my face that I'm not happy about what he's doing. I don't like owing people for favors. But I reach into the car and pull the hood release.

  He lifts it and takes a look around. “Hmmm.”

  “See anything?” I ask, thinking maybe, by some miracle, I'll be able to avoid an expensive repair after all.

  He pulls on a little hooked thingy, the oil dipstick. He inspects it. “When was the last time you had an oil change?”

  I don't like where this is going.

  I don't know much about cars. But even I know that oil is important. Clean oil. Lots of clean oil. Which is why Jerkhead changed my oil every three months. “About a week ago. Why?”

  “Was your oil light on?” he asks, shoving the dipstick back into its little tube-thing.

  Oh no...“Yes. It's been stuck on for ages. Since I bought the car...why?”

  “Do you have a rag or paper towel or something?” He pulls the dipstick out again.

  “I probably have a paper napkin...” I open the little console between the front seats and dig out a McDonald's napkin. I hand it to him.

  He wipes the dipstick, slides it back into place then pulls it back out a third time.

  All this in and out stuff... As I watch, my mind goes to a dirty, dirty place. And we're not talking about motor-oil-type dirty.

  When did I become such a nympho?

  My face goes hot. So do some other parts.

  “Was your car making any noises before it stalled?” He inspects the dipstick. “You have no oil.”

  The heat swirling through my body immediately evaporates. “No oil? What? How?!” Noise? He'd asked me if my car had been making any noises. But I don't know. I had the radio blaring. I hadn't heard a thing, outside of my fave band.

  Maybe if I had, I would have shut down the car before...

  Please, please tell me my car isn't dead.

  Before...

  Tell me it isn't what I think it is.

  “The engine's dry,” he tells me, confirming my worst fear. “Probably seized up. You'll need a new motor.”

  My knees give out and I have to latch onto the car to keep from falling to the ground.

  New.

  Motor.

  Little stars glitter in my vision.

  I don't have money for a new motor.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he asks. Strong arms sweep me off my feet and cradle me. I can't see a damn thing now. All I see are twinkling stars. I feel him carrying me. He's speaking, but his voice sounds funny. Distant.

  My car.

  It's dead.

  No money.

  Fuck!

  I can't take any more. I want to curl up in a corner and hide from the world.

  I blink and try to clear my vision. The stars are still obscuring most of it, but I can see we're going into the building.

  The receptionist at the front desk greets the man carrying me. “Sir! What's the matter? Should I call 9-1-1?”

  “No.” He stops at the elevator and hits the button with his elbow. “I'm sure Miss...Miss...?”

  “Stapley,” I say. “Jordan Stapley.”

  “Miss Stapley will be all right in a minute.”

  The elevator door rumbles open and in we go. On the way up my vision clears completely. Adrenaline starts pounding through my body.

  “I can stand now,” I tell him, wriggling.

  “Just wait until I can get you in a chair.”

  “Where are you taking me?” I look up at the numbers glowing above the elevator's door. The five glows. That's my floor.

  The elevator doesn't stop.

  Six.

  “My office,” he tells me.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  How high up the food chain is this guy?

  Nine.

  Holy shit!

  Ten. Top floor.

  The doors roll open and he steps into a wide, open space. A receptionist jumps from her seat and scurries up to us. “Mr. Parker, what happened? Can I get you anything?”

  Mr. Parker?

  Did she just say Mr. Parker?

  Grayson Parker?

  As in, the owner of Parker Enterprises?

  Now I'm in shock all over again.

  Holy shit! I flipped Grayson Parker the bird!

  “No. Thank you,” he says.

  Mr. Parker, the owner of Parker Enterprises—the boss of my boss—passes through a set of double doors into the biggest office I've ever seen.

  From the looks of it, his office takes up almost the whole freaking floor. Two sides—two!—boast floor-to-ceiling windows. On one end sits a massive wooden desk. At the opposite end is a seating area with two couches and several chairs. He unloads me into one of the chairs, kneeling after he sets me down.

  The bluest eyes I've ever seen search mine. “What can I get you? Water?” Before I can answer, he hops up, goes to the cabinet nearby and opens a door. It's a refrigerator, not a cabinet. He pours some cold water into a glass he collects from the cabinet next to it.

  “It's okay. No need to make a fuss. I was just a little...overwhelmed.” My face burns again.

  I'm so freaking embarrassed. I can't believe I've been such a bitch. I gave him an obscene gesture.

  And, ohmygod, I tried to hit him yesterday!

  Because he had a hard on.

  He got a hard on hugging me.

  That means the owner of Parker Enterprises...felt...?

  No. Couldn't be. It was probably just a physical reaction. It didn't mean anything.

  He's rich. Powerful.

  He must be married. Or at least in a serious relationship.

  “Here.” He hands me the glass, and the tips of our fingers brush. A little current of electricity zaps up my arm.

  That doesn't mean anything either.

  Right?

  My face gets hotter. It has to be the color of a freaking tomato. The curse of a red-head.

  “Your color's back,” he says, lips curving into a lopsided smile.

  That smile makes my heart go pitter-pat.

  Stop it. He's just a man. And men are jerks. Remember?

  This jerk carried me across a parking lot, up a ten-floor elevator ride, and into his office.

  This jerk got me water.

  I sip. Cold water. Delicious water.

  And he actually seems to care that I'm freaking out.

  He doesn't care, though. He couldn't. Why should he? I'm just a lowly administrator.

  He's most likely just trying to avoid a lawsuit or something.

  “I should probably get to work. I don't want to get fired for being late.” I give him a little smile at the half-joke, stand, and hand him the glass.

  Again, our fingers touch. For a fraction of a second.

  And (again) electricity buzzes through me.

  His eyes meet mine.

  His hand, the one not holding the glass lifts. It cups the back of my head.

  What's happening?

  Our gazes lock.

  Time stands still.

  My heart pounds.

  What the fuck is happening?

  His head lowers. A fraction of an inch at a time.

  Lower.

  Is he going to...?

  Lower still.

  Holy shit!

  “Kiss me,” he whispers right before his mouth seals over mine.

  A huge, and I mean really-freaking-mas
sive tidal wave, of lust crashes through my body. My knees buckle and I loop my arms around his neck and hold on.

  His lips are soft. The kiss a slow, delicious seduction.

  I am freaking lost.

  Holy hell, I didn't know a kiss could be so mind-blowing.

  Dickhead's sure weren't. Who knew he'd been doing something wrong? Not me!

  God, am I glad now that I didn't marry him. To think what I might have missed. Like this kiss.

  Grayson Parker's tongue traces the seam of my mouth, and I open, letting him in. As it caresses mine, my insides quiver and throb. Hot blood pounds through my veins. Rushes to my core.

  My insides clench.

  What am I doing?

  Wanting, needing to get closer, I smash my body against his. The pressure feels great. My breasts are flattened against his big, hard body. My nipples are uber-sensitive. So is the rest of my body. Every freaking inch!

  I shouldn't be doing this. I should push him away.

  Should...

  His hands grasp me at the waist and I find myself walked backward until my ass hits something hard. Then up I go, lifted by the strongest man in the world. I'm plopped on the desk and a knee wedges between my thighs.

  Holy crap, I'm going to die.

  His tongue does things I didn't know tongues could do. It conquers. It claims. It makes my brains turn to mush and my blood simmer.

  You have to stop this. Now. Right now.

  I hook my fingers, clawing at his shoulders and kiss him back.

  The heavy husk of our labored breaths fill the room.

  I whimper. It's all too much. And yet it isn't enough. I want to be bare. I want skin against skin. I want something big and hard driving deep inside me.

  But I can't have any of that.

  Not now. Not here!

  Not with my boss!

  One of his hands goes on a little excursion, traveling north to the side of my breast. I whimper again when he cups it, weighs the tender fullness. I am going to die if this keeps up.

  No. I'm going to die if he stops!

  More. I need more.

  Moremoremore.

  But he's my boss!

  I claw at my skirt, sliding it up to my hips so my thighs aren't pinned so close together. I want them open. So I can grind my burning pussy against his knee.

  Or so he can touch me there.

  Or so he can drive his big, hard cock inside me.

  Ohmygod, I can't believe I'm doing this.