Flashes of Me (2 page)

“You’ll think I’m not a nice girl.” My voice grows husky. “You’ll think I’m naughty.” I slip the third button through the hole and spread the fabric open.

“Are you naughty?” His dark eyes gleam.

“I could be.” I’ve spent the past five years ruthlessly controlling my reckless streak, being responsible, careful not to cause my father more anguish and stress. But my father isn’t here and he won’t ever hear of this encounter.

I wiggle my toes, too excited to remain still. “I could open my blazer, allow you to see me. Would you like that?” I ask my behemoth, hoping he’ll say yes and make one of my secret fantasies a reality.

He pauses for a heart-stopping moment and then inclines his head.

“Okay.” This encounter should scare, not stimulate me. He’s a stranger, a man I don’t know. We’re outside. Anyone can enter the park and see me. My fingers shake as I undo the fourth button. “You can only look. You can’t touch, understand?”

“I understand.” He leans forward, his gaze stimulatingly intense. Although I trust him to keep his word, I’m also aware that rescue is only a scream away.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, releasing a fifth button. “Yes, I might have flashed some teenage boys at a pep rally back in high school.”

I hesitate. That confession isn’t the complete truth. My senior year at high school was when I
started
exposing my body to strangers, the fast, thrilling spurts of rebellion taking my mind off more serious matters I couldn’t control. The adrenaline high hooked me, my exhibitionism quickly progressing from a temporary escape to a sexual need, a need I wouldn’t hide from my behemoth.

I decide to be completely honest with him. “More recently I flashed a man or two or four on the subway, but that was a quick lift of my blouse as the train rushed past. I doubt they saw anything.”

My stranger’s shoulders shake. He’s laughing at me. I narrow my eyes at him and he stills.

“This is different.” I undo the final button and my blazer falls open, revealing my lavender lace bra. My breasts are large, filling the cups, my taut nipples visible through the thin material.

His gaze remains fixed on my face. “This is very different,” he agrees, his muscles coiling, the tension stretching between us palpable. He wants me and he’s strong enough to take whatever, whomever he wants. But he won’t move and he won’t hurt me. I know this in my soul.

“You can look at me.” I give him permission, needing his gaze on my body.

He peruses me slowly, silently, and I bask in his attention, in the appreciation of this man I don’t know. He could be anyone—an off-duty policeman, a university professor, my new boss. All of these possibilities excite me.

“Touch yourself.” His voice rasps across my skin, the sound more stimulating than any caress.

I obey him without thought, without hesitation, cupping my curves and lifting them, offering my body to this stranger in the park. My passion rises as I squeeze and release my breasts.

I press my knees together, struggling to control my excitement. This is wrong, so very wrong. I lower my gaze to his lap, seeking reassurance that I’m not alone in my desire, that I’m not the only person aroused. My stranger is hard, his cock jutting against his black dress pants, his erection as large as the rest of him. I lick my bottom lip.

“Show me your pretty pink nipples,” he demands, pushing me further than I’ve ever gone. I look along the path, scared and excited, my body ready to combust. We’re alone, the park deserted except for the two of us. “I’ll protect you,” he assures me. “No one else will see.”

He’s right. My blazer shields my naked skin. Only this man seated directly in front of me can see my breasts. I pull my bra cups down, brazenly freeing my nipples.

He growls softly, the primitive sound of his approval urging me onward. I pinch and pull my sensitive flesh, the sweet pain shooting directly to my pussy. I’m wet, my panties soaked, and I’m needy, so very needy.

Does he want to touch me, to fasten his lips around my nipples and suck on my breasts? I imagine the tug and pull of his mouth on my skin, the firmness of his big hands against my ass as we grind together, seeking sexual satisfaction. I wiggle on the park bench.

“What do you like, kitten?”

My father calls me Kit Kat. Other people call me Kat, short for Katalina. I meet my behemoth’s gaze. “I like it when you call me kitten.” I know this isn’t what he’s asking.

He smiles, his straight white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Do you like having your breasts played with?”

I shouldn’t be having this conversation with a stranger. “Yes.” I bow my spine, pushing my breasts into my palms, fantasizing he’s the one holding me, touching me. It has been so long since I’ve been touched by a man.

“That’s it, kitten,” he coaxes. “Play with your breasts for me.” I knead my curves, wishing to please him, to please myself. “Do you like having them kissed?” he asks.

“Yes.” I picture his face buried between my breasts, his golden tan contrasting with my pale skin. His mouth will be hot and wet, his suction unrelenting, pain mixing with my pleasure. I pant, working my breasts harder, rubbing my pussy against the bench, the friction escalating my desire.

“Do you like having them fucked?” His low voice adds to the sensory assault.

“Ummm . . .” I’ve never considered this option before. I lower my gaze. His pants are tented around his hard cock. What would it feel like to have his shaft cradled between my breasts? I run my tongue over my lips. “Yes?”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs and I comply, trusting him. The darkness heightens the brush of my fingers over my breasts, the grind of my pussy against the hard wooden slats. I moan softly, swiveling my hips.

“Imagine I’m straddling your chest,” he rumbles. “Do you feel the weight of me? The warmth of my skin?” I nod, trembling. I’m close, so close. “My big cock slides between your breasts in and out, in and out. I squeeze you around me. My hands are rough and scarred.”

“Yes, please.” I rock, ravishing my breasts with my hands, tugging, squeezing, twisting my nipples. My curves are bared to this stranger, to anyone who enters the park. Only a hedge separates us from the bustling city streets. I’m exposed, vulnerable and completely his, trusting him to keep me safe.

“You do please me.” His words flow over me, adding fuel to my flames. “My balls are aching and I want to come over your beautiful white breasts, over your pink nipples.” The tremors rolling up my body grow more and more powerful, my arms and legs shaking. “But I can’t come until you do, kitten. Tell me what you need from me to get you there.”

“Smack my clit.” I breathe heavily.

“Yes.” His approval warms me. “Reach under your pretty purple skirt and smack your clit for me. Smack it hard.” I hesitate. This is wrong. We’re in a public park. “You need this,” he adds.

He’s right. I need this release. My emotions are too close to the surface, too unmanageable. Once I come, I’ll feel calmer, more able to cope with my eight o’clock appointment.

“Okay.” I sigh my surrender and slide my right hand under my skirt, between my thighs. My desire builds, escalating higher, my body stretching tight.

I position my hand over my mons and slap the heel of my hand against my clit. The pain breaks me, shards of pleasure shooting over my body, color and light bursting against the darkness of my closed eyelids. I bite down on my bottom lip, silencing my screams, and arch and buck and writhe, shameless in my satisfaction.

Gradually I return to reality and to the realization of what I’ve done. I’m sitting in a public park with my skirt hiked up and my blazer open, my face flushed with ecstasy.
He
sees me like this. I avoid my stranger’s gaze as I pull down my skirt, adjust my bra, and button my blazer, my movements sharp.

“You’re beautiful, kitten,” he says softly.

He must think I’m completely uninhibited, a woman without any morals. “I’ve never—”

“I know you haven’t done this before.” He raises one of his big hands, stopping my explanation. There’s no judgment in his dark eyes, only an understanding. “Why did you choose this morning? Why here? Why with me?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. A combination of factors might have contributed to my insanity—the stress of the new job, the sadness haunting me, and him, the most magnificent man I had ever seen. “I trust you.”

His eyes harden and his jaw juts. “You shouldn’t trust me. You don’t know me. If I had been someone else—”

“If you had been someone else, I wouldn’t have done this.” I bend down and wipe the dust off the toes of my lavender pumps. “Don’t you feel the connection between us?” I cover up my insecurities with a smile.

My sexy stranger sighs. “Yes.” He slides his tablet into his inside jacket pocket, stands, tosses the coffee cup in the garbage can, and takes three steps forward. He’s even larger upright, his form over a full foot taller than mine. “I’m walking you to the office.”

I check my watch and my eyes widen. “It’s five minutes to eight.” I jump to my feet, my cute heels crunching on the gravel. “I’ll be late for my first day at work.” I place my coffee cup beside his in the garbage can and sling my tote over my shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” The stranger walks beside me, matching my shorter stride.

“Of course I’m nervous.” I slide one of my hands into his and his fingers close around mine, his palm grooved with deep furrows. “I’m a new intern and interns are chosen by their executives. What if no one chooses me?”

“You’ll be chosen.” My behemoth’s grip on my hand intensifies. He smells of lemon and cedar. Not a hint of cigarette smoke spoils this pussy-moistening combination.

“I left the experience section of the application blank.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I helped my father, but I didn’t know if that counted as experience and I didn’t want to lie.” I lied about my last name. I didn’t want to lie about anything else. “My father always tells me business deals are built on trust and trust is built on truth.”

My stranger turns his head and meets my gaze, his forehead furrowed with thought lines. “Your father always
tells
you that?”

I nod.

There’s a long pause in our conversation, as though he’s giving my father’s words deep consideration. “He’s right,” my mystery man finally concedes, his voice gruff.

I beam at him, liking him even more for agreeing with my father. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I want to see him, very much.

“Yes,” he rumbles. I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t. He slows and then stops. “I’ll leave you here.” He reluctantly releases my hand, his fingers slowly sliding along mine, his scarred skin rough.

I tear my gaze away from his, stare up at the building belonging to Blaine Technologies, and frown. “How did you know this is where I’m working?”

He doesn’t answer. I glance to my right. He’s gone, his distinctive scent lingering on the morning breeze. I breathe deeply, inhaling that part of him, square my shoulders and stride into the building.

Chapter Two

T
WO HOURS LATER,
I sit in the orientation room with my hands folded on the gray tabletop, my spine straight and my knees primly pressed together. I haven’t been chosen and there are only five of us left—a clench-fisted extremely angry boy, a tall skinny kid with a stutter, a prissy Asian girl wearing the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen, a green-haired girl, and me, a big-breasted blonde with no work experience.

The door opens and yet another dark-suited executive enters the room. He looks over the available intern stock. I smile at him. He smiles back and I silently cheer. He doesn’t mind big- breasted blondes.

The executive flips open the personnel folders the human resources lady left on the front desk and reads. He looks at me, glances back at the folder, and frowns.

Shit. He doesn’t like my lack of work experience.

The executive closes my folder and pushes it away from him, dismissing me. He chooses the angry boy, the stutter kid, and the Asian girl.

I wish them luck in their new jobs. The Asian girl sniffs as she follows her executive out of the room, her chin held high, her white orientation binder pressed against her flat chest.

“Bitch.” Camille, the green-haired girl, scowls at the closing door. “She acts like she’s better than us just because he chose her.”

“She’s probably better than me,” I admit. “I don’t have any formal work experience.”

“We’re interns, princess. No one cares about our work experience.” Camille rolls her eyes. “You haven’t been chosen because you’re wearing purple.” She waves her hand at me. “The prep letter said specifically to wear a black suit. Blaine Technologies is tight ass about the dress code.” She smirks.

“I don’t wear black,” I flatly state. This is nonnegotiable.

“Then you’ll eventually get fired.” Camille flounces out of her seat, her cheap black suit pulling across her hips. “But what’s their problem with me?” She pauses, her eyes widening. “Other than . . .” She shakes her head, her green hair sleeked back into a ponytail. “No, they couldn’t have found out about that.” She opens her folder.

“Camille, I don’t think we should look at our folders,” I caution, knowing she won’t listen to me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She opens my folder also. “We’ve both been assigned to the dragon lady.”

“Miss Yen?” My stomach twists.

Camille nods, her face pale. She’s scared. I am too. Miss Yen, Blaine Technologies’ top lawyer, is SERIOUS with all caps. She doesn’t take crap from anyone.

“My father says she’s a real ballbuster.” I search my brain for the positives he says are in all situations. “And she’s a great negotiator. We can both learn from—”

The door swings open and a tiny Asian lady rushes into the room, her skin flushed, a thin silver scar skimming along one of her cheeks. “Can they choose a more inconvenient time for these things?” Miss Yen glances at us and her beautiful face contorts into an ugly grimace. “Two rule breakers—that’s exactly what my legal department needs.” She rolls her eyes. “Purple, Green, come with me.” She flicks her slender fingers, pivots on her heels, and storms out of the room.