Revenge Sex (7 page)

He wanted to touch her. He fucking
ached
to touch her.

He didn’t know who stepped closer, her, him,
but her breasts brushed him as she whispered, “He came on me. I
rubbed it in and sucked him clean.” Then she delivered the coup de
grace. “Do you want to taste him on me?”

“Fuck, yes.” His voice sounded choked even to
him.

She stepped back, closed the door, then
leaned against it. “He’s tall like you, and he loves to fuck me up
against a door or a wall.”

Clay couldn’t wait another moment to put his
hands on her. He hauled her up by the armpits, and she wrapped her
legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. His hard cock rode
her warm, wet center.

Then he tasted her the way he’d been dying
to.

Chapter Seven

He feasted on her as if she were a delicacy
he’d couldn’t get enough of. His taste was better than she could
have imagined, coffee and mint and male. Between her legs, his cock
pressed hard, insistent. His hands were all over her, holding her
ass, sliding up her torso, pinching her nipple.

She backed off to whisper against his lips,
“Can you taste him?”

“Christ yes.” Then he tasted some more.

She tightened her arms around his neck and
rocked against him. But she couldn’t stop talking. He needed the
talk. She didn’t want him to think about Ruby. “I ask, ‘Mr.
Blackwell, do you want to fuck me?’ And he says, ‘God, Miss Murphy,
I need you to suck my cock.’”

He groaned. “Fuck.” He squeezed her ass and
pushed her hard against the door, sliding against her through the
thin fabric of her jogging pants.

“I want you to pull off my clothes and lick
me. I want you to taste him. He came on me. I want you down
there.”

He yanked her away from the door and, her
legs still wrapped around him, he carried her to the conference
table. “I want you.”

He didn’t say he wanted to taste another man
on her, but that he wanted
her
. Her heart began to beat
harder in her chest.

Pushing her to her back on the table, he made
faster work of the leggings than Vince had, but he didn’t remove
her panties. Leaning over her, eyes locked, he slid his fingers
over the damp crotch. They were plain cotton; he didn’t seem to
mind.

“You’re still wet from him.”

“I’m wet from
you
,” she said.

His eyes deepened to the color of a dark
untamed forest as he stroked the lips of her sex through the
material. “Did he touch you this way?”

“Yes.”

He bent down to give her nipple a gentle
bite, then pushed up her shirt to the edge of her sports bra. “Your
skin is so smooth.” He kissed her abdomen, headed lower. He licked
along the elastic waist of her panties. Her skin quivered beneath
his touch.

Then he trailed his nose over her mound to
her center. “Oh yeah, you’re wet.” He breathed deeply. “You smell
like come. And warm, wet woman.”

He spread her legs, her knees hanging over
the edge of the table, and traced his finger along the cleft of her
pussy. On the way back up, he flicked over her clitoris. “Did he
play with you like this?”

“No, he just took off my panties and started
licking me.” Though he’d only licked her once before she’d begged
him to fuck her. She wanted Cla
y
to linger,
to taste, to learn all her ins and out.

Rolling a chair close with his foot, he sat
down between her legs. Then he put his hands under her, cupped her
butt, and pulled her to the edge of the table. Jessica went up on
her elbows to watch him.

“Do you like it when he licks you?”

She could feel his breath on her. “I like it
best when I pretend it’s you.” Ruby had gone on and on about how
much better Bradley was. She wanted Clay to know there was no one
better.

He nuzzled her, licked her through the
panties. She needed more.

“Take them off. Please.” She began shoving
her panties down herself.

He helped pull them the rest of the way, down
her legs, then he put the cotton to his face, his eyes closed as if
he were in bliss. He was drinking her in, feasting on her scents.
It was the most incredibly sensual thing a man had ever done.

“I’m going to keep them,” he said, and shoved
her panties into his back pocket. He parted her thighs once more,
gazed at her. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered.

Her heart went to her throat.

Then he leaned down to rub his face against
her, smelling her, marking her. And finally his lips, oh God,
nibbling, his tongue, licking, then everything, sucking her,
driving her mad.

“He doesn’t do it like this.” She cried out
for him. “No one does it like you.”

The peak came on her so fast, she clamped her
legs together around his head. “Yes, yes, yes. He’s all over me.
You can taste him, smell him.” And she came hard for him.

Before the climax was even over, he rolled
her to her stomach, her feet planted on the carpet. Then he put his
fingers inside her and kissed her ass where Vince had come on
her.

This time she actually screamed when she
came.

* * * * *

God, what he wouldn’t give to be deep inside
her, but he stopped short of taking her. There was wrong, and then
there was totally fucked up. He’d lost complete control and broken
too many of his own rules as it was.

Instead he absorbed the pulse of her climax,
the intoxicating scent of her arousal mingled with her fuck buddy’s
come. He could taste them both on his lips. She was sweet, the come
salty, a perfect blend.

He reveled in the connection, their bodies
fused together, two minds whirling with the same needs and desires.
This
was what he wanted from sex. Other men found it with
one woman; he laid claim to it after giving his woman away for an
evening, knowing she couldn’t wait to get back to him and make him
crazy with all the details.

He could never explain it to his ex-wife. He
couldn’t explain why he’d never felt this so keenly with Ruby. He
didn’t
know
why. It defied logic. It simply was.

Yet he didn’t have a right to take it with
Jessica.

Her heat seeped into him through his clothing
as he lay curled over her prone body on the table. He absorbed, he
savored, he reveled. But when her breathing slowed and he could no
longer feel her heart racing beneath him, he knew it was time to
let go.

He rose, chilled without her warmth filling
him.

“Don’t you want to—” She stopped when she saw
he’d retrieved her jogging pants.

“You gave me more than I hoped for.” He
wanted to relish what they’d done.

“Oh. But I could—” Her face flushed as she
cut herself off. They both knew what she was going to offer, but
the moment was lost.

“What we had was perfect, Jessica.” Christ,
he needed much more, but it was wrong on so many levels.

She didn’t argue, but simply took the pants
from him and stepped into them awkwardly. The ends got stuck on her
tennis shoes. Her hair had escaped from her pony tail, locks of it
springing out in gentle curls.

“Yes, well...” She waved her hands, then
clenched her fingers into fists. “I better get you those answers
you wanted.” She sidled past him toward the door, her cheeks a
flaming embarrassed red.

He couldn’t say what had just occurred was
meaningless, but nor could he tell her it meant everything. He
couldn’t admit Ruby had never given him the same sense of
connection. He’d found something with Ruby, yes, but with Jessica,
it was somehow more, better, beyond. The fact that he didn’t know
why was actually terrifying.

No, he couldn’t say all that. “Thank you” was
all he could give her.

“I should thank you, sure...” Her hands
fluttered again, then she grabbed the doorknob. She didn’t run to
her office, but turned in the opposite direction, and moments later
the door to the ladies’ room closed.

He was a schmuck. But he wasn’t sorry for
touching her. He could only regret the circumstances. He’d been
angry with Ruby. And he had that goddamn condom in his pocket. He
could feel it there now, along with Jessica’s panties. He’d wanted
to use it, wanted to stick it to Ruby, wanted his revenge.

That last thought was the thing that had
stopped him. He couldn’t use Jessica to get at Ruby. She was better
than revenge sex with a condom his girlfriend had given him.

In a mere three days, so much had changed. He
stared at the desk where Ruby had fucked her lover. He could feel
her there, hear her moans, that husky wail she made when she came.
The sounds from three days ago echoed in his office.

Only Jessica had drowned them out. When he’d
touched her, Ruby didn’t exist. If that condom in his pocket hadn’t
come from Ruby’s stash, he would have fucked Jessica. Yet its
presence reminded him of who he was. Jessica’s boss. A man breaking
his own rules.

The restroom door hadn’t opened again. She
was waiting for him to leave. He wished there was something he
could have said to change that, but there wasn’t a damn thing.

After one last look at the desk where Ruby
had cuckolded him, then to the table where he’d taken Jessica with
everything but his cock, he backed out of the office and locked the
door.

He didn’t like how he’d felt or what he’d
done, how important it had been. He didn’t like the man he could
potentially become if he didn’t stop.

* * * * *

This was pathetic, sitting on the toilet lid
with the stall door locked as if he might follow her into the
ladies’ room.

She was the one who’d gone to his office.
He’d told her to get out, but she just kept talking. Then she’d
thrown herself at him.

Jessica buried the embarrassing heat of her
face in her hands. She’d confessed her fantasies. God. She’d
sounded like a besotted teenage girl instead of a
thirty-five-year-old woman.

She sucked in a breath. He’d never make her
controller now. Not after he knew how she’d been salivating over
him for years. Her career at West Coast had just gone up in smoke.
And she’d lit the match. Idiot.

When she rose, her legs felt wobbly, and she
was reminded again of how perfect his touch was. Ruby had been
lying to Bradley. No one could compare to Clay.

She peaked out the door. His office door was
closed, the building silent. She didn’t have to check the lock to
know he was gone. After washing her hands, she patted cold water on
her face. Her cheeks were still flushed with color, her lips
just-kissed plump. At that moment, she didn’t need makeup. All she
needed was sex with Clay.

Just
sex? She could have an affair
with her boss. She could even do an excellent job as controller
while she was screwing him on the side. She could separate sex and
work.

But she couldn’t separate how she felt about
Clay. Sex wasn’t the same as it was with Vince. Clay made her heart
swell with need. She wanted to burrow inside him, sleep in his
arms, wake up beside him, come home to him.

On Wednesday morning, she could have lived
without it. She hadn’t known his intimate desires, his touch, his
taste, or how his skin felt beneath her fingers. She hadn’t known
how good he could make her feel in so many more ways than
just
sex.

Wednesday was a lifetime ago.

Now, she hated that he was going home to
Ruby, a woman who didn’t deserve him.

Chapter Eight

Ruby admitted that she’d royally fucked up.
But it wasn’t
all
her fault. She would explain to him how
she didn’t understand what he wanted because he gave off mixed
signals.

She’d waited all morning and all afternoon
for him to return, and by four o’clock, she was going a little
insane.

Bradley had called. She’d sent him to
voicemail. He had to figure his own way out of the mess.

Her nerves getting to her, she’d resorted to
eating cheese and salsa because there was nothing else in the
house. Cheese would make her thighs lumpy, but salsa was good for
you, all those tomatoes.

The front door opened, and her heart
threatened to beat right out of her chest. Seated on the couch, she
could see Clay through the open fireplace. She set aside the cheese
plate. The clink of ceramic on the coffee table got his attention.
His face was so serious. Not a smile, not a glimmer of hope. He
stepped down into the living room, stopped beside the firepit, then
eased down on the wide stone ledge surrounding it.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I had a beer.” He’d been gone so long, he
could have had a six-pack, but he didn’t appear drunk.

“Can I explain?” she asked, sounding suitably
plaintive.

“You don’t have to explain.” His voice was
flat. The sound of it made her nerves jump even more.

“But I need to.”

He didn’t say anything, not to tell her
shut-up, nor to go on.

But she could explain it. “I don’t understand
what you want. Like, if I tell you I’m going out with a girlfriend
when really I’m going to meet a man, you’re all hot and bothered
when I get home, sniffing to see if I smell like come, and if I do,
you get wild. But it’s still breaking your rule about not telling
you I’m going on a date.”

“You’re right,” he said expressionlessly.
“That’s a rule I don’t mind if you break.”

“But it’s not okay to break the rule about
sex with a coworker or sex at the house.” She spread her hands.
“How am I supposed to know which rules I can’t break?”

“I don’t have an answer,” he said.

She gaped, starting to feel put-out. He’d
made her into the bad guy for no good reason. “Then what am I
supposed to do?”

“Do you always tell them I’m not a good
lover?”

She almost sagged with relief. So that’s what
it was about, his ego. “It depends on the man. Sometimes they need
building up.”