The V Card Page 6

  CJ

  I open my eyes in time to see my cheeks flush scarlet in the mirror and Graham watching me over my shoulder. His big, strong hands and wickedly talented fingers continue to work between my legs, building the swell of pleasure that threatens to pull me under any second.

  I want to be pulled. I want to fall. Pleasure crawls up my legs, curls tight in my belly. I’m on the edge, so close I can taste it. I’ve brought myself here countless times. I’ve flown off the edge to so many fantasies. I know how it feels, the delicious pressure, the intense waves. But what will it be like when I don’t have to work for every ounce of it solo?

  My lashes flutter, but Graham shakes his head, holding my gaze.

  “Keep those eyes open, gorgeous. Let me see you get hotter for me.”

  With my arms trembling, I press my fingers flat against the glass as he palms a breast, squeezing and kneading as his other hand rocks between my legs. I climb higher, higher, until the air is so thick with desire I can barely breathe.

  I’m shaking. I’m shaking everywhere, panting and moaning, and I can barely take all these wild sensations chasing through me.

  “I love turning you on,” he says, his breath hot in my ear. “You’re the sweetest, sexiest thing I’ve ever felt, and the smell of you makes me crazy.”

  I gasp as the steel rod of his erection presses more firmly into the small of my back. I’m too drunk on everything to speak. Pleasure, anticipation, fear, desire . . . all surging, pulsing, building. This feeling is beyond anything I expected, anything I could have imagined before I knew what it felt like to be in Graham’s arms.

  His mouth is on my neck, devouring my skin, his tongue sending waves of electricity coursing through my body as he picks up speed with his hand. The driving rhythm makes every nerve vibrate with a terrible, beautiful longing.

  In all the times I’ve given myself pleasure, I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m crazy, wild, lost, but so close to being found.

  So close, so close . . .

  God, yes . . .

  “Graham!” I buck against him, meeting his thrusts. Now he has two fingers inside me, stretching me, moving harder and faster, his thumb racing over my clit as I ride his hand. And suddenly, there it is, that deep, desperate pull between my legs, in my stomach, rising higher, tighter until it bursts.

  I come so hard my vision blurs, and I have to bite my tongue to stop from screaming. Shudders rack my body, and pleasure washes over my skin, lapping sweet and vicious inside my bones until I know I will never be the same.

  I press my bare lower body against Graham and my cheek against the cold mirror, ready for him to pull away, but he clearly has no intention of stopping. His fingers continue their nimble work, thrusting and rubbing. Before I’ve fully recovered from the first time—my first non-solo flight ever—I’ve re-boarded the roller coaster, swooping down and then up, up—

  This time, I nearly stop breathing.

  This time, I don’t just leave earth. I leave my body, soaring skyward as bliss pulses through me, changing me, transforming me. Teaching me things I’ve never known before. Dark, delicious secrets that can only be communicated when two people are skin to skin.

  As I drift down through puffy, orgasm-colored clouds, Graham withdraws his hand from between my legs and gently but firmly guides my mouth to his. He kisses me deep, hard, but-oh-so sweet, sending heat spreading through my chest.

  “You’re incredible,” he murmurs against my lips.

  Am I? Really? I haven’t done anything for him.

  At least, not yet . . .

  Oh, but I want to. I want it almost as badly as I wanted the release he coaxed out of me like the master of pleasure he is.

  I really did pick the best teacher in the entire history of the world.

  I reach back, running my hand up the length of his hardness through his pants. But before I can do more than touch—before I can even come to terms with just how large he is down there—he bats my hand away.

  “Not now,” he says, his voice tight, almost irritated.

  I straighten my spine, embarrassed. “But I want . . . You’re supposed to, I mean . . . I mean, I’m supposed to . . .” I stop, my face burning as I ease my skirt over my hips.

  Graham, however? He just leans back against the wall, smoothing his shirt calmly as he shrugs. “Don’t worry about ‘supposed to’ right now, okay? I’m the teacher, remember?”

  I swallow. “I-I know. And that was wonderful.” Life-altering is more like it. I still can’t feel my feet. “But I want to learn how to drive men wild.”

  And how to drive you wild in particular . . .

  “Mission accomplished, gorgeous. But this is as far as we go tonight.”

  Before I can respond, he leans down, kissing me like I’m the heroine of a classic movie. He kisses me like they used to kiss when films were black and white and passion had to fill in for all the other colors. He kisses me like I’ve always dreamed of being kissed—like I’m the one, the girl, the long-lost lover-friend my man has been looking for—before whispering, “Until next time, Butterfly,” and slipping out the door.

  “Graham?” I squeak, but he doesn’t come back. He’s gone.

  Lesson one is over.

  Still shell-shocked, I blink faster, looking around our small, private lounge, my hand flying to cover my mouth when I spot the enormous floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall. The one with a view high above the streets of Manhattan and the lights blazing in the windows of the building on the other side of the street. Which means—

  Someone could have seen.

  Well, duh, that’s the point of a public quickie.

  I drag in a deep breath, wondering what the heck I’ve gotten myself into. Lesson one was insanely good, yes. Better than I’d even hoped. Almost too good.

  So good it felt . . . dangerous somehow.

  No matter how much I trust Graham, I don’t know if I trust myself.

  Do I have what it takes to fly that high, that close, without sustaining life-shattering injuries in the process? Sure, I know Graham would never hurt my body, but what about my heart? That squishy, love-hungry organ that has always been way too sweet on Graham Campbell for its own good?

  As long as I keep my head up, I’ve got this. There’s no reason my heart needs to overextend itself. This is a seven-days-to-seduction deal, and like any good business arrangement, you simply see it through, brush your hands, and move on when you’re done.

  “Woman up,” I say to myself. “You’re a big girl. You can do this. You have to do this, and you will be just fine.”

  Smart or not, I must see this through. After what I just experienced, I’m more certain than ever that I have Grand-Canyon-size gaps in my erotic knowledge, gaps that only Graham can help me fill. Too bad I have plans tomorrow night, but I’m confident he’ll give me extra credit work the next time I see him.

  After taking a few more deep breaths and smoothing the worst of the wrinkles from my skirt, I find my panties on the floor. Stuffing them in my purse, I totter out the door and make my way unsteadily through the bar. It’s grown more crowded—a good thing, since no one seems to notice the disheveled, sex-rumpled girl making her way to the elevators. In the lobby, I charge past the line of people waiting for a taxi.

  Time to walk this off, girlfriend.

  My head is still swimming. My feet are giant gummy bears that wobble unsteadily beneath me as I plod the ten blocks to my apartment building. Sounds are louder. Lights are brighter. The world has shifted. I’ve walked home at night a million times, but suddenly, everything is different, sparkling, dusted in magic.

  I’m floating up the two stories to my apartment’s front door when my phone hums in my purse.

  Graham: Home safe?

  I smile, heat rushing to my face again as I remember his hands on me, erasing the memory of all hands that had been there before.

  Before I can reply that yes, I’m home, another text hums through.

  Graham: Sendin
g you something to help you get to sleep, though I hope you realize only crazy people read horror novels before bed. Assuming you haven’t bought this one yet, since it just released yesterday.

  I grin as I open my e-reader app to see the newest hide-under-the-covers read by my favorite mistress of horror. I tap out a thank you as I close my apartment door behind me.

  CJ: Thank you so much! I can’t wait to read it. You’re a genius.

  Graham: Sleep well, sweetheart, and don’t stay up too late. You need to rest up for lesson two. I know you’re busy tomorrow, so I’ll see you on Wednesday. Be ready.

  Lesson two . . .

  Oh my God, lesson two.

  I shiver, my thumbs quivering as I reply.

  CJ: Will do. Thank you and . . . good night.

  Graham: Good night . . .

  Lesson two, ready or not, here I come . . .

  Chapter Nine

  Graham

  Never-ending first-Tuesday-of-the-month status meetings are par for the course at Adored. But since efficiency is my watchword, we can usually make it through them in less than an hour.

  That’s due in part to Sean’s legacy.

  He was a master at getting things done fast, smoothly, and right-the-first-time. I learned a lot from him. If I run into a thorny situation at work, I’ll often ask myself what he would have done.

  The trouble is, as I wonder briefly how to quell the shareholders’ urge to slap up a “for sale” sign prematurely, I fight like hell to not think of him.

  Because of what I did to his sister last night.

  I glance at the photo on the wall of the conference room, one of Sean and me at a hockey game shortly after Adored went public. We were having the time of our lives, rooting for our team and high on the success of our new public venture. Now, though? I see him up in heaven, banging a fist on the cloudy floor, wanting to know why the fuck I thought it was okay to show his baby sister how to come so hard she saw stars.

  “And that’s what we have going on in distribution,” Debra says, the bespectacled head of that department finishing her status report.

  “Great. Fantastic.” I turn to goateed Taylor, who’s up next with a download on production.

  As he talks about factory capacity, my mind drifts dangerously again to CJ, her hot body clenching on me when she came. She was so tight, and it felt fucking amazing, but the best part was how abandoned and shameless she was, rocking against me, chasing her own pleasure.

  She shook me to my core.

  How could she do that? Be so innocent and yet mind-blowingly sexy at the same time? That’s what’s driving me crazy. She’s a beguiling mix of contradictions—a wildly sensual woman and yet a virgin.

  I want her again. Right here. Right now. Want to push up her skirt and slide into her.

  But. She. Is. My. Partner’s. Sister.

  Oh yeah, and I’m in a meeting.

  I do my best to refocus, but Taylor already gave me a heads-up on this yesterday, and I have more pressing things on my mind. I like to take my time with a woman, explore her body, drive her wild with pleasure, but I’m not really known for going gentle and easy. That’s not my MO. And I’ve never been with a virgin, not even when I was one. Hell, I lost my virginity to a woman who was way more experienced. She was four years older and knew exactly what she wanted, and I was a lucky son-of-a-bitch that she was willing to deal with my teenage self.

  But I’m a guy. I didn’t need coaxing along the road to sexual self-realization.

  Now, with CJ, I’m . . . concerned.

  What if I scare her or, God forbid, hurt her without meaning to? I could never forgive myself.

  What if I lose control and take her hard, fucking her up against a wall because I just can’t hold back. Can’t take another second of being so close but not close enough?

  That’s why I left so abruptly last night. Staying there, breathing her in with her body so warm and smelling like sex, would have killed my resolve. I had to get the hell out of her sensuality zone and cool off.

  Though cool isn’t the best adjective to describe the scenes that played out in my head when I returned home, unzipped my pants, and came in my hand mere minutes after the door shut behind me.

  But cool, calm, and collected is how I’ll have to be for lesson two. Sucks that I have to wait another night to get my hands on her since she has theater tickets tonight. Fucking Hamilton. But I’m sure I’m not the first guy to play second banana to that musical.

  I drag my fingers through my hair before dropping my hand to the armrests of the leather chair Sean once occupied. I move them to my lap as if I’ve been burned by the ghost who’s haunting me, whispering in my ear, If you hurt her, I will break your fucking back.

  And he would. He absolutely would.

  But I don’t want to hurt her. I only want to bring her pleasure.

  “Graham?”

  I swivel around. My COO Christopher stares at me from across the table, expecting a response. And I’ve no idea what item on the agenda he’s referring to, or when the hell we moved from Taylor to Christopher.

  Plus, I’m sporting an incredibly inconvenient erection.

  Shit. Time to call upon the old standby. I imagine them all naked. As horrifying an image as that is—it will require bleach to wipe it away—it does the trick.

  I tap my fingers on the conference table. “Yeah, I was thinking about that one,” I bluff. I can’t let on that my mind wandered. Not with the board vote next week. Besides, I’m supposed to be on a sex-batical, not an intensive immersion course. I need to act like my brain isn’t hanging out on naughty shores all day long.

  “Yes?” Christopher leans forward.

  I heave a deep sigh. The kind that says a thoughtful answer is coming.

  “And I wonder if we’re ready for that yet?” I say, figuring this is like the SAT. If you don’t know the answer, you take a guess. That seems like a reasonable response to any question that might have arisen.

  Christopher furrows his brow. “We’re not ready to move up the release of the new corsets? We just secured space for them in our lineup.”

  Oops.

  Wrong guess.

  But am I CEO or am I CEO?

  I lean back in my chair, let a slow smile spread, and point at him. “Gotcha.” I slap the table. “Of course we’re ready. We’re ready to launch that rocket into the holiday stratosphere. Santa’s going to have a bag full of naughty this Christmas.”

  I’m rewarded with cheers and laughter.

  I stand, give a quick wave, and say, “I have an important call to make. Good work, good focus, and great hustle.”

  That earns me some smiles for keeping the meeting on time.

  Inside my office, I close the door and will my mind to concentrate on the mountain of work that awaits me. With iron focus and sheer determination, I power my way through the afternoon.

  In the early evening, I take off, saying goodbye to Brian. “Don’t work too late.”

  He shuts his laptop. “I’m on my way out now. I need to head home to Missy and bring her some pepper steak. She’s been craving that like mad the last few weeks.”

  “How far along is she now?”

  “Thirty-seven weeks.”

  I clap him on the back. “Excellent. And is everything going well?”

  “Perfectly. Knock on wood.”

  “Send her my best, and on the way home, why don’t you pick up some takeout from the Hunan Garden around the corner? Put it on my personal account.”

  A grin spreads across his face. “I really appreciate that.”

  “My pleasure.”

  A productive day at work, a gesture of goodwill toward a colleague and his lady, and a hard workout in my future—it’s all good. But I can’t help wishing CJ were going to be with me tonight.

  I’d really like to take her to night school. Right now.

  After a muscle-burning and heart-pounding five-mile run, followed by an intense session of weights, I’ve exhausted my body and d
istracted my mind.

  At home, I pour myself a Scotch and settle in to catch up on one of my favorite flicks of all time, Office Space. At this point, I can recite it as I watch, including the bit where the douche boss in his blue shirt and white cuffs monotones the line that makes every employee cringe. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to come in on Saturday.”

  But rather than laughing at a too-true bit, I’m back where I started the day.

  With CJ.

  Bending her over my desk.

  Working overtime on her body. Making her come on a Saturday. A Sunday. Hell, every day.

  Damn, I’m an easy bastard, managing to get hard watching a dark comedy.

  I glance down at the tent in my shorts. Thanks, CJ, for yet another erection courtesy of you. Tomorrow—and lesson two—can’t come soon enough.

  I flick off the TV, since there’s no way I’m going to take care of this while Bill Lumbergh, the douche boss from the flick, is on the screen.

  But my office is where I’d like to see CJ.

  Perched on the edge of my desk. Knees up, heels on, panties off. I flash back to the softness of her skin, damp with sweat, and the incredible way she’d smelled, like innocence meets desire.

  My dick stretches against my boxer briefs, demanding attention. Persistent bastard. Didn’t I fucking deal with him this morning in the shower already?

  But I heed the call.

  I push down my briefs and draw out my cock, like an iron spike already. No surprise, I suppose. I’ve been operating at attention nearly all day. I close my hand over my shaft, my skin hot to the touch. I close my eyes, remembering the sexy sounds CJ made as she neared the edge, the sweet taste of her skin. My blood rushes hot and fast as I stroke from base to tip, my thoughts lingering on the way her eyes widened when she’d touched my dick, the sheer excitement in her gaze, like a wild thrill was rushing through her. Like she wanted to touch my dick as much as I wanted her to.