“Oh, shit.” He barely uttered this under his breath, and the murmur evaporated with a visible cloud in the cold air.

‘Oh shit’ was right. As though things weren’t going crappily enough as they stood. Like his hands weren’t burning up with the pain of having the waterspout edge dig deeply into his palms. Like his lungs didn’t burn with the need for warm, easy respiration. Like his shoulder blades and abs weren’t trembling with indignation at the strain he was currently requesting from them.

‘Oh shit’ was right: his foot was stuck. Of all things. Well, they did say that if things could go wrong, they most definitely did. Stupid bitch, fate.

Still, this wasn’t really the best time.

“Fuck this fucking fucker of a fucking fuck…” He grumbled under his breath, giving weak kicks to free his captive extremity, unwilling to violently or suddenly free himself, both to avoid falling to his death ―or at least to a guaranteed quadriplegia― and to avoid being seen by the guards.

Because the guards here were armed with semi-automatics that didn’t contain, as requested by law, mere rubber bullets. No, these SOBs were armed to the teeth and more than eager to test their shiny toys on some poor sucker who’d lack enough of a life to risk his hide on this stupid venture.

But no, he just had to test the limits, didn’t he?

Which made him ―and his stuck foot― a lame, moronic and unsatisfying practice target.

Seriously. He was a sitting duck if he stayed here another forty seconds. And the countdown wasn’t even accurate because the guards here weren’t the computer-programmed robots TV shows and videogames made them out to be, so it could be less.

“Fuck…” He practically groaned, looking down at his sneaker, its big ―fucking― toe stuck in the ―goddamn― lattice, and briefly considered that he was really, really, really in need of a raise. Even his recent promotion didn’t make up for this nightmare.

“Fuck… fucking… fuckers…” He hissed to himself, shaking the trellis in his pointless attempts to free his foot, which made the whole structure bang with a few cracking sounds against the brickwork, like useless and very frustrated wood slaps ―just the kind of ineffective noise he’d have needed if he wanted to have an extra hole in his ass, not that any normally-structured idiot ever needed to do their business sideways, so the appeal of bullet surgery wasn’t quite there― which he eventually quieted.

Okay. Time to think of a plan B. Fast.

With a deep breath, he let go with one hand, measured the remaining hand’s strength, then bent down and held the latticework firmly… while he pulled his foot out with a sudden jerk.

Imbalanced by the sudden movement, he tensed, held his breath, lashed out and held on to the spout overhead as firmly as he could, his now-free foot dangling over exactly nothing.

And then allowed himself to cuss some more.

He was running behind schedule. It was self-appointed, but it was essential. As things were, he would probably get his ass surgery for free, and without anaesthetics. God, life sucked.

Oh, shit, the guards were coming.

Heart pounding, he hurried to scurry up onto the roof, his arms straining angrily at the effort. By the time he’d ungracefully pulled himself up, he was so out of breath and exhausted that he briefly considered just giving up and staying there.

But then, what would have been the point?

Maybe this was a lesson. Maybe he needed to get in shape. Even more than he already was.

And stop wearing sneakers with such large toes.

At least his ass had kept its number of holes at the usual count of one, but he wasn’t sure he was very eager to risk something else blowing it up.

Wait. Was that the window?

He peered at the third window from where he was sprawled. God, it was so bloody cold, it was a miracle nobody had noticed the steam pumping out of him. Yeah, the sign he’d identified earlier in the day was still on the windowpane.

Dream catchers… Who even made those anymore?

Anyway, this one was pink. It became obvious when he hobbled over to examine it from up close. Not just any pink, either, but bright pink. The kind you highlight stuff with… if all your other markers have run out.

Dumb reflection. Well, this was the good window, for sure. At least he was done climbing stupid fucking trellis like a squirrel on crack. If the window had been anywhere higher, he’d have just jumped back down and asked for a bullet wound straight to the head.

Seriously. Those guards would have been so damn ecstatic.

Maybe he was getting too old for this kind of thing. Maybe he’d just accept the goddamn desk job after all. Who gave a flying fuck, at this point, right? Let some other rookie do the godforsaken climbing, or something.

Hm, yeah. That secretary and water cooler were beginning to look pretty damn promising right then.

And who knew? Maybe he could turn out to be a really good desk dude. Filling out forms and paperwork to further the cause of… deforestation all over the planet. Or something.

Or nothing, maybe, because if he didn’t get results tonight, he would be a disgrace to his profession, even a profession as miserable as this one, a job that entailed climbing trellis in the middle of the night to spy on young women who hung painfully pink dream catchers in their windows.

He peered inside the room. Woo-hoo, he’d made it. He had the right one for sure.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he mumbled under his breath, checking the window frame for means of entrance, and pleased, found none. Safe, then. At least the previous guards had done their job properly.

He peered inside, out of curiosity.

Whoops.

Nice legs. Too bad the towel covered everything else, though. Even the narrow shoulders over the cloth looked promising. Shame about the hidden breasts, though.

Ahem.

Well.

At least he already had enough to report on, now, so he could probably go…

But hey, it always paid to be thorough in this business. He smirked as he made his decision.

Which was exactly when she turned and saw him.

She didn’t scream. She was a little surprised at herself, in fact, for this little bit of self-control. Maybe she could blame it on the fact that her heart had lunged into her throat and otherwise blocked all airways and vocal chords, but then, what was the point of explaining this? To any outsider, she looked the picture of poise and grace.

Pity about the half-naked thing, though. Hard to be dignified when the towel barely covered your―

Okay, Sexy Mc-Handsome was still in the window.

He had a lot of guts to stay. He looked amused and all. Maybe he wasn’t as idiotic as she’d thought. Creepy, yes, but at least daring. Yum, deadly combination. Kinda like Jack the Ripper, maybe, with a side dish of hotness.

Or maybe he was just staying there because he’d gotten stuck to the windowpane or something. It would so figure.

Just one way to find out.

She enjoyed the gradually increasing look of panic that came over his features as she strode to the window, still holding up the towel around her chest. Maybe she was enabling her own murder, but if he really was a creep, he’d have either run by now, or leered at least a little. Besides, it wasn’t rape if you were willing.

…Okay, so she hadn’t gotten laid in a bloody long time. Big deal. No one would blame her, come morning, especially not Gorgeous here.

She slid the windowpane aside with ease and leaned forward into the frosty air, smiling brightly as he stared up at her with raised brows and a terrified expression.

“Hi,” she started, and realised she hadn’t thought of anything better to say, because, really, what are you supposed to say in this kind of situation?

“…Hi,” he croaked, his voice turning into a cloud of steam in the cold air.

“…How may I help you?”

“I… Um…”

“Step inside, won’t you?”

His eyes widened even more at that, if ever the action was possible. Hm. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“I… uh… I’d rather not, thanks.” He laughed under his breath, a little nervously. She pursed her lips and scowled.

“Look, buddy, it’s cold and I don’t like the cold, so come in now.”

“Um, no.” He wiped his large hands on the front of his jeans awkwardly.

“Uh, I, um, kept you enough already.”

She wanted to laugh at that.

“Listen up, you freaky Boy Scout, it’s either you come in now or you go back out there and get shot in the ass by a semi-automatic-wielding trigger-happy borderline-psychotic gaggle of guards. I don’t see how that compares positively to entering the room of a half-naked woman who is defenceless and innocent… and pure as the driven snow.” She added the last part as an afterthought, and left it in the air to be examined for veracity later.

His jaw had fallen off a while ago, so there was no change in his expression really. He did get up and hurry in through her window, though, which was all that mattered by then.

She slid the window shut behind him with a satisfying click, and turned to tower over his crumpled and stunned form.

“Uh, before you call the police,” he said, turning to look up at her, his next words dying in his throat with a strangled sound, “I can explain ―uh…”

She looked down at him as he stared up in awe. “What?”

“That’s a really short towel you have there,” he awkwardly commented, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, well, I just moved in and I’m not done unpacking my larger ones.”

“Nice panties, though.”

“Thank you. I like them too.”

He smiled… then laughed nervously. “Um, you’re not rushing to the phone?”

She pressed her lips together in thought, then chose to say, “To be honest, you really don’t scare me.”

His face fell a little. “I don’t? Not even a little? I mean, doesn’t the situation freak you out?”

“No.” She gauged him, and saw he was better built than she was, but said, “I could probably take you any day of the week.”

He snorted. “Right.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I could.”

He dusted himself off and pushed himself to his feet. He stood a good few inches taller than she did, but she didn’t let his stare intimidate her.

“I don’t think,” he said, apparently regaining the sort of common sense that was part of his usual composure, “that you’re any match for me, sweetheart.”

“I bet I am.”

He advanced on her, clearly meaning to scare her into backing away. “I bet you’re not.” When she didn’t step back, he reached out and grabbed her shoulders.

She smirked. Oh, how foolish.

Using his own gravity centre, she turned, pivoted, shifted her weight, and catapulted him over her shoulder with only a mild strain. He landed, winded, on her carpet, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he’d gotten there.

“Hey,” she said, leaning over him and giving him a calculated view of the valley between her breasts, to which his eyes magnetically attached themselves, “guess what? I won.”

His next attempt to pin her down was just as unsuccessful as the first, and resulted in her managing to secure his hands behind his head, push him backwards, and make him fall back on the queen-sized bed. She heard him mumble curses under his breath, but otherwise ignored his foul words. It wasn’t like it really mattered.

Now where was that scarf? Oh, there it was.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He indignantly asked, but she didn’t reply. “You do realise that murdering me is psychotic and illegal, don’t you?”

She laughed as she finished her handiwork. “Yes, and I suppose spying on women after trespassing on private property really qualifies as exemplary behaviour. Now tell me,” she leaned in to wrap her arms around his shoulders and whispered in his ear, “have you ever heard of the succubus?”

A pause during which his breath hitched, she was sure of it.

“No.” But the tremulous and breathless note that accompanied that particular phrase belied it.

“Oh.” She feigned disappointment. “Well, then, I’ll tell you. A succubus…” She breathed hot air into his still cold ear, which was reddening, perhaps from the change in temperature, “is a female demon that seduces men in their sleep,” her hand reached out to help his shoes off his feet, “which was the clean way of explaining wet dreams in the middle ages.”

“No kidding,” he sarcastically replied, but she knew he was paying close, very close attention. He didn’t even notice her throwing his shoes into the far corner of the room.

“Hm-hm. Amazing, sometimes, what kind of lore people invent to hide their fantasies. But you see, I’m offering you an escape route, here. Don’t get me wrong, we will have a lot of hot, steamy sex tonight, but at least you’ll be able to preserve your sanity come morning.”

His astonishment was palpable. He stammered, spluttered, nearly choked on his own saliva, and she patiently waited for him to recover his senses.

“That is to say, of course, only if you let the succubus take you,” she added in a gentle whisper… giving him a choice, for the first and last time, probably.

‘Let the succubus take you.’ Holy shit. What a decision. He could practically feel his dick stand at attention with a powerful ‘yes, please!’ war cry at that.

Should introductions come now, or wait for later? Dick versus brain. Dick versus brain…

She stepped in front of him again.

And dropped the towel.

Whoa.

“Well, handsome, what do you say?”

Blood… not… irrigating… brain… Brain forfeits.

Dick wins by default.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” She leaned forward. Her breasts fell forward and jiggled a little.

“Yes.” Oops, he hadn’t meant to sound that desperate. But dammit. Breasts!

She laughed. “Didn’t take much to convince you, did it?” But her comment held no further judgement.

Oh man. He had thought about getting laid and all, but not tonight, and certainly not by―

Her hands found the hem of his shirt and pushed it up, then manoeuvred it so that it bunched with his bound hands behind his head. She made it seem so smooth and easy. Did she have that much practice? Was she a nymphomaniac?

“So while we’re at it,” she whispered, pushing him back gently, making him fall against the mattress in a dazed stupor, “you might as well tell me more about yourself.”

“Uh…” Jesus, she was everywhere. “Well…” Her hands had found his waistband, and her lips had found his throat, and her breasts… “Huh…”

“Fascinating,” she said, and already she was establishing a slow rhythm with her pelvis, rocking against his crotch promisingly. “Name?”

He nearly choked on a chuckle. “So you know what to scream later on?”

She ignored that. “I’m Ms. Harkinian, for future reference.”

“No first names?” He said, mostly to ignore how, after quickly trailing down his stomach, she was currently rubbing the inside of his thigh with her palm, the other hand working at his fly.

“I like to keep the mystery intact. Your name.” The command was imperative, and she accompanied the order with a light squeeze of the bulge in his pants.

He arched a little off the mattress and wheezed, “Forester.” Oh god, yes. She was rubbing…

“Mr. Forester,” she slowly repeated with a sexy smile. “Now do you mind explaining what you were doing at my window at this hour of the evening?”

Christ, what was taking so long? He wiggled up and down, trying to get her to move faster. Couldn’t she take his pants off and get to work already? All the swift-paced tantalizing was driving him insane. Not to mention her lips were all over his skin, making his nerve ends burst with bubbles of heat. He couldn’t believe how fast she’d gotten him hard.

“I asked a question, Mr. Forester,” she intoned with the patient voice of a woman who enjoyed making her victims squirm in their own desire. To further her point, she lifted an arm and lightly ran a finger down his throat, over his chest, and just over his arousal, so lightly that his whole body twitched as he fought for countenance.

“I… needed some air…” He choked. He was about to add something, but the idea flew from his mind the moment she moved down his body, lowered her face over his unzipped fly and breathed hot air on his boxer-clad erection.

“How so?” She slowly asked after a few breaths, looking up at his astonished, pleasure-contorted face with a knowing grin.

He could only utter an unintelligible sound that stumbled over his vocal chords and caught on his tongue, his eyes wide as he surveyed the scene of his own undoing.

What the fuck was happening here? One minute he was catching his breath outside, the next she had stolen it and made him so aroused he couldn’t even form words, let alone sentences.

“Alright, Mr. Forester, take a long, deep breath,” she whispered, “because it’s the last one you’ll be getting for a while.”

In one swift movement, she’d pulled the waistband of his boxers down, baring his raging hard-on, and covered it with her lips.

Holy. Shit.

He was in shock. She could feel his mindless stupefaction at every move. She could practically taste it on his skin. And in her mouth.

Mostly she didn’t know what had gone through her own mind, but as the brainless action-pattern was unfolding into euphoric and all the more erotic results, she saw no reason to pause and ponder. He wouldn’t have been so far-gone if he hadn’t been enjoying himself, so why hesitate? He was hot, he was horny, and she was bored out of her mind until he’d shown up. Everything was working out.

Not to mention, ever since she’d gotten that six-figure gig, suspicions had been confirmed. Men in suits weren’t all they were cracked up to be. With the new security detail, things would get rougher from there on out; it was only natural to jump every willing stud that came along, considering how many of them would be turned away.

Briefly, she wondered if he knew how rich she was.

And then, as she felt him quake beneath her working lips, she decided that she didn’t care after all.

“Stop, please, stop…” He implored, sweat making his brow glisten. He’d been holding back. Dammit, what a moron. The man clearly had a little bit too much sense left in him.

She lifted her head and almost laughed at the smacking sound it made. It was hard not to lose the spirit, here.

“Stop, Mr. Forester? Are you sure that’s what you want?” For added doubt, she rubbed her palms on his thighs and under him. Hey, handsome, nice ass…

He tried to take a few calming breaths, but all it did was make his broad chest heave. Hm. He looked good. If he denied her the claim, she would probably scream, because dammit if she wasn’t getting him before the night was over.

“I…” He seemed to be mentally flailing for an anchor to reality, and missing. “I… can’t touch you…”

She really had to restrain a laugh at that. Slowly, she pulled herself up to straddle his stomach. Her underwear was soaked and she felt him poking from behind. She brought her face down to his, and whispered with a giggle ―a real giggle! She hadn’t had those in years now― “Mr. Forester, that’s kind of the idea.” And she plucked a little at the scarf holding his hands back.

With a roll of his eyes ―he was regaining his senses a little too fast― the man also rolled his shoulders. She had to brace herself as his whole body undulated.

And he raised his bound hands, rolled his shoulders again, and adjusted his bonds so that, finally, his wrists were in front of his face, bunched shirt, scarf and all.

She frowned, her lower lip pursing into a pout. “That’s cheating.”

“Such is life,” he replied with a boyish grin. “Now things seem a little bit fairer. Though…”

With surprising agility, the likes of which she hadn’t expected from him considering their previous attempts at wrestling, he brought his leg up behind her, arched upwards smoothly, causing her to tip over to the side. Before she could catch herself, he’d given a shove with his shoulder and elbow, pushing himself up…

And pinned her down.

Without even using his hands.

Which served to stun her most effectively.

She stared up at him in shock.

Oh, the sweet irony of a role reversal. He briefly considered driving her mad with desire, but then, what were the odds that she’d feel duly chastened?

No, no, giving her a taste of her own medicine might be a little cruel.

But damn if he wasn’t going to brag.

“Seems to me,” he therefore said, “that you’ve underestimated my ability.”

She frowned, alarmed, but said nothing.

“Now don’t give me that face,” he scowled. “You practically knocked out my front teeth in your attempts at being demonic. I figure this is my deserved revenge.”

“What do you want?” Her tone had lost its amusement and sex-famished edge. Now it sounded freakishly business-like, as though she were bantering the release of a hostage from a psychotic murderer. He stared down at her in confusion.

“Want?” He looked down at his erection, then back up at her incredulously. “Isn’t it obvious?”

There must have been something funny on his face, because her lips quirked into a barely restrained smile.

She pushed at his hands, which were still holding her wrists. He let go, if only to prove that he didn’t intend to force her… though at this point it was a very, very tempting idea, considering how easily accessible she was…

The scarf came off easily. Rather than let his hands lie uselessly still, he put them to work by pulling her panties down her long legs. She didn’t fight back, and so he presumed the game was still on.

The minute he brought his hands back up to caress her bare hips, she rocked her pelvis a little, as though she had trouble lying still. He looked up to notice she was staring up at the ceiling unseeingly with half-lidded eyes.

Pleased, he returned his attention to her lower body, watching the juncture of her legs with interest. She was already wet, with pearls of moisture clinging to her folds. With a smirk, he looked back up and, lightly, flicked a finger against her.

She twitched helplessly, her lips parting to inhale a little more air than usual.

Yup. She was ready.

“I suppose you have something for protection?”

Shakily, she whispered, “The bedside table.”

He had, at least, thought of protection. A part of her respected him for it.

The other part of her, which was throbbing and aching and very wanton, didn’t want to respect him. It just wanted to have what he’d covered with latex right where it needed to be.

But the bastard enjoyed being cocky, which was why he’d returned to just grazing her with his fingers, ever so lightly, and everywhere but where she wanted him.

“Asshole,” she whimpered as he made her legs jolt uncontrollably.

“Later, if you want,” he teased.

She glared at him. “If I don’t castrate you from the frustration.”

“Promises, promises,” he teased again, leaning in to trail a few kisses around her belly button. This made her pause and think. He was almost being tender. Bastardly, but tender. The sweet idea that he wouldn’t kiss a more erogenous spot, choosing instead a place that was within reach, as if on a whim, almost made her wish she was doing this with a boyfriend rather than a complete stranger.

But then it wasn’t that sweet anymore. Because he’d gone a bit lower.

Oh. My. God.

“Oh god you son of a…”

“Be nice,” he breathed, and the hot air made her squirm and whimper a little. “I’m only doing this because it’s the courteous thing to do.”

“Courteous,” she echoed sarcastically, trying to keep a rein on the fire he was patiently and flippantly kindling below. “Like a peeping Tom would know what that― Oh!”

He pulled his tongue away and glanced up at her stunned face. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

She stared down at his raised brow in shock, and squeaked, “No!”

“Oh. Good. Now be quiet.” And he returned to his lazy ministrations.

She wondered where her shame had gone. If any of her guards happened to look into her room, they’d be in for a little shock. But why was she thinking about those twits? She had a temporary boy toy’s head between her legs, dammit!

She couldn’t help it. She rocked her hips, and he looked up, licking his lips quickly. Frowning, he pushed a large hand against her thigh and squeezed the flesh there. “Excuse me, would you please stop moving?”

“My room, my rules,” she breathed, trying to keep a grip on reality.

“Yeah? Well, my tongue, my laws. Now if you don’t stop moving I’ll have to resort to something drastic.”

“You can’t tell me to stop moving if you’re going to be licking me there!”

He glowered at her, and she glared fiercely in return. Suddenly, he said,

“Okay. Have it your way.” And he moved away from her lower body, but only so he could kneel over her and smirk. “Now what do you suppose I’m going to do?”

“If you know what’s good for you, then―”

“Be quiet.”

“I’m sorry?” She stared up at his blank face incredulously. “What did you just―”

“I said ‘be quiet’. And I mean it.”

“You can’t―”

“I can’t?” He lowered himself onto her, purposely crushing her under his weight. “Why can’t I? The succubus is succumbing. To me. I think that makes me your superior. And you should therefore obey me.”

She opened her mouth to mock that, but froze when she felt him pushing a little, down below. Oh god, yes. Why wasn’t he going in??

“I’m not going to obey you,” she replied, indignantly.

“Oh? So if I say ‘spread your legs’, you’re not going to? Or how about, ‘Let me fuck you, hard’, you’ll just wave it off?”

She could feel her face flush, and her chest heaved in quick breaths. She was already rocking up and down rhythmically, as though she was trying to make-do in his relative absence. She tried to steady herself in the face of his knowing smirk, and found it was a little more difficult than she’d anticipated.

“You’re not my superior,” she still insisted.

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Oh, but Ms. Harkinian, I think you’ll find that I am.” And he pushed into her smoothly. She was so wet that it was a surprisingly easy motion.

Her breath caught. His breath hitched. They stayed in motionless stupor for at least two seconds, before suddenly he started pulling out and pushing in again.

And he stopped again. This time she tried to pummel him with a fist. He didn’t seem bothered in the least, and she watched as he shakily drew in a few breaths.

Finally, he smirked cheekily and said, “You may start moaning my name if you want.”

She opted for an angry scream instead, but he moved again inside her and it caught in her throat, turning into a simple, breathless, “Ah!”

“Go on,” he rhythmically said with each long stroke, “we’ve introduced ourselves.”

“Shut… up…”

“I’d like you to beg me.”

“Fat chance,” she choked, clinging to him as all her attention focused on the junction between her legs and oh… the amazing friction… Oh god, yes… Yes…

“Beg me or I’ll pull out.”

“Like hell,” she laughed unsteadily, enjoying every single pleased nerve ending. Her whole body was becoming numb with pleasure, starting with the core between her legs. It was turning to hot bubbling foam, no doubt about it.

“Like hell? How appropriate,” the infuriating bastard said…

…As he pulled out completely.

She let out a small shriek of indignation. “What are you doing??”

“Beg me.”

“You can’t do this! You shouldn’t even have enough blood in your brain to think about―”

“Beg me, sweetheart, or you’ll be all alone again.”

And suddenly, begging seemed like a minor inconvenience.

“Please don’t do this.”

“That’s not quite it, but you’re getting into the right spirit.”

She glared at him. He merely grinned between his breathless pants. She could tell he was beyond horny. In fact, she could see him shaking as he held back. It was so primal that she felt the sheets below her grow wet with her desire.

“Here’s a hint,” he prompted, “ ‘Please, Mr. Forester, fuck me hard’.”

“You must be joking.” She eyed him and his confident smile and knew that he wasn’t. “I would never…” She nearly swooned when he interrupted her; his dick was pushing at her again. “Oh, god, please, yes. Please.”

“What was that?”

Alright. Enough.

She grabbed the scruff of his neck, pulled him down towards her face and ground out a menacing, “Please. Fuck me. Now.”

He laughed, but did as she asked, groaning a primitive, “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

She bit his shoulder. Hard.

“OW!”

“Fuck you, jerk.”

“If I don’t hear begging,” he said, ignoring her command, “you get nothing.” She glowered at him so furiously that he smirked, pushed in hard, and leaned towards her ear to whisper breathlessly, “I just think that you get as much of a kick being dominated as you do being dominating.”

And already, something started building inside her, burning hot with friction, like a void, sucking everything from within her into the tiny area that he was stimulating, making oblivion absolutely glorious.

“I don’t,” she moaned.

“Beg me again, Ms. Harkinian. Beg me.”

“No…”

He worried the skin of her shoulder between his lips.

“Oh… god…”

“Beg me,” he whispered, his body beginning to quake with his own rising pleasure as he relentlessly rolled into her.

“Oh…”

“Beg me.”

“No, please…”

“Do it. Beg me.”

Please… The word brushed off her lips without a sound as she found her lungs, stomach and muscles tightening in delirious anticipation.

“Now, Ms. Harkinian,” he groaned, burying his face into her neck and shoulder, breathing erratically.

“…Please… Oh god…” Her breath hitched. She recovered enough to add, “Please, I beg you…” And felt the thrill of absolute surrender along her every nerve. Oh, yes, it felt so wonderful to be nothing but feeling, to lose all reason and pride, to be nothing but what she needed to be right then. “Oh, yes, please…!”

“Your wish…” He started, but choked and continued, sped up, and pushed harder and harder. “Your wish is…”

“Please…”

“My…”

“Oh… Oh…”

“Co…”

“Please, yes, yes…”

“My command…”

He pushed far, long, hard, again and again and again and again.

And the void, the abyss, the oblivion, and again, the amazing, mind-blowing, mind numbing, and again, stupefying pleasure, again and again and again, in never ending waves, and again, washing over her, radiating from the centre of her.

And again and again and again…

Their screams were voiceless, and deafening anyway.

And again… and again…

And again.

And… again.

He collapsed. She exhaled in quick bursts, feeling her whole body tingling with the aftershock.

Ages passed.

Finally, he pushed himself up slowly, as though stunned, peered down at her, and said, “So.”

She was looking up at him with the same kind of shock as the one he felt. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d lost his mind. He couldn’t decide what had been the most erotic: the power play, or her actual surrender.

“Well.”

“Well,” she replied softly, looking up at him as though he’d sprouted a second head.

“Um…” How was he going to handle this? One-night stand partings were always awkward, but this could turn out to be a nightmare.

Why had he gone along with this again?

He glanced down. Oh. Right. Breasts.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t know if this is the best time, but…”

“What?”

He looked into her eyes, pressed his lips together, and said, “I’m, um… It was an interesting way to meet, for sure. I figure I should properly introduce myself now.”

“I don’t think―”

“I’m Link Forester. Your, uh, new head of security while Bryant is on paternity leave.”

Her shock was so immense it was almost palpable.

Suddenly, her expression melted into one of mild annoyance and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Well. That was very professional of you.”

His eyebrows flew to his hairline and he sat up. “I beg your pardon, Ma’am, but I was only checking the numerous flaws in your security grid. Speaking of which, we are getting rid of that trellis. And you’re the one who dragged me in through the window for this.”

“And you didn’t see fit to introduce yourself before I made a complete fool of myself?”

He couldn’t help a small smile as he gazed down at her pout. “Excuse me for being male and red-blooded, then, Ma’am.”

She looked off to the side at her bedside table. “I suppose now you’ll think I’m a nymphomaniac whore.”

He laughed out loud. “I beg to differ. I just think you’re a woman who needs serious lessons in dealing with unexpected visitors.”

She had to hold back a smile too. “You’re right. Next time I’ll be sure to tie you up properly.”

He glared. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, I don’t see what risk I might be running if you’re with me in here.”

“But I won’t always be―” He interrupted himself when he caught her flat look. “Unless, um…”

She sat up under him, pushed him back, made him lie against the mattress, and straddled him. He couldn’t help but admire the way she held herself, and inevitably thought her confidence a real turn-on.

Pointedly, she said, “Mr. Forester, I’ll give you a raise if you behave.”

He laughed.

And he reached up to hold her at the waist, eyes darkening again.