Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 (12 page)

Ethan bent his head to my nipple chain and took it into his mouth. Like a dog worrying at a bone, he pulled at that chain until my nipples wanted to burst off my chest. I squirmed between the two of them, impaled front and back. As if synchronized, they kept moving deeper and deeper until they seemed to meet at my core, separated by a meaningless membrane. Now we were truly one, and we moved as such, sharing each breath, each surge, each quiver.

And when the world exploded, we clung together and rode the shattering waves until they washed us up on the sand, which in our case was made of beige carpet. All three of us shouted helplessly and randomly—cries of “Oh God,” and “Fuck yeah,” mingled with our three names.
Dana, Simon, Ethan, please, yes, more, don’t stop.

I was home.

We collapsed in a heap of spent satisfaction. When they finally rolled off me, they made a big deal out of it. “No taking off the blindfold until we say so,” said Simon.

“Why?”

“A surprise.”

They both got to their feet.

“Okay, you can look now.”

I tore off the blindfold and stared up at the two gods of flesh who loomed over me, legs braced apart, hands on hips, cocks still at half-mast. “Two naked men. I love it, can’t get enough, but what’s the surprise?”

“Look closer,” said Ethan with a smile.

My eyes traveled from his searing blue eyes down his powerful chest, punctuated with many nicks and scars, to his dangling sex. And then I spotted it. Right above his thatch of dark blond hair, nestled toward the crease of his thigh. A tattoo. Three letters.

E D S. Ethan Dana Simon.

My eyes flew to Simon’s crotch. On the opposite groin, I spotted three different letters.

C D A. Cowell Dirk Arthur.

“Aww. Really?” Sentimental dummy that I am, tears came to my eyes. “You guys got tattoos for me?”

“Bobby O took care of us. Told him I’d snap his neck if he told,” said Ethan.

“As long as you didn’t threaten his dreads.”

“Never.”

“That’s not all,” added Simon, a smile taking over his face. “Here. Courtesy of some idiots whose name need never be spoken here again.” He handed me a single key. “Did you know those dickheads are in real estate? They specialize in taking over foreclosed properties, of which there are quite a few in our town, wouldn’t you know. After you left, we had a talk. They agreed to sign over one of their townhouses to you. It’s the least they could do and they jumped at the suggestion.”

I stared at the key, all kinds of emotions running through me. “You mean, to rent?”

“No, to own. You own it. Whether you like it or not. You can sell it, you can live in it, you can turn it into a crack house, whatever you want.” Simon smiled at my confusion. Own a house? He might as well have said, “this is a key to a rocket ship. Have a nice trip to the moon”.

“And just so you know, luv, no one from that company has ever set foot in this house. They don’t even know its address. All records have been transferred to you.” Ethan shared a satisfied look with Simon. “We made sure they know they’re not welcome anywhere near here.”

I clutched the key in my hand, where it warmed to my touch. My own home. Mine. For me. I could invite Simon or Ethan, or both, or just chill by myself. A huge smile spread over my face. I reached my other hand to Simon so he could help me up. I bounded to my feet, ridiculously energetic for a girl who’d spent the day in near-constant orgasmic bliss.

“I love you both. Really. Truly. Even without the house. But this is…I never imagined…I love you!” I showered kisses onto their hands and faces. Ethan beamed at me. I’d never seen him look so content.

Simon laughed at my enthusiasm. “And here I thought you’d be all over our tattoos. Their placement is deliberate, you know.”

“I figured as much.” I reached down and traced his tat, then put my other hand on Ethan’s. “Your tattoo cherry’s been popped.”

“Indeed,” said Ethan. “And let me tell you, prison was nothing compared to that pain.”

“Oh, come on. Tattoos feel good.”

“It’s a sensitive spot,” said Simon, pulling a puppy dog face. “You have no idea what we went through.”

“Especially not knowing whether the namesake in our tattoos would reappear or not.”

“You poor babies.” I caressed the two damp groins swelling under my fingertips. “What am I going to do with you?”

“We have some ideas,” rumbled Ethan.

“Of course you do.” My heart swelled at the thought of all the pleasure that still lay ahead of us.

“But we’re a bit worried about how any work is going to get done here. It might become a distraction with you constantly thinking about what’s inside our trousers. You do become rather…overexcited.”

“You’re so easily aroused,” complained Simon.

“So deliciously teasable.” Ethan frowned.

“On fire at a touch.”

“Trouble with a capital H…”

“…H, that stands for Highly Sensual.”

“The point is, this firm still has a job to do,” finished Ethan sternly.

With each phrase, the men treated my body to gentle strokes and pats, soothing me like a sweat-soaked racehorse ready to hit the track again. They knew me so well. Knew what I liked, the need that burned inside me. Knew my limits…and those areas where I had none. None at all.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat, which had tightened with treacherous new arousal.

My two naked bosses, who treasured me enough to get my initials inked on their groins, cocked their heads at me. My heart did a triple somersault as I silently gave thanks to whatever god of jobseekers had led me to Cowell & Dirk.

“I’ll just try to restrain myself,” I told them. “And if not…” I shivered.

If not, they’d just have to restrain me.

About the Author

Juniper Bell lives in a cabin in Alaska with her husband and stepdaughter. She spends the long winters dreaming up erotic romances, shoveling snow, and concocting travel plans to warmer climates. To learn more about Juniper, please visit her website at www.JuniperBell.com. Send her an email at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! Newsletter group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/JuniperBell. You can also look her up on Facebook and find her on Twitter as @AuthorJuniper.

Look for these titles by Juniper Bell

Now Available:

Doll

…the Receptionist Series

Training the Receptionist

It’s her naughty dream job—if they’re satisfied with her performance…

Training the Receptionist

© 2010 Juniper Bell

Eager to escape her miserable existence in Low-Life, Long Island, street-wise Dana Arthur jumps at an entry-level position with the consulting firm Cowell & Dirk. As her training period begins, she quickly discovers she’s required to do more than take messages and order office supplies. Her job description contains some deliciously naughty duties that give receptionist a whole new meaning.

Simon has almost given up on finding the right woman who will please his clients as well as his demanding partner and mentor, Ethan Cowell. No one measures up—until Dana. Her inner fire and fearless nature are perfect for the job. No matter what wicked punishment he devises to chastise her for her on-the-job mistakes, she accepts with a relish that leaves him wondering which one of them is really in control.

The last thing he expects to discover is that she’s a perfect sexual soul mate he can’t bear to share. But share he must—it’s part of his business agreement. Unless he makes Ethan the deal of a lifetime…

Warning: This title contains explicit sex, bondage, ménage, ingenious use of office furniture, lingerie, and the occasional sex toy. Oh, and did I mention the package delivery guy?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Training the Receptionist:

I snatched the application and plopped myself into a leather chair. I didn’t have time for random idiocy, I needed a freakin’ job. Quickly, I filled in all the usual information.

Dana Arthur
.
Age twenty-two.
Previous experience: various crap jobs, some waitressing. Two-year degree from Long Island Community College.
Strengths: motivated, hardworking, willing to do just about anything to move out of my house.
(Okay, so I didn’t actually write down that last one.) It didn’t ask about weaknesses, but I don’t mind saying them. No tolerance for boredom, restless, problem with authority, a couple of hidden piercings and not-so-hidden tattoos, one or two DUIs. Or three.

I attached my resumé to the application and handed it to Bizarro Girl. Showing absolutely no interest in it, she slid the papers into a manila folder and stood. Something flashed into my eyes, and I realized, after recovering my vision, that she’d taken a Polaroid of me. While I was still blinking, she popped it into the folder and left the room.

Alone in the lobby of Cowell & Dirk, I seriously debated walking out right then and there. What kind of place took a Polaroid of you without so much as letting you get the McMuffin crumbs out of your teeth? But I let it go. For one thing, there was something very relaxing about that lobby. It was so quiet, like a super-secret, soundproofed vault. Not a single sound came in from outside. The colors were all bland and soothing. Beige carpet, black leather armchair and couch, blond wood receptionist’s desk. The overall look was what I would call Corporate Zombie. I could totally picture the people who worked there—pudgy-bodied, dull-eyed, combed-over drones in yellow ties and brown dress shoes. Every Friday they went out for after-work drinks at the nearest T.G.I. Friday’s. Mondays they spent the first few hours recounting their wild weekends, consisting of football games and blind dates who wouldn’t go down on them unless they paid for dinner.

Shows what I know.

When the door opened again, the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life came toward me. My nipples got hard the instant I set eyes on him.

I still can’t put my finger on exactly what made him so hot. He was good-looking enough, with eyes like chips of green stone and black hair. Black Irish, I think that look is called. He had a rolling, in-charge kind of walk, as if he were walking onto the deck of his own personal pirate ship. The pirate comparison wasn’t half-bad, he even had a scar on his cheek, a thin, white crescent around his mouth.

His mouth might have been the sexiest of all. Surrounded by a slight stubble, it curved in a way that implied
I know you and I know what you like
. He was the kind of man who looked like he had a lot of secrets, secrets you might regret learning. The kind of man any normal mother would never allow anywhere near her daughter.

But my mother was long gone, and I hadn’t listened to my stepmother from day one.

“Ms. Arthur. Thanks for coming in.” Those eyes of his were mesmerizing. Half-hypnotized, I barely noticed he was patiently holding out his hand to shake mine.

I got to my feet. But instead of shaking his hand, I stuck out my chin. “And you are?”

“I’m Simon Dirk, Executive Vice President.”

He could have said, “I’m the King of the World,” and I wouldn’t have argued. I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Was there some kind of extra electricity when our hands touched? I can’t be sure. I was too bewitched by his eyes. From closer range, they looked more forest than grass-green, more cool than hot. They were slightly narrowed. This man was taking me in. Assessing me. It made sense, of course, he was considering whether or not to hire me. But, in retrospect, I know he was assessing me for something else.

He looked down at my application. “So, you’re interested in the receptionist job.”

Something told me he wouldn’t mind a cheeky attitude. “Yes. It’s a lifelong goal.”

Right away his gaze darted up to meet mine. He gave me a long, cool look. “Do you plan on greeting clients in that manner?”

“Absolutely not. Clients will get my complete and undivided servitude.”

“I see.” After another long look into my soul, he pulled my resumé from the folder and scanned it. “Interesting job history.”

I couldn’t help a wince. “It’s a tough economy.”

“Yes, but two months at The Lotus Circle? Six months at Chuck E. Cheese? U-Stuff Taxidermy?” He looked up from my resumé, the most endearing frown making a dent between his eyebrows. Oh, how I wanted to feel that crease in his flesh.

“Only one month there.”

“What do you have, Job Attention Deficit Disorder?” Those eyes sent me a sexy green sparkle.

“Undiagnosed.”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth and I watched the scar retreat up his cheek. Without the scar, his face would have been almost too pretty. But the scar, and a bump on his nose that I knew meant it had once been broken, kept him on the rugged side of fucking gorgeous. And then there was the animalistic heat he gave off. Quite a feat, under his crisp business suit.

“Well, Ms. Arthur, I have a feeling you’d fit in well here.”

I wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment, given the Corporate Zombie decor. “Thanks.”

“Can you start on Monday?”

“Uh…sure.” I inwardly danced a jig. Hired! At last! That meant I could skip my Monday appointment at the hospital to participate in a blood sugar experiment that would pay me fifty dollars. “But…silly question, I know, but what is it that Cowell & Dirk does?”

“We’ll get to all that during the training period.” Simon Dirk frowned. Had I asked something inappropriate? “Oh, and we’d like you to wear this on your first day.” From behind the receptionist’s desk, he produced a white box with a fancy department store logo I didn’t recognize. “If, that is, you’re serious about working here.”

What did I need to do to convince him? “I’m serious. It’s either that or sell my blood by the pint.”

He chuckled. I hoped I would be answering to him personally.

Little did I know how personally.

One sub to please the Master…in any way he wishes.

Hurt Me So Good

© 2010 Joely Sue Burkhart

Victor Connagher is no stranger to the Dallas BDSM scene. As CEO of a risqué cable channel that caters to adventurous adults, he ensures the lifestyle is portrayed in a positive light. He even supports a local bondage club. Yet behind the cool, confident mask, Victor lives in fear.