Purely Professional (6 page)

“Real sex?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, ‘real’ sex.”

She thought for a moment, then got embarrassed that she had to think about it. “A little over a year. Fourteen months.”

“One-night stand, or relationship?”

“Second date.” She grimaced. “He cried afterward.”

“It was that bad?”

“No. He was a pussy.”

Max turned back to his laptop, smiling. “Are you on birth control?”

“I have an IUD. And I’m clean too. I got tested at my last annual, just to be sure. What about you? When’s the last time you were tested?” Bridget tried not to sound accusatory, but she’d seen a lot of strange cars at his house.

“Last month.” Max adjusted the glasses on his nose. “If we go through with this, it’s best if we both have no other partners while we’re together. Is that all right?”

“It’s been fourteen months.” Bridget took up her wineglass to have more. “I’m not the one with a steady parade of women showing up at all hours of the day and night. I hope you have them all on speed dial to cancel your rendezvouses. Rendezvousi. Whatever you call them.”

“The plural of rendezvous is rendezvous,” Max said, pronouncing the
s
on the plural, still not looking up from his typing. “And I don’t have a ‘steady parade of women showing up all hours of the day and night.’ Lay off the wine.”

Bridget stuck her tongue out at him, her nervousness making her feel a little reckless and cocky, but she set the glass back down on the table.

“So why so long?” Max looked up.

That question was easy to answer. “My career comes first. Relationships take time. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get where I am, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

Max shook his head. “I get it, you don’t do relationships. But you don’t need a relationship to have sex. You’re a beautiful woman. If you wanted a sex partner, it would be easy to get one.”

Bridget paused, a bit flustered. “Well, sex gets complicated. And I don’t want anything complicated.”

He pointed back and forth between the two of them. “This might get complicated. We’re neighbors, and at least kind of friends. This is more than just hopping in the sack for a night. This is intimate.”

“We’ll keep it from getting complicated, then.” Bridget shrugged. “We’re both smart, independent people, right? And I’m doing it for work, so that makes it easy.” The fact that he starred in all her sexual fantasies probably wasn’t going to help uncomplicate things, but he didn’t need to know that.

“If you say so.” Max looked up, fingers poised over the keys. “How often do you masturbate?”

All right, it was going this direction now. In some ways, this felt
less
personal than the previous questions. “A few times a week. Three times, maybe? Sometimes more. Depends on the week.”

“Right, fourteen months without sex.” He kept typing, revealing nothing. “Do you own any sex toys?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Be specific.”

“A dildo and a vibrator. Oh, and a pair of handcuffs.”

“Ever use them?”

“Of course. They’re sex toys. I don’t have them as coffee table decorations.” Bridget rolled her eyes.

“The handcuffs too?” Max clarified.

“No, not those. I told you last week at Starbucks, I’ve never done that.”

“Why’d you buy them, then?” Max folded his hands on the keyboard, curious.

Bridget paused, struggling to answer the question. Why
had
she bought them? “I thought they might be fun.”

“So you only have two sex toys?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“It depends on my mood.”

Max crossed his ankle over his knee and studied her over his glasses, not typing anymore. “Ever had sex with a woman?”

“No.”

“Ever fantasized about it?”

She studied him. “Maybe.”

“Maybe’s not an honest answer.”

“All right, yes. But I fantasize about a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

Bridget paused. How much should she reveal? He’d said trust was essential, but she didn’t want to just confess everything right away.

“You’re blushing.” Max’s smile was teasing. “What’s making you blush?”

“All right. Most of my lovers have been…less experienced than me. I sometimes wonder what it would be like with someone who knows what he’s doing.” There, that was innocuous enough, right? He didn’t have to know the dirty details.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, turning back to his computer.

“Ever been in a threesome?”

“No. What is this, some kind of purity test?”

He ignored that comment. “Ever had anal sex?”

“No.”

“Do you own any lingerie?”

“Not really. A silk nightgown. A garter belt and stockings.”

“What are your boundaries? Is there anything you wouldn’t try?” Max’s hands hovered above the keyboard as he waited for her answer.

Bridget paused. “I don’t really know what my options are,” she admitted. “I guess I would be open to just about anything, but I don’t know what I’d actually
like
.”

“You probably won’t know until you try it.” Max’s word choice wasn’t lost on Bridget. Somewhere during the conversation, this had stopped being hypothetical. He finished typing and looked up again. “All right. What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?”

Bridget thought for a moment. “I fucked a boyfriend in a park once.”

“During the day?” He looked up with interest.

“No. It was night.”

Max went back to typing. “All right.” At last he set the laptop aside, along with his glasses. He sat back down beside her on the couch again. For a while, he didn’t say anything, just looked at her with that keen, penetrating stare. She remained tense, waiting, knowing more was coming. When he cupped her face again, hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, she licked her lips, which seemed to have gone dry. What had seemed harmless a moment before now seemed much more serious.

When at last he spoke, his voice was low, almost whispering. “When you touch yourself, do you ever think of me?”

Bridget looked at him sharply and opened and closed her mouth several times. Max didn’t break eye contact, daring her to lie. She refused to look away, even as she felt the blush creeping up her neck.

“Yes.”

“What was I doing to you?” His hand was still in her hair, his face very close.

“You pinned me down and…fucked me.” Her voice was barely audible, and she was unwilling to look away despite her embarrassment. She swallowed.

“And did you like being pinned down?” Max’s other hand was on her thigh again. “Did you like feeling helpless?”

“Yes,” she whispered, admitting it to him—to herself, for whatever that might mean. Her eyes were drawn to his lips, which still wore a hint of a smile.

“Do you fantasize about this sort of thing often?” He brushed his thumb over her neck, and she shivered slightly at the contact.

“Yes.” It felt freeing to admit it, even as she wondered what would come of telling him.

He moved closer, closing the distance between them, and she could feel his breath on her skin. “You should really close your blinds. Anyone could have seen you.”

Before she had even processed what he said, he covered her mouth with his. Bridget gasped in surprise, her whole body liquefying, heat spiraling from her core as his tongue traced her lips, coaxing them to open further. He explored her steadily, lazily, as if he could do this for hours. His hands closed around her wrists and pressed them to the couch at her sides, holding her in place as he leisurely, thoroughly kissed her. She moved slightly and he tightened his grip on her wrists, keeping her pinned there, and it was hard to catch her breath as the intensity washed over her. She let out a soft moan into his mouth and arched, pressing her breasts against his chest. Max made some kind of rough sound in return, a groan that seemed accidental, and after another moment, he pulled away. Feeling drugged, Bridget blinked heavy-lidded eyes up at him.

Max looked down to where she was digging her nails into the leather, her hands still imprisoned by his. He studied her flushed face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“You know, Bridget, this just might work.” With a wink, he released her and sat back. She tried to steady her breathing, her heart pounding, feeling for the first time like she might have gotten herself in deeper than she could handle.

“Are you working tomorrow?” he asked. “Do you work Thursdays? I don’t know your schedule.”

“I go into the office on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. The other days I work from home.”

“Wear a skirt tomorrow. And your garter belt and pantyhose. No underwear.”

She gaped at him, pulling back slightly. “To work?”

“To work,” he repeated. “I want you thinking all day about the terrible things I’m going to do to you.”

She nodded, hypnotized.

“Go on home now, Bridget,” Max said, his voice rough and low and a little dangerous. His tone promised a lot more to come.

She stood on unsteady legs and walked toward the door, Max following close behind. “Oh, and one other thing,” he said as she opened the door. She turned to him, waiting, and his answering smile was wicked. “No touching yourself.”

In a moment, her passivity vanished, replaced by indignation. “Hey, that’s not up to you.”

“You want my help, you’ll do it on my terms.” He shrugged, no sign of mercy in his eyes. “Or you can find someone else to help you deceive your boss.”

Bridget swallowed, knowing she had no real argument. He was doing this for her; she should probably at least play along. “How will you know if I do?”

Max shrugged. “Maybe I won’t.” Then his look changed, and she saw the Dominant in him. “But if I find out you disobeyed me, this will escalate a lot more quickly than you expect. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes,” she said, surprised by how easily his demeanor could change, unsettled by its immediate effect on her. She wondered how she would sleep without relieving the ache between her legs.

“Sleep well.” Max waved to her as she headed back home.

Chapter Six

When Bridget woke up the next morning, her head throbbing, it took a moment for the events of the previous evening to come flooding back to her. She groaned. What had she gotten herself into? Setting up this arrangement with Max was, undoubtedly, the dumbest thing she’d ever done, and in the light of morning, her own stupidity seemed so obvious it was almost painful. She picked up her phone from the nightstand and considered texting him and calling the whole thing off, playing the drunk card; she even got so far as to open the message window. But then other thoughts came to mind: his hand on the back of her neck, holding her mouth pressed to his. The insistence of his lips and tongue. His deep voice, like sex and whiskey and naughty promises. She set her phone aside and licked her lips. This might be dumb, but damn it all if she wasn’t going through with it anyway, because honestly, she wanted him to show her what else she could feel.

It took her a while to find her garter belt, but she finally dug it out from the bottom of her underwear drawer along with the accompanying thigh-high pantyhose. She had bought them on a whim and never really worn them. But oh, those stockings. She’d never realized how sexy stockings could feel, the constricting smoothness against her thighs drawing her attention to all the places they
weren’t
covering. She couldn’t help looking at herself in the mirror and admiring what she saw. The black garter belt and thigh-highs were striking against her pale skin and red hair, in all the best ways. Maybe it was her wicked thoughts, but her eyes seemed darker than normal, her lips fuller, and she actually looked
sultry
, studying her own reflection. She ran her hands down the front of her body, over the smooth skin and the lace of the garter belt, tracing the thin ribbons that held the stockings up.

Still watching herself, she reached down between her thighs, her fingers hesitating over the puffy skin before drawing back. It would feel so good; she was still aroused from the night before, her folds slick and swollen, and she wanted to touch and rub and end the sweet agony. How was she going to survive an entire day of this? Or longer? Clenching her hand into a fist, she stepped away from the mirror and back to her closet.

Max hadn’t specified the
length
of her skirt, and she certainly wasn’t going to wear anything short, so she selected a gray tweed that cleared her knees and paired it with a black button-down blouse and some short heels. Even with all these clothes on, she felt naked without underwear. No underwear, going to work, each step reminding her of Max’s dominance. This was what she had chosen.

All day, she felt as if everyone in the office knew. Every time she shifted in her chair, she felt herself become more aroused. It was
naughty
, and she was ashamed to admit that a small part of her liked it. What was it about Max’s instructions that made her feel like a disobedient schoolgirl rather than a professional woman in the workplace? And what did it say about her that she was getting turned on?

Right after lunch, while Bridget was in the middle of editing an article by one of the new freelancers, her phone buzzed with a text message from the number she’d just put in her phone the day before. She couldn’t deny the little flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Free tonight?
Max had texted.

Sure.

I’m picking you up at your house at seven and I’m taking you out to dinner.
Wear exactly what you’re wearing.

It didn’t invite refusal. That should probably annoy her, but this was part of the game, right?
All right
, she texted back.

Be good.
She didn’t reply.

Bridget worked diligently on her paperwork, trying to distract herself from the persistent throbbing between her legs, but five o’clock took a long time to arrive.

* * *

Max rang the doorbell at exactly seven o’clock that evening. Good looks and punctuality were a winning combination.

Max smiled warmly in greeting, his gaze sweeping quickly over her body. “You look nice.”

“So do you.” He wore a blue button-down shirt open at the neck and a pair of gray trousers; Bridget noticed how well those trousers accentuated his ass when he turned to walk her to the car.

“How was your day?” He opened the door for her.

She slid into the smooth leather seat of Max’s Audi. “It was okay.” She didn’t want to reveal too much. “The Audi suits you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can tell a lot about a person by their car. An Audi is classy but sporty, not too ostentatious, but with a touch of flair.”

He grinned as they pulled out onto the road. “And that’s me?”

“As far as I can tell. But it would be more accurate if the trunk were full of rope and whips.”

“Who says it isn’t?” he countered, smirking, and Bridget had no reply. He glanced over at her. “What do you drive? I never see your car.”

“I keep it in the garage most of the time because I take the train to work. But I have a Mini Cooper.” After a pause, she added, “It’s orange.”

“Of course it is.”

Bridget wondered what he meant by that.

When they pulled onto the highway, her curiosity was piqued. “Where are we going?”

“The Blackthorne Grille. Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“It’s a nice place. Quiet, out of the way. Food’s great. I go there a lot.”

“Alone?” The question slipped out before she could stop herself, and she wasn’t even sure why she’d asked it.

Max looked over at her with an odd expression on his face, not quite amusement, not quite irritation. “Sometimes.”

After a few minutes of silence, Bridget spoke up. Max clearly wasn’t going to initiate the conversation. “What’s the plan for tonight? Aside from dinner.”

“You’ll see.” Everything he said was noncommittal, much to her annoyance. She hated not knowing, although the uncertainty was turning her on a bit. Was that part of his plan? Was there even a plan at all?

They pulled into the Blackthorne Grille a few minutes later. It looked like a standard upscale grill done in brick with wood accents, very warm and cozy. When Bridget slid into her seat in their corner booth, she noticed the high seat backs gave a sense of seclusion.

Max ordered a bottle of wine without looking at the wine list. How often did he really come here?

“I hope you didn’t get your fill of pinot noir last night.”

Bridget willed herself not to blush. “It’s fine.”

“I recommend the steak or the seafood.” Max set his own menu aside. “Both are always delicious.”

“You come here a lot,” Bridget said. It wasn’t a question.

“A fair amount. What are your favorite restaurants?”

She paused. “Well…I don’t eat out for dinner too often,” she admitted. “Helen and I get lunch in the city all the time, but mostly I cook dinner for myself. Cheaper, you know.”

“Of course.” Max folded his hands on the tablecloth and watched her peruse the menu. His gaze kept distracting her, but she didn’t want him to know that. At last, the waiter came back with their wine and took their orders, giving Max something to look at besides her.

When the waiter left, Bridget played with her napkin on her lap, unsettled, trying to distract herself from his beautiful blue eyes. “So tell me about yourself.”

Max shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about me tonight.”

“Umm…all right.” She was taken aback by his directness, although she probably should have expected it. He was still looking at her, his gaze intense, studying her, examining her like a lab specimen or, perhaps, a particularly interesting poem.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked finally, unable to tolerate the scrutiny, and took a sip of wine.

“I’m wondering what you look like when you come.”

Bridget almost choked on her wine and had to spit some back into her glass.

“You’re probably not used to this.” Max’s voice was calm, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Of course I’m not,” she wheezed when she could breathe again, taking a sip of water. She looked around them, self-conscious. “Is this really the place?”

“The place is wherever I say it is.” The command in his voice made her quiver, and she felt her internal muscles contract. How could he do that? With just one sentence, he’d established clear control.

“Your voice.” Maybe by calling attention to it, she could distract herself from her sudden arousal. “You just sounded totally different. You—”

“We are not analyzing this now,” Max said with the same firm tone, and Bridget felt her knees weaken.

“All…all right.” At the intensity of his voice, her snappy response dissolved.

“Did you touch yourself last night?”

His voice was no quieter than before, and she turned, embarrassed, trying to see if anyone sat in the booth behind her, anyone who might have heard…

“Look at me,” he said, and she did, because his tone left no other option. A thrill of fear, or maybe arousal, rushed through her. “Don’t worry about the other people here. There’s no one around, and I don’t care if there were. Now, answer me.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, ‘No, I didn’t touch myself,’ not ‘No, I won’t answer you.’”

“Did you think about disobeying me?”

She paused. “Yes.”

“But you didn’t go through with it. Good girl.”

It was praise that one might give a small child or a dog, so why did she feel a flush of pleasure?

“Are you wet right now?”

Bridget opened her mouth once and closed it again, her body suddenly tingling. She answered in a whisper. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

She blinked, confused. What was he playing at? “You mean…here? Pull up my skirt and… Are you crazy?”

“Not like that.” Max leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Touch yourself.”

This was ridiculous. She was in a
restaurant
, for God’s sake. She could refuse, and yet…she’d chosen this, right? And she couldn’t deny the throbbing between her legs or the way she was coming unhinged beneath his blue-eyed stare.

Bridget hesitated, then began to slide her skirt up. She was really going to do this. She slipped her hand down between her legs to touch herself.

At the contact, her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted on a soft sigh. God, she’d been wanting to do this all day. She saw his pupils dilate, his gaze darkening, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip in a wonderfully distracting way.

“Give me your hand,” he murmured. She paused, then did as he asked, her face flushed and her heart pounding. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he slipped her fingers into his mouth.

Oh, fuck, that was hot. When his tongue swirled around her fingers, she felt her sex throb, her knees weakening. What would it be like to have that tongue between her legs?

When he released her hand, she drew it back quickly, slightly out of breath. “I love seeing the desire in your eyes,” Max said. “It’s written all over your face.”

“I just…” she began, but had no words. Her body felt charged with electricity.

“Touch yourself again. I want you to rub your clit and tell me how you feel.”

Her entire body felt hot and flustered. She looked around again.

“One day you’ll learn to just listen to me. No one can see your hand with the tablecloth like this. Do it.”

Bridget bit her lip, but his tone was commanding, and she was turned on enough to really want to touch herself anyway. When she brushed her clit again, it was like an electric shock, and she had to press her lips together to keep silent.

“Slowly. Don’t stop. Tell me how it feels.”

“I feel…” she breathed, unable to form coherent sentences, “naughty. Dirty.” She looked down at the tablecloth.

“Look at me. I want you to keep looking in my eyes.”

Bridget did so, obediently, and the intimacy was almost too much. She was masturbating in a restaurant, and he was watching her.

“Do you like feeling dirty?”

“I don’t… No… I don’t know.” She was having trouble concentrating on anything but the throbbing between her legs, and the intimacy of the situation was making the room hotter.

“I’ll bet you like it.” He raised one eyebrow at her. “It made you hot to walk around all day without underwear like some sort of slut, didn’t it?”

Her mouth fell open at the word. She should be angry, or at least embarrassed; calling her a slut should make her cringe. It definitely shouldn’t make her clench in response, unable to respond to the intense pleasure that coursed through her like an electric shock. How could he do this to her? As if he knew how she was feeling, he smiled more broadly, and the promises in that smile filled her with unbridled
want
, staggering and unfamiliar.

“Stop, now,” he ordered, and she did so, albeit reluctantly. Reluctantly, really? Did she want to come in the middle of the restaurant? Max smiled. “Can’t let you get too far. It’s so early in the evening.”

Bridget flushed again and moved to wipe her fingers on the napkin in her lap.

“Not yet.” He stopped her and she paused. “Taste them.”

She wrinkled her nose a bit. “Really?”

Max’s gaze was challenging, as if he didn’t think she’d do it. Bridget wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. She brought one finger up to her lips and touched her tongue to it experimentally, then licked her finger, still meeting his gaze.

“I love the way you taste,” he told her when she took her hand away to wipe it off. “I can’t wait to taste you again.”

She shivered a little despite herself. “Everything you say completely unnerves me.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was innocent.

“You know what I mean.” The words came out more like a hiss. “You’re a tease. Does this come to some kind of completion? I’ve never been this horny before.”

Max affected shock. “Are you saying you want me to finish you in the middle of this restaurant?”

“Of course not.” The image that came to mind, though, distracted her from saying anything else. Max, bending her over the table and fucking her from behind, his palm pressing between her shoulder blades to hold her down. She imagined her breasts crushed against the tabletop, her fingers curling in the stiff linen tablecloth as he kicked her legs apart and pressed up between them, sliding into her with one firm thrust.