Purr Scent I: The Meeting (Purr Billionaire BDSM Trio, #1) (3 page)

“Thank me now for disciplining you. Blink three times to say, 'Thank you, Sir.'”

Her corner-of-the-eye glare was nothing short of murderous.

He chuckled and slapped her pussy. A shrill groan escaped her. Her eyes fluttered before she blinked three times.

He immersed himself in her slick folds once again, knuckles deep. Her swollen heat made his cock bob against his slacks. She was so responsive—a treasure, one that he wanted to keep and keep treasuring. And pleasuring. He didn't want to stop. He built her up again, hitting several of her sweet spots with a rhythm so relentless that she broke into a sweat. When she was on the verge of release, he withdrew again. Her breath hitched, but no complaint came.

“You're taking this so well, sweetheart,” Clark murmured. “You passed. You've made up for the second infraction.”

He cupped her sex, to relieve her aching need at least temporarily. “Now that you've been disciplined, I must ascertain that you understand that when I ask you a question you must answer me with utter honesty.”

He watched her jaw clench before she gulped.

“Well, do you understand?” he prodded. He waited, wondering if she would remember how many times to blink or if she would challenge him.

She blinked. Once—for a “yes.”

“Is that how you show me respect?” His voice was calm yet stern. Surely, she was bratting him with that one blink.

She blinked twice to say, “Yes, Sir.”

Good, she had learned after all. She wouldn't have to endure another one of his pussy slaps.

“Test me with your lack of respect again and you'll suffer the consequences,” he said. “Show me you understand.”

She blinked twice off the bat.

Good girl.

“Last chance to stop this, Mariah,” he warned, because he could barely keep his balls from tightening. “If you want this, blink four times to say, 'Please fuck me, Sir.
'”

Her clenched jaw made a flicker of doubt pass through him.
Please, Mariah,
he silently begged.
Give us what we both want.
He'd be damned if he could stop everything now, especially when she had already shown him her submissive side.

After a few seconds that felt like eternity, Mariah blinked four times.

Hell yeah.

Now for her reward...

M
ariah ached with a throbbing need at her empty core. Sure, her ass was on fire and her thighs, wedged by the desk with each spank, were a smoldering second. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to feel something else—anything. She felt sticky and slimy, her sweat-slick skin and cheek against her desk. Her shoulders cramped as if they had popped out of their sockets, and her neck was strained beyond recovery. Her bra-covered boobs hurt from pressing against the desk for too long and her hands...
What hands?
They felt numb, the handcuffs having cut off their circulation.

What is he up to now?
Clark was too quiet, and that made her anxious. The man already knew what he was doing. Give him more time and how much more damning would she shatter underneath him and be obliged to pick up the pieces by herself?

She opened her eyes, trying to gauge the time. Why didn't she install a wall clock? Because the computer and the office phone already had the time on it. She made a mental note to install a wall clock in her office the first chance she got.

She had lost track of time and when her traitorous body had stopped responding to her commands. How did he take over her body so readily and so easily? God, she felt empty, wanted him,
needed
him to stuff her again. She hated how he'd played her like an instrument—knowing exactly when to withdraw to keep her from coming, keeping her needy and greedy for him.

She heard movement behind her. Finally.

“I'm going to remove the gag on one condition, Mariah. If you really want to come, you'd be wise to follow through on that condition.”

She'd beg to get off now if she could—she hurt that much. That despicable gag proved useful and helped her save her pride in such a twisted way. She didn't have to beg, but he'd made her grovel with the eye-blinking charade. What was up with that
Yes, Yes Sir, Thank you Sir
shit?

“Blink to show me you understand.”

He'd probably insist that she keep the honorific blink. She didn't want to earn another infraction and be late for her next appointment. So she blinked not once but twice—
Yes, sir.

That gag had saved her drool from dripping onto the desk, though. It had saved her from embarrassment. Was she really ready for the gag to be removed now? Dammit. She loved that silk blouse, too. It wasn't as if she could not afford another one, but Clark had basically cut it beyond repair.

“When I remove that gag, you are not to speak unless addressed. Do you understand?”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see that in profile. Yet, she gave him what he wanted—she blinked twice.

As much as she wanted to fuck or be fucked, her anger—
her pride
—had returned. Thank goodness enough of her sense had returned, because there was no way she would let herself live up to this. He'd better enjoy this one time, this one-
day
stand. No, make that a one-
afternoon
stand. Because she'd do everything in her power to enforce the necessary measures to prevent this from ever happening again.

Before she knew it, Clark freed the gag from her mouth and used it as a blindfold. “I want to hear you come, Mariah. Every little sound. Every nuance. I want it seared into my brain. I want to jack off to it between our quarterly meet-ups.”

So it was not lost on him that they met quarterly. He really had been keeping track of her. For two years.

Just get it over with already.

Handcuffed and blindfolded, she floated in a realm of suspended belief...or disbelief. This really couldn't be happening, but he'd made her feel so damn present to the pain and pleasure that she couldn't stay suspended anywhere for long.

The telltale crinkle of foil ripping open jarred her back into the room. Oh, god. There was no going back after this... Any vibrator- or self-induced orgasms would pale in comparison. She knew it.

She gasped when with one slick glide he entered her to the hilt and growled in pleasure.

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned.

He was so big, so deep, so
good
. Her taut pussy walls, stretched to wrap around him. Those poor walls stood no chance against this assault. While climbing the corporate ladder, trusting no one, she'd only dated her vibrator. Come on—how would it look if she, a CEO, subscribed to some online dating service? No, her vibrator was the best protection—discreet and merciful. Nothing would come back to her in the future to bite her in the ass.

After a few of his luxurious dips into her needy core, he started thrusting hard and deep. Oh, god. He was her vibrator—on speed. Fucking God, all thoughts fled her mind.

“You're so tight,” he growled. “I can't get enough.”

Mercilessly he rammed into her, her whimpers of need turning to ecstasy. His wicked rhythm hit just the right places with just the right pressure, driving her to the brinks of madness. He pounded into her, eliciting a staccato of soprano utterances from her lips. He was the masterful musician, she the instrument helpless to his dictates.

“Don't come yet,” he grit out.

Oh, God!
Mariah tried to squeeze her muscles, keeping them rigid enough so that she wouldn't come. However, the more she tightened the more bliss hammered her. Sobbing, she felt the impending wave crest.

“Come,” he growled. “
Now
.” He jammed into her and spanked. Hard. So hard that her Mons met with the edge of her desk, indirectly stimulating her clit.

Despite the raw heat she felt on her ass, she clenched and flew over the edge. A primal scream rent the air from her depths, foreign to her own ears. Although blindfolded, she saw splotches of color before her eyes. Never had she experienced this kind of sex nor this kind of release. She'd
never
come like this before.

Clark thrust luxuriously now, extending the ripples of her orgasm. She moaned, high on the pleasure he so skillfully delivered. God, she hated him, hated how he knew her body, how quick of a study he was to be...lethal—
dangerous
. It should be illegal to deliver such terrifying orgasms, rendering her mindless and speechless. Defenseless against his whims, his mindfucking power trips.

He stroked her slick back as if she were a cat in heat. “I'm not done with you, sweetheart.”

She bit her lip to stifle a groan, somehow intuiting that such a sound would count as an infraction that would cost her her three o'clock appointment. What time was it anyway?

He lifted her from the desk and spun her around. Somewhat unsteady on her feet, she collapsed against him—or his suit, rather—and smelled a blend of soap, aftershave, sweat and him. She heard the curtains part behind her.

Oh, shit. Was he into exhibitionism? They were high enough in the building to not be seen unless some passersby on the street level specifically looked for them. Hell no!

Mariah's heart skipped a beat. She bit her lip to refrain from saying something. She didn't like the gag on her any more than she did handcuffs and blindfolds.

Clark engulfed her, his chest at her face. She could sense his heartbeat, his breath, his scent. He reached behind her to release her handcuffs. Bringing her hands to her front side, he rubbed her wrists to encourage blood circulation. His tenderness sent her off-kilter. He was touching her with...
reverence.
How could someone who spanked and fucked the shit out of her be so...? So kind?

The confusion over the disparity must have showed on her forehead, because he kissed away the creases that formed. She didn't want to but melted at his touch.

The blood started pounding in her hands now, her wrists raw from where they were cuffed. She hoped she wouldn't get marks later.

“I want to see your eyes,” Clark said, removing her blindfold.

She blinked, taking her time to adjust to the light. His blazer was off, his tie loose. She shifted her gaze from his white collar shirt to his eyes, which was a mistake. Although his jaw was set, his intent eyes were a warm dark chocolate that stole her breath away. How did he do that? Mixing hard and edgy with warm and tender?

The intensity of his gaze pierced through her. A piece of the wall she had built around her heart broke. Feeling the chilly air emanating from the dual-paned window behind her, she suddenly felt vulnerable and incredibly naked. Naked to her soul. No, she didn't want this. She didn't want to break, and glass was breakable.

He backed her against the cool hard surface of the full-length window, securing her wrists above her head with one hand while the other effortlessly unhooked her bra. He had already seen and felt her pussy. She had no shame left as the bra fell to the floor. Nevertheless, she looked down and caught the sight of her lace-imprinted breasts that had spent too long smushed to her desk.

“Eyes on me,” he said.

She lifted her gaze and swallowed. To be the focus of a man possessing megavolts of compressed power all packed into this human form struck her in the knees. For once since she'd been bound, she was actually glad he had secured her wrists to the window.

“I want to fuck you real slow now,” he murmured. “I want you conscious. I want you to know where your orgasms come from.”

Despite her desire to keep her walls up, she trembled. She couldn't keep him out now. It was way easier when blindfolded to float away from her body, to disconnect somehow. By demanding her attention, he wanted more than control of her body. Wasn't her body enough for him? What more could he want? What more could she possibly give?

She should be afraid of this man, angry—
something
. Something other than feeling stripped, raw. She unconsciously backed up some more and felt her feet hit the cool glass.

“I love this view,” Clark muttered. “The Space Needle behind you, your arms stretched above you. It's as if that structure, although a pale imitation, was made after your curves.”

He dove down to lave a nipple, savoring it, worshipping it with tongue and teeth. Mariah closed her eyes as a fresh flood of heat hit her core. What a head trip.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing his way up her neck and temple. His pants dropped to her feet. With one hand pulling her leg up to half-straddle him, he crouched down and impaled her.

She cried at the insertion, hands bunching up into fists against his firm hold.

Cradling her buttock, with each thrust he struck her clit and pleasure spots deep within. The foot she still had on the floor bent weak at the knee, dangling off him. She gazed at him in half-lidded bliss, lost in the swirling chocolate of his eyes.

“Say my name,” he said, hammering her with urgency.

“Clark,” she croaked, finding her voice.

His eyes darkened, nostrils flared. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. Stilling his body, he pressed, “Yes,
Sir.
”

Oh, God, she needed him. Needed him to keep moving and pulling that next orgasm out of her. Desperate, she answered, “Yes, Sir.”

“Now ask me. Ask me for permission.” He began a shallow leisure pump that fell short of rubbing her clit, yielding too little pleasure for her swollen pussy.

Heart pounding, she bit her lip. “Sir, may I?”

“Sir, may I come?” he prompted, deepening his plunge.

“Sir, may I come?”

“Yes, you may. Hold on,” he said, releasing her wrists and putting one on his shoulder.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulder, holding him close as he cupped her ass with both hands to plunge away. His quickened pace brought a fresh flurry of wet heat. Her heels dug into his legs, clasping him as deep as she could inside her. Holding as much bliss as she could to her core, he hammered her, grinding against her pussy, propelling her up and down for the sweetest ride of her life. Rapture flooded her, blurring her vision. Gasping for air, her nails dug into his suit. She closed her eyes, the experience too good.