Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)(59)
Author: Jen Frederick

TWENTY-ONE

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?” Tiny’s outraged voice carries well beyond the screen that Frank has set up at the far end of my office in front of the ornate fireplace and two midcentury modern lounge chairs.

“It’s nothing I’ve never seen before,” Frank says with bored impatience. “Strip so we can get on with it.”

“You may have seen lots of bodies before but not mine.” Despite the screen blocking my view, I can visualize her crossed arms and mulish expression.

“We aren’t Victorians. It’s okay to show your lady parts.”

“I’ve never met a g*y man so anxious to get a chick out of her clothes before.”

Marcie sits thumbing through her emails on the sofa while I alert Rose to the impending board meeting, but my interest is being drawn away by the activities behind the curtain.

“What is this?” Tiny asks.

“Underwear.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

My curiosity is piqued. I’m watching the trade price for Kerr Inc. and listening to the conversation at the same time. The share price is fluctuating wildly. Every time I buy a block it shoots up, but then it drops again on the heels of some whispered report. It’s like playing whack-a-mole, and it requires every bit of my attention. Yet…

“Seriously. This isn’t underwear.”

“Are you the fashion consultant now? I thought you were a bike messenger.”

“Emphasis on were,” she replies, and I wince. She’s still bitter about that.

I get up to wander back behind the screen and stop short. Tiny is wearing a diaphanous undershirt and a pair of pants that stop just below her knees. The fabric is sheer and matches her skin color almost exactly. Board members, accusations of embezzlement, an imperiled business, all of it recedes under the flood of red-hot heat.

Tiny’s young, athletic body needs no shaping garments or corsets. Her waist naturally curves in, and her plum-shaped br**sts sit high on her chest without support. I stare in appreciation at how her beautiful body is framed in the sheer silk.

The filmy cloth clings to the points of her br**sts, her ni**les pebbling under my gaze. The rise and fall of the fabric becomes more rapid with every breath. Slowly my gaze drifts downward. Her navel and flat stomach are shrouded by the gauze, but it clings to her hips and the soft curls between her legs. Is it my imagination or is she getting wet? Is the sheer fabric darkening from her arousal? I want to fall to my knees and bury my face in her pu**y.

Embarrassed by her response to me, she lifts her arms to cover her br**sts

“Get out,” I order.

There’s no movement. I repeat myself, louder and with more force. “Out. Now.” The sheer violence in my voice sends Frank and his assistant scurrying out of the room. The door closes.

“You as well, Marcie.”

She sighs but leaves. And then we’re alone.

“What is this?” I ask in wonderment. Circling Tiny, I note how the shadow between her bu**ocks seems all the more enticing, like a forbidden valley, under the fabric.

“Frank says it’s underwear.” She holds out her arms, which lifts the soft swells of her br**sts.

“We’re buying a dozen sets.” I drop into one of the chairs. I need this. I need her to remind me of all the good that I have in my life. I’m not the twelve-year-old whose beloved father has died or the bitter fifteen-year-old whose mother committed suicide. I am a man loved by this amazing woman. “You need to come over here right now.”

When she nears, her expression changes to tender understanding. She senses my need. “I’m here, Ian. I will always be here, no matter what.”

Emotion tightens my throat. “Show me,” I say hoarsely.

“There’s a slit here,” she says, knowing what I require. Pulling aside the material between her legs, she displays the clever, hidden design.

If my head could have exploded, it might have. I pull her to me, enjoying the feel of the wispy fabric against my hand. The barely-there undergarments are intended to inflame the flesh, rather than support or cover. Knowing that Frank and his assistant have seen her like this makes me want to mark her. If she walks into the Frick Museum wearing this under her dress, there is simply no way that I will be able to resist taking her into a corridor and feasting on her.

My c**k is so hard I fear it will break. “Look at me,” I command. I stretch the wool of my suit pants taut across my erection. “See how hard you’ve made me? I can’t wait.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, bending low.

“No,” I stop her. “I need you. Put your feet right here.” I pat the slim wooden slats.

“I’ll break that chair.”

“If you don’t climb up here, something else is going to break.”

She doesn’t resist when I lift one foot on an armrest. The movement causes the fabric to separate and bares her cunt to my gaze and touch.

I roll a nipple between my fingers, the stiff bud getting harder with my attention. She stifles a moan and pushes her br**sts closer to my face.

My ability to think shuts down, and I fumble with the clothes, nearly tearing the delicate fabric in my haste to get inside her. I find the opening between her legs and slide my thick, long arousal inside her sweetness.

Eyes closed, I savor the sensation of her walls closing around me. Gripping her waist in my firm hands, I lower her until I’m fully seated. The position is awkward for her, and she must rely on me to hold her tight.

She’s loud, and I revel in it. Everyone outside the office can hear, and it makes my blood pound even harder. I want to come all over her body. I’d rub it into every pore until she sweated me. Until everyone knew that she was mine.

I want to be soaked into her essence until she can’t breathe without knowing that I possess her.

TWENTY-TWO

AS I HOLD HER AND she comes down off her orgasmic high, I tell Tiny my plans. About Richard. About the company. About the impending board meeting.

“The company can just vote you out? It’s your company.” Tiny is outraged.

“It’s publicly held, which means I answer to the shareholders. Everything I do must be measured in terms of the fiduciary duty I owe those who own stock in Kerr Inc.—from the janitors who invest their retirement funds in my company to the traders who buy and sell the stock for a living. Things are going to change. I’m done playing around with Howe.”

“Because of the article this morning about your father?”