Power to the Max (Max Starr, #4) by Jasmine Haynes
Prologue
He’d wanted her the minute he first laid eyes on her. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he wanted to wrap her around his throat like a tie, wear her body like a fine cashmere jacket, and feel her lips on his cock every moment of every day. He wanted to cage her close to him, always with him, so he could have her whenever the whim struck.
He wanted to own her.
For Halloween night, she hid her perfect features behind a mask, its long black feathers shot through with threads of red. Eyes the rich shade of aged cognac glittered in the eyeholes, mocking him with arrogance, desire, and power. Another of her fantasies lay in wait for him tonight. His cock jumped to life.
The black velvet cocktail dress skimmed her thighs, barely covering the beckoning delight of her plump, hot snatch. She’d draped her arms in above-the-elbow, black satin gloves that he needed to feel on his skin. Black stockings and black suede fuck-me pumps completed the ensemble. Her sable hair curled down the center of her back.
He loved her hair, loved running his hands through it, fisting his fingers in it when she sucked him off.
“Hold out your hands, palms up.”
She did as she was told. He fisted both hands above hers. “Pick one.”
In his right, she’d find a tennis bracelet, sapphires set in gold. In his left, she’d find the key to a newly furnished condo. Whichever hand she pointed to, he’d give her the bracelet as an appetizer and the key as dessert after he came on her face. Or inside her.
She dropped her hands. Something indefinable flickered in her eyes behind the mask. “No.”
All his carefully laid plans went up in smoke. For now, he hid his anger beneath his own golden mask, the one she’d given him, cajoled him to wear. “Why?”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You love them. What about the time I finger-fucked you while the bartender served your drink? You loved that surprise.”
“Sex is never a surprise.”
Her deep, silky voice melted his anger. He put his hands in his jacket pockets and let the gifts fall from his fingers into the depths. He’d blown it. But there would be another time, another place. He’d give her the presents then, force her take them if he had to.
Drawing his hands out, he cupped the front of his pants, giving her the universal gesture. “How about this for a present?”
She smiled, her teeth even and pearly white, thousands of dollars of dental perfection. He wanted her mouth on him.
“That’s more like it,” she purred like a cat. Turning, she swept a hand across the desktop. Pencils, pens, holder, letter opener, and notepads went flying to the carpet. She hopped on the polished mahogany and spread her legs.
She wasn’t wearing panties. She didn’t believe in them. They hampered her job, she’d told him once. Lace edged the tops of her thigh-high stockings. God, to sink himself inside her was a dying man’s fantasy.
“Do me,” she whispered.
“I’ll turn out the lights.”
“Don’t.”
He glanced out the windows of the high-rise. They were on the twenty-second floor. Lights still blazed in the twin building across Market Street, and there was movement behind the glass.
“You’re wearing a mask, and this isn’t your office,” she coaxed.
Her voice seduced him. She was right. No one would know. The office belonged to his wife.
He started to unzip his pants.
She put her arm out, hand fisted, the black of her satin gloves glistening against her creamy flesh. “Hold out your hand.”
For the second time that night, she cut him off. He didn’t like the little power play. She still had a lot to learn about him. “No.”
She tipped her head to the side, the black feathers of her mask quivering. Her eyes glittered. Her lips smiled. “You wanna fuck me?”
Yes, she needed a lesson. But he had months ahead to teach her, years. For now ... he held out his hand as she instructed.
She dropped the gold-wrapped condom onto his palm. He made quick work of it, then slipped between her thighs. She fell back against the wood desktop and moaned. Her * glistened, beckoning. The lights of the San Francisco high-rises burned across her body as he entered her, then rocked against her, intensity and speed building. Suddenly he liked the sensation of an audience, liked the idea that a beautiful woman might be sitting alone in her office. Watching. Lifting her skirt. Putting her hand between her legs. Fucking herself with her fingers. Coming in a hot, creamy flow.
He shot his wad in an explosion of color. He might have screamed. She certainly did. She was the best he’d ever had, ever would have.
She was worth every penny he’d paid for her.
Chapter One
“Now blow, Max. Really hard.”
Max gave Witt the evil eye. He grinned. A shit-eating grin.