As You Wish (2 page)

If this wasn’t the best job he’d ever hope to get, he’d quit. Get paid to live in the country on the grounds of a huge mansion, pretty much working when and how he pleased, making sure the place looked nice and didn’t fall down?
Oh, hurt me more
. Ryan frowned. It had been the perfect job until she showed up.

Actual owner or not, she got in his way. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since she’d shown up in June. He longed to unpin that long blonde hair and teach her to beg. He couldn’t imagine anything better than heating up that blue blood to a nice simmer and letting her feel what it was like to be on the receiving end of the orders.

But it was worse than that. He clenched his fists, pressing his knuckles against the potting table until he lifted himself off his feet. If she had been the one to ask to study his anatomy, he would have agreed. He’d have lain down, rolled over, and begged if she’d asked. He’d sworn that he’d never submit to another woman, but the first time he’d looked into those brilliant, exotic eyes, he’d discovered his word wasn’t as good as he thought.

But she was so far above him on the oh-so-important social scale that she didn’t even see him as human. She was the Whitmer, the very top of the food chain, and he ranked down there with the kid in the drive-thru window at McDonald’s. Hired help.

For seven years he’d lived and worked here alone. He’d started to get his head together and pretend he counted for something. Then she came back. High and mighty and completely mouthwatering. Good thing she hadn’t been the one to proposition him today, or he’d have been on his knees with his face buried between her legs before she’d finished her question.

And he’d have had the rest of his life to hate himself.

“Excuse me? Ryan?”

Ryan spun around. She stood in the doorway, cool and confident as ever. She had on jeans. Nothing as mundane as Levi’s. He doubted anything as common as Levi’s had ever found their way into her closet. The denim curved around her hips and down her long, lean legs. Her periwinkle-blue short-sleeve top had a demure neckline that somehow accented her shapely bust. Not huge. He thought one breast would fit in his palm. Her nipples strained at the fabric. Maybe it was cold in the house. The shape of them pressing against her clothes made it that much easier to imagine the taste of them against his lips.

“May I call you Ryan?” she asked. Her voice sounded like spring rain, soft and sweet. He tried to remember that spring rain was cold, but he kept drinking it up anyway.

“Of course.”
Princess
, he added for his own benefit. It made him feel a little less pathetic—not enough, though. He should have said,
No. Call me Master.

She stepped inside the potting shed, which, in keeping with the rest of the estate, was huge—the size of an expensive New York apartment—with rough, exposed beams and a post in the middle of the floor. He kept the tractor parked in here, and the snowplow blade for the truck leaned against the back wall.

The building seemed too small now that she was standing in it. She glanced around. He could tell by the way she licked her lips that she wasn’t checking up on him. She was standing in his space, and it made her uneasy. It might be her estate, but as long as he was caretaker, it was his potting shed. It wasn’t the victory he wanted, but he didn’t have much to work with here. The new shine to her lips made her look a little more human and a lot more desirable.

She glanced around the room again, clearing her throat daintily. “I wanted to apologize for my friend Rita. She acted inappropriately.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.
I’m nothing
, he reminded himself. He turned back to the potting table and reached for a seedling tray just to be doing something with his hands. The convenient height of the table also masked the bulging of his erection. He felt like a high school kid getting a boner at a bad time.

“But it is,” she insisted.

Her expensive shoes scraped the floor as she stepped forward. His skin pebbled as if she’d touched him instead of just moving closer. Her hands would be soft and cool against his skin. Her fingertips would tease across his back, down to his waistband, and then they would trail around his waist to the buttons of his jeans. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his mind, since it had already gone too far.

“Rita is…” She paused with a slight sigh. “Aggressive, and she doesn’t think sometimes. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t approve.”

It must kill her to have to discuss something so crude with him. She was miserable over having to talk to him at all. He should be drawing this out to enjoy the sense of power, but he’d never enjoyed torture for no reason.

“I’m not going to file a sexual harassment suit, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he grumbled, studying the dirt on his hands and under his fingernails. He didn’t have time to fantasize about screwing the mistress of the estate. At least not until later, when he was home alone. When he could go over this whole conversation again and think about what he wished he could say and do. Especially what he wanted to do.

“No. You would be within your rights, but I don’t think you’d have a case.”

“Is that so, Princess?” Ryan clenched his teeth. He hadn’t meant to call her that out loud. He waited for a temper tantrum worthy of a princess. She could fire him. With one word from her, he’d lose his very plum job and his very nice caretaker’s cottage, because of one word from him.

“It is,” she said.

The woman had ice water in her veins. She needed to be brought down a couple of pegs. Ryan started filling the tray with soil to keep his hands busy before he did something unfortunate with them. Like grab her and teach her what sexual meant. But he never did anything the client didn’t ask for. He preferred to make them beg for it. He had to get off that track. It was a dangerous train of thought he couldn’t afford. He needed to think about the gardens. Did he have any seeds?

“Rita isn’t your employer. I am. Rather, the estate is. And besides, I’ve come to apologize, so I haven’t created a hostile work environment.”

“I see. So you’re just here to dodge a lawsuit.”

“No, I’m here because I am genuinely sorry for what happened today. You do very good work, and I would hate for you to be unhappy.”

Ryan slammed the bag of potting soil on the table. God, how he hated her. She’d never felt any kind of pain or want in her life. Up there in her mansion. Obscenely rich. Doctor. She needed some lessons in what life was really like. Life was pain and humiliation. Life was being so far down the food chain that rich bitches thought it was perfectly within their rights to treat you like a piece of steak. No, not even quality meat—cheap hamburger. And then offer some kind of sappy apology as if that made up for it.

“Ryan, if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I’ll do it.”

Ryan turned around, grinning maliciously. She was still standing there, cool and crisp as a mint julep on a hot day. Well, that was about to change. “You shouldn’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

PATRICIA SHIVERED DESPITE herself. Her blood raced through her veins too fast to exchange oxygen, leaving her light-headed. The ache between her thighs had nothing to do with the wooziness, however. She owed that to Ryan’s anger. She’d come down here hoping to talk to him, possibly to invite him to lunch. Instead, he’d been angry, and that only stoked her desire. Which didn’t make any sense. What did she want him to do?

She licked her lips. “I mean it. Anything.”

“Really?” he asked. “Anything, Princess? And what if I told you to suck me?”

Patricia took a step forward to test her legs. She hadn’t lost control since her parents died when she was sixteen. She maintained a tight rein on her mind, her body, her image, everything. Until the moment she walked through the potting shed door. Her knees didn’t give, so she took the last step to stand in front of him. His dark, deep-set eyes bored into her. So far he hadn’t relented. He wasn’t claiming he’d been joking, and his breath was speeding into a pant.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. Her voice sounded thin and helpless.
Tell me! Force me to do it. Control me.

His lips quivered. “Suck me, Princess,” he hissed.

Lowering herself to her knees, Patricia felt almost in a dream state. The throbbing between her thighs became a carnivorous roar. She laid her hands on his hard legs.

The dirty denim scraped against her palms. Everything about him was hard. The muscles of his legs flexed as she slipped the button of his jeans free and tugged the zipper down. He wore utilitarian white briefs. Beneath them she could see the outline of his thick length. She pulled his jeans down over the tight muscles of his buttocks, allowing her hands to caress his soft skin. He groaned as his erection sprang free of the confining clothes. She wrapped her hands around him, amazed at the contrast of her pale fingers against his engorged shaft, so soft and so hard.

“Wait,” he ordered.

Patricia froze. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to laugh at her? Terrible humiliation scorched her. He was going to reject her. He thought she was some oversexed rich girl. A less jet-set version of Paris Hilton. A bad soap-opera cliché.

“Take your hair down,” he demanded.

She reached back with her free hand and snapped open the butterfly clip holding her hair in a tight twist at the back of her head. It spilled free in a swirl of gold that fell below her shoulders. Plunging his hand into it, he wrenched her head back and pulled her up to possess her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. She tightened her grip on the base of his shaft, making him moan against her lips. He invaded her mouth, forcing his tongue into every deep place until she was breathless. Just as abruptly, he lowered her back to her knees and leaned back against the table, bringing his groin level with her mouth.

She took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue across his smooth head before drawing him as deep as she could, tasting his salty sweat. One hand at the base of his shaft, she used the other hand to fondle his balls. She stroked them, taking both into her palm to press them against the heel of her hand.

“Good girl,” he groaned, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She took him deep into her throat again, sucking hard as she pulled away. He shuddered and braced his hand against the table. She took his length out of her mouth again and teased her lips across his balls. His pubic hair tickled her nose. He smelled sweaty and masculine from the work he had done today.

He pressed his hand against the back of her head. “Don’t tease, Princess.”

She licked a figure eight around his testicles before taking one, then the other into her mouth. Then she licked the underside of his length. As her mouth closed over his head again, he grabbed her hands and pulled them back to the table.

“Just your mouth, Princess,” he growled. “I want to feel you sucking me.”

Her belly tightened into a knot of fire. She felt wet and slick and helpless and out of control. He owned every part of her. She moaned, plunging her mouth down on him. He pulled her tight against him, her hands trapped under his on the edge of the table.

She savored the weight and thickness of him against her tongue until he stiffened, and a burst of saltiness exploded in her mouth. He released her hands, and she fell back on her heels, her body seething with need. He stayed still against the table with his eyes closed for a long time before looking down at her with his dark, impenetrable gaze.

He leaned down and caught her chin. “Are you okay?”

Patricia blinked. That question made no sense. No, she wasn’t okay. She’d just turned control of herself over to a man she barely knew, and her body still screamed for a release she wasn’t sure she would get. Too difficult to explain, so she nodded.

He shook her chin gently. “Are. You. Okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she gasped.

“Good.” Grasping her shoulders, he pulled her to her feet. “Because we’re not finished.”

Chapter Two

Patricia felt a flash of fear. Ryan was bigger and stronger than she. He had total control. No one would miss her until tomorrow. But that fear came edged with an exhilaration she’d never felt before. She was in the thrall of this large, powerful man. He could do anything he pleased with her. Anything.

“Come here.” He led her to the sink and rinsed out a cup before filling it with water and handing it to her. “Rinse out your mouth.”

She sipped from the cup, not caring that it might be dirty. That was Ryan’s responsibility. Everything was Ryan’s responsibility. Finally, she had no authority at all, even over her own body. She swished the water in her mouth and spat it in the sink before taking another mouthful and swallowing it.

Ryan took the cup away. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. If you get uncomfortable, I want you to say, ‘Cease.’ Do you understand?”

Patricia nodded. There was something in his manner she’d never seen before. Something gentle and caring.

“I’m serious. What are you going to say if you get uncomfortable?”

“Cease.”

He nodded and turned away. He walked as far as the pole in the middle of the room. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed. He looked implacable again. “Get over here, Princess.”

Patricia wiped her damp palms on her jeans as she obeyed.

“Strip.”

“What?” she asked, surprised by the barked command.

His lips curled into a sneer. “Come on, Princess. I know you’re not stupid. Take off your clothes.” He licked his lips. “Every stitch.”

Hesitantly, she pulled her shirt over her head. When she started to fold it, he walked over and snatched it out of her hands and threw it behind him on the potting table. She opened her jeans uncertainly, watching him for any movement. Pushing them down past her knees, she lifted her left leg out and paused to see if he would do anything. He stood still as granite. She shifted, lifting her right leg out of the pants leg.

Fast as a striking snake, he grabbed her jeans out of her hands too, catching her heel in the waistband. She flailed backward, trying to keep her balance, but he caught her arm, steadying her. As soon as she had her balance, he released her and tossed the jeans on top of her shirt. She paused, wearing only her pink lacy bra and lace-trimmed underwear, resisting the desire to cover herself with her arms as he studied her.
At least it’s nice underwear, not the crappy stuff at the bottom of the drawer.