Mr. Fuckability Ch. 04

A special thank you to BlueMonteCarlo for all the work editing this piece. You're are fantastic. To everyone who has read, commented, and continues to read this story, Thank you!

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I shake my head to try to get my brain back in the game. I step off the elevator to find him waiting for me. His eyes twinkle mischievously, and I wonder if he's thinking about the same line I am.

If I had been the one fucking you in the elevator, you wouldn't have noticed if we got caught until I was done with you.

One side of those amazing lips hitch up to show those adorable laugh lines. He holds out his hand to me. "Thinking about something?" He smirks, the confident gleam in his eyes confirming my suspicions.

He is arrogant, but he manages to make it hot. Most guys would make me want to roll my eyes, but this man only makes me wish I had spare underwear.

I take his hand letting him lead me through the overly bright hall way to the only doorway on the floor. I watch my shoes so I don't have to acknowledge the questioning look from the husky man sitting in a chair near the front of Mr. Green Eyes' room. He's dressed in casual clothes, but I can see the butt of a gun at his waist. Mr. Green eyes nods to the man who nods in return and goes back to reading a newspaper. When he closes the door to the suite I lean forward to place a hand on his back so as not to lose track of him in the dark.

"Why do you have a security guard? Are you on parole or something?" He doesn't answer just turns on the lights.

His place is spectacular. The far wall is darkened glass that shows the city scene below us. The floors stretch endlessly with white marble buffed to a high gloss shine. The dark wood tables look like they were once owned by a king of England, silver chandeliers hang in the living room and a matching one over the dining room table, to the right is a built in bar. The living room is broken up by a couch that can sit fourteen. My eyes can't seem to keep from scrolling back and forth over all of the splendor.

"Holy Smokes." I croak.

When I manage to recover what little cool I still have left, I clear my throat and turn to him.

"I take it you are on parole for bank robbery. Let me guess, they got you but not the money?"

He laughs and walks towards a fully stocked bar. "No, and no again, although it's good to know you think so highly of me. It also makes me wonder what kind of people you usually hang out with." He reaches up to take down two shot glasses, pouring an amber colored liquid into them, and offers one to me.

I take it and join him, leaning against the bar. "No parole then?"

"The business pays for it when I'm traveling."

"Oh so you're just passing through?" I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad at not having to see this man again, my lower half is definitely sad, but the upper half is sending off warning bells that say icebergs ahead proceed with caution and here I am a woman without brakes.

I swirl my glass, sniffing it cautiously. I can't discern the exact flavor of the poison, but I'm guessing it carries a much larger alcohol per volume content than the wine I'm used to.

I take a sip and immediately feel the canon ball go off in my chest. Evidently someone has lit the damn thing before launching it, because my throat quickly goes up in flames, as well.

I wheeze and cough, fanning myself as the man beside me laughs out loud.

"What in God's name is that?"

I think briefly about running my tongue along the expensive looking rug to help smother the fire, but I have embarrassed myself enough in front of this man.

"It's twenty year old scotch." He takes a sip, letting it swirl over his palette before swallowing as I look on in abject horror.

"Some would say it's one of the best liquors made."

"Some must be the name of a hobo you know, right? Let me guess the one on the corner of Fifth and Kline. He's my favorite, too." I hand him his glass back and walk toward the nearly complete skyline of the city below us that completes the east wall of his suite. I stop long enough to pick up the handcuffs from my purse slipping them subtly on my wrist like a bangle bracelet stashing the key in my bra. I put my other hand to my mouth to try to hold back another cough as I step up to the windows to look down upon the city bustling below us.

It's not long before I can feel him step up behind me. He is so close I can feel the heat of his body against my back. His cologne is a subtle, seductive, musk that combines with his heat to raise the hair on the back of my neck and shoot my hormones straight into Hustler territory.

I turn to face him as he steps forward, pressing the length of his body into me. His lips come down, warm and strong on my own. His tongue demands entrance, sliding along the seams of my lips. I open for him; his fingers curl around my face, tilting my head to allow him deeper access to the kiss. My hands curl into his soft, silky, hair and yank his head back as I try to climb his body. His hands cup my ass beneath my skirt, lifting me and holding me in place, as I wrap my legs around his waist.

"Oh, fuck yes." The words are all run together on a long hiss of air as he slams my back up against the glass wall. His kiss is devouring, all teeth, tongue, and sliding hips.

God, he feels so good. I can feel him thick and hard through the soft fabric of his slacks. I claw at the shoulders of his jacket, and he obliges by shrugging out of it, groaning as I wiggle my hips to stroke him.

"Jesus I haven't been this hard for someone since I was fourteen." He kisses my answer away, devouring my lips and any last ounce of reservation I might have about how this night will end.

I reach for his tie, and I'm not surprised to find that it's the real thing. I haven't learned how to tie a tie, or in this case untie one. I have no father and no brothers, so there is no reason to have learned. After several failed attempts with it, he curses, knocks my hands away impatiently, and pulls us away from the wall. I gasp at the unexpected movement; my arms automatically curling around his neck as he takes my weight.

"Hold on." he murmurs against my lips. When I comply, his hands lock securely around the cheeks of my ass, nearly bruising in his strength. He turns us, carrying me into the bedroom, kicking the door open, and tossing me onto the bed as he moves to the end. I take the opportunity to slip the handcuffs and key under the pillows as he makes short work of the tie and moves on to the buttons of his shirt.

The skin that peeks through as each button is opened is nothing short of mesmerizing. Tan skin that is strung taut over muscles that ripple with his every movement; green eye bright like a back lit emerald. His dark hair is wild, standing on end from my fingers, with one beguiling lock falling forward to caress his cheek.

My breath catches in my throat and my lungs decompress as his shirt falls open revealing a six inch swath of tightly defined muscle. I couldn't turn away from this man if someone were standing beside me screaming FIRE. He is beautifully stunning in his perfection and a small voice in the back of my mind whispers that I may be in over my head.

"Take off your shirt." He voice is deeper, strained as he begins undoing the cufflinks at his wrist, tossing them onto the bedside table. They land with a tinkling sound that should have come from a magic wand in a Disney movie. I am be spelled by him as I reach the hem of my shirt and slowly peel it up over my head, tossing it to the side leaving me lying in a black lace bra and grey pencil skirt.

"Now the skirt." His nods his head at me, rolling his shoulders to shrug free of his white shirt as his fingers move to the button on his slacks, opening it, then pausing. His eyes following my hands as they slide to my skirt, and I shimmy the fabric slowly over my stomach, down my hips, letting it slide to my calves. When it reaches my toes, I kick it in an arch to fall at his feet.

His mouth leisurely coils into a devilish smirk as his eyes move from my skirt back up to my face.

"That's so fucking hot." He laughs softly, shaking his head at me.

I smile back, loving the way each time I move, his eyes darken, and the intense way he is always watching makes me shiver. His chest is rising and falling on harsh breaths, his abdomen clenching into defined muscle, then relaxing in an erotic rhythm.

I reach behind my neck, tracing my color bone then moving my hands back to unfasten my necklace.

"Leave it. I like it."

I drop my hands, suddenly unsure what I should do next.

"Lay back."

I can only imagine the picture I present laid out in front of him on his white satin comforter, blond hair flowing out around me in nothing but a black lace bra, red fingernail polish, bare from the waist down since the matching panties are still in his pocket.

To my surprise I'm not embarrassed, but emboldened by the image. The way he looks at me makes me feel sexy, as if everything I do turns him on. I have an erotic kind of confidence with him that makes me so much more than I usually am.

His smile forms slowly, green eyes growing dark with the sultry slant of heavy eyelids and full black lashes encasing a look meant to steal souls.

He toys with his boxers, holding the band out to let them inch down his hips. His grin grows just a little bit wider. I am practically salivating at the sight of him. My rapid breaths are harsh even to my own ears. It's not just the muscle toned body that has me panting for the first time in a very long time. It is the almost animalistic way he watches every move with an unabashed hunger causing all kinds of bells and whistles to go off in my body.

His face becomes serious, the smirk melting away at an alarming speed as he springs free from his boxers, looking angry and swollen, straining to get to me. He wraps a hand around his cock rubbing it up and down, up and down, slowly pumping. When I can finally tear my eyes away from the play of his hand, I look up to find him studying me intently.

"Spread your legs. I want to see you." He whispers. His is voice horse, thick with passion, yet there is no mistaking the command in them.

My legs fall open of their own will without so much as a thought on my part. He steps forward to lean over the bed, one hand exploring down the center of my body stopping to roll one of my aching nipples between his finger and thumb, the sensation both pleasure and pain. His fingers tickle across my stomach, and I gasp, moaning in need, as they sweep across my lips pushing inside my folds to find me already wet for him, embarrassingly wet for him.

He groans letting his hand drop from my body. His head falls back onto his shoulders. "Sweet Jesus Woman." he murmurs his voice a sensual rasp that brings my nerve endings to high alert. He rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and closes them for a moment.

His hand continues its slow, mesmerizing tug, up and down his shaft. I have never seen a man handle himself before, and it has never occurred to me how sexy it could be. I eagerly admire him stroke the length of himself, his chest glistening with a fine sweat, his legs slightly bent, eyes shut, and face lifted towards the ceiling as if in silent prayer.

Just watching him as he strokes his hard length has my thighs wet with my own need and my sex swollen, aching, and he has barely touched me. Dear Jesus, I may not survive this, but I am going to die a very happy woman.

I can't hold back the moan as I slip my fingers down to stroke myself. His eyes open slowly and grow ever so much wider as he notices where my hand is.

"My God, you are going to be so much trouble for me." He growls shaking his head in disbelief.

I arch my back off the white comforter in invitation, lips curling as I try for a sexy smile. It must have worked because his eyes darken into that intense, all-encompassing stare as he crawls up the bed to lie beside me. I gasp in surprise as he grabs me rolling us over, lowering his body onto mine. I savor the feel of his weight and heat, loving the way his heavy, muscled body pins mine to the bed. I'm not sure what possesses me or where the sudden recklessness comes from, but my hand slips beneath the pillow to find cold metal. I'm going to blame the latent reckless streak on my father. He is the impulsive one who took off one day and never came back.

Green Eyes makes a grab for one wrist pinning it above my head and moves to do the same to the other when the click of cold steel around his wrist stops him. He freezes. Those intense, emerald eyes flash to mine and hold.

"What are you doing?" His voice is calm, nearly chilling in its monotone delivery, but the heat in his eye and the strengthening of his grip belies his cool demeanor.

I wet my lips suddenly unsure. The old familiar shyness is returning. Damn it! I don't want to be that girl anymore and definitely not with him. This man is raw, sensual, wild, all the things I wish I could have more of.

I take a long slow pull of air, bolstering my courage on the fact that I will never see him again. "The challenge of course." I do my best Betty Davis eyes and Greta Garbo sex purr.

He almost smiles, like he wants to, even would have, but the wariness I had seen earlier in the evening returns washing over my self-confidence like a bucket of cold water. He tries to move back, but I have a hold on the other end of the chain dragging him to a stop.

"I'm not used to being the one in the cuffs, Sprite."

Our eyes met like fire and ice, and I can feel pieces of my resolve splintering under the pressure.

"Then it will be something different for both of us."

I want this man, not because of some stupid challenge, but simply because I want him, and I haven't wanted something, anything in so very, very long.

I think momentarily about abandoning the challenge altogether, but then again I really want to stand out in his mind like I know he will always stand out in mine. This guy is worth every fantasy I will undoubtedly have about him, and I can tell he is used to getting his way.

The unnerving intensity is back in his eyes; he studies me for a long moment, making my body writhe with want while still trembling because I can see him deciding my fate. He is either going to give in or throw me out. I'm not sure which, and he's giving me no clues which, idea he prefers.

"Forget the challenge. You can tell your friend's anything you like tomorrow, but tonight is all mine." He closes the other cuff around my wrist locking us together; his body pinning me beneath him.

There is nothing gentle about his kiss. It is an invasion, a conquer and destroy mission. His tongue thrusting into my mouth, taking advantage of the gasp of surprise that never makes it past my lips. This is not a kiss of passion, but of control; hot, slick mastery that tears a responding moan from my body even as my brain protests.

He answers with a low, throaty growl, pushing his hips into mine, holding me pinned with ease as he languidly thrust his erection into the softness of my lower belly. I arch against him unable to resist the sweet pressure of him, wiggling desperately trying to get him closer to where I want him the most.

His response is wild and instantaneous. He pushes up, away from me. My bra explodes from my body, shredding into two wisps that fly through the air. I flinch away from him out of reaction even though he is back to being perfectly still again; watching me, weighing my reactions.

Jesus, I hadn't expected that! The display of power and speed has tingles starting at the back of my neck that are not of the warm and fuzzy variety. My heart thunders like war drums in my ears. A bullet train of fear takes the express route through my lust soaked brain arriving at survival central to drop off the information that my dumb ass has handcuffed herself, naked, to a perfect stranger.

He's using the strength of his arms to keep his upper body above me as he watches my face. He shuffle his weight to reach for me again, but I instinctively move away from him only to be stopped by the chain linking us. His hand falls back to the bed, those black brows slamming down at a slant. His eyes fly to mine, ominous, intense, hot with dark promises.

"I've scared you. How?"

"I never...it happened so fast. I guess I wasn't expecting it." One curt nod is his answer.

"Have I done or said anything to you that would give you the impression that you would be anything, but safe?" He rolls his body to the side freeing me to pull my legs away.

We both know that he hasn't, but there is just this undercurrent about him that make my skin tingle and the hair at the back of my neck stand on edge. I can't put my finger on it but somewhere in the depths of those green eyes lives something that could be dangerous.

He pulls gently on the chain that connects us to get my attention back on him. His other hand moves slowly towards me, giving me plenty of time to move away or stop him. When I do neither, he smiles, running the tips of his fingers down my cheek.

"Come closer."

I wonder briefly if this is what Little Red Riding hood felt like, but I still move closer to him.

He leans forward to capture my lips in a gentle, beseeching kiss. His tongue traces my bottom lip, seeking permission to enter. When I don't give it right away, I feel the edges of his lips curl up into a smile, causing my own to join.

He pinches one nipple, twisting it inbetween his thumb and finger until I gasp.

"I should have called you Vixen." He growls, pulling me closer, claiming my mouth again; always invading but never too much, just enough to make my blood pump wildly, and my hormones take up NASCAR. He is distracting to say the least. He moves his body against the length of mine rubbing all that delicious hardness against me as he mimics his unwavering desire against my tongue.

I slip my free hand beneath the pillow searching for the cold metal key I have stashed there for safe keeping. It's the clicking of the handcuffs around his other wrist that brings him up from the punishing kiss.

He's breathing hard, and the flavor of the scotch is much more intoxicating on him than it ever was in the glass. I lick the taste of him from my lips. He moves away from me to sits back on his legs looking down at his cuffed wrists in surprise. He is clearly displeased with my actions. It's the wrinkle that forms between those sleek, black brows that give him away. The inverted slashes falling intimidating and low over brackish, green eyes.

No, he isn't happy, but the way his eyes follow the path of my tongue as it slips across my bottom lip, tasting him, makes me more confident that I might just get what I want.

Okay, this is either going to be the hottest night of my life or the most humiliating. I think as I watch irritation war with need on his classically handsome features. Please God; don't let him toss me naked from his bed and into the hall for his parole officer to deal with. I may never recover.

I hold my breath as I watch those impossible-to-read green eyes. He sits very still, trying to control his breathing. Apparently I'm not the only one afraid of what he might do if he gets his hands on me right now. I begin worrying my bottom lip.

I think it's the lip biting that wins me the battle. He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and drops his shoulders; all the tension leaving his body as he starts to laugh. The sound is a deep rich vibrato that makes me want to crawl closer to him and lick my way up his body.

"I guess we are both full of surprises tonight." His eyes are bright and shining and the smile he gives me is nothing short of dazzling.

I let go of the breath I am holding in a loud, rushing, sound of relief.