Maliciously Obedient Part 17

"So how are you going to...discipline Miss Lydia?"

Mike shot him a dark look. "Let's not go there."

"Oh, come on. 'Matt Jones' has to do something, right?"

"Well, no. Actually, Matt Jones doesn't. Lydia did her job." Mike frowned slightly, a musing look, as he thought the whole situation through for a minute.

"You told her to economize and she took you at your word, didn't she?" Jeremy smiled a little too broadly and nodded a little too hard, the mocking evident and Mike just shook his head.

"The f.u.c.king Emba.s.sy Sweets, man."

"Malicious obedience," Jeremy said, chuckling.

Whoa. Mike hadn't thought of that. "Holy s.h.i.+t, that's exactly what she's doing, isn't it?"

Jeremy nodded, fiddling with his phone, playing Angry Birds on it. "Yep. You get p.i.s.sed at your company, so you do exactly what you're told. Everything falls apart when you remove judgment and initiative from corporate life."

"But I've nurtured her initiative!" Mike exploded.

"You've nurtured her libido."

"What?" Mike nearly screamed.

Jeremy shushed him with hand signals that either meant be quiet or park the 747 at Gate 11. "That's not a p.i.s.sed off employee, Mike. That's a woman who feels scorned."

"f.u.c.k!" He was right. Fighting these feelings for her meant shutting down. To her, it must look like he was an a.s.shole. Furtive encounters in the supply closet and elevator at work a not to mention the nightclub incident a must confuse her. Blowing hot and cold would make anyone upset. The fact that he was turning into a stone wall made him an even bigger a.s.shat.

She was right.

"She saved Bournham Industries quite a bit of money," Jeremy said, a supercilious tone permeating his words. "The CEO will be pleased."

"The CEO is not pleased," Mike said in a hard voice.

"No," Jeremy wagged his finger in Mike's face. "Matt Jones is not pleased. Mike Bournham should promote her."

Mike chuckled. "I'm not sure promote is the verb that I want to apply to her."

"How about f.u.c.k?" Jeremy said, all humor stripped from his banter. The s.h.i.+ft made the room seem colder and Mike c.o.c.ked his head.

"That goes without saying."

"I thought so," Jeremy said, nodding slowly. "So who's going to do it?"

The hair on the back of Mike's neck stood up. "What are you talking about, Jeremy?" Was this some ploy for Jeremy to come into the office and try to snag Lydia? Had he gone too far in talking about her?

"Well, you know," Jeremy said, scratching the back of his head, taking his time smacking his lips together, drawing this out until Mike started waving his hand come on, come on, come on. "Is it going to be Matt Jones or Mike Bournham? Which one wants her most?"

Mike sighed and closed his eyes. Oh, f.u.c.k. When he had signed on with the reality television show this was not a scenario that he had considered. He had thought that there might be some awful, violent episode with an employee or a nasty negative argument with someone, or maybe he'd discover that people were embezzling.

Perhaps he'd find out about some lurid love affair among his upper management, or learn that the mafia had infiltrated his procurement department. Of all the scenarios that he had envisioned where things went wrong, falling for one of his administrative a.s.sistants hadn't even been anywhere near the short list. Or the long list.

Any list.

He wanted her, as time pa.s.sed, more and more. Mke knew that if he let this go on much longer he'd end up needing her. Lydia knew him as Matt Jones, her a.s.shole interloping boss. She knew him in an alter ego, as the owner of the company. So, who was it going to be? Two ident.i.ties were for superheroes and Mike was trying d.a.m.n hard to become a billionaire.

But he was no batman.

Chapter Eleven.

Reluctant to have any contact with him, Lydia avoided Matt all day. No choice now, though; an email from a big client needed Matt's immediate attention, and it was a simple meeting schedule issue she needed to take care of. One quick question and she could clear this out and go home. She and Matt had worked way too late wrapping up a huge deal for this client, and it was 9:40 p.m. The office was deserted. One last question and she could go home and eat ice cream while watching Portlandia.

Rapping on the door twice, she barged in without waiting for him to say anything.

And walked into her threesome dream.

Completely unhinged for a few seconds, she gaped openly at Matt and Jeremy, who was sitting on Matt's couch, relaxed and fluid, like a long, loose, highly-f.u.c.kable s.e.x machine ready for this to become one of those p.o.r.ny scenes from a really bad online s.e.x video.

Oh, my G.o.d, she was losing her mind.

Jeremy started humming in the silence. Matt glared at him after a few seconds, giving Lydia something to attach to. What was Jeremy humming?

His head bouncing to and fro, Jeremy continued his little song, smiling at Matt.

He was humming You Are My Suns.h.i.+ne.

"Did you interrupt us for fun, or is there some work purpose, Lydia?" Matt asked, irritated and slapping Jeremy on the shoulder, which caused him to stop mid-bar and grin madly at Lydia.

Her face flushed as she reconciled the humor and the anger, struggling for balance. How rude! And of all the days to feel so frumpy and off-kilter, the thirteen-hour day beating her senseless and wearing her down. Vulnerable and raw, being treated like his little administrative slave was about as appealing as fetching Dave's double soy latte.

Jeremy wore a simple red t-s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and flip-flops. Not exactly corporate wear, while Matt seemed ready to take on the executive suite with a fine suit about three levels a no, make it six a above his pay grade. Only the lack of a tie made it look "business casual."

Ish.

Careful attention to their bodies, to detail, was her saving grace in keeping her temper in check. "The MacMillan account needs to know specifics for the next in-person meeting," she answered, seething. Jeremy noticed the change and stood, eyes alarmed, and headed toward the door.

"I'll catch you later," he said to Matt, then tipped his head at Lydia with a nod goodbye.

She didn't return it, eyes zeroed in on Matt. Tapping her toe, she splayed her palms up, a gesture of extreme impatience.

Squaring his shoulder, he planted his hands on his hips and said, "Yes?" as he shook his head, a jerk-like quality that made her whole body roil in fury.

"The MacMillan meeting? When do you want me to schedule it? They're asking and need to make travel arrangements."

"Do you really need to consult me for every silly little detail like this? Isn't it your job?"

Rolling her tongue in her mouth, she imitated his stance, her hands on her hips now, defiant. "I'm just doing exactly what you say," she replied, matching his tone. "Sir," she spat out.

"This whole malicious obedience schtick isn't going to work, you know." Confusion clouded her features. She didn't know what he was talking about.

"Malicious obedience?"

He washed his face with his hands, then ran them through his hair, keeping his arms stretched above his head, showing off those perfect arms. Rein it in, Lydia, she warned herself. Not now.

Not here.

"You plan only to follow orders, right?"

She smirked.

"Go tell MacMillan we'll meet on August 20."

Spinning on her heel, she left the room. He followed, and then in a low, clear voice, "And kiss my a.s.s."

Time stood still. The universe imploded. Her entire body was a supernova.

Because he had just given a direct order.

And she needed to maliciously obey it.

Her breath poured out of her in heaving gasps, the room so small it was starting to feel claustrophobic, and all she could feel was the rush of blood through her ears, her heart pounding, and how much she wanted to kiss him, touch him, be with him right now.

Being hurt like this, having him put up a wall and keep her firmly behind it, was blindingly stupid. It made absolutely no sense, and she wished she'd stayed so late. Glowing light from the naked bulbs high in the ceiling made him seem more menacing than he was, hands on his hips, jaw tight and face a mask of granite.

Some part of him seemed to thaw as his mouth turned up a half-grin, not a smile, but a wry, angry look, cold and harsh.

Without thinking, she walked back, bent down and did it, reaching around him, touching his waist as if she had the right to access his body at will, kissing his b.u.t.t with a big, loud "Mwah!" Standing, she glared at him, arms crossed, daring him to respond. Blinking steadily, he worked to avoid a reaction; she could see his struggle and wanted to laugh.

Ignore me now, she thought.

Their breathing filled the room. Anger dominated. Matt should have been the one in power, but instead her hurt, his restraint, and their a what? Misunderstanding? a hung out and stayed for a while, managing this internal state of affairs.

"Do as I say, " she mocked, pretending to use his voice, co-opting his own words from the other day. "Fine. I kissed it." c.o.c.king one shoulder, she stared him down. A luxurious, sinful heat made its way slowly from her lips to her chest, spreading down her torso and lighting her c.l.i.t on fire, the throbbing nearly audible in this tiny, dim s.p.a.ce. His office wasn't her idea of romantic. This would have to do for a showdown, her skin nearly begging him to touch it, her eyes hooded and, she hoped, holding back her yearning.

Righteously p.i.s.sed, she didn't enjoy being toyed with. Tender treatment in his hands at her apartment the other night couldn't possibly translate into the cold sh.e.l.l he'd put up recently. He needed to choose.

Now.

Those fine, manicured hands reached for his belt buckle, practiced and smooth movement beginning to unbuckle his belt. A sultry grin spread across his face, tempered by a slow, furious burn that scared her just enough to t.i.tillate.

"What are you doing?" she asked slowly, eyebrows arching up.

As he undid the buckle, he peeled the leather belt out of the loops, then folded it, snapping, the sound like a voice crying out in pleasure, her own throat strangling on a little mewl she suppressed.

"Enabling you to do as you were told," he answered, his voice smooth like fine whisky as he snaked his pants down over his hips.

Commando.

Plunging into her was the only image his mind would hold, his brain racing ahead of himself, wanting her teeth to sink into his shoulder as he made her come, wracked with climax after climax until she went liquid and limp in his arms. Fine cotton clung to that ample a.s.s, with curves riding the soft grey skirt until his mind could think of nothing but handfuls of her, of his palms caressing that creamy skin, of her thighs pressed against his ribcage, ankles crossed behind him, driving her face into a twisted ecstasy only he could a or ever would a see.

Because he made her like that.

This f.u.c.king office was the least romantic spot he could imagine, devoid of pa.s.sion and luxury, and yet if this was it a this was it. Mike had woken up determined to hold himself back, to close himself off, to make sure she couldn't lead him astray from his singular purpose: billionaire status. f.u.c.king her against the door with his hot breath whispering dirty encouragement, though, was how his night would end.

"Kiss my a.s.s, Lydia. That's an order," he commanded, c.o.c.k strong and rigid, pointing to the ceiling. Stepping out of his pants, he striped his s.h.i.+rt off in one fluid movement, body against hers in seconds. The s.h.i.+ft of his skin against her clothing felt illicit, as if stealing something he wasn't supposed to know he could take.

Her look of shock would have made him laugh if this moment weren't so intensely serious. Rough and ready, he plunged his hands into her hair, pulled her face up and kissed her, tongue probing, searching, using his anger to drive how much he needed her directly into her, through the warm wet center of Lydia.

Her body melted into his, soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against his pecs, hands roping around his waist, the touch cold, then warm, then searching, combing over every inch of his back and shoulders. Their breath was heavy, his hand reaching under her skirt, finding that she too was wearing no panties, leaving her open for his fingers to slip in, to know how much she was ready for him.

She reached around his c.o.c.k, her fingers encasing it and he groaned, the vibration from his throat throbbing into his center now. His knees relaxed and then he stood, sliding up her body, shoulders arching, bending over her, taking as she gave, her hand beginning to stroke him, the feeling too much. He was too close. With a growl he picked her up, wrapped those luscious legs around him, sunk his hands into the flesh of her voluptuous a.s.s and pinned her waist to him. Seconds away from entering her he stopped, then lowered them both to the floor, barely enough room for what he was determined to do.

He would find a way to make it work. Sliding her skirt up with both hands, he enjoyed the sensation of her soft, quivering thighs, and then his mouth kissed the inside of each, her head tipping back, her neck outstretched within his view, a thin blue vein skittering as her pulse raced. The taste of her was exactly how he'd imagined it in his fantasies, which had increasingly become dominated by her, her, and her. Something spicy, a bit sweet and yes, tart a not bitter. Tongue hinting at what he was about to do, he flicked the tiniest of licks directly on her nub and she arched up, meeting his mouth, making him smile.

Lydia's entire being was one long glowing electric nerve, centered directly on her c.l.i.t, his tongue piercing her, eliciting a warm glow from her pores that she didn't know was possible. As the welcoming sensuality of his mouth teased out the very hint of an o.r.g.a.s.m she sank her hands into his flesh, finding it rock hard, shoulders, biceps, forearms, the relief map of veins and sinew and man.

He was fully naked, bent down, pleasuring her and she was accepting.

Her breath hitched as his mouth drew out muscles she didn't know she could control, a l.u.s.t that pooled in her belly and then unwound. Tightening, releasing, tightening, releasing to grow sensations larger, making her pant, making her skin light and floating. A magic tongue, Matt stroked and licked and laved his way to bring her release, to elicit this most intimate of moments from her body, to draw her out. And the feeling of those big strong hands on her hip bones, on her waist, sliding up under her blouse to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then further, tickling earlobes. One hand went down and he slipped a finger into her wet, eager pa.s.sage, then two, hooking them up to find that spot. He seemed to know her body so well, and yet they were strangers when it came to flesh like this.

The rough industrial carpet underneath her bare bottom scratched, yet she barely noticed. His hands, his tongue, his mouth all acted in concert to give her something she had so desperately needed for so painfully long. And then she tipped, her body bucking against his mouth, seeking more, more, more of this moment, of this pleasure, of this blinding white light behind closed eyes, that spread into every muscle in her body, turning her taut, turning her clenched, turning her into a muscled expansion of everything.

Lydia became the light, she became the dark, she became his arm, she became the walls, all of it exploding as she thrust and clenched and screamed behind gritted teeth, thumping and wriggling and writhing her way to ecstasy.

Neither of them said a single word. It was remarkable, really. She didn't need to. He seemed to know exactly where to touch, and when, and how, and oh, how. He sat back on his knees, quite pleased with himself from the Ches.h.i.+re cat smile on his face. She paused, simply to take him in. The plane of this cheekbones, the strong jaw, the rugged tanned skin, how his shoulders stretched so far, like an inverted triangle going down over cut muscle, strong pecs, a smattering of sandy hair and the scalloped edges of his waist, narrowing down to a thicker thatch of hair, and an absolutely enormous erection that made her want to put her mouth on it, to envelop him in the warm cave of her tongue. She had another pa.s.sage that was just as eager for him, but that would come soon enough.

Right now, she had to do some a.s.s-kissing.

She sat up, crawled behind him, leaned down and quite literally kissed his naked a.s.s. Matt burst out laughing, grabbed her, pinned her down on the floor and pressed his lips into hers, giving her ample taste of herself, the act so intimate she nearly cried with the joy of finding someone who wouldn't think twice about such a thing, and for whom this easy give and take was in fact so easy. The kiss went from playful to serious, his c.o.c.k pressed into her hip, his hands pulling for her bra, unleas.h.i.+ng her b.r.e.a.s.t.s which rubbed against the rough fabric of her s.h.i.+rt.

The office was small, had a small couch, the same couch where Jeremy had been moments ago, and she pulled him up, then pushed him down on the cus.h.i.+ons. As she pulled her skirt up, he took control, stripping her s.h.i.+rt off a almost ripping one seam. Taking a rosy, pebbled nipple into his mouth, the feeling sent electric shocks directly into her eager p.u.s.s.y. She nuzzled his neck and straddled, climbing on, grateful for the birth control she'd stayed on since college. So wet, she needed no more, she hovered over the mushroom tip, his hands possessing her body, filling his with the pliant flesh of her a.s.s.

He moved his hands up to her ribcage, squeezed in with a powerful act that pulled her down on him, impaled. Oh, how she shuddered as he filled her, her mouth open, tongue between her teeth, all hope of control lost. She lifted her a.s.s using thigh muscles, and her back slowly plunging back down, sliding up and down his shaft with exquisite, languid movement that wrung every moment of frictioned joy out of this union.

The taste of him, of them, of their communion, of her essence, of his musk a blended with the sheer power of his pelvic movements, controlling how he drove into her, hammering home his want. She could feel him slamming into something deep inside her, opening it, creating a wedge that would crack wide a part of Lydia that she could not put back in the box.

A diffuse vortex of desire, of arousal, of pain from pleasure a began to build in her. She s.h.i.+fted, and then the movement of his hips into her, of his c.o.c.k f.u.c.king her, allowed her c.l.i.t to slide along his thigh as they worked together to bring each other to a place they could never visit without this joining.

His muscles tightened, his neck went rigid, and his lips that had been claiming her mouth, her tongue, suddenly went loose and unfocused as he concentrated on what was building within, her own building so great that she began to lose all sense of intent.

"Oh, G.o.d," she whispered. He made a sound. It wasn't even a word, more an acknowledgment, like a prayer in a language only lovers could speak in the act of the flesh joining like this.

In the distance, an industrial sound caught her ear. A horn beeped. Rain began to pelt the window. He began to push into her, faster, harder, deeper, slamming into whatever it was that was breaking inside, that needed his kind of power. Her wet, pink p.u.s.s.y walls clamped down hard, her a.s.s tightening, all of her core working together to encase him in nothing but her body. Nothing but Lydia, so that he would know that the moment he came it was all her, her, her.