Hers for the Evening (27 page)

Surrender To Me

already dead from a massive coronary.

Haley never forgave Simon. As his punishment, he’d started craving her more. Now he had the hot memory of her moans and cries to add to his storehouse.

He had to make his move soon. What if she answered one of those ads?

A smile grew on his lips, like the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas. What if she answered an ad?

And it was his?

DAMN, SHE’D NEEDED THAT. WHEN HALEY TURNED FORTY A COUPLE of months ago, her hormones started raging as if she were a teenager. All she thought was sex, sex, sex, cruising personal ads to titillate herself. Pathetically, she’d even started carrying her vibrator in her purse. Haley washed off the instrument of her perversion, put it away, tucked her long-sleeved tee into her jeans, and buckled her belt. She hadn’t been with a man since Artie’d died. He’d destroyed her faith, in men, and worse, in herself. She didn’t want to put herself out there again. Ever. Lord have mercy, though, her libido had gone into hyperdrive. How long till menopause? Didn’t a woman lose sexual desire then?

She’d lingered this morning, longer than her usual quickie, but it had felt so good, and she’d needed the multiple orgasms badly. Might have been better to be more quiet about it, too, but letting go made the climax that much harder. It was Saturday, she had her privacy. Throwing away the paper towel and slinging her purse over her shoulder, she opened the door. Now that she’d satisfied one urge, she needed a mocha in the worst way.

She almost screamed when Simon ran into her coming out of the break room. He was so big, he dwarfed her, tall compared to her five two, with big shoulders and a wide chest. He smelled good, like hot, sweaty sex.

“How long have you been here?” Her skin flushed from head to toe. She’d been so loud in the restroom.

He held up his mug. “Long enough for coffee.”

She glanced around the doorjamb to the back of her monitor. She couldn’t remember what she’d left up on her computer desktop. Not that Simon would bother looking at her PC, but it still left her flustered. She’d been reading and getting hotter and wetter and hornier, then she’d grabbed her purse, with only 179

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enough presence of mind to lock the front door, and practically ran to the bathroom.

She backed off to scan Simon’s face. Same laugh lines and silver eyes that matched his hair. She’d always thought him handsome. They’d been friends a long time ago.

Then Artie died, and she saw how she’d been lied to. Why the hell couldn’t she let go of the bitterness?

“I’m making myself a mocha. You want one?” she offered. She might be an angry, bitter bitch but she tried to be civil. They owned the business together. Simon had never offered to buy her out, and no way could she afford to buy him out. Artie had left her with a load of debt, credit cards she’d known nothing about. She’d finally gotten a handle on her finances, consolidating, securing a second mortgage on the house to take advantage of the lower interest rate. At least she could sleep at night now. Hmm. Her lower stress level could be another reason her libido had resurfaced.

“Yeah, thanks, a mocha would be great,” Simon answered, but didn’t move aside. Was there something in that silver-eyed gaze?

Please don’t let him have heard.

Finally he backed off, letting her pass.

She shoved her purse far back on the countertop, making sure it was latched shut. Wouldn’t do for Simon to see what was inside. Pulling the coffee from the freezer, she then retrieved the milk from the fridge. Odd how she felt about Simon. Artie was the one who cheated, yet she’d felt the betrayal so much more keenly over Simon. He was her friend, he knew about Artie and that woman, yet he’d never told her.

She heated the milk and hot chocolate in the microwave, otherwise the mocha chilled too fast. Steaming wasn’t enough.

“Want me to tamp the coffee?” Simon said, almost at her ear. She gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” A smile lurked. More often than not, Simon was laughing at something. Always good-humored, Simon never seemed to get down or depressed. He took the coffee from her hand. The muscles of his arms bulged as he compressed the espresso grind. She had to admit that with his superior strength, he could pack it harder, which allowed her to steam longer. Why did that sound sexual?

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Her clitoris throbbed. Her breath seemed shallower. Simon was so . . . male. He’d always had this physical effect on her. She might have acted on those feelings way back when, but Artie had warned her, citing a laundry list of reasons. Simon wasn’t the settling kind; he thought of women as sex objects; he wanted variety. Simon was a horn dog, as much now as when they’d first met. The difference between him and Artie was that Simon never professed to be anything else. He’d always treated her with respect, too. Artie had been the charmer—or the snake oil salesman depending on how you looked at it. He brought in the new customers with his fancy talk, but it was Simon who produced the repeat business. He was more low-key, sure, but he got the company into demolition work and on the approved vendor list for insurance companies. That’s what saved the firm when the economy tanked. Though she’d only begun to comprehend all these things months after Artie’s death.

She’d allowed Artie to charm her the same as he did everyone else. She’d believed him when he claimed he was the settling kind. Sometimes Haley wished she could have talked to Simon about it all. The debts. The other woman. How long had Artie been cheating? Right from the beginning or . . . later? After all the fights about money, after the accusations that she was trying to control him? When?

But Simon had deceived her by omission. She’d lost both her husband and her best friend on the same day, and she could never forgive Simon for betraying her that way.

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2

FOR THE TWO HOURS SIMON WAS IN THE OFFICE ON SATURDAY, HE was pleasant, kept out of her hair, busied himself in his office, got her a sandwich from across the street, and ate with her, informing her about events at a couple of the job sites, and generally acting as he always acted. No personal comments or questions. Like her, he was civil. Though she very quickly had come to realize that Simon hadn’t allowed Artie to meet in his house, that Artie used his key without Simon’s knowledge, she still couldn’t forgive Simon for the things he’d kept from her. And Simon had never forgiven her for accusing him of lying and condoning Artie’s actions. They simply didn’t talk about it, and the business went on. They were polite. Like this morning. Haley decided he couldn’t have heard her in the restroom or seen the personal ads on her computer. He would have had some reaction if he had.

She did, however, decide it was a bad idea to cruise the Internet at work. The oddest thing happened, though. A day and a half later, when she pulled up one of those naughty ads on her home computer Sunday night, an image of Simon popped into her mind. His arms as he tamped the coffee for her. His ass in khaki work pants as he left to get her sandwich. His deep laugh. His earthy, masculine scent. The heat of his body when he stood beside her. It was her raging hormones making her notice all that stuff. Artie must be rolling over in his grave right about now for all he was missing. He’d once gone so far as to call her frigid. Honestly, it was their timing that was off. He was horniest in the mornings when she had so many things to do before going to work. Now, she wanted it morning, noon, and night. Carrying the laptop to the couch, Haley sat cross-legged. Wearing soft flannel pajamas, she sank into the sofa cushions, a glass of white wine on the side table. She clicked on her favorite personals site, then suddenly hung back. Was she getting obsessive with this? She’d never answered an ad. She enjoyed the titillation. A healthy forty-year-old with normal urges—so there, Artie—and no partner to share them with, what was the harm in looking at some naughty ads?

She scanned down until she found a heading she liked, then clicked on the link to read the ad.

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Remember how it felt to have your fanny spanked? How the sensation of warmed flesh and the sound of a nice swat goes right through you and makes you crazy. You miss a good old-fashioned spanking. And you can’t tell your friends because you’re ashamed of your desires. So what is a poor girl to do? Let me help you. If you would like a nice, warm, flesh-arousing spanking, it’s my specialty. I will be completely clothed, you will either be naked from the waist down, or in panties with your bum exposed for me to swat. Afterward, you will be able to walk around the rest of the day with that warm sensation of a nicely spanked ass. I have spanked a good dozen girls over the years. Are you next?

Her clit throbbed deliciously, and the erotic scent of her arousal rose to her nose. She wasn’t terribly into the spanking ones, but she loved the way this man wrote. He made her feel his hand on her ass. So many of the ads were plain disgusting. She loved the ones where the writer seduced her with his words. The next one she clicked open, the guy wanted to chain her facing a wall while he played with her. She would never call herself submissive, but there was something about those ads. Artie claimed she was controlling, but he spent money as if there was an inexhaustible supply. Even before the whole credit crisis came down, she believed in living debt-free, paying the credit cards off every month.

When she found all those bills he’d been making minimum payments on, she’d actually hated him. More than for cheating on her. This was a worse cheat. He’d threatened her very security.

For the last few years of her marriage, she’d craved a real man, not a boy who indulged himself in expensive toys all the time. Part of her wanted to let go and have a man take care of everything, be responsible for everything. She’d felt like she was the parent with Artie, always tugging on his leash. Which was probably why he started applying for credit cards without her knowledge. Somewhere in all her trials and tribulations with Artie was the appeal of the submissive ads. While she had to obey, she was also taken care of and rewarded with more pleasure than she could imagine. All she had to do was let go of her control. In the safety of her living room, she got wet imagining it. She’d never actually do it.

Her eye fell on one ad way down the list, its subject line provocative. It was 183

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more than twenty-four hours old, but she didn’t care about that. Surrender to me and I will give you everything you need. She clicked, her skin already heating. She loved the ones with a story format. They hooked her as if a hot sexy voice murmured the story right in her ear.

“Face the wall,” I tell you, and you do exactly as directed. With my foot, I knock your legs farther apart, spreading you wider. “I smell the scent of your hot little pussy,” I say. You moan and writhe though I haven’t even touched you yet.

I slide my hands up beneath your short skirt. “Bad girl,” I murmur, as I find that you aren’t wearing panties. That wasn’t part of my clothing instructions.

“You’ll need to be punished for that.” I can’t resist sliding down the crease of your ass, between your legs, skimming along your dirty, naughty wet pussy.

“Have you been playing with yourself?”

“No,” you whisper.

“No what?” I stroke your burgeoning clit, making you tremble.

“No, Master, I haven’t played with myself.”

“Good girl.” I ease back out, taste your sweetness, scenting you on my fingers. I contain the moan rising in my throat, but my cock is hard. I want you badly, you can never know how much, but I must maintain the illusion that I am the master and you are the slave, though the reality is I am yours as much as you are mine.

“Hands behind your back,” I say.

You assume the position. I fasten the nylon restraints.

“Turn around.” I’m only a breath away from your face. I could kiss you, but you have not proven yourself. I know you will. You are dying to give me everything for your reward, to show me how special you are. All you have to do is anything I ask. “On your knees,” I say.

You fall gracefully to your knees before me, my cock bobbing close, so close to your lips, beckoning. You swallow. I know how badly you want my cock, my come, but first you must be punished. I stroke myself to full hardness, a bead of pre-come oozing to the tip. “Do you want to taste it?”

You moan. Your eyelids flutter. “Yes, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Master.”

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Haley’s breath felt trapped in her chest. Wildfire rushed across her skin. She fell into the rest of the ad as if it were her dream man whispering everything she wanted to hear.

Does my story appeal to you? Are you wet reading it? Imagine all I offer. You will be mine, and there will never be anyone else for me. I will never tire of tending to your every need. No man has ever made you feel so special. Surrender to me, be my love slave, follow my commands, and you will have everything you’ve always desired.

Haley clicked the reply link before she could mull over what she was doing.

“Yes, please, I need this,” she typed, almost hit SEND, then realized how stupid that was. This was her regular e-mail with her real name. She had another address she used for shopping online, so she didn’t get inundated with spam. She logged into that account.

Dammit. The high was gone. The immediacy. She wasn’t even wet anymore. Her mind had kicked in and shot her down. Dumping the laptop on the sofa, she reached for a sip of wine. The wine was dry, expensive. She didn’t allow herself many indulgences, but a good glass of wine once in a while was another of her sinful pleasures. She savored a bottle, taking a couple of weeks to finish it. Artie didn’t have a clue about the art of savoring, and he hated it when she complained that she’d had one glass only to find the bottle damn near empty in the refrigerator door.

“Do you realize how often you think about Artie?” she said the words aloud, to make herself hear them. He’d been dead a year yet everything was still about him. She needed to move on, dammit.