Come and Get Me: The Magister Series, Book 2: A Billionaire Romance Page 4

  With her coat open, Charles could press closer to her. As they kissed, she unbuttoned his suit jacket so she could slide her arms around his waist. She couldn’t feel much of him through her gloves, and that was just unacceptable. She’d have to do something about that. In a minute.

  “I should go,” Charles whispered against her mouth. “I need to go and…” He kissed her again.

  “Yeah,” Sandra panted, and put her hands between them so that she could push him away, but somehow she wound up unbuttoning his waistcoat instead. Oh, he felt so warm against her, banishing the last of the cold night air. She couldn’t help pressing forward and—

  He gasped, “You’re not wearing a…” Sandra realized dizzily that he could feel her hardened nipples against his chest. His hands slid beneath her shirt to find that her back was bare, her sides were bare, and her breasts were bare too, aching for his touch. “Oh God.”

  Sandra whimpered. He could touch her just a little bit, just for a few more moments, and then she could let him go, right? It wasn’t like they were really going to do it in a stairwell. “I want you. Please. Just touch—”

  He muffled his groan in the side of her neck as he pushed up her shirt and cupped her breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently, rubbing his thumbs over her peaked nipples. It felt so good that she choked, “Charles, oh God, please.”

  He bent his head, and then his mouth was on her left breast, hot and wet. He sucked hard, just the way she loved it, and now she had to cover her mouth to stay quiet. She was gasping against the leather of her glove, and that was just no good. She yanked the gloves off and dropped them to the floor, and then sighed in relief when she could comb her bare fingers through his hair.

  “We can’t,” Charles panted, even as he slid his hands up and down her hips.

  “I know,” Sandra managed, cupping his ass and pulling him in so that she felt his erection straining through his pants, against her hip.

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck no, she was not going to wait. He was right there.

  “Sandra,” he gasped as he slid his hands over her ass, his hands warm against the material of her skirt. He was breathing heavily now, all right. It couldn’t feel good with that tie around his neck. She reached between him and tugged it loose, giving him more room to breathe, and once she started it was easy to keep going until she’d pulled it off entirely. It joined her gloves on the floor. Then she went to work on the top button of his shirt.

  “No,” he said. “We can’t. Not here.” Then he cupped her breasts again. “You’re so soft…” He kissed her.

  “I can’t wait.” She fumbled at his belt buckle. “Don’t make me wait. I need you, please.” His breath caught. “I need you inside me, don’t leave me—”

  He went still. Then he reached for his belt buckle and growled, “Have you ever been fucked up against a wall?”

  Sandra felt dizzy. “N-no,” she said. Bradley sure hadn’t suggested it. In hindsight, sex with him had been a matter of routine, already getting dull after just a couple of months. He’d sometimes seemed offended when she wanted to try something new. There were certain things he’d liked to do with her—to her—and that was enough for him.

  It sometimes seemed like nothing would ever be enough for Charles. He was downright voracious, took her any way he could get her, and she’d just lit a fire in him that only one thing would put out.

  “Good,” he growled, and bent down for another hungry kiss. Then he pushed her skirt up her hips. “Panties off. Shoes stay—”

  Then he seemed to stop breathing.

  “What panties?” Sandra said innocently. “Did I forget something important?”

  “No.” He looked down at her neat triangle of copper curls, the flame in his eyes only growing. In that instant, every cold upskirt draft during her walk was worth it. “You brought everything you needed.”

  “Not everything,” Sandra said, reaching for his belt.

  He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the wall above her head. She gasped.

  “Put your shoes back on,” he whispered. “Looks like they’ll be useful after all.”

  Sandra bent down on shaking knees and grabbed her stilettos, slipping back into them and realizing how helpful those extra inches of height were about to be. Charles hummed in approval, stepped in closer, and pushed her skirt up again.

  “How wet are you?” he whispered, so close that she could feel his breath on her lips.

  The words alone made her shiver with desire. “Getting there.”

  “‘Getting there’ isn’t there.” Charles reached down between them with one hand and stroked between her labia. He hissed to find that she was still dry, but then he slid one gentle finger inside her and found the moisture rapidly gathering there. “Ahh.”

  He gently coaxed it over her outer lips, letting it smooth his path. She sighed as the warmth of his touch sent a glow through her whole body. And then he withdrew his hand just long enough to lick his thumb. Just the sight made her breath catch.

  Then he flicked the wet pad of his thumb over her clit. Sandra’s hips jerked forward, and she said, “Oh!”

  “Shh,” he whispered. “Quiet, now.” A glimmer of mischief appeared in his eyes. It made him appear so unlike himself that Sandra was taken unawares when he began to stroke her both inside and out, just barely flicking his thumb against her clit and rubbing his finger firmly against her G-spot. She covered her mouth just in time to stop a cry.

  He was watching her, taking in all of her reactions greedily. Sandra squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back against the wall. She still wasn’t used to putting on a show. Then she felt Charles cup her breast with his free hand. He started pinching her nipple through her blouse. She lost her breath.

  “You weren’t going to let me undress you?” he murmured. “No pretty lingerie for me to peel off you?”

  Sandra gulped and opened her eyes again. She met his gaze steadily as she managed, “That’s for Friday.” His eyes widened. “I’m going to tease you on Friday.” He growled. “You’re really going to have to work for it—”

  He let go of her breast so he could put his hand over her mouth. Then he stroked circles around her clit over and over, hard and fast. Her hips arched forward, she bucked into his touch, and then it started inside her: a throb that became an earthquake. She put her hand over Charles’s and held it there while she screamed into his palm. She couldn’t tell whether she came once or twice or any other number of times; it just kept going, making her spasm and shake in her cunt and her thighs.

  Eventually she stopped screaming and started grabbing his wrist as the pleasure turned into discomfort. Her clit felt swollen, too tender for more. He’d been rough, and she’d loved every second of it. Until Charles, men had always treated her as if she were some kind of china doll.

  When she clutched his wrist, he moved his thumb from her clit and slid a second finger inside her, testing her, preparing her.

  “Are you sure I’ll have to work for it?” he breathed.

  Sandra quivered around his fingers and had to put her hands on his arms to steady herself. Talk about shaky knees. “I’m ready,” she whimpered. “I’m…oh God, I’m ready.”

  Without a word, Charles unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out. As always, Sandra was sort of awed and maybe a little bit scared. He was bigger than Bradley, and this morning she’d remembered to Google “average penis size.” Then she’d done a weird thing where she’d tried to picture him in her head and held her index fingers a certain distance apart to measure him against what the Internet told her. Thank goodness nobody else had been watching.

  He was watching now, though. Watching her face as he slid her skirt even higher, until it was rucked up around her hips with her lower half totally exposed. The small of her back was tacky with sweat, and her blouse stuck to her skin.

  For a second, she wondered how they were going to do this—presumably he’d pick her up, she’d wrap her legs around him, and away they
’d go. But even though Charles was plenty strong and she was turned on as hell, a nervous little voice still yammered away in her brain. What if he dropped her, or fell down, or she cracked her head against the wall? What if she moved wrong and messed it up?

  Maybe Charles saw her sudden attack of nerves, because his eyes softened for just a moment. “One leg around me. Keep your other foot on the ground. I won’t let us slip.”

  And that was enough. Charles kept his promises. Sandra relaxed as she slid her arms around his neck while he stroked her left thigh and pulled it up so that she was half-straddling him. She was in good hands. The best.

  Then Charles crouched, grabbed her ass, and pushed inside with one deep thrust that drove the relaxation right out of her. She covered her mouth with her hand too late to stop a moan as he slid home. Hot, big, and so hard, like he’d been waiting for this all day…needing this…

  “Ah,” he panted in her ear, moving one hand from her ass to support her thigh around him. He held still, though she could feel the tension in his taut frame, the need to move that he was keeping under control. “Ah, God. All right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Sandra gulped for air. Why had she been worried? Her flesh was sensitive and tender after her climax, but he felt fantastic. They were a perfect fit. “You? Okay?”

  “God,” he repeated. “More than okay.” He pulled back enough so she could look into his beautiful eyes. “Kiss me.”

  Sandra gladly did. Now that she’d had a little satisfaction, she could enjoy him without wondering if she’d fly apart into a thousand pieces. He evidently didn’t feel the same, judging by his rock-hard cock. This was not going to take long.

  Good. Long was for Friday. Tonight was for clinging to him as he began to fuck her, savoring his warmth inside her, loving the way the angle made him brush against her G-spot. He bit his lip to stay quiet, and she managed to keep a lid on her own moans, but they couldn’t do anything about the wet, juicy sounds they made every time they connected.

  The sounds got louder as Charles increased the pace. A soft groan escaped him when Sandra nipped his neck above his collar, and when she rubbed his nipple through his shirt, he gasped. His head fell back, and his throat worked, and he looked so goddamn incredible. He always did. He looked overwhelmed, a man unused to pleasure, unaccustomed to letting go.

  “Shh,” Sandra whispered. He gasped, and she added, “We’ve got to be quiet.” It was time to bring out the big guns. “So quiet.”

  So far, she hadn’t found anything that made him crazier than what she was about to do. His breath caught, as if he realized what was happening right before she began to clench on him, deeply and rhythmically.

  Charles froze. His breath caught. For a second he stood there, rigid against her while she worked him, gave him everything she had.

  Then he groaned, “Darling,” shifted his hips backward, and slammed so powerfully into her that she had to muffle a wail against his shoulder. Now it was Sandra’s turn to hang on for the ride as he took her, pounding into her as if he couldn’t help himself, seeking his release like a man pushed past endurance.

  She gently scratched her nails over the back of his neck, and he found it. Charles pressed his mouth to the side of her neck to silence his own cry while he shuddered, pulsing as he came. She felt his warmth spreading deep inside her.

  When he had finished, he relaxed against her with a groan of pure relief. She grinned stupidly up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Okay. That had gone well.

  They panted together for a few moments, reluctant to disengage. When he had his breath back, Charles kissed her beneath her ear and whispered, “Naughty.”

  “Nice,” she corrected. She rubbed her hands soothingly up and down his back, thinking about the muscles beneath the jacket. She loved his strength. “I’m always nice to you. And sweet.”

  Charles gave a rough chuckle. “If this is you being nice and sweet, I don’t think I could handle anything worse.”

  Sandra nuzzled the silver-tipped hair at his temple and sighed, hugely contented. It was heaven to be so close to him after two whole days without. But eventually her back started complaining about the concrete wall, since her coat wasn’t much of a cushion.

  She sighed again and shifted her hips. He grunted in acknowledgement and began to pull out. Sandra realized what was about to happen, and winced when she felt the gush of come dripping down her thighs—and on his pants.

  Charles winced too when he looked down and saw it. “Damn.”

  Saundra laughed breathlessly. “Hope your drycleaner knows how to keep his mouth shut.” She stepped away from the wall and took off her coat. She definitely didn’t need it now that her body was flushed with heat.

  But when she folded it over her arms, she saw that the wool on the back had pilled and torn where she’d been rubbing up against the wall. Charles sighed when he looked at that, too. “A little enthusiastic, was I?”

  “You owe me two shirts and a coat,” Sandra said, enjoying his look of chagrin.

  “But no cab rides?” he asked, with an arched eyebrow that might have been impressive under other circumstances. Sandra couldn’t help a giggle. Here they were, all rumpled and sweaty from fucking their brains out in a public place, a razor’s edge away from discovery because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  Everybody outside this stairwell thought they were stuffy and proper.

  Sandra kept smiling while Charles tucked himself back into his pants and she slid her skirt decorously down. “So, uh, what now?” she asked.

  “My office has an en suite bathroom.” He kissed her forehead. “With a shower.”

  “Ooh.” Getting rid of the sweat and stickiness sounded like paradise. “Lead the way.”

  He glanced down the stairs with a sigh. Then he bent down to pick up his tie. “I’ll let you in.”

  Sandra realized that of course he’d have to take the guarded elevator. And even if he put his tie back on, that still wasn’t going to fix his flushed face, or—oh shit—the pretty obvious evidence on his pants. At least she hadn’t marked him with any lipstick or perfume.

  “Um,” she said. “You’re, you’re kind of…”

  Charles shrugged. “He won’t say anything. As long as he doesn’t see you, it doesn’t matter.”

  “I guess,” Sandra said feebly. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around that attitude. Charles seemed to see his employees as automatons without feelings or motivations—even Warrick, the family butler who adored him. Maybe it was because everyone obeyed him without demur, so far as she could tell. She wondered what happened to people who didn’t.

  The thought made her uneasy, and she found herself glancing back toward the locked door that stood between them and his office. Then she blinked at the doorknob. “Um,” she said, “wait a second.”

  “What?” Charles asked as he put his tie back on.

  “This lock looks like the ones on all the Pratt studio doors. I didn’t notice earlier.” She went to the door and scrutinized the lock. Sure enough, there was the name of the manufacturer. She must have let herself through a thousand doors with these locks. “Uh…let me see your card again.”

  He frowned. “It won’t work. You saw it. I tried four times.”

  “Yeah, but—there’s a little trick to it. I mean, there was on all the ones at school. It was weird, but everybody knew it. You just have to…come on, let me try.”

  He pulled the card out of his wallet. Sandra swiped it downward through the lock, but more slowly than he had, and paused slightly in the middle before sliding it all the way down.

  The light turned green and the door unlocked.

  Sandra clapped her hand over her mouth just one more time, to stifle a laugh. “Oh my God.”

  He scowled at her. “You didn’t notice this before?”

  “No! I swear.” She grinned as she handed back the card. “Trust me, I was looking forward to that couch.”

  “Hmph.” He glanced at the wall where they�
�d just been screwing with no regard for the consequences. Then he quirked his lips and looked back at Sandra. “Well…sometimes unplanned things work out for the best.”

  * * *

  Charles’s office bathroom was a welcome surprise. It wasn’t as nice as the one in his house, of course, but she’d sort of expected a tiny shower cubicle designed to take up as little space as possible, and for emergency use only.

  Nope. He had a walk-in shower with mosaic tile and brass fixtures. Egyptian cotton towels were neatly folded over a rack, and a plush white terrycloth bathrobe hung from a hook on the door.

  The shower wasn’t quite big enough for two, though, so he let her go first. Sandra avoided getting her hair wet, since she was pretty sure he wouldn’t have a hair dryer, and enjoyed scrubbing herself clean with his soap. He evidently hadn’t used the shower in a while; the soap’s surface was tough and dry. But it softened immediately beneath the warm water, and turned creamy and luxurious on her skin. It felt intimate to use the same soap he did, knowing they would share a scent for a couple of hours.

  When she toweled off, Sandra contemplated her sweaty, rumpled clothes. Then she put on his bathrobe and padded back into his office, carrying the clothes in her arms.

  Charles, sitting at his desk (of course), raised an amused eyebrow at the sight of her. “Two shirts, a coat, and you’re hijacking my bathrobe?”

  “Small price to pay for ravishing me,” Sandra said blithely. She rolled her shoulders. The plush material felt so decadent against her freshly scrubbed skin.

  “I must agree, but you’re drowning in it,” he pointed out.

  He was right. The sleeves covered her hands, and the hem—which would have ended mid-calf on him—brushed her ankles.

  “I’ll live,” she said. “You can have it back when I go.”

  “Then what I am supposed to do?”

  Sandra grinned as she put her clothes on one of the sofas. “Maybe this is my cunning plan to get you in a towel and nothing else.”