Five

Jennie

There were eighty-three vents, twenty-nine screws, five blades, and four bulbs on the ceiling fan above my bed. I rolled to my side, certain muscles mocking me and providing undeniable proof of why I was unable to sleep.

"I want you to watch. And tomorrow when you're sore, I want you to remember who did it to you."

She wasn't kidding.

Without realizing it, my hand had traveled to my breast, absently twisting my nipple beneath my tank top. Closing my eyes, the touch of my own hands turned into her in my memory. Her long, graceful fingers ghosting along the undersides of my breasts, her thumbs brushing my nipples, cupping me in her palms . . . damn it. I let out a loud sigh and kicked a pillow off my bed. I knew exactly where this train of thought was headed. I had done this exact same thing three nights in a row and it had to stop now. With a huff I rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes tight, willing sleep to come. As if that ever worked.

I still remembered, with perfect clarity, the day almost a year and a half ago when Marco asked me up to his office for a talk. I'd started at MMG working as a junior assistant for Marco when I was in college. When my mother died, Marco had taken me under his wing; not so much a father figure, but certainly as a caring and warm mentor who had me to his home for dinner to keep an eye on my emotional state. He'd insisted his door would always be open for me. But on that particular morning, when he phoned my office, he sounded uncharacteristically formal, and frankly I was scared shitless.

In his office, he'd explained how his daughter had lived in Paris for the past six years, working as a marketing executive for Celine. This daughter, Lisa, was finally coming home, and in six months would take over the position of chief operating officer at Manoban Media. Marco knew I was a year into my business degree and was looking into internship options that would give me the critical hands-on experience I needed. He insisted I complete my master's internship at MMG and that the oldest Manoban would be more than thrilled to have me on her team.

Marco handed me the company-wide memo that would circulate the following week to announce Lisa Manoban's arrival.

Wow. That was my only thought as I looked over the paper on my way back to my office. Executive VP of product marketing at Celine in Paris. Youngest nominee ever featured in the Crain's "Forty Under 40" list, published several times in the Wall Street Journal. A dual MBA from NYU-Stern School of Business and HEC Paris, where she specialized in corporate finance and global business, graduating summa cum laude. All by the age of thirty. Christ.

What was it Marco had said? Extremely driven? That was an understatement if I'd ever heard one.

Louis had hinted that his sister didn't quite share her laid-back personality, but when I'd seemed concerned he quickly put my mind at ease. "She has a tendency to be a bit stiff and completely anal retentive at times, but don't worry about it, Jennie. You can handle her bark; you guys are going to be a great team. I mean, come on," he said, wrapping his large arm around me. "How could she not love you?"

I hated to admit it now, but by the time she was set to arrive, I had developed a bit of a crush on Lisa Manoban. I was extremely anxious about working with her, but I was also impressed with everything she'd accomplished in her relatively short life. Looking up her picture online didn't hurt either: the woman was a specimen. We communicated through e-mail leading up to her arrival, and although she seemed nice enough, she was never overly friendly.

On the big day, Lisa wasn't due in until after the board meeting that afternoon, when she would be officially introduced. I had the entire day to work myself up into a ball of nerves. Being the good friend she is, Jisoo came upstairs to distract me. She sat in my chair and we spent over an hour discussing the merits of the Clerks movies.

Soon I was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face. I didn't notice that Jisoo stiffened when the outer office door opened, and I didn't notice that someone was now standing behind me. And though Jisoo tried to warn me with a swift hand across the throat—the universal sign for "shut the fuck up"—I ignored her.

Because, apparently, I'm an idiot.

"And then," I said, giggling and holding onto my sides, "she says, 'Fuck, I had to take a fucking order off a guy I blew after junior prom once.' And then he says, 'Yeah, I've waited on your brother too.'"

Another bout of laughter hit me, and I stumbled backward a bit until I collided with something soft and warm.

Spinning around, I was mortified to see that I had just ground my ass onto my new boss' thigh.

"Ms. Manoban!" I said, recognizing her from her photographs. "I'm so sorry!"

She did not look amused.

In an attempt to ease the tension, Jisoo stood and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Jisoo Kim, Louis assistant."

My new boss simply glanced at her hand without returning the gesture and raised one of her perfect eyebrows. "Don't you mean 'Mr. Manoban'?"

Jisoo's hand slowly fell as she watched her, obviously flustered. Something about her physical presence was so intimidating she was at a loss for words. When she recovered, she stuttered, "Well . . . we are fairly casual around here. We're all on a first-name basis. This is your assistant, Jennie."

She nodded to me. "Miss Kim. You will refer to me as Ms. Manoban. And I expect you in my office in five minutes so that we may discuss proper workplace decorum." Her voice was serious when she spoke, and she nodded curtly to Jisoo. "Miss Kim."

Sliding her gaze to mine for another moment, she turned on her heel toward her new office and I watched in horror as the first of her infamous door slams took place.

"What a bastard!" Jisoo mumbled between tight lips.

"A beautiful bastard," I replied.

Hoping to smooth things over, I went down to the café to get her a cup of coffee. I'd even asked Louis how she took it—black. When I nervously made it back to her office door, my knock was followed by an abrupt "come in," and I willed my hands to stop shaking. I curved my lips into a friendly smile, intent on making a better impression this time, and opened the door to her talking on the phone and writing furiously on the notepad in front of her. My breath caught when I heard her smooth, deep voice speaking in flawless French.

"Ce sera parfait. Non. Non, ce n'est pas nécessaire. Seulement quatre. Oui. Quatre. Merci, Ivan."

She ended the call but never lifted her eyes from her papers to greet me. Once I was standing in front of her desk, she addressed me in the same stern tone as before. "In the future, Miss Kim, you will keep all non-workplace-related conversations outside of the office. We're paying you to work, not gossip. Do I make myself clear?"

I stood speechless for a moment until she lifted her eyes to meet mine, raising an eyebrow. I shook myself out of my trance, all at once realizing the truth about Lisa Manoban: although she was even more breathtakingly gorgeous in person than in photos, she was not at all like I had imagined. And she was absolutely nothing like her parents and brother.

"Very clear, ma'am," I said as I walked around her desk to set her coffee in front of her.

But just as I was about to reach her desk, my heel caught on the rug and I lunged forward. I heard a loud "Shit!" escape her lips—the coffee now nothing more than a scorching stain on her expensive suit.

"Oh my God, Ms. Manoban, I am so sorry!"

I rushed over to the sink in her bathroom to grab a towel and ran back, falling to my knees in front of her and attempting to wipe off the stain. In my haste, and in the midst of humiliation I didn't think could get any worse, it suddenly occurred to me that I was furiously rubbing the towel against her crotch. I averted my eyes and hand, feeling a heated blush spread from my face down my neck as I caught a glimpse of the noticeable bulge in the front of her pants.

"You may go now, Miss Kim."

I nodded, rushing out of the office, mortified that I'd made such a horrible first impression.

Thankfully, I proved myself pretty quickly after that. There were times when she even seemed impressed with me, although she was always short and on edge. I chalked it up to her being a giant asshat, but I had always wondered if there was something specific about me that rubbed her the wrong way.

Besides that towel, of course.

When I arrived at work, I bumped into Jisoo on my way to the elevator. We made plans to have lunch next week and said good-bye as she reached her floor. Arriving at the eighteenth floor, I noticed Ms. Manoban's office door was closed as usual, so I couldn't tell if she was here yet. I turned on the computer and tried to mentally prepare myself for the day. Lately, anxiety hit every time I sat in this chair.

I knew I would see her this morning; we went over the schedule for the coming week every Friday. But I never knew what kind of mood she would be in.

Although her temper had been even worse lately, her last words to me yesterday had been, "Get the garter belt too." And I had. In fact, I was wearing it now. Why? I had no idea. What in the hell had she meant by that? Did she think she was going to see it? No fucking way. Then why had I worn it? I swear to God, if she rips it . . . I stopped myself before I could finish.

Of course she wouldn't rip it. I was never going to give her the chance.

Keep telling yourself that, Kim.

Answering some e-mails, editing the Papadakis contract for intellectual property issues, and making a few hotel inquiries took my mind off the situation for a bit, and about an hour later her office door opened. Looking up, I was met with a very businesslike Ms. Manoban. Her dark, two-button suit was impeccable. She looked calm and completely at ease. No trace remained of the wild woman who had fucked me in the La Perla dressing room approximately eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago. Not that I was counting.

"Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded once and turned back to her office.

Okay, so that's how this was going to play out. Fine by me. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting but was somewhat relieved that things weren't different. Things between us were getting more and more intense, and it would mean a harder crash when it all stopped and I was left to pick up the pieces of my career. I hoped we could limp through this without further disaster until I finished my degree.

I followed her into her office and took a seat. I began going over the list of tasks and appointments that needed her attention. She listened without comment, jotting things down or entering them into her computer when needed.

"There's a meeting with Red Hawk Publishing scheduled for three this afternoon. Your father and brother are also planning to attend. It will probably take up the rest of the afternoon, so your calendar has been cleared . . ." And so it went, until eventually we got to the part I'd been dreading.

"Lastly, the JT Miller Marketing Insight Conference is in San Diego next month," I said, suddenly becoming interested in what I was doodling in my calendar. The pause that followed seemed to drag forever, and I glanced up to see what was taking so long. She was staring at me, tapping a gold pen on the desk, her face completely void of any expression.

"Will you be accompanying me?" she asked.

"Yes." My one word created a suffocating silence in the room. I had no idea what she was thinking as we looked at each other. "It's in the terms of the scholarship that I attend. I, uh, also think it'd be good to have me there to, um, help manage your affairs."

"Make all the necessary arrangements," she said with an air of finality as she resumed typing on her computer. Assuming I had been dismissed, I stood and began walking toward the door.

"Miss Kim."

I turned to look at her, and even though she didn't meet my gaze, she almost seemed nervous. Well, that was different.

"My mother has asked me to extend an invitation to you for dinner next week."

"Oh." I felt heat bloom across my cheeks. "Well, please tell her I'll look at my schedule." I turned to leave again.

"I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend."

Turning back slowly, I saw she was now staring at me, and she definitely looked uncomfortable. "And why exactly should you do that?"

"Well," she said before clearing her throat, "apparently she has someone she would like you to meet."

This was new. I'd known the Manoban's for years, and although Mrs. Manoba might have mentioned a name in passing, she'd never actively tried to fix me up with anyone.

"Your mother is trying to set me up?" I asked walking back toward her desk and folding my arms over my chest.

"So it seems." Something in her face didn't quite fit her nonchalant answer.

"Why?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Her brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. "How the hell would I know? It's not like we sit around discussing you," she growled. "Maybe she's worried that with that sparkling personality of yours you'll end up an old spinster wearing muumuus and living in a house full of cats."

Leaning forward with my palms on her desk I glared at her. "Well, maybe she should be more worried that her daughter will turn into a dirty old woman who spends her time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores."

Jumping out of her chair, she leaned toward me, her face furious. "You know, you are the most—" She was cut off as the phone rang. We stared fiercely at each other from across the desk, both of us breathing heavily. For a moment, I thought she would throw me across the desk. For another moment, I wanted her to. Still glaring at me, she reached for the phone.

"Yes," she barked sharply into the receiver, her eyes never leaving mine. "George! Hello. Yes, I have a minute."

She lowered herself back into her desk chair, and I lingered to see if she needed anything from me while she talked to Mr. Papadakis. She held up her index finger for me to wait before she slid it over her pen, rolling it across her desk as she listened to the call.

"You need me to stay?" I asked.

She nodded once before speaking into the phone, "I don't think you'd need to be that specific at this stage, George." The deep alto of her voice vibrated down my spine. "Just a general outline is fine. We need to know the scope of this proposal before we can move into drafting."

I shifted where I stood. She was such an egomaniac, making me stand here like I was holding a plate of grapes and fanning her while she spoke to a colleague.

She looked up at me and did a slight double take, her eyes dropping to my skirt. When she looked back up, her lips opened slightly, as if she would ask me something were she able. And then she reached forward, pen poised between her finger and thumb, and used the tip of it to lift the hem of my skirt up my thigh.

Her eyes widened when she saw the garter.

"I understand," she murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. "I think we can agree that's a positive development."

Her eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to pound. When she looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto her lap and bind her to the chair with her tie.

"No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary outline."

I slipped around her desk and sat in the chair across from her. She raised an eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between her teeth, biting down.

Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in her office, and to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.

"Yes, I see," she said, but her voice was deeper even still, hoarse now.

My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as she did. It was as if she took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and said, "These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I'm offering you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you'll crave it. You'll crave me."

And if she'd said that out loud, she would have been right.

"Yes," she said again. "I think that's the ideal path forward."

You do, do you? I smiled at her, chewing my lip, and she gave me a devilish half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.

Ms. Manoban coughed and fumbled for her water glass. "That's fine, George. We'll take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline."

I began moving my hand, thinking of her long fingers rolling the pen, those very hands grabbing my hips and waist and thighs when she drove into me in the lingerie store.

I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped. I imagined her hands and taut forearms, muscles tensing beneath skin as her fingers moved inside me. Her legs in front of my face the night in the conference room, tight and sculpted, struggling to keep from thrusting.

Those eyes, on me, dark and pleading.

I looked up to see them exactly as I imagined, not watching my hand but seeing her hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be her touch doing this to me instead of my own.

At some point, her call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the silent room. She sat across from me, sweat beading her brow, her hands gripping the arms of her desk chair as if she'd been thrown into the wind.

"What are you doing to me?" she asked quietly.

I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. "I'm pretty sure I just did that to myself."

Her brow lifted. "Indeed."

I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. "If that will be all, Ms. Manoban, I'll get back to work."

By the time I returned from freshening up in the restroom, I had a text message from Ms. Manoban, informing me that she would meet me in the parking garage to head downtown. Thank God the other executives and their assistants would be going to the Red Hawk meeting. I knew from our history that if I had to sit in a limo with that woman alone for twenty minutes—especially after what I just did—there were only two possible outcomes. And only one of them ended with her balls intact.

The limo was waiting right outside, and as I made my way to it our driver smiled widely to me and opened the door. "Hey, Jennie, how's work?"

"Busy, fun, never-ending. How's school?" I smiled back. Stuart was my favorite driver, and although he had a tendency to be a bit of a flirt, he always made me smile.

"If I could drop physics and still graduate with a degree in biology, I would. Too bad you aren't a scientist or you could tutor me," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"If you two are finished, we actually have somewhere important to be. Maybe you can flirt with Miss Kim on your own time." Ms. Manoban was apparently already inside waiting for me, and she glared at the two of us as she retreated back into the car. I grinned and rolled my eyes at Stuart before stepping inside.

Aside from Ms. Manoban, the car was empty. "Where are the others?" I asked, confused, as we pulled away.

"They have a dinner meeting later this evening and decided to drive separately." She busied herself with her printouts. I couldn't help but notice the way she was nervously tapping her fancy Italian oxfords.

I eyed her suspiciously. She didn't look any different. In fact, she looked sexier than hell. Her hair was its usual perfect mess. As she absentmindedly lifted her gold pen to her lips, just as she had in her office earlier, I actually had to shift in my seat to ease my discomfort.

When she looked up, the smirk on her face let me know I had been caught ogling her. "See something you like?" she asked.

"Not back here," I replied with a smirk of my own. And just because I knew it would get to her, I purposely recrossed my legs, making sure my skirt rode up a bit more than was appropriate. Maybe she needed to remember who could win at this game. The scowl was back in an instant. Mission accomplished.

The eighteen and a half minutes left of our twenty-minute drive were spent trading dirty looks across the car while I tried to pretend I wasn't fantasizing about having her pretty head between my legs.

Needless to say, by the time we got there, I was in a bad mood.

The next three hours passed at a snail's pace. The other executives arrived and introductions were made all around. A particularly striking woman named Keana seemed to take an immediate interest in my boss. She was in her early thirties with thick brown hair, luminous dark eyes, and a body to die for. And of course, the panty-dropping smile was in full force as Lisa nearly charmed her unconscious the entire afternoon.

Asshole.

When we walked into the office at the end of the day, after an even more tense drive back, it still seemed like Ms. Manoban had something to say. And if she didn't do it soon, I was going to explode. When I wanted her to be quiet, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. But when I needed her to say something, she became a mute.

A sense of déjà vu and dread filled me as we made our way through the semi deserted building and toward the elevator. The second those gold doors closed I wished I were anywhere but standing next to her. Was there suddenly less oxygen in here? As I glanced at her reflection in the polished doors, it was hard to tell how she felt. She'd loosened her tie and her suit jacket was slung over her arm. During the meeting, she'd rolled the sleeves of her dress shirt partway up her forearms. Other than the constant clenching of her jaw and her downcast eyes, she looked completely calm.

When we reached the eighteenth floor, I let out a giant breath. That had to have been the longest forty-two seconds of my life. I followed her through the door, trying to keep my eyes off her as she quickly entered her own office. But to my surprise, she didn't close the door behind her. She always closed her door.

I quickly checked my messages and wrapped up a few last-minute details before I could leave for the weekend. I don't think I'd ever been in more of a hurry to get out of here. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The last time we were alone on this floor I had made a pretty quick getaway. Damn, if there was ever a time to not think about that, it would be now, in the empty office. Just me and her.

She left her office right as I was gathering my things, placing an ivory envelope on my desk and continuing to the door without pausing. What the hell was this? Quickly opening the envelope, I saw my name on several pieces of elegant ivory paper. It was paperwork for a private credit account at La Perla, with Ms. Lisa Manoban as the account holder.

She opened a credit account for me?

"What the hell is this?" I said, seething. I jumped from my chair and asked, "You got me a line of credit?"

Stopping midstride and hesitating slightly, she turned to face me. "After your little show today, I made a phone call and arranged for you to purchase whatever you . . . need. Of course there's no limit on the account," she stated flatly, having wiped all trace of discomfort from her face. This is why she was such a master at what she did. She had an uncanny ability to regain control of any situation. But did she honestly think she could control me?

"So, to be clear," I said, shaking my head and trying to keep some semblance of calm, "you arranged to buy me underwear."

"Well, just to replace the things that I—" she stopped, possibly rethinking her response. "The things that have been damaged. If you don't want it, don't fucking use it," she hissed before turning to leave again.

"You son of a bitch." I moved to stand in front of her, the crisp stationery now a mangled ball of paper in my clenched fist. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think I'm some plaything you can just dress up for your amusement?" I didn't know who I was angrier with: her for thinking of me that way, or me for allowing this thing to start in the first place.

She scoffed, "Oh yes. I find this absolutely hilarious."

"Take this and stick it up your ass." I shoved the ivory paper into her chest and grabbed my purse, turning and literally sprinting to the elevator. What an egotistical, womanizing ass.

Logically I knew that she hadn't meant to insult me, at least I hoped not. But this? This was exactly why you don't fuck your boss, why you definitely don't get off and give her a little show in her office.

Apparently, I missed that part of orientation.

"Miss Kim!" she shouted, but I ignored her and stepped into the elevator. Come on, I said to myself as I repeatedly pushed the button for the parking garage. Her face appeared just as the doors closed and I smiled to myself as I flipped her off. Real mature, Jennie.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" I yelled into the empty elevator, practically stomping my feet. That bastard had ripped her last pair of panties.

The elevator chimed, signaling that I'd reached the garage, and, muttering to myself, I made my way to my car. The garage was dimly lit and mine was one of the only cars left on this level, but I was too furious to even give it a second thought. I'd hate to see the unlucky prick who dared mess with me right now. Just as that thought entered my mind, I heard the stairwell door burst open and Ms. Manoban call out from behind me.

"Christ! Will you fucking wait?" she shouted. It did not escape my attention that she was out of breath. I suppose sprinting down eighteen flights of stairs would do that to a person.

Unlocking my car, I jerked open the door and threw my purse onto the passenger seat. "What the hell do you want, Manoban?"

"God, can you take it out of bitch mode for two seconds and listen to me?"

I spun around to face her. "Do you think I'm some kind of whore?"

A hundred different emotions flashed across her face: anger, shock, confusion, hate, and fuck me if she didn't look delicious. She'd opened the collar of her shirt, her hair was an absolute mess, and the bead of sweat running down the side of her jaw was not helping the situation. I was determined to stay mad.

Keeping a careful distance, she shook her head. "Jesus," she said, looking around the garage. "You think I see you as a whore? No! It was just in case—" She stopped, trying to organize her thoughts. She seemed to finally give up, jaw clenched.

The rage was coursing through me so strongly that before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. The sound cracked through the empty garage. With a shocked and furious glare, she reached up and touched the spot where I had struck her.

"You may be my boss, but you do not get to decide how this works."

The silence stretched before us, the sounds of the traffic and the outside world barely registering in my consciousness. "You know," she began with a dark stare, taking a single step toward me, "I didn't hear you complaining."

Oh, that smooth fucker.

"Against the window." Another step. "In the elevator and stairwell. In the dressing room while you watched me fuck you." And another. "When you spread your legs in my office today, I didn't hear one word of protest out of that fucking mouth of yours."

My chest was heaving, and I could feel the cool metal of my car through the thin material of my dress. Even with my shoes, she still stood a full head above me, and when she leaned down, I could feel her warm breath against my hair. All I had to do was look up, and our mouths would meet.

"Well, I'm over it," I said through clenched teeth, but each labored breath brought me a brief moment of relief as my chest grazed against her.

"Of course you are," she whispered, shaking her head and moving even closer, her erection pressing into my stomach. She braced her hands against the car, trapping me. "Completely over it."

"Except . . . maybe . . ." I said, not sure whether I meant to say it out loud.

"Maybe just one more time?" Her lips barely brushed mine.

It was too gentle, too real.

Turning my face up, I whispered against her mouth, "I don't want to want this. It's not good for me."

Her nostrils flared slightly and just when I thought I would go insane, she took my lower lip roughly between her and pulled me to her. Growling into my mouth, she deepened the kiss and pushed me forcefully against the car. Like last time, she reached up and removed the pins from my hair.

Our kisses were teasing then rough, coming together and pulling apart, hands fisting in hair and tongues sliding against each other. I gasped as she bent her knees slightly, grinding her cock against me.

"God," I moaned, wrapping my leg around her and digging my heel into her thigh.

"I know." She exhaled heavily into my mouth. Looking down at my leg and cupping my ass with her hand, she gave it a rough squeeze and murmured, "Have I told you how fucking hot those shoes are? What are you trying to do to me with those wicked little bows?"

"Well, there's another bow somewhere else but you'll need some luck finding it."

She pulled away. "Get in the fucking car," she said, her voice rumbling deep in her throat as she yanked the door open.

I glared at her, willing rational thought to penetrate my clouded brain. What should I do? What did I want? Could I just let her have my body like this again? I was so overwhelmed, I was trembling. Rational thought was quickly abandoning me as I felt her hand run up my neck and into my hair.

Gripping it tightly she jerked my head toward her and stared into my eyes. "Now."

The decision was made, and once again I wrapped her tie around my wrist, pulling her into the backseat. Once the door closed behind her, she wasted no time going for the ties on the front of my dress. I groaned as I felt her part the material and run her hands across my bare skin. Pushing me back to lie on the cool leather and kneeling between my legs, she placed her palm between my breasts, slowly moving down my abdomen to the lace garter belt. Her fingers traced the delicate ribbons to the edge of my stockings and back up again, moving to run across the edge of my panties. The muscles of my abdomen clenched with every movement and I tried to control my breathing. Fingering the tiny white bows, she looked up at me and said, "Luck has nothing to do with it."

I pulled her to me by her shirt and slid my tongue into her mouth, groaning as her palm pressed against me. Our lips searched; our kisses grew long and deep, gaining urgency with every inch of skin uncovered. I pulled her shirt from her pants and explored the smooth skin over her ribs, the sharp definition of muscle at her hips.

Wanting to tease her the way she was teasing me, I ran my fingers across her belt and to the hard shape of her beneath her pants.

She groaned into my mouth. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

"Tell me," I whispered back. I was using her words against her, and just knowing the tables were turned for the moment spurred me on. "Tell me and I'll give you what you want."

She moaned and bit her lip, her forehead pressed against mine as she shivered. "I want you to fuck me."

Her hands were shaking as she gripped my new panties in her fist, and as insane as it was, I wanted her to rip them. The raw passion between us was unlike anything I'd ever experienced; I didn't want her holding back. Without a word, she tore them from me, the pain of the fabric pulling across my skin only adding to the pleasure.

I pulled my leg forward and pushed her back and off me. Sitting up, I shoved her against the seat back and straddled her lap. I grabbed her shirt and yanked it open, sending the buttons scattering along the seat.

I was lost to everything but her and this. The feel of the air against my skin, the ragged sounds of our breathing, the heat of her kiss, and the thought of what lay ahead. With frantic hands I undid her belt and pants, and with her help managed to get them down her legs. The tip of her cock grazed my entrance and I closed my eyes, slowly sliding down over her.

"Oh, God," I groaned, the sensation of her inside me only making the bittersweet ache intensify. Lifting my hips, I began to ride her, each movement feeling more intense than the one before. The pain from her rough fingertips on my hips only fueled my lust. Her eyes were closed and her moans were muffled against my breast. Moving her lips across my lace bra she pulled one cup down and took my hardened nipple between her teeth. I gripped her hair tightly and elicited a moan from her, her mouth opening around my skin.

"Bite me," I whispered.

She bit down, hard, making me cry out and pull harder on her hair.

My body was so in tune with her, it reacted to her every look and touch and sound. I both hated and loved how she made me feel. I'd never been one to lose control, but when she touched me like this, I happily threw it out the window.

"Do you like feeling my teeth?" she asked, her breath short and jagged. "Do you fantasize about where else I could bite you?"

I pushed on her chest and stared up at her. "You just don't know when to shut your mouth, do you?"

She lifted me off and roughly threw me down onto the seat. Pushing my legs apart she thrust back into me. My car was too small for this, but there was nothing that could have stopped us now. Even with her legs bent awkwardly below her and my arms braced above me to protect my head from the door, it was almost too much.

Pulling herself onto her knees and into a more comfortable position, she picked up one of my legs and placed it over her shoulder, forcing her cock deeper inside me.

"Oh, God, yes."

"Yeah?" She lifted my other leg to rest across her other shoulder. Reaching out, she gripped the door frame and used it for leverage to deepen her thrusts. "Is that how you like it?" The change in angle caused me to gasp, as the most delicious sensations spread throughout my body.

"No." With my hands pushing off the door, I lifted my hips off the seat to meet each motion of her hips. "I like it harder."

"Fuck," she murmured as she turned her head slightly, her open mouth leaving wet kisses up and down my leg. By now our bodies were glistening with sweat, the windows were completely fogged up, and our groans filled the silent space of the car. The dim glow from the garage lights emphasized every carved indentation and muscle of the masterpiece above me. I watched her in awe, her body straining with the effort, her hair mussed and sticking to her damp forehead, the tendons in her neck pulled tight.

Ducking her head between her outstretched arms, she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. "Oh, God," she panted. "I just . . . I can't stop."

I arched to get closer, needing to find a way to pull her deeper, more completely into me. I'd never wanted to consume another body as rabidly as I did when she was inside me, but even like this, I could never seem to get close enough to the parts of her I wanted to feel. And it was with that thought in my mind that the delicious, ratcheting tension along my skin and in my belly crystallized into an ache so heavy I slipped my legs off her shoulders, pulling all of her weight on top of me and pleading, "Please, please, please," over and over.

I was so close. So close.

My hips circled, and her hips answered rough but steady, as savage above as I was underneath. "So fucking close, please."

"Anything," she growled in reply, before bending to bite my lip and growl. "Take fucking anything."

I screamed as I came, my nails digging into her back and the taste of her sweat on my lips.

She swore, her voice deep and hoarse, and with one last powerful thrust she tensed above me.

Exhausted and shaking, she collapsed with her face against my neck. I couldn't resist the urge to run my trembling hands through her damp hair as we lay there panting, her heart racing against my chest. A million thoughts skittered through my mind as the minutes passed.

Slowly, our breathing calmed and I almost thought she'd fallen asleep when she moved her head away.

My sweaty body was instantly chilled as she started getting dressed. I watched her for a moment before sitting up and putting on my dress, feeling heavily ambivalent. More than just physically fulfilling, sex with her was some of the most fun I'd had in a long time.

But she was such an asshole.

"I assume you'll ignore the account. I realize this can't happen again," she said, startling me from my own thoughts. I turned to look at her. She was shrugging on her torn shirt, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Moments passed before she turned to look at me. "Say something so I know you've heard me."

"Tell your mom I'll be there for dinner, Ms. Manoban. And get the hell out of my car."