She lifted her brows. “You jerked off in a public bathroom. Your lack of control is astounding.”
And hot. So hot. God, he would’ve been wearing a suit. She could picture him there, looking sharp in one of those Armani numbers he had, tie perfectly knotted, fly open and fancy watch shining on his wrist as he stroked himself and bit his lip to stay quiet.
A sound of pleasure escaped her.
She froze. Shit. She’d been so good.
Gibson frowned “You okay?”
She shifted, and the toy she’d so successfully hidden from him for the last half hour moved into just the right place at the wrong time. Oh, God. She moaned and heat flooded her.
His eyes narrowed. “Sam?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions,” she snapped, but the words didn’t come out as firm as she’d hoped.
Gibson stayed obediently silent, but his eyes moved downward. He knew.
But not everything. She grabbed back control. “I may have been compromised by a toy the whole time we’ve been out here.”
His lips parted. “Oh, fuck. You’ve been getting off while I work? You’re literally going to kill me.”
She smiled. “Maybe I’ll show it to you if you’re good.”
His cock glistened at the tip, pre-come joining the party and naked hunger crossing his face. God, she loved how turned on he got at even the thought of playing. “I’m all yours, Sam. Just tell me what you want. Let me touch you. Let me see what you’re doing to yourself.”
She let her eyes travel over him, eating up the view. All those cut muscles, shiny with sweat and flushed with excitement. The open jeans. The V of his pelvis. He was sex on a Southern stick. And she was pent-up. She would never last for what she had planned. “I’ll make you a deal.”
His brow arched.
She pulled the small remote from beneath her thigh. “I’ll let you have control of this. And I’ll lift my dress so you can watch me come.”
“Fuck yes.”
She raised a finger. “But when I’m done, I get to use the same toy on you.”
Gibson flashed teeth, thinking he’d gotten an easy deal. “Agreed.”
She let him lower his arms from behind his head and handed him the remote. Then, she moved her legs from beneath her and slowly lifted up her dress.
Gib’s attention was locked on her, but when she revealed what was beneath, his eyes went wide. “Oh, shit.”
She laughed, victorious. He’d been expecting a vibrator. And he was half right. The device had a vibrating portion that went inside her, pressing against her G-spot. But the piece de resistance was the impressively sized strap-on that jutted out from between her thighs in all its glory. That part vibrated, too, and the base was giving her clit a wicked little massage.
“What do you think?” she asked, teasing him a bit, expecting him to back out of the deal. She’d used dildos and plugs on him before now, but she’d been working up to this. She’d seen his face that day in the adult store. He hadn’t been ready then.
He was ready now.
Gibson laughed, a nervous edge to it. “I’m a little terrified. It’s . . . impressively sized. But I’m not going to lie. You look fucking hot. Will you spread your legs for me? Let me see what it’s doing to you.”
The genuine desire in his voice pushed all her buttons. She slowly spread her legs and stroked the rubber cock like she owned it, giving him a little show. She had no idea how men walked around with these things all the time—seemed cumbersome—but right now she was kind of enjoying the role reversal. She barely resisted the urge to strut.
Gibson groaned. “Jesus, I don’t know why that’s so sexy, but you’ve got my full attention, mistress.”
Lord. How did she get so damn lucky? It had taken a lot for Gibson to get over that wall of shame, but, man, had he hit the ground sprinting once he reached the other side. She could see new kinky doors opening up all around him each day. This man was all in. He loved it. And she loved him. No more worrying about her desires being too far off the reservation. She’d found her match. She leaned back in the chair, the power humming through her veins, and grabbed the base of the strap-on. “Get on your knees and suck my dick, Gib. Do it while you make me come.”
Gibson didn’t hesitate, didn’t balk. Fire flared in his eyes, and he grabbed his cock and squeezed the root like he was having trouble keeping his desire in check. It didn’t matter that they were outside on her porch. It didn’t matter that he was straight and had never given head before. If his mistress asked him to do something, he was going to do it with enthusiasm and enjoy it. He got to his knees and lowered his mouth onto the toy. Just seeing him wrap his lips around it did something to her. Amped her up about a thousand percent. Fuck, he was sexy.
He lifted that blue-eyed gaze to hers, sucked her like he meant it, and dialed up the knob on that little remote.
She groaned and rocked her hips toward him, riding the vibrator and giving him a show as he pushed her higher and higher toward release. It was quick and fierce, and before she had time to catch her breath, she was shoving Gibson away and getting to her feet, the dildo sticking out like a never-ending hard-on under her dress.
The sight made her giggle, and Gibson snorted. “Just happy to see me, I presume?”
She grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. “Shut up, boy. Bend over the railing and pull your jeans down. I need to be inside you. Now.”
“Here?” Gibson shuddered under her touch, unease surfacing. But when she confirmed that it was what she wanted, he followed her commands. He tugged his jeans down and braced himself on the railing. Naked and open under the sunshine. Giving her everything, trusting her completely. She grabbed the lubricant she’d hidden behind a potted thyme plant, but when she stood behind Gibson again, her eye caught sight of something on the railing.
She stilled for a second, her breath catching. On the railing next to Gib’s right elbow was a worn message she’d etched into the wood when she was a kid. Her grandmother had given her leave to do it because she’d planned to have the railing replaced. But her grandmother had passed a month later. The railing remained. Sam didn’t.
Samantha was here. And a smiley face. That was the grand message of an eight-year-old.
Samantha was here.
And then she wasn’t. And that smile had left for a long damn time.
She pressed her fingers over the spot, rubbed the now-smooth edges.
Gibson noticed what she was doing and placed his hand over hers, squeezed.
Samantha was here. Now she was back.
And so was her smile.
Her grandmother might not approve of what she was about to do to Gibson, but she’d definitely be happy to know that after being lost for so long, she’d finally found her way back home.
She let go of the railing, grabbed the supplies, and then she was easing her way inside Gibson. He didn’t fight. He didn’t resist. His body was hers. Her heart his. She reached around him, stroking his cock as she rocked the dildo inside him slowly, dragging out the pleasure for them both, absorbing the low, sexy sounds he made and letting the need build inside her again. She couldn’t remember ever feeling more in tune with another person. They moved as one, their bodies joined in a way that most couples would never experience, but it felt exactly right for them. This. This was what they’d both been waiting for all their lives. Freedom. To be who they were, to just be.
She picked up the pace, the need rocketing toward fever pitch. And the man who’d fought to keep his desires in the dark for so long begged his mistress for harder, faster, more, for everything, all under the gleaming sunshine, where there was no place to hide.
Yes to more. Yes to this. Yes to everything.
Before long they were both shouting into the wind, scaring the birds that had roosted in a nearby tree, and calling each other’s name like an
invocation.
The flapping of wings filled the air as they both tipped over into orgasm and soared together. She gripped Gib’s waist and pressed her face to his back, feeling his strength, the power of their connection, the sound of his heartbeat as she let herself float back to earth.
This man.
“That was . . . wow,” she whispered.
He reached behind him and palmed the back of her head, his fingers gentle in her hair. “Guess we finally pulled the long straw, huh?”
She smiled against his skin. “Yeah. We did.”
Maybe the universe didn’t owe anyone anything.
But sometimes, it paid up in full.
Don’t miss
OFF THE CLOCK
A Pleasure Principle novel by Roni Loren
Available soon from Berkley Trade
Keep reading for a sneak peek!
“I’m going to wrap my fingers in your hair and slide my other hand up your thigh. You have to be quiet for me. We can’t let anyone know.”
Marin Rush paused in the dark hallway of Harker Hall, her tennis shoes going silent on the shiny linoleum and the green Exit signs humming softly in the background. She didn’t dare move. She’d been on the way to grab a soda and a snack out of the vending machine. Her caffeine supply had run low and watching participants snore in the sleep lab wasn’t exactly stimulating stuff. But that silk-smooth male voice had hit her like a thunderclap, waking up every sense that had gone dull with exhaustion.
She’d assumed she was the only one left in the psychology building at this hour besides the two study subjects in the sleep lab. It was spring break and the classrooms and labs were supposed to be locked up—all except the one she was working in. That’s what the girl she was filling in for this week had told her. But there was no mistaking the male voice as it drifted into the hallway.
“I bet you’d like being fucked up against the wall. My cock pumping in you hard and fast.”
Holy. Shit. Marin pressed her lips together. Obviously two other people thought they were alone, too. Had students snuck into the building to get it on? Or maybe it was one of the professors. Oh, God, please don’t let it be a professor. She should turn around right now and go back to Professor Roberts’s office. Last thing she needed was to see one of her teachers in some compromising position. She would die of mortification.
But instead of backing up, she found herself tilting her head to isolate where the voice was coming from, and her feet moved forward a few steps.
“Yeah, you like that. I know. I bet you’re wet for me right now just thinking about how it would feel. Maybe I should check. Keep your hands against the wall.”
A hot shiver zipped through Marin, making every part of her hyperaware.
“I’m so hard for you. Can you feel how much I want you?” That voice was like velvet against Marin’s skin. She closed her eyes, imagining the picture the stranger was painting—some hot guy behind her, pinning her to the wall, his erection rubbing against her. She’d never been in that situation, but her body sure knew how to react to the idea. Her hand drifted up to her neck and pressed against her throat, her pulse beating like hummingbird wings beneath her fingertips.
She waited with held breath to hear the woman’s response, but no voice answered the man’s question. Can you feel how much I want you? he’d asked. And hell if Marin wasn’t dying to know. She strained to hear.
“I tug your panties off and trail my hand up your thighs until I can feel your hot, slick . . .”
Marin braced her other hand against the wall and leaned so far forward that one more inch would’ve sent her toppling over. Your hot . . .
“Goddammit. Motherfucker.”
The curse snapped Marin out of the spell she’d fallen into, and she straightened instantly, her face hot and her heartbeat pounding in places it shouldn’t be. There was a groaning squeak of an office chair and another slew of colorful swearing.
Whoever had been saying the dirty things had changed his tone of voice and now sounded ten kinds of annoyed. A wadded-up ball of paper came flying out of an open doorway a few yards down. She followed the arc and watched the paper land on the floor. Only then did she notice there were three others like it already littering the hallway.
Lamplight shifted on the pale linoleum as if the person inside the office was moving around, and Marin flattened herself against the wall, trying to make herself one with it. Please don’t come out. Please don’t come out. The silent prayer whispered through her as she counted the doors between her and the mystery voice, mentally labeling each one. When she realized it was one of the offices they let the Ph.D. students use and not a professor’s, she let out a breath.
Either way, she had no intention of alerting her hall mate that he wasn’t alone. But at least she could stop worrying she’d gotten all fevered over one of her professors. Now she just had to figure out how to get past the damn door without letting him see her. She’d gotten used to skipping meals to save money since starting college a few months ago. But she wasn’t going to make it through the next two hours of data entry and sleep monitoring if she didn’t get some caffeine. No wonder none of the upperclassmen had wanted to fill in during break.
Marin’s gaze slid over to the stairwell. If she stayed on the other side of the hall in the shadows, she could probably sneak by unnoticed. She moved to the right side wall and crept forward on quiet feet. But as soon as she got within a few steps of the shaft of light coming from the occupied room, a large shadow blotted it into darkness.
She’d been so focused on that beam of light that it took her a moment to register what had happened. She froze and her gaze hopped upward, landing on the guy who filled the doorway. No, not just any guy, a very familiar guy. Tall and lean and effortlessly disheveled. Everything inside her went on alert. Oh, God, not him.
He had his hand braced on the doorjamb, and his expression was as surprised as hers probably was. “What the hell?”
“I—” She could already feel her face heating and her throat closing—some bizarre, instant response she seemed to have to this man. She’d spent way too many hours in the back of her Intro to Human Sexuality class memorizing each little detail of Donovan West. Well, his profile, really. And his walk. And the way his shoulders filled out his T-shirts. As a teaching assistant, he usually only stopped in at the beginning of class to bring Professor Paxton papers or something. But each time he walked in now, it was like some bat signal for her body to go haywire.
It’d started with the day he’d had to take over the lecture when Professor Paxton was sick. He’d talked about arousal and the physical mechanics of that process. It was technical. He’d been wearing a T-shirt that read Sometimes I Feel Like a Total Freud. It shouldn’t have been sexy. But Lord, it’d been one of the hottest experiences of her life. He’d talked with his hands a lot and had obviously been a little nervous to be in front of the class. But at the same time, he’d been so confident in the information, had answered questions with all this enthusiasm. Marin hadn’t heard a word in the rest of her classes that day for all the fantasizing she’d been doing.
But now she was staring. And blushing. And generally looking like an idiot. Yay.
She turned fully toward him and cleared her throat, trying to form some kind of non-weird response. But when her gaze quickly traveled over him again, all semblance of language left her. Oh, shit. She tried to drag her focus back to his face and cement it there. His very handsome face—a shadow of stubble, bright blue eyes, hair that fell a little too long around the ears. Lips that she’d thought way too much about. All good. All great.
But despite the nice view, she couldn’t ignore the thing in the bottom edge of her vision, the thing that had caught her attention on that quick once-over. The hard outline in his jeans screamed at her to stare—to analyze, to burn the picture into her brain. The need to look warred with embarrassment. The latter
finally won and her cheeks flared even hotter. She adjusted her glasses. “Uh, yeah, hi. Sorry. I thought I was alone in the building. Didn’t mean to interrupt . . . whatever.”
He stared at her for a second, his brows knitting. “Interrupt?”
Goddammit, her gaze flicked there again. The view was like a siren song she couldn’t ignore. Massive erection, dead ahead! She glanced away. But not quick enough for him not to notice.
“Ah, shit.” He stepped behind the doorway and hid his bottom half. “Sorry. It’s uh . . . not what it looks like.”
She snorted, an involuntary, nervous, half-choking noise that seemed to echo in the cavernous hallway. Really smooth. She tried to force some kind of wit past the awkwardness that was overtaking her. “Ohh-kay. If you say so.”
He laughed, this deep chuckle that seemed to come straight out of his chest and fill the space between them with warmth. Lord, even his laugh was sexy. So not fair.
“Well, okay, it is that. But why it’s there is just an occupational hazard.”
His laugh and easy tone settled her some. Or maybe it was the fact that he was obviously feeling awkward, too. “Occupational hazard? Must be more interesting than the sleep lab.”
He jabbed a thumb toward the office. “It is. Sexuality department. I’m working on my dissertation under Professor Paxton.”
She could tell he didn’t recognize her from class. Not surprising since she sat in the back of the large stadium-style room and tried to be as invisible as possible. Plus, she was wearing her glasses tonight. “I’m with Professor Roberts. I’m monitoring the sleep study tonight.”
“Oh, right on. I didn’t realize he’d taken on another grad student. I’m Donovan, by the way.”
I know.
“Mari.” The nickname rolled off her lips. No one called her that anymore. But she knew he probably graded her papers, and the name Marin wasn’t all that common. She forced a small smile, not correcting him that she was about as far from a grad student as she could get. She wanted to be one. Would be one day if she could figure out how to afford it. She’d managed to test out of two semesters of classes, but high IQ or not, that dream was still a long way off—a point of light at the end of a very long, twisting tunnel.