CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) Read online

  “No. No, we can’t talk about this. There isn’t anything to talk about. I’m a sex worker. That’s the only reason I’m working for you. It’s this.” I ripped my skirt up and whirled around, pointing at my rump, which still carried a faint sting from the spanking he’d given me in his office. Never mind that I’d enjoyed it — I wasn’t there to be his plaything. That wasn’t what I’d signed up for.

  “It’s not just that, though. For a normal man, that would be ample reason,” Peter said smoothly, his rich British accent making it hard for me to concentrate, hard for me to grip on to my anger. “I just want to make you understand some things.”

  “Oh, you want to make me do something?” I snarled, yanking my skirt back down. “Haven’t you made me do enough? Unless my eyes deceive me, we’re not in your office. We’re in my penthouse. I don’t have to do anything that you tell me to do. You’re not the boss here. I am.”

  For some reason, that made Peter flinch, his chest heaving, indicating that he was breathing hard. I didn’t understand what was happening until he crossed his legs and re-crossed them quickly. He was trying to hide his erection. My eyes bulged out of my head.

  “What is wrong with you?” I howled. “We’re having a fight. We’re fighting. This is no time or place for a boner.”

  “Gemma, I am helplessly attracted to you,” Peter said, spreading his hands in a gesture I was beginning to get well acquainted with. It was one he used when he was trying not to be threatening, when he was trying to tell me that something wasn’t his fault. Well, it was his cock. He should have it well under control by his age.

  “I thought you actually wanted me to work for you,” I said, taking a defensive swig of my beer. “I didn’t think it was just so you could pay me for sex.”

  “Is that what you think I was doing?” he asked. “Paying you for sex?”

  “Wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what the contract said?”

  “Is that what you read?” Peter looked confused, his blond eyebrows drawing together.

  “You tell me,” I said, insolent, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Gemma, I thought we liked each other,” he said. “I thought we agreed that we’d give this a chance and see where it went.”

  “I guess I didn’t anticipate that it would’ve taken this turn.”

  “What turn do you think it’s taken?”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “The turn where you’re paying me for sex!”

  “That’s not what this is.” He stood up, fuming, and I backed away. “How could you think I was paying you for sex?”

  “Aren’t you?” I countered. “I’m working for you. The contract I signed in your office, the one I had to sign to make it all official, it said that you expected certain things from me on a regular basis at the office. Sexual things.”

  Peter puffed out a sigh. “Gemma, the thing is, I have… Damn it, how do I say this without sounding creepy?”

  “Creepy? How about not sounding like an asshole. Try that.” He blinked at my anger, but I was at least gratified that he recognized just how seriously I was taking this situation.

  “I really enjoy having sex in an office setting,” he said finally, shrugging more to himself than at me. He plunged onward at my silence. “As in, it’s my favorite setting for sex. Don’t get me wrong. I like sex. I really like it. But there’s something special in the office, a special edge. I’ve never really been able to pinpoint what it is. Never really cared to, before now. Maybe it’s because I feel powerful in the office. I’ve had a lot of personal successes in that building, so maybe sex there is a way to celebrate all of those successes. I don’t know, Gemma. Are you satisfied? Does this answer any questions you have about it?”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you have a fetish for…office sex?” I asked, crinkling my nose. “Is that a thing?”

  “Is it?” he asked. “I don’t know. I just really like it.”

  “No.” I shook my head at him. “You…change when you’re in the office. I mean, when you’re…when we’re having sex in there. You take on this…persona. I don’t know how to explain it. You act differently.”

  Peter looked puzzled. “Differently how?”

  It surprised me that he didn’t recognize it. “You’re a gentle lover. Considerate. In the office, you’re domineering.”

  “Really?” He blinked rapidly. “I never realized this.”

  I laughed at him. “How could you not? It’s like night and day. You’re two completely different people.”

  “Is it bad?” He looked pensive. “Well, of course it’s bad. You’re angry with me. You stormed out of the office — on foot, no less.”

  I felt that old urge to be honest, the one I couldn’t comprehend. I had no problem lying to my own mother, but when it came to Peter, I could give him nothing but the truth.

  “The domineering part…that’s not so bad,” I admitted. “In fact, it’s kind of hot. Okay, it’s really hot. That’s not really the issue, here, Peter. I want to do legitimate work at the office. I don’t want to be a prostitute.”

  “That’s not what I intended,” he said firmly. “I would never hire someone on staff just to have sex with me. That contract…that was more like a joke. Almost to tell you what you could expect being my…well, my girlfriend, working with me at the office.”

  “Well, it was a bad joke,” I informed him, trying but failing to keep a straight face. “Girlfriend?”

  Peter visibly relaxed. “Yes, girlfriend. As long as you’ll have me. As long as you don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” I padded over to him tentatively, the soles of my feet aching and sore. “I’m just trying to figure you out — figure us out.”

  “Will you write a report when you’re done?” He looped an arm around me and pulled me close. It felt really nice to be close to him again, a relief to be on our way to figuring things out. “I’d be interested in knowing.”

  “Is that an official work request?” I joked. “Am I still on the clock?”

  “I think, after our last misunderstanding, it would be prudent to take the rest of the day off to…get reacquainted.” Peter’s grip on my waist tightened, and my body responded in kind — my legs pressing together, squeezing in anticipation.

  “So, I’m your girlfriend.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that makes you my boyfriend.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And my boss.”

  “Yes.”

  “And my soon-to-be stepbrother.”

  Peter laughed. “Don’t overcomplicate things. Let’s focus on the things that actually matter to us. The things that affect us directly. That sibling bit isn’t going to hold up in court.”

  “Okay, because the bits I’m most concerned about are the boss and boyfriend bits.” I leveled a look at him. “I’m particularly interested in how those two roles are going to reconcile themselves.”

  Peter looked up at me. “Should we not have sex in the office anymore? Would that make things a little less complicated? Done.”

  “Wait! That’s… Um, that’s not what I said.” I fumbled for words as he hid his amusement — poorly. “Would it be bad if we kept having sex in the office?”

  “Bad in what sense?” Peter could play the innocent so very well when he wanted to, but both of us knew the truth. He didn’t have an innocent bone in his body.

  “It would blur the line between boyfriend and boss,” I said. “That’s the line we have to be really careful about. Because it’s hot when it’s the boss ordering me around, but I want to make sure it’s the boyfriend who’s doing it.”

  “I think I understand,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Like roleplaying. Shall we have a safe word?”

  “That’s bondage,” I said, smirking as he raised his eyebrows at me. “What?”

  “You seem to understand an awful lot about it.”

  “That’s beside the point.” I had to look away from him to get my blush to fade. “But yes. I thi
nk it would be wise if we both understood that in the event we should have…carnal knowledge in the workplace, it would be between girlfriend and boyfriend — not boss and employee.” I swallowed. “Though it is encouraged that boss and employee themes for such play be explored.”

  “Layers upon layers of reality,” Peter remarked, but with a smile. “Gemma, I’d do anything to make you happy. If setting these definitions is what does it, I’ll gladly comply. Now, let me see those feet of yours.”

  He tugged me down to sit on his lap and examined one of my feet, clucking with disapproval.

  “It’s a longer walk than I thought from the office to here,” I confessed meekly. “And these aren’t walking shoes.”

  He eyed the heels that I’d dropped at the door. “No, I don’t imagine those are very good walking shoes.” Standing abruptly, he swept me into his arms and carried me into the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” I squeaked. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “You don’t weigh a thing,” he claimed. “And you’re not walking on those feet any more today.”

  He set me back down on the edge of the gigantic bathtub and ran the water until he was satisfied with the temperature, shaking the droplets from his hand. Reaching for a washcloth and a bar of soap, Peter took me by surprise yet again by gently reaching for one of my filthy feet and washing it, cleansing all of the grime from my soles. It turned the water that continued to run black, and stained the washcloth probably irreparably.

  “I can clean them myself, you know,” I told him. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to do this.” He finished with one foot and dried it tenderly on a hand towel before starting on the other one. There was something oddly intimate about Peter washing my feet. I didn’t think anyone ever had — minus my mother, when I was too young to do so myself. It was sweet, a little sad, and, when he pressed his thumb into the scrubbing at a stubborn bit of grit, strangely erotic. I jerked forward at that touch in the arch of my foot, and Peter took careful note, slowing his rubbing down to strokes, caresses, bringing my clean foot back into play, running the perfectly warm water over it to make his hands glide over the skin there.

  I never had any idea that someone massaging my feet would send those kinds of signals to my inner nerve centers, the ones also responsible for making me bite my lip, watching Peter like a hawk, my breathing quickening as I noticed his response to my very obvious arousal.

  There wasn’t time — or inclination — to feel insecure at a kink revealed. I never would’ve guessed I’d find someone rubbing my feet to be a turn-on, but, then again, I’d never had anyone rub my feet the way Peter was rubbing them. He was taking his time, making sure he divided his attention evenly between both feet, drawing tiny sounds from my throat that I knew he could hear even over the water splashing from the faucet.

  I yowled when he licked my clean sole from heel to big toe, popping the digit into his mouth before making sensual eye contact with me. I nearly kicked him in the face jerking my foot away, the contact becoming too sensitive, other parts of my body screaming for attention, now.

  Peter caught me as I launched myself back into his lap, my fingers scrabbling against his chest in an effort to rip his shirt open, forgetting about his tie as I nearly strangled him in pulling the shirt up and over his head. When his face was freed amusement danced over his features, before he pulled my own clothes off of me.

  “Ouch!” I yelped when he was a bit too rough yanking my panties from my hips.

  “Sorry — did I hurt you?”

  My face flushed. “Um, it’s still sore from…earlier.”

  “Earlier?” Slow recognition dawned across Peter’s face. “Oh. From that little incident. Poor Gemma.”

  He moved his fingers lightly over my rump, and I shuddered into his embrace. I didn’t realize the bathtub was full until I was sitting in it, my naked body immersed, Peter sliding in alongside me. That was another first — I’d never had a bath with anyone. I had a very strong feeling that I’d thoroughly enjoy myself.

  We sloshed around for a few moments as Peter got the water turned off and the jets bubbling. I hadn’t even used the bathtub yet, always in too much of a hurry to do anything but shower in the penthouse. The strong jets sending froth into our muscles was yet another surprise of the afternoon.

  Peter maneuvered me onto his lap and began massaging my back and shoulders. “What can I do to make everything up to you?” he wondered out loud.

  My face went hot. “I can’t say that I didn’t…not enjoy that ‘incident’ earlier.” God! What I would’ve done to simply be able to lie successfully to the man behind me. He chuckled richly.

  “You mean you liked it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t…not like it.” I didn’t have to see his face to know that Peter was grinning.

  “That’s what I said.” I tried to remain prim and proper, but it was hard, naked, sitting on a naked man’s waterlogged lap, his erection making itself very clear to me as he rubbed my back.

  “Then maybe that’s something else we get to explore down the line,” he reasoned. “There’s no reason for shame, Gemma. Sex is the most natural thing in the world — in all the shades it comes in.”

  I was just glad I didn’t have to look at him as he continued to work his hands over my back, making me relax limply into his embrace. My head lolled on his shoulder as he smoothed his hands down my arms, cupping my breasts briefly before moving down my belly and to my thighs. My legs spread almost of their own accord, allowing Peter access to my pussy, its wetness disguised by the bath. It was almost overstimulating when he started circling his fingers around my clit — the press of his torso against my back, the erection poking my leg, the bubbling jets all around us, the motors buzzing with a dull roar in the bathroom, echoing against the tiling.

  I couldn’t say that I’d been entirely vanilla when it came to sex, but it was seeming more and more that I was going to get an enormous education with Peter. Most of the men I’d been with previously had lacked imagination, only interested in sex as a means to an end and not necessarily open to exploring all of the possibilities inherent in it. Peter had already awakened things in me I didn’t understand, but that didn’t mean that I was about to shy away from exploring them.

  I looked forward to pushing the boundaries with Peter, especially now that we had discussed what those boundaries entailed.

  I hadn’t realized that I was mewling continuously until I cried out at the shock of Peter lifting me and settling me again directly on his cock, impaled on his hard-on as the water swirled around us. He caressed my breasts as he started thrusting upward, his mouth on my neck, switching back and forth between nibbling and breathing hard against my skin.

  Without warning, he pinched one of my nipples, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. I yelped and bucked against him, and I could feel his smile on my skin.

  “You said you liked it earlier, when I spanked you with the ruler,” he murmured in my ear, stilling my movement with his throaty voice. “Is that true?”

  “That I didn’t dislike it, yes,” I maintained, stubborn.

  “That you didn’t dislike it, then. That perhaps you’d be open to exploring that feeling again?”

  “Maybe…” I sounded about as certain as I felt, but I couldn’t help my nervousness. I’d never done anything like this before, never had a partner open so many sexual doors for me.

  “Then feel this,” he urged, one hand circling my clit again, his cock still buried deep in my body, thrusting up against my G-spot. The other hand remained on my breast, becoming all but an afterthought as the pleasure and pressure grew with his movements below the surface of the water.

  Then, an explosion of sensation. He was pinching my nipple again — hard — but the pain was tempered by just how good my pussy was feeling. For some reason I couldn’t explain, the sharpness of his fingers on my nipple worked to magnify the pleasure, as if the tw
o opposite feelings worked together to create something new entirely.

  Something entirely intoxicating.

  Peter switched hands and explored my tolerance with the other nipple. Now that I knew what to expect, knew the impossible sweetness, I rolled into the sensation eagerly, squeezing my eyes shut and making shameful sounds over the bubbles of the bathtub’s jets.

  Orgasm was hot and slippery, magnified by all the tricks of Peter’s fingers, the extra caresses of the moving water, the weightlessness that gave his thrusts even more power than usual. Our shouts rang out in the bathroom, and Peter turned the jets off to get us some reprieve from sensation. We panted in the humid room, steam clinging to the mirrors and masking out appearances. Peter was able to reach the basket of washcloths on the edge of the tub without disturbing me and carried on with washing me, as if I were some kind of invalid.

  I opened my mouth to lodge a protest against this kind of coddling, but I could force no words out. I was so relaxed, so sated, that I couldn’t even complain. Peter soaped up every inch of me, and I simply allowed him to do so. There wasn’t much else I could do about it.

  We sat in the tub as it emptied, both of us emotionally drained.

  “I’ll get you to bed,” he said tiredly. “God, girl. I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

  “Ditto,” I said. “I can get myself to bed.”

  But I must’ve fallen asleep there in the tub. It wasn’t until the middle of the night that I woke up, the lights of New York City twinkling like stars in the windows of my bedroom, Peter curled around me like a pet. He must’ve been forced to carry me in here after I passed out on top of him in the tub, then fallen asleep in exhaustion afterward. My hair was lingeringly damp, and we were both still naked.

  Still, it was so comfortable to feel his arms around me. I wondered if we’d slept like this, too, after that initial night when we’d hooked up, in this very same hotel. I didn’t remember much from that night besides the sex, and I’d woken up alone.

  The idea that I’d have many more nights to sleep with Peter — and potentially many more mornings to wake up beside him — made my heart do a flip-flop that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. In spite of all the complications our relationship presented, it was still something I wanted to pursue. There were so many things I was looking forward to discovering with Peter by my side — or under me, or behind me, or on top of me.