Wicked (9 page)

Karl's voice swept in her ear, and straight into her bloodstream. "I'm feeling

very fine this afternoon, Sir," she said with a sassy smile he couldn't see.

"How are you?"

"Very well, thank you." He paused. "Did you enjoy our play last night?"

"You know I did."

"Physically, yes, you did. Your cunt squeezes nicely when you come, there is

no missing it."

His blunt words went straight to her head. For whatever reason, the dirty talk

really got her engine revving. "It squeezes nicely when there's a big cock

filling it up."

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Sasha White

"You like big?"

Heat started to creep up her cheeks and Lara squeezed her thighs together.

She felt strangely shy, yet she was getting so turned on too. "I like to feel full."

"Hmm, I'll remember that for next time," he promised softly.

"When is next time going to be? It's Friday night, y'know?"

"Sorry, greedy girl, I have plans for tonight already, for the whole weekend

actually, but you and I will get together again soon. Early next week,

perhaps, would you like that?"

Would she?

Normally Lara didn't like to plan too far ahead, especially when it came to

men and dates. Shit, normally she wouldn't wait either. But, she did want

more Karl. "Okay, that'll be good."

"Okay?"

She remembered what he'd said about clear communication. "Yes, early

next week will be good."

"I have some homework for you over the weekend. If you do well, I'll reward

you."

She snorted, homework? "And if I don't do well?"

"Then you'll be punished." He had
that
tone of voice again. The one that reached deep down and stroked her insides so wonderfully.

Her sex fluttered and her skin tightened. Ignoring the meaning of her body's

reaction, she laughed and turned into the warehouse parking lot. "You're just

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looking for a reason to spank me!"

Karl chuckled on the other end of the line and something fluttered low in her

belly. "No sugar, there are better ways to punish you than spanking. In all

honesty, spanking isn't a favorite kink of mine. But I'd be happy to oblige you

if that's what you crave."

"I crave a good hard fuck, thank you. I don't need a spanking."

Another chuckle, and pleasure warmed Lara. She liked making him laugh.

"Your homework for the weekend is to email me each day—once on

Saturday, and once on Sunday—and each email is to contain a favorite

sexual fantasy of yours."

"I'm not much of a writer," she said.

"I'm not judging your writing skills. I'm getting to know you." He rattled off his email address and she scribbled it on a napkin. "Be honest with me, Lara,

and just maybe your fantasies will come true."

They hung up and Lara sat in the sun for a moment, stunned. These games

certainly weren't what she'd expected when he'd said he was a Dom. She

was actually enjoying them.

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12

K
arl hung up the phone and dialed again immediately. "Val, I think it's

time for a road trip. Can you get away this weekend?"

"Arghhh!" The aggravated response came through loud and clear.

"What?"

"I don't have a bike anymore, asshole."

Oh yeah, Val's ex-wife had put him through the financial wringer a few

months earlier and he'd sold his bike to pay off his club. Now he owned

Risqué nightclub free and clear, but that was it.

Women could be so vicious.

He thought about it for a minute. He'd been dealing with divorce negotiations

all morning, and his newest client, a nice young thing that had just been

dumped by the man she helped put through law school, had literally cried on

his shoulder and then asked him over for a home-cooked meal. The meal

had sounded good, but the predatory gleam in her eye when she'd voiced

the invitation made it clear she wanted to do more than cook him dinner.

He wondered if Lara liked to cook, or more importantly, if she'd like to cook

Him
dinner. There was so much about her he wanted to know. But first, he

needed to think, with a clear head.

Glancing at his desk calendar he made a quick decision. "Your birthday's

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coming up in a couple weeks right? I'll rent one for you, consider it your

present. You just get the club covered, and leave the girlfriend at home."

He hung up before Val could argue with him about the plan, and quickly

started to call their other riding buddies. Half an hour later, there were a half

dozen of them set to leave early the next morning for their first road trip of the

year.

A weekend on his Harley, with his buddies, shooting pool and drinking beer

was just what he needed. He had a decision to make before he saw Lara

again, and he couldn't do it without some serious thought. Being away from

the city, away from the office, always helped him remember what was

important in life. It wasn't the money, and it wasn't the job.

The job.

Law school had been to make his parents proud, specializing in divorce had

been to make money. He'd done that. He now had enough money and

investments that he could retire in the next five years if he wanted, and part

of him wanted to. Maybe not
retire
—he'd go insane if he had nothing to

do—but the divorce business was getting to him. He knew it. He'd known it

for a while now, and being with Lara had truly brought it home to him.

Vibrant and full of life, her tough adventurousness had shown him just how

closed up he'd become, and he didn't like that at all.

The road trip was a great idea. He could collect his emails on his cell phone,

and encourage Lara so the lines of communication stayed open. He needed

her to know she could always contact him, and he needed to see if she would

do her homework.

He looked at the clock, and reached for his laptop just as Graham buzzed

him. "Mrs. Pollock is here."

"Send her in."

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A second later his office door swung open and a classy blonde walked in.

Lisa Pollock was in her early forties, slim, and very polished. The perfect

society wife—except she didn't like it when her husband cheated on her.

"Hello, Lisa, how are you today?"

"Fine, Karl. How are things going here?"

He explained his last negotiation with her soon-to-be exhusband's lawyer.

"You have the house, and the car, but he's not budging on the alimony. We

can take it in front of a judge, and I think we'll win. It's your choice."

"I don't want to take that chance," she said.

She reached into her purse, pulled out a manila envelope, and the hair on

the back of his neck stood up. He knew that determined, almost manic look

in her eye. He'd seen it before and it was never a good thing.

"Show him those photos and tell him if he won't pay me, I'll show the world."

The expensive charms on her gold bracelet jingled loudly in the quiet office

when she tossed the envelope on his desk.

Without opening the envelope he picked it up and held it out to her. "Extortion

is illegal, Lisa."

Anger flashed across her face, making her ugly for a moment until she got

her control back. She picked up the envelope, opened it and held up the

photos for him, one by one. "Do you see this? I married this. I worked as a

cosmetics saleswoman at a retail outlet for fifteen years while
this
sat at

home and played with his paints and made pretty pictures. Now that those

pictures have made him worth millions, he thinks he can just dump me. No.

Fucking. Way."

Karl stared at the photos she'd flashed, and swallowed a curse. Several

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curses. He recognized the scene, if not the players. "Who took those?"

"I hired someone."

"Who?"

A calculating gleam in her eyes, she gathered the photos together and slid

them back into the envelope. "I'll tell you when I get my first alimony check."

"I'm not giving him that demand," Karl stated. "But I will schedule another meeting. If you need to talk to your husband, I suggest you do it before then."

He stood and walked her to the door of his office, assuring her he'd let her

know when the next negotiation was scheduled. He wanted her there for that

one.

Why he was surprised it was going to come down to this he didn't know. Yes,

women were vicious, and Lisa Pollock was determined to get more than

even with her husband.

Man, he couldn't wait to get on his bike and leave this crap behind for a few

days. He needed time to figure out what to do about those photos.

* * *

L
ara went to bed on Friday night happy with her night's take at the pool

tables. There hadn't been any real challengers, just some college jocks

eager to believe a woman could never beat them at pool. She hadn't even

had to hustle them and after the first few games she'd felt sorry for them.

"All right, guys," she'd said when one of them started to rack for another

game when she'd already taken over two hundred bucks from the group.

She'd played each of the four of them, and none had even come close to

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winning. "I'm strictly in this for the money, so why don't you go have a few

beers and give someone else a chance to pay my rent?"

She'd been trying to save them from complete humiliation, but they'd taken

that as an insult, and wanted to play double or nothing.

She wasn't a complete idiot. If they wanted to throw their money at her, she

was going to take it. Because they'd been so eager, she'd hit her goal of five

hundred dollars in just over three hours and was home and in bed hours

before normal.

Which gave her time to think about Karl's homework assignment.

Her ultimate fantasy had always been sex with a stranger. But she'd lived

that out many times in her life already. It was easy to tell herself she enjoyed

sex with strangers because she didn't want to get close to anyone, being

close to people only invited them to hurt you—or worse yet, to be indifferent

to you.

In all honesty, she knew she enjoyed the sex with strangers because she

didn't care if they liked her or not, which made it easy for her to not care if

they got off. And not caring whether they got off or not made it easy to get

what she really wanted, what she really needed, to get off. She could tell

them to focus on her clit, to pinch her nipples harder, to not stop.

It was one of the reasons she really didn't expect letting Karl have control to

be so good. Normally, if she didn't tell a man what she wanted and how she

wanted it, she didn't get it. And here Karl was
asking
her to tell him what she wanted.

Not in person, but in an even more interesting way.

When she thought of it like that, the homework assignment took on a whole

new meaning.

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Sasha White

Lara got out of bed and went to get her laptop. She was going to do this now.

She wasn't going to tell him her wildest fantasies yet, but she would tell him

what she really wanted.

She pulled the laptop closer and started typing.

I want to touch you. I want to be able to run my hands all over your body. I

want to play with those piercings, and lick, nibble, and maybe even bite at

your nipples until you are groaning and begging for more. I want to scrape

my nails down your back as you bury your cock deep inside me. I want to dig

my fingers into your ass and feel the muscles clench as you pump into me.

Lara looked at the email. It wasn't going to get her published, but what

she had there was raw, and real. It was what she wanted. She poised the

mouse over the send, and clicked it.

Done.

She closed up the computer and turned out the light, ready to sleep.

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Sasha White

13

I
t was Saturday night, the music was loud, the bar was crowded, and

his friends were having a great time. Karl was having an okay time. His

restlessness had eased with the five-hour highway ride, but his normal zest

for partying was missing. Maybe he was getting old.

"Another beer?"

Karl smiled at the pretty waitress. The makeup she had piled on didn't hide

the fact that she was probably too young to be working there, or that she was

in no way innocent.

"No thanks, sweetie. Maybe in a little while."

"I see you drooling over her young ass, you old pervert," Val said with a

laugh.

"It's a nice ass."

"Too small for my tastes."

"And pervert I may be, but she's too young for my taste." Karl took a swig of his beer and nodded at the bartender who flashed him a finger wave from

behind the bar. "Now
she
might be able to get my blood pumping."

"Might?" Val shook his head. "Used to be there was no might about it. You getting old?"

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He didn't like hearing his own thoughts thrown back at him. Thirty-six was
not

old. "Discriminating is the right word," he retorted.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but really, he was just distracted by