Power such as she’d never known swamped her.
“Ah, Christ. Jesus H. Christ.” Those were his words. He never uttered another don’t, never pushed her away. His body rose to meet her. And when he came, his power filled her mouth, filled her body, and she almost went over the edge with him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was like coming down off a drug-induced high. Max couldn’t look Witt in the eye.
She sat up and away, looked out the side window while the sound of Witt zipping and buckling echoed in the plush interior of the car. Only after the sounds died did Max sneak a peek at him. What was he thinking? She couldn’t tell a thing from his stony profile as he buttoned his shirt and straightened his tie.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he opened the car door and climbed out, stepping slightly forward so that she could follow him. She sort of wished he’d just take a hike for the elevators and leave her behind, but she’d never been a coward.
Liar.
So Cameron had borne witness, too.
How do you feel now, Max?
It was all Cameron’s fault. He’d started it back in the bathroom stall, getting her all revved up and needy. Not to mention Witt whomping on her in her hallway last night. Men. They’d set her up.
I didn’t do it so you’d pull your power shit on him, Max. I wanted something else entirely.
What? Something like forcing her to admit some overwhelming emotion for Witt? She was never at her best in a backseat. Sex in a backseat was about power, nothing more.
You were supposed to take him upstairs. You were supposed to make love to him.
She wanted to scream at Cameron. Instead, she whispered, “You were the one who said I didn’t know how.”
Then she fumbled for her shoe and got out of the Lincoln simply to get away from Cameron’s voice.
That meant she had to face Witt. He’d smoothed his hair, and his breathing had returned to normal though. A slight flush remained on his cheeks. His eyes were steel blue. The only touch of intimacy that lingered was the scent of sex in her nostrils and the taste of him in her mouth.
Angela and Hammerhead had disappeared. The only sounds in the garage were the squeal of car tires on another level and distant traffic on the street.
“Sorry I got a little carried away.” She had to say something just because he didn’t say anything. The silence was killing her.
“Well, you wanted me to out and out beg, and you got it. In the backseat of a fucking pimpmobile.”
He hadn’t actually begged. She’d goaded him into saying please. What else was a guy going to do when a woman had him buried in her mouth?
“You made me beg last night,” she countered.
“As I recall, you kept saying no the whole time.
Yeah, while she’d mouthed the words, she’d done everything he demanded she do. Then he’d told her the orgasm was okay. She hadn’t realized until now how much that bugged her.
“And that was between just you and me,” he went on. “Nobody watching. Who were you playing for, Max, me? I don’t fucking think so.”
But it had been for him. She’d forgotten about Angela and Hammerhead.
Witt’s hand went to his back pocket, returned with his wallet. “Just once, Max, it’d be nice if you did something without extracting your pound of flesh at the same time. You just don’t know how to give a goddamn thing back.”
She’d swallowed. What the hell was that if it wasn’t giving something back? Men loved it when women swallowed.
But Witt wasn’t most men. She’d played him, teased him, tricked him, and pulled her power shit on him. He was sick of her games, tired of the chase. No matter how sexy it was. If she’d said yes last night and begged, given him the words he seemed to want, would what happened in the car have had a different ending? She decided it was better not to mention the swallow.
He pulled bills from his wallet. One, two, three, four, five. Five hundred dollars. He’d brought his own cash.
“Here.” He held the cash out to her.
For a moment she flashed back to the first Lance vision, the man with his hands out, the woman refusing to take. She pulled her hand back just as Witt let go, and the bills floated to the ground, where they landed askew at her feet. They both stared at the green against gray concrete.
“I brought money,” she said.
“Take mine. You earned every penny. That was the best fucking blowjob I ever had. Better run off and pay your pimp now.”
He turned then and walked away, not to the elevators, but down the aisle, the hard slap of his shoes echoing long after she lost sight of him.
She thought about leaving the money where it had fallen. She had enough to cover what she had to pay Hammerhead. The bills, however, yapped at her feet like angry dogs. She’d pissed him off yet again. How many more chances did she have left?
Pick them up. Cameron’s voice beat at her.