Page 28 of Wicked S.O.B.

“No.”

“Go ahead, then, sweetheart.” His gaze drags down my body to where my panties hide the last of my naked body from him. Then it returns to my hair. “Start by taking that thing off your head.”

I’ve forgotten about the server’s cap pinned to my hair. I tug it off and toss it away, and my hair tumbles over my shoulders and down my back. A hint of satisfaction eases across his face.

He nods lower down my body. “Now, get rid of that offensive scrap of shit cradling that sweet pussy that belongs to me.”

I raise myself a few inches and draw the panties down my hips and over my thighs. I keep my eyes on him and spot the moment he sees the last surprise I have in store for him.

The long, thin platinum chain is fitted to rest just below my panty line with the longer loop that holds a tear-shaped pink diamond pendant adjusted to rest a scant inch above my clit. Specifically designed by Quinn, he gave me this decadent little present the first time he told me he loved me. I haven’t worn it in a while, and I see pleasure light his eyes when they rest on it.

That pleasure transmits through his body in the form of a shift in his seat and a dark little curse under his breath.

I hide a smile as I finish removing the panties and send them to join the rest of my discarded clothes.

“Open your legs, Elly,” comes the guttural directive.

I part my thighs on the glass table. The diamond drops cheekily to brush the top of my clit.

“Touch yourself the way you wanted to that day. Show me if your insanity came anywhere close to mine.”

I don’t need to wrack my brain to recall that desperate race into the bathroom. The torture of desperately wanting to be fucked by Quinn while knowing my promise to Q wouldn’t allow me to give in to my insane desire for Quinn Blackwood. In the battle between my mind and body, my mind won out that day, but not without driving myself to the edge of reason.

My breath shakes through me as my right hand trails toward the shamelessly wet space between my legs. My middle finger skates over the priceless jewel, but I have no time to appreciate it. I brush it aside and glide my fingers on either side of my pussy in a vain attempt to alleviate the lust spiking through me. But I know nothing but a full, honest contact will ease the pressure building inside me, so I close the gap between my fingers and squeeze my throbbing clitoris between my knuckles. Sensation rips through me. I slam my eyes shut and let out a loud, wanton moan.

“Motherfucker,” Quinn growls again under his breath. “Are you wet, Elly?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I moan again.

I hear him swallow a healthy gulp of wine. “Lean back. Show me.”

I push my hips forward while leaning back on my left hand. My knees slide wider apart, and with my fingers on either side of my pussy lips, he can’t fail to see how soaked, how desperate, I am.

“Jesus, Elly. Open your eyes. Show me more.”

My lids are heavier than lead but I pry them open and give him what he wants because denying him is denying myself. We watch each other, feed each other’s lust as my fingers work, flicking and caressing my pining flesh.

When I can’t take any more, I slip my middle finger inside, gasping when my greedy channel sucks me in. The moans torn from my throat begin to blend into one endless litany.

Like the sex maestro he is, Quinn times me to perfection, knows when I’m poised on the edge of no return. He surges to his feet, pauses to take a deep breath, and rounds the table to where I’m splayed for his pleasure.

Still holding his wineglass, he taps his palm on the edge of the table. “Here. Come to me. Don’t stop touching yourself.”

A marionette on a string, I reposition myself for him, exposing everything that I am to him. He towers over me, his eyes missing nothing as I continue to pleasure myself, as he slowly bends toward me, as if my body’s gyrations are the strings controllinghispuppet.

“My God, do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?” he slurs, drunk on our lust. On me.

The words tug at me deep inside, firing up another conflagration that sends my hips, my fingers in a twisted, frenzied search for a climax. “Please…Quinn…Mr. Blackwood, help me!”

“My pussy, Elly,” he warns.

“Yes!”

He leans closer and swipes his tongue over my lower lip. “How close are you, sweetheart?”

“Sosoclose. God…please.”

“You know I won’t be able to have a business lunch at this table from now on without seeing your gorgeous body on top of it, don’t you?”

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