Management Skills by January Rowe Page B

length from base to head, making his shaft pulse and thicken. Joseph would throw back his head and groan. She’d take him deep into her mouth, caressing with her tongue. Her hands would fondle his balls. Soon he’d be bucking and snarling against her. And then, his release imminent, he’d scream.
    Her recollection faltered and faded. No. That wasn’t right. Joseph never screamed. But someone had screamed.
    Was it her? Had she just screamed? Right here in the hotel room?
    It was her. She’d climaxed. She was shuddering, spent, her palm resting on her core. She’d re-enacted pleasuring Joseph—on her own body.
    Drawing her hand off her mound, she rested it on her collar, a symbol of commitment again. She felt a renewed devotion to Grant. Exhausted and happy, she fell asleep.
    A gentle knock at the hotel room door woke her up. She blinked, confused. Someone at her door? She pulled on her robe and looked out the peephole.
    Grant!
    Squealing with joy, she opened the door and dragged him inside.
    “Oh, Sir,” she cried. “I’ve missed you so much. So much.”
    She let her robe drop and wafted to the small desk. Leaning over it, she planted her elbows. Her nipples grazed the fine-grained wood surface. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He didn’t move. He was so handsome, so stern. He wore a black suit—and an even blacker expression. He stared at her as though he’d never seen a woman before.
    He’d never taken her from behind. She wiggled her ass in invitation.
    He closed the distance between them, roughly turning her to face him. She loved his strength. Her vagina clenching, her juices running freely, she moaned, equal parts lust and anticipation.
    She reached up to touch his stubbled chin. He captured her wrist, stopping her.
    His indigo eyes glimmered. “You’ve disobeyed me, Mine. You haven’t been chaste.”
    His words shocked her into silence.
    That accidental diddle session didn’t count. Surely he could see how ragged her breathing was, her desperate need. She was still hotter than a rocket.
    “That’s not true,” she said.
    He scowled. He didn’t believe her.
    Afraid of his disappointment, she dropped to her knees on the carpeted floor. She unzipped his trousers, shoved down his soft cotton boxers. His penis leaped out. How could he be so upset with her and yet be so hard? Stroking his fine, muscled thighs, she looked up at him. He was still pissed.
    She kissed his cock. Hard and smooth, it pulsed against her lips. Before she could take him into her mouth, he gripped her shoulders firmly, dragging her up against him.
    “I’m looking for your sexual obedience. Not a blow job.” He pulled up his pants, turned away and stalked out of her hotel room.
    Her owner was furious with her.
    It was so unfair. It wasn’t as if she’d hauled out her favorite dildo and masturbated on purpose. She sobbed. It was an accident. It was more like sleepwalking. Nobody blamed sleepwalkers for what they did when they roamed about unaware.
    She was innocent. She’d been chaste.
    All she had to do now was convince him.

Chapter Seven
    Grant paced his hotel room, dissatisfied. He’d wanted to surprise Allie with a visit. But the surprise was on him.
    All day he’d been planning how to please and tease her, how to collect the debt she owed—extracting every bit of interest. He even had a little gift for her. The DFX-90 prototype. She’d wanted to test out a better spotlight setup for weeks now. He’d called in a few favors to get the thing. The lamp and console was here in his hotel room.
    Why didn’t she understand deprivation led to their spectacular climaxes? It was clear she’d broken her promise to remain chaste. He knew the second she opened the door. Normally she stopped breathing when she first saw him. As long as they were together, even while they had sex, there would be a hunger in her expression. No sassy, seductive walk to the desk. No ass wiggle.
    Oh yes, those rich, womanly cheeks, bare and