from: commandonate@gmail.com to: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com date: June 20, 8:51 AM subject: Image is burned on my brain That's a favorite combination of mine. You have been remiss in sucking my dick, incidentally, Miss Casey.

from: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com to: commandonate@gmail.com date: June 20, 8:54 AM subject: Forgive me I plan to rectify that. Soon.

from: commandonate@gmail.com to: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com date: June 20, 8:56 AM subject: I will forgive if you suck good and hard Do you?

from: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com to: commandonate@gmail.com date: June 20, 8:59 AM subject: Is there any other way?

Yes. Because you only gave me that one taste our first night together, and I want more. I want to feel you lose control for me. Let go for me. I want to taste you sliding down my throat.

from: commandonate@gmail.com to: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com date: June 20, 9:02 AM subject: No Can. Not. Think. Straight. Now. All. Blood. Diverted. South. Of. The. Border.

from: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com to: commandonate@gmail.com date: June 20, 9:05 AM subject: Staring at your hard-on right now, you sexy man I want your hands in my hair, and I want you deep in my mouth.

from: commandonate@gmail.com to: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com date: June 20, 9:07 AM subject: You fucking temptress You are playing with fire, my sweetness. When I get you alone in the room, the things I will do to you will drive you wild with pleasure.

from: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com to: commandonate@gmail.com date: June 20, 9:09 AM subject: Tempting you is what I like The things I will do to you.

She snapped her iPad shut, and flashed him a satisfied grin. She had plans for him when they landed. Big plans. A rush of excitement tore through her body. It felt foreign at first, then quite familiar. It was a feeling she hadn't embraced in a few weeks, but it was one she had loved-being in control in bed.

Even though what she'd planned for him wasn't going to take place in a bed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

London, mid-morning . . .

As the green awnings came into view, Casey shrieked in excitement and pointed.

At the other end of the block was the signature London department store with its elaborate red brick facade, and flags blowing in the breeze. She grabbed his arm. "Remember I told you about the dress I needed for Jack's rehearsal dinner? They have them in Harrod's. Is there any chance I could pop in for just five minutes? They've been selling out quickly and I heard they got a new shipment in last night."

Ah, hell. Not now. Not when they'd be at the hotel in ten more minutes. Every single second until he was alone with her was agonizing.

Nate was ready to launch into a myriad of questions to poke holes in her proposition, starting with how the hell would she know a store received a new shipment, and why did she need to go now, but he didn't have a chance to ask, because she was already telling the driver to make a pit stop, then asking his co-workers if they would mind waiting. "I swear it'll just be a quick in and out," she said to the lot of them, in the sweetest, most eager voice, pressing her hands together as if in prayer, that led Tom and the other guys to say of course. Damn, the woman was irresistible, even when asking to go shopping. He was such a goner.

She pushed open the door, and grabbed Nate's arm.

"You need me?"

She shot him a wide-eyed stare. "Yes." Then came a roll of the eyes. "I need your opinion on the dress, since you're the best man. I told you about this dress before."

He gritted his teeth. "Best man's duties," he grumbled, and in seconds, she'd grabbed his hand and was tugging him through the mid-morning crowds, bustling along the street, and then through the door the green-uniformed doorman held for them.

"I swear I don't remember discussing a dress at Harrod's," he said on the escalator, because he could have done without the detour. He was dying to get to the hotel and take her. Just fucking take her. Throw her on the bed, rip off her panties, and slide into her heat. Anything for some relief for his aching balls. The relentless pressure in his dick from her emails and the images they'd stirred up was nearing painful levels, and he'd kept his computer bag on his lap for the entire ride into the city from the airport. The only thing that had kept him from pouncing on her in the car was the presence of those co-workers.

His brain functions had been reduced to a one-track level. He didn't give a shit about lessons, or seduction, or submission. All he wanted was to have her. To own her body. To finish what she'd started.

"Yes. I told you," she said insistently, waving her hand in the air as if she were trying to get him to recall a long-forgotten conversation. "The Herve Leger. You forgot?"

She parked her hands on her hips and stared at him pointedly. He stared at her hips. At her jeans. At her long legs. Her heels. He plotted the fastest course to stripping off the denim when they finally reached the hotel.

Yank the jeans down to the knees, and bend her over the bed. Ass in the air, her elbows on the bed, her back bowed.

He jammed a hand in his hair. He needed to find a way to be near her without operating like a walking hard-on. Because that's all he was right now. A man led by his balls. She could have asked him to jump, and he'd be twenty feet in the air.

He shrugged and held up his hands in defeat. "Don't remember the dress at all," he said as they reached the next floor. She stepped off the elevator and he followed her, figuring the least he could do was enjoy the view of her ass as she walked. Maybe he was stooping to the basest levels today and objectifying her, but he didn't care. She had the most fantastic ass he'd ever seen, touched, felt, held or . . .

Dammit. There he was again, speeding on the express train to Lust Ville.

He tried to redirect his mind to the meetings he and his team were having here in London this afternoon, and the trick worked briefly as they weaved through displays of designer dresses. Casey made a beeline for a light-blue dress, grabbed it and marched straight up to the saleswoman to let her know she needed to try it on.

Nate lagged behind as she headed for the dressing rooms, figuring he'd use the time to answer a few emails from business partners. That would help him in his quest too.

Then the neck of his shirt grew tighter, and he turned to find Casey jerking on it. "I need your opinion, goofball. That's why I brought you here," she said and practically dragged him to the dressing rooms, where classical music piped in overhead and the voices of other shoppers were hushed. It was like being in a church. She pressed her hands to his shoulders and pushed him down in a beige upholstered chair.

"Stay here. I'll be right out to show you."

She disappeared into the dressing room, and clicked the door shut behind her.

All his business thoughts fled his brain once more as he imagined her skimming down her jeans, tugging off her top, sliding those curves he loved into that dress.

He heard the door open and Casey popped her head out.

"That was fast," he said, because she'd been in there for about five seconds.

She crooked her finger. He followed her lead, entering the dressing room. She was still wearing her jeans, her shirt and her shoes. The dress she brought into the room hung on a hanger on a hook. He pointed to the blue fabric and parted his lips, but the words he was about to say died quickly when she grabbed his collar, and pushed him against the wall. In an instant, her lips were on his, devouring him. All his questions and all his irritation leaked away in the wild hunger of her mouth. She kissed him relentlessly, sucking on his tongue and his lips so hard that he felt the kiss deep in his bones. It vibrated through his bloodstream. His brain went haywire. His body launched into maximum overdrive from the ferocity of her kiss. Her hands threaded through his hair as she rubbed her lush, delicious body along his, grinding her crotch against him, sending him spinning.

She broke apart, whispering, "You really had no idea?"

"No idea what?" His brain was still foggy and probably would be for days.

With lightning speed, she dipped a hand below the waistband of his jeans, stroking him. "Why I brought you here."

He nearly growled from the temporary relief. "I really haven't been able to think straight since the plane."

She unzipped his jeans, freeing his erection. He was ready to get down on his knees and thank the heavens for her touch. Her soft nimble hands stroked him, and he began rocking into her fist, seeking friction, seeking heat. He didn't care what she was going to do to him right now. As long as she didn't stop touching him anything would be okay.

A groan rumbled through him.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh . . . you need to be quiet. Harrod's is a very classy place," she said softly in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. "I need you to do that for me. Can you promise me you won't make a sound?"

There was something so sexy about her voice right now, in the way she owned every single second of his pleasure. She'd taken charge, and she seemed to relish mapping out all the details of whatever it was she planned to do to him.

"I promise," he said. He would agree to anything right now.

"Then," she said, lingering on every word as she breathed hotly in his ear, "fuck my mouth."

She dropped to her knees, pushed his jeans down a few more inches, and dived in. There was no teasing, no licking, no flick of her tongue against the swollen head of his cock, and he was damn grateful. He didn't want finesse or foreplay. He wanted to be touched.

"Just like that," he said on a groan. "All the way."

She stopped, and shook her head. The message was clear. She was in charge, and he had to listen. He mimed zipping his mouth shut, and she returned to lavishing attention on his cock.

This blow job was straightforward. She took him all the way in and went to town on his shaft. It didn't matter that he'd been told to be quiet. Even if he could talk, he had nothing to say. The only sounds he'd have made would have been animalistic. Besides, she didn't need any direction from him.

She swirled her tongue along his dick and sucked so hard she was blowing his mind too. The friction was astonishing. She was fast, and she was furious, and her lips were locked so tightly around him that she looked exactly as she had when he'd dreamed of her doing this.

Unspeakable pleasure slammed into his body, twisting, rising, coiling through his veins. He was close, so close. She stopped once and he was ready to grab her head and drag her back to him, when he looked down to see her licking his balls. The sight of that made him nearly explode.

She worked her tongue over on him until he could no longer take it. He speared his hands into her hair, whispering harshly, "Get back on me now."

She raised her eyebrows, the hottest look of satisfaction in her gaze as she wrapped her lips around his dick once more, then grabbed his ass in her hands and rocked him into her mouth.

This was it. This was the motherfucking blow job of his life. He gave it to her good and she took it, obliterating his hold on any thread of sanity with the way her wicked tongue licked him and her lips sucked hard, so hard that the pressure built and built and built, then it simply crashed into him, ripping all the breath from his lungs. White-hot light erupted behind his eyelids.

He gripped her head, curling his fingers around her skull as she dug her sharp nails into his ass. He came hard in her mouth. It was an explosion of pleasure in his body, a sheer blast of intoxication rocketing through his cells.

Blow jobs were certainly known to sink a man's hold on logic, to lead a man to say things that he wouldn't ordinarily say. But he'd retained some awareness of his surroundings, and the proximity to other people beyond the dressing room doors. Otherwise, he probably would've blurted out something he wasn't ready to reveal. Not just something sexual or dirty, but something deeper, about how much he had wanted that from her. For years.

As she stood up, he was damn near ready to tell her then he had dreamed of that, and not merely because he wanted her physically, but because he simply wanted her. More than he'd ever expected to.

But her finger was back on his lips again, keeping him quiet. She had no idea he'd been about to tell her how long she'd been the star of his fantasies, and how he hated the idea of ever letting go of their new reality.

Turned out Harrod's really did have the dress she wanted. Casey didn't even need to try it on. She told him she knew Herve Leger fit her like a glove, so she'd grabbed the dress from the dressing room, slapped down her credit card, and snapped it up for the rehearsal dinner.

When they slid back into the car a few minutes later, zipped back up, hair straightened, she spoke first, brandishing her shopping bag. "Look! It was so worth the stop. Thank you for waiting for me."

Nate put the brakes on a naughty grin, turning his head to stare out the window so his colleagues wouldn't know that their boss had just gotten blown in Harrod's.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

London, noon . . .

The top floor of The Luxe in Kensington was stunning, with gold-trimmed walls and a royal blue carpet leading them down the hallway to a penthouse suite. He slid the card through the slot, then held the door open for her. She had stayed at his hotels many times, so she knew better than to let her jaw drop when taking in the richness and sensuality of the rooms, but she had never stayed in the penthouse suite in London before. The suite was palatial, and impeccably appointed with a British flair to the furniture, but still outfitted in the sleek and sexy style The Luxe was known for.

She was about to make a quip about how it's good to know the CEO, when he dropped their two suitcases on the floor, grabbed her wrists, and backed her up against the wall.

"Look at the room later," he said in warning, his eyes blazing at her. He had that hot and hungry look that made her feel as if he wanted to eat her up.

"I have my meeting soon with Sofia's," she said in protest, but he didn't seem to care, because he'd nudged her legs apart with a strong thigh, and she was spread-eagle, standing up, pinned to the wall.

"This doesn't need to take long," he said, grasping her wrists so tightly his fingers dug into her flesh, delivering a sharp bite of pressure. Of ownership. Of possession.

"But it's at one p.m. I don't know how long it will take to get to Hyde Park," she said breathily, fighting the battle her body was waging, because her body wanted to take him up on his quickie offer, thank you very much.

He dropped one hand from her wrists to run his thumb along her cheek. "Don't think you can wriggle away from me. After what you did to me at Harrod's, I'm going to need to bend you over the bed, and show you what happens when you try to take control like that."

She made a purring sound, momentarily feeding his appetite and their game. "What will you do?"

"Fuck you into submission. Fuck you until you come again and again. Fuck you until you beg for me to do it again."

"Is this supposed to be a punishment for me taking charge? Because it sounds pretty good," she said, arching an eyebrow in some sort of challenge.

"Don't test me, Casey," he said, and surely, he was playing a role again. He was her lover, calling all the shots, keeping her under his command. Dropping his hold on her wrists, he crushed his lips to hers, kissing her so hard that she was nearly ready to throw in the towel and say screw the meeting.

Especially when he turned on his tender side, and whispered, "Let me take care of you now."

But she had an appointment and she intended to keep it. Tardiness for the sake of an O might be momentarily rewarding, but it was foolish long-term.

She gently, but firmly pushed him away. "I want to. I truly do. But I need to shower after the flight and change and freshen up. I don't want to be late," she said, then ran a finger along his jawline. He hitched in his breath, closing his eyes softly. When he opened them, there was something different in his expression. A vulnerability she hadn't seen in him often.

"Besides, I need you to know that I didn't do that to you in the dressing room to get something back," she added, looking him square in the eyes. "This thing between us doesn't just have to be about you teaching me. Sometimes I want to lead, and sometimes I want to give. I hope you didn't mind that I took the lead on that and just kind of pushed you up against the wall at Harrod's."

He shook his head vigorously. "God, I loved it. Casey. When is it going to get through to you that I love everything you do to me?"

Warmth bloomed inside her chest, like a big daisy flower in the summer. This man made her feel so sexy, and so passionate, and no one had done that for her in years. When she'd been with Scott, she'd spent her days engineering pleasure for others, and her nights trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong in the bedroom. With Nate, she felt both beautiful and desired. She wanted to clutch this feeling close to her chest, and hold onto it for all time. She wanted to share it with him too. "I'm happy you liked it. I wanted you to feel better," she said, running her hand along his arm. "I hated that Joanna put you in a funk, so I wanted to do something to get you out of it."

He wrenched back, narrowing his eyes, staring at her in surprise. "Please tell me you didn't give me a blow job because you felt sorry for me because of my ex-wife."

Cold needles of worry pricked into her. She shook her head quickly. "Of course not," she said, her voice rising.

He backed away, shoving a hand through his hair. "Casey," he said, in a frustrated tone as he reached the doorway to the bathroom, leaning against it.

"Nate, it wasn't a pity blow job," she said, closing the distance between them again, refusing to let him shut down.

"You just said you did it because you felt bad about Joanna."

"I did feel bad about Joanna. I also wanted your dick in my mouth," she said, choosing to be particularly blunt.

He laughed once, then stopped. "I like the second part of that better than the first. Can you say that second part again?"

She tap-danced her hands up the front of his shirt. "I loved doing that to you. But I'm not going to shy away from saying the hard things. And that's this-I wish Joanna didn't have such a hold on you," she said with a sigh.