Afterlife (Knights of the Board Room #4)

Afterlife (Knights of the Board Room #4) Page 40

“He was a middle school teacher, English lit, and she was the school nurse. A student brought a gun and, well…the usual thing.” His grip increased on hers, reflecting the weight of those memories. He"d obviously learned to deal with them, but it didn"t mean they didn"t still have the power to overcome him. Just like she knew she"d never really “get over” Kyle"s death, that horrible, ridiculous expression.

“He killed several students, wounded others. My father was shot when he tried to talk him down. The shooter got my mother when she tried to help the wounded. She was actually a trained midwife, but also served as the school nurse. You would have really liked her. And my father knew everything about every book that had been written before the twentieth century, and nothing about any written after. That"s what I told him, a precocious kid"s scorn for a parent"s talents. I inherited his library. I think I read all of it during my junior high years.” A smile touched his lips. “Everything from Paradise Lost to Pliny.”

She tried to match his light tone. “The Kama Sutra?”

“Cover to cover, baby. The original text, geared toward wealthy young males in that society. And I dog-eared more than a few pages of that one.” It made her laugh, but she also impulsively hugged him. He accepted the embrace, and she felt something different from him then, taking comfort for a deep wound that never healed. Now it wasn"t about getting into his vulnerabilities to balance her own.

This was about understanding more about the Master and lover who absorbed her, on so many levels. And the more she knew about him, the better she could serve him—if she dared to believe this would last. “Dana said that there were things that connected you to the other…to the K&A management. Is that one of them?”

“Oh go ahead and say „Knights". That damn article has infected everyone"s brain.”

“Well, it wouldn"t if it wasn"t so darn appropriate.” She gave his knee a light pinch and won retribution as he returned the favor. However, he pinched much higher up, sliding his hand beneath her skirt. She stilled as he left it there, tracing a line on the inside of her thigh, all the way up to where it met her hip. Looking down at the thin cloth, she saw the shape of his hand move there, so close to the seam between her legs.

“What did I tell you, Rachel?”

Her brow furrowed, then she remembered. “Oh…” She parted her knees, but before she could look around, he touched her chin.

“Your eyes stay on my hand. I won"t embarrass you. This is a small exercise in trust, taking steps toward the bigger ones.”

“I trust you more than I"ve trusted anyone, ever.”

“I"m glad to hear it.” He caressed the crease between thigh and hip, sending electric tingles to her pussy that urged her to squirm on the rough, sun-warmed wood of the bench. When he slid his finger beneath the lace band of the thong at her hip bone, she was acutely aware of the way the fabric burrowed deep between her buttocks, teasing the rim of that sensitive area. “Back straight. Let me see those nipples hardening.” It made her cheeks flush, because of course they were, stressing the dress fabric. He shifted, his shoulders blocking the immediate view from anyone who might step into the alley. Then he stretched the elastic of the gathered neckline so it caught beneath her breasts, exposing and framing them fully to his gaze. His incidental touches to her bare curves as he made the adjustment had her fingers clutching the bench edge. When he was satisfied with the view, he bent, picked up his tea, sipped it as he studied her exposed, quivering curves in pregnant silence. She held her back straight. Held totally still, though it felt so wicked to be sitting like this, near one of her favorite coffee shops, exposed purely for the sexual enjoyment of her Master.

“Yes, things like that connect us.” It took her lust-saturated mind a moment to realize he was answering her earlier question about the other men. “All of us lost our parents young. Ben was actually in foster care from the time he was five years old. Ran away from bad situations a couple times, lived on the street. At age nine, he tried to pick Jonas Kensington"s pocket. Matt"s father. When Jonas asked him why he should let him go instead of calling the police, Ben argued that he was doing him a public service, making him conscious of the value of his money, so he wouldn"t take it for granted.

And, in point of fact, if the lesson had value, then Jonas should really give Ben a percentage of what was in his wallet.”

Despite her current aroused state, she couldn"t help the breathy laugh. Seeing Jon"s gaze flicker at the way it made her breasts move caught it in her throat.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he murmured. She trembled at a deeper level then, responding to the sudden fervency in his tone. He didn"t touch her, but she"d never felt so…enveloped, in a man"s attention.

He lifted his eyes back to her face, a wry quirk now at the corner of his mouth.

“That was the abridged version of Ben"s argument. Mr. Kensington described it as worthy of a closing at a capital trial. Needless to say, he didn"t let Ben go. He worked to find him a better foster home placement and committed to financing his education.

When Jonas was killed by a Mexican drug runner on the border, Matt was seventeen.

But he was born for business, had been part of his father"s industry practically since he could walk. He took over his father"s interests, even his philanthropic ones.” Jon lifted a shoulder. “And in this particular case, I say philanthropy with a grain of salt. Matt"s no fool. He saw the advantage of training up a sharp lawyer, particularly when he decided to refocus his father"s business toward manufacturing acquisitions.”

“I"ll bet.” She let out a gasp as he cupped her right breast, his hand warmed from holding his cup. He thumbed her nipple, flicked it. As he did, he slid his other hand beneath the skirt again, but now there was no teasing. His knuckles slid firmly over her clit, then down, finding the opening of her pussy under the lace panel of the thong.

“Already slick for me again, aren"t you?”

“Yes.” Yes, Master. God, she wanted to say it so badly, without prompting, but instead she bit her lips, feeling the heat in her cheeks increase as his fingers pushed into that opening, enough to have her heart rate rabbiting.

“All right then,” he said, his penetrating gaze reading every reaction flickering over her face. “Let"s go shopping and see if we can keep that river flowing. I intend to dip into it pretty damn often today.” He slid her dress back into place, a heartbeat before a couple came around the corner, headed for the restrooms. “Keep your back straight,” he reminded her, picking up his tea again. “Don"t you hide those gorgeous nipples.

They"re mine. Every part of you is mine to display as I wish.”

She was beginning to believe he could make her come with his velvet commands alone, the things they did to her body. She obeyed, though she felt a little self-conscious as the male stranger"s gaze slid over her and then screeched to a halt on that part of her.

She detected it in her peripheral vision but kept her gaze on Jon, her Master. This was for him, and no one else. Nothing else mattered.

God, she was losing her mind. Hopefully she"d find it again before she made a complete fool of herself.

Chapter Thirteen

As a woman on a limited budget, Rachel had learned to appreciate the pleasure of window shopping, the occasional indulgence of walking in and buying something modest on impulse. She"d never experienced shopping with a handsome, wealthy and attentive man who was adamant about paying for everything. She suspected it might ruin her for window shopping ever again.

Though she tried to be conservative, she quickly learned his caveat—that he had the power to approve or disapprove a purchase—didn"t mean he would deny her the things she liked. On the contrary, it meant he would refuse her something she"d chosen for self-critical or price reasons, hand it back to the solicitous salesperson and then choose the item she"d really wanted all along. He hadn"t allowed her to bring her purse, had pocketed the key to her apartment, so she had nothing to carry, no responsibility beyond anticipating his desires.

It was overwhelming, flustering. It swept her off her feet, made the sun brighter, the breeze softer and everything about the world seem better, more hopeful. And her mood warily became more hopeful with it.

“So, exactly how rich are you?” she teased him, stopping at a jewelry store window to point out a garish collar of diamonds on a velvet display. He eyed the piece with lifted brow, gave her a sidelong glance.

“If you promise to wear that tacky, overstated thing to the next K&A board meeting, I"ll get it for you. But it"s the only thing you can wear.” She laughed. “I don"t think it"s my style. The necklace, that is. I won"t say a word about the other.”

“But it excites you, doesn"t it?” He bent to brush her ear with his lips. “The idea of that.”

She cleared her throat. “I"m surprised you didn"t take me to a place with…toys.”

“I don"t care for most of those places. I don"t think you do either. And you"re avoiding my question, Rachel.” He touched her chin, a gesture she"d noticed he did whenever she most wanted to avoid eye contact. But when she most wanted to look at him, like last night, he increased her pleasure with denial. A balance of her needs against her wants.

“Jon, you"ve already made me feel better about things I didn"t expect to feel better about, ever. I know you need me to trust you, but…” She went silent, the old pain stirring.

“But he made you feel ashamed of those cravings. As if it somehow made you faithless or…” Though Jon spoke softly, it didn"t make the truth any less harsh.

“Wrong.” She got the word out. “He made me feel it was dirty, immoral, twisted.

That I was…a perverted freak.”

He"d used a lot of other, worse words than that, but she couldn"t bring them to her lips. She didn"t need to do so. The frost in Jon"s gaze said he understood. He turned her fully toward him, resting his hands on her shoulders.