Impulses (78 page)

“Okay. Give me a moment.” I place the receiver into the cradle, and push myself from my seat, allowing the chair to roll away and hit the wall behind me.

“He’ll have the same, but just salsa on his,” I smile and delve into my purse to give Chloe the money to cover the bill. Accepting it, she folds it and pops it in her purse then heads around the right-side of the desk, and over to the door.

Flailing her arm in the air, she calls, “See you in an hour,” as she leaves.

I gingerly tap on Hayden’s door, before pushing it open.

“Hey,” I murmur, craning my head around, and stepping inside. I secure it behind me.

Hayden relaxes back into his seat and swivels to the side so his right elbow is positioned on the edge of his desk. The backcloth of San Francisco situated through his floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. With his pale blue shirt, he blends into the background of the powder blue sky. His collar button is undone, and I discern a sparkle from his silver cross pendant. His hair is it’s usual, dark, floppy, silken self with his wayward lock resting on his brow. His thumb pressed to the side of his lower lip; his index finger makes slow work of brushing back-and-forth over the plump flesh.

My God, he is edible.

“You wanted to see me?” I rest my back against the surface of the door.

His eyes are smouldering. “Yes, I did. Are you going to stand there all day? You know I don’t bite,” he teases, and I smirk at the memories of him nipping his way across my breasts, nipples and inner thighs last night…and this morning.

Taking slow steps towards his desk, I rub my center back, relieving myself of the smarting ache that is radiating down to my hips and legs.

Catching sight of my discomfort, he pushes himself promptly out of his seat, rounds his desk and meets me halfway.

“What’s wrong?” his concern is palpable as he stands just at my side, his arm snaked around my waist.

“Nothing, I’m fine. I think Rose is picking a fight with a nerve, though,” I push passed the throbbing and offer a small giggle as Hayden slips his arm free and splays it across my belly, and sinks onto bended knee. Adjusting his hands so both of them are holding my bump, his thumbs barely touch.

His mouth is an inch away from my belly as he speaks to his daughter. “Come on, Rose. Stop hurting, Mommy, okay, baby?” before shunting himself up on to his feet. With his hand on my back, he steers me around the oversized, mahogany desk, and into his seat.

Falling into the sumptuous leather, I caress the leather-sheathed arms. It supports me in all the right places. I silently decide that I should invest in one of these, it’s so comfortable. I swirl the chair from left-to-right.

“Sitting in the boss’s chair, eh? A girl can get used to this.”

Ankles crossed, he rests against the edge of the desk, offering a small, conceited smirk. “Look at you, Miss Kennedy. You look very much in command, and I must say––” he bends and grasps my left ankle. Slipping my navy and beige, peep-toe heel off, he straightens his posture, holding my foot in his lap. “––it is a very sexy view indeed.” He begins to massage my foot, working on all of my pressure points, tracing small, tense circles into my heel and the ball of my foot.

I sink deeper into the seat. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and absorb the sensation.

“That feels amazing. I could get used to this, you’re spoiling me.”

I hear his smile as he works my foot over with his exceptionally skilled hands. The pressure he utilizes on the sole lessens, and before long, he’s gliding over my instep, making soft miniature circles up to my ankle.

The moment I feel his lips on the inside of my ankle, my eyes spring open, and I flash a quizzical gaze in his direction. His hands skate up my leg, pushing up my navy and beige shift dress to reveal the lacy-top of my stocking. His lips follow in his hands wake, and I watch mesmerized as he climbs my leg; every kiss strategically placed to send my body and libido into overdrive. The magnetism of his dark, seeking irises prove impossible to deviate from.

Pined by his lingering scrutiny, I swallow harshly and part my lips. “Hayden…” I whimper on an outward breath.

“Hush, baby,” he responds between pressing kisses as he gradually scales up passed my knee, catching my inner thigh. He hooks my left leg over the arm of the executive chair then sinks to his knees. Grasping my hips, he pulls me towards the edge. I feel that strong, appealing clenching of my muscles deep within my body, feeling it pool and descend as confirmation of my excitement, of the desire that he ceaselessly awakens as he makes his intentions crystal clear.

Never once averting eye contact, I watch him as he conceals his face between my pale thighs, and inhales deeply. I thrust upward towards him seeking at least a minuscule of friction. His finger traces up my slit at a provocatively, agonizing pace, and I feel my wetness seeping through the floral-lace pattern of my panties as he sweeps over my clit.

I’m panting with need––a desperate need that sends my head in a spin, makes my clit throb, and walls ache for release. Hooking his fingers into the side of my underwear, he pulls my panties to the side. I watch on as he blazes a smug yet rewarding smirk up at me, then closes the distance between us.

His tongue glides over my slick coating, caressing and fondling my at my folds with exact precision. His thick hair tickling my inner-thighs as he heedfully watches my reaction to his assault from his position down-under.

It’s heady. It’s heaven. It’s impulsive.

I want to tilt my head back and have control of my orgasm, but there is something about this entire situation, my fiancé––my boss, kissing me, licking his way to my pleasure in his own office chair that stops me from doing what I would naturally do.

Renouncing control, I release pleasurable whimpers, and quickly sink my teeth into my lower lip to halt any guttural moans from escaping. Eyes narrowed as I absorb the thrills he educes upon my sensitive body, I study him keenly; his dark eyes darken by several shades. He closes them momentarily and gently sucks on my swollen bead, before resuming his torturous, pleasurable osculation of my pussy.

With the incentive of a mind-shattered orgasm, I motion my pelvis upward, while fisting my hands into his mane. I feel myself build, my muscles contracting throughout my body as I hold Hayden’s head steadily in place. And with one more flick of his expert tongue upon my clit, I come––hard, and it’s like fireworks on the Fourth of July as I explode over his tongue, rasping his name, as I ride the waves and aftershocks of my release, in my boss’s chair.

With his hands perched on the leather-padded arms of his seat, he pushes himself up from his knees and leans into me. His mouth is a hairs-breadth away from mine.

“Now that was a satisfying meal, Miss Kennedy. It defiantly hit the right spot,” he arches his brow and smiles wickedly at me.

I smile back as the sunlight blazes in through the window beside me and rebounds off my juices that surrounds Hayden’s mouth. “You definitely hit the right spot, Mr. Wentworth,” I offer a shy chuckle and raise my right hand up to his lips and chin. “You’re glossy,” I whisper and wrinkle the bridge of my nose as I dry his mouth of my arousal with a sweep of my thumb.

My hand remains on his face, snaring his chin. I could stay like this forever, my man hovering above me, getting lost in amorous eyes which can easily, without warning turn into smouldering, dark pools marking and reflecting his dark, carnal intentions.

God, I love him so fucking much.

He seals his mouth over mine. He has no need to coax my mouth open, I already grant his tongue access, which still holds the aftertaste of my release. No matter how long he kisses me for, no matter how many orgasms he bestows me, I am always left wanting more. Drawing his mouth away from me, I am left starved and craving all over again. Hayden Wentworth is my own personal crack, no matter how much I have him, how much I experience him, the thrill never wans––it’s always as strong as it was the first time…which makes him even more addictive.

He resumes his previous position, leaning against the corner edge of the desk. I push myself up from the sumptuous leather, hook my thumbs under the elastic of my panties, and shimmy out of them. I feel Hayden’s lustful stare bore into me as he watches me peel the sodden, black lace down my legs. Peeking up at him, his lascivious grin sends my libido reeling once more.

“Consolation prize, considering you didn’t allow me to reciprocate.” I step into his personal space. His legs are crossed at the ankles and settle in-between my slightly parted legs. I reach into his pants pocket, taking a precious moment to roam around the compartment before depositing my arousal-steeped panties in his possession.

His breath catches as my fingertips make contact with the tip of his cock through the material. He slowly exhales and makes a virile sound from low in his throat, a sound that makes my muscles spasm, regardless of the relentless convulsions I was just rewarded with.

As I begin to move back, his hands suddenly clench at my hips and wind around to rest on my behind. Holding me against him, I feel the bulge in his pants against my crotch.

Oh, my…

“You are a Siren, Samantha.”

“I am yours, Hayden,” I brush my fingers through his hair, it’s so soft, and thick as it slinks through my fingers, “only ever yours.”

“That reminds me,” he murmurs, his voice no longer a sensuously, throaty intonation as he regains his poise. “I have one more appointment at 1:30 p.m., just a final run over for the Mason’s custody hearing. I should be finished at about 2:45 p.m. I was thinking…” he softly sways his upper body from side-to-side, concealing some form of delight. “Maybe we could go shopping, pick up some new things for the apartment. You know, make it more…us?”

My eyes widen, “Really?” I cannot suppress the dubious hum that forms around my lone word.

“Well, we are going to be married, Samantha. The apartment will be yours also. Call me old-fashioned, but I want my wife under the same roof, not in an entirely different residence.”

My tightlipped, faint grin expands into a full, megawatt, all white-teeth flaunting beam. When I fail to articulate any words, Hayden’s leans back marginally, raising his brow in question.

“Well?”

I nod with tangible enthusiasm. “Sure, it sounds fantastic.”

Hayden mirrors my expression and tardily leans into kiss me. He pauses before our lips meet, a deep frown scored between his dark eyebrows as he warily gazes at me. “No pink flower canvases though.”

Snorting, I shake my head. “No pink flower canvases. I promise.” And he finally presses his lips to mine, and I am lost in his ability to create our perfect bubble once more.

The Homeware Department Store is enormous…actually, no, it’s gigantic. It’s like a huge warehouse, with aisles and aisles of everything you could ever possibly think of: lightings, pillows, paints, wallpaper, garden-center, and huge multi-sections full of showroom kitchen, bathrooms and bedrooms.

Inspecting all that the store has to offer, Hayden and I wander around the bathroom showroom, and come by an enormous round tub, which easily rivals my walk-in-closest at home. The built-in Jacuzzi had me sold, and I imagined all the ways Hayden and I could experience one another with all of those bubbles caressing our flesh, as well as each other.

“I want to check down this lane a moment, beautiful.” He pushes the cart filled with fresh bedding sets, pillows and pans. Hayden Wentworth, domestic God, I giggle inwardly before idly recalling walking in on his failed attempt of a cherry pound cake the day before Thanksgiving…and the amazing kitchen sex which followed.

And there it is, that delicious tightening which would usually require a panty change…if I was wearing any.

“Okay, I want to go down this one. I want to find a canvas for above the bed.”

He nods his approval. “I will meet you back here in a few minutes. Remember, no floral ones,” he says emphatically while pointing a finger in my direction. My giggle is disguised when he promptly presses his lips to mine and caresses my belly, before slipping down the neighboring passage.

As I scale the lane I finally stumble upon what I am in quest of––an array of rectangle, squared and panel canvases staring back at me from the towering shelves, varying from waterfalls, wastelands, the rainforest, flowers––Hayden would be less than pleased if I chose a close-up of a single white lily.

After browsing, I come to the conclusion that I am in a stalemate with two of the most enrapturing pieces of art I have seen: a set of four tall canvases, each depicting an African lady in artistic dresses and head pieces in red, bronzes and yellows. Or a chocolate lake, which appears to be situated in the middle of a desert, with dark, shadowed dunes on each side with mixtures of burnished bronzes and silver streaks of crumbling clouds. It looks derelict, but so peaceful.

“Hmm…which one?” I mutter to myself, exasperated by my wavering.

“They’re beautiful,” a childlike, soft voice from my right disturbs my deliberation.

I turn to be met with a slim woman with dark brunet, layered hair laced with blond streaks, which reach below her shoulders. Her round face has a healthy bronze radiance, which I could only ever accomplish with endless supply of cosmetics and an A-class makeup artist. Her almond-shaped eyes are as warm as honey with gold speckles and emphasized with thick kohl. Her full, pouty lips are coated with a light maroon liptint. She’s beautiful. She’s about an inch shorter than me, but then again, I’m wearing killer heels.

“Yes, they are,” I sigh as I reassess the art in front of me again, “too beautiful for me to choose between them.”

“I had this one once,”––she points at the lake in the desert––“it’s remarkable with a chocolate palette. I had it hanging on the wall over my bedhead, and it is a lovely sight to drift off to; so tranquil.”

Drawing my gaze from the art ahead of me, I peek at the brunet with frequent platinum streaks through her thick, glossy hair. She simply smiles at me, her high-set, carved cheekbones rising even higher.

I smile back. “I wanted one for the bedroom myself, and it is a chocolate and cream décor. Thank you, I think you have just helped me make up my mind.”