Page 27 of Hooked

Chapter 8

TRUE TO HIS WORD, JOSEPHkept her naked, without so much as a stitch on, for nearly the entire weekend. Helping her overcome her shyness around him was his rationale—not that he needed one—but she suspected it was more because he was enjoying the view as well as free access whenever she was within arm’s reach. Neither of which she minded because his touches led to caresses, which progressed to kisses and them getting busy on the nearest flat surface.

Unless they were having sex, he remained fully clothed in contrast to her nudity, which swung the pendulum of power even farther to his side, where it stayed. Even at home, he didn’t slouch on his appearance. No ratty T-shirts and sports shorts for this man. Although he eschewed the suit for casual days, he still wore neatly pressed trousers and a button-up shirt.

She teased him about being the only man in Texas that didn’t own a pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and a Stetson. But he’d surprised her on Sunday by wearing exactly that when he took her out to brunch. When she laughed with delight at her sexy, swaggering, slightly nerdy cowboy, brunch had almost turned to lunch because Joseph had promptly unzipped his jeans and folded her over the back of the couch for a quickie. When they came, she wasn’t sure if it was only her, or both of them, that shoutedyeehaa!

Granting her a reprieve from the all-nude weekend, he still limited her attire for brunch to a sundress and sandals, nothing else. This fell under Joseph’s newly implemented no-panties-with-dresses rule.

“Are there going to be a lot of them?” she asked as she surrendered her lace bikini panties—that were so skimpy they really shouldn’t count—on the way to his car.

“A lot of what?” he asked, grinning, as he tucked them into his jeans pocket.

“Rules,” she replied.

He eyed her, one dark brow raised as if to say,you work for me and you have to ask?

She remembered typing the revised employee handbook that filled a three-inch binder. Livia added one just like it to her mental shopping list so she could keep up with them all.

As he handed into the car, like a gentleman, she asked, “Why no panties? It’s not like we can do anything in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

His grinning response, “You’d be surprised,” concerned her. But then he elaborated. “Being bare will be a reminder of my dominance over you, not to mention it will keep you wet and hungry and ready—just how I like you.”

The heated glance he gave her, even though it had been only minutes since their quickie, had her squirming in her seat.

Being naked at home with him or under her dress in public made her aware of her body and her proximity to his. She soon caught on to his plan of using texture and touches to push her to the very limits of her control. Like when he brushed by her in the kitchen, allowing the coarseness of his trousers to abrade her bare behind. Or, when he pulled her close for a hug or a kiss ensuring that her hard nipples—which had been in a state of near perpetual stimulation since he’d left her naked and wanting in her apartment—rubbed the placket of his shirt or caught on a button.

Even the few times he allowed her to dress, he’d used subtle touches to keep her aroused. While out for breakfast, while they walked to their table, his hand rode her lower back, but two of his fingers dipped to her behind and rubbed the material of her dress over her pantyless cheeks. Even when they snuggled on the couch while reading the paper or watching the news, he’d curled her into his side such that his shirtsleeve rubbed across her nipples every time he moved.

It was driving her mad. Fortunately, he took her often, relieving the edgy buildup. The only times that she was ill at ease all weekend were when he dragged her down to sit perched on his thigh, a position he seemed to favor but left her uncomfortably aware of the press of her drenched pussy against his pants. When he permitted her to get up, she did so, praying she hadn’t left an embarrassing wet spot.

She also learned he was extremely visual, and she often found him watching her. He’d admitted to enjoying the sway of her breasts as she moved, admiring the tempting curves of her hips, and what he called her “exquisitely formed ass.”

Joseph wanted her close, touching her near constantly when they were in the same room. He ordered her closer with a soft, “come here, pet,” whenever she wandered too far away.

If occupied with a task, he delighted in posing her provocatively. While preparing their lunch on Saturday—that he cooked was something else new she learned about him—he picked her up and plopped her bare bottom on the cold granite counter. He positioned her like a mud flap pinup, leaning back on her hands, breasts uplifted, and legs spread with her heels to her ass, leaving her pussy on blatant display. He’d sliced fresh fruit, playfully placing slices of strawberry on her nipples and kiwi low on her belly. As their omelet was cooking, he’d nibbled each piece off, licking her belly and lingering over her aching tips long after any residue of flavor could have lingered.

Later that day, while he was taking a phone call in his office, he had her on his lap at his desk. Facing him, with her feet flat on the armrests, legs splayed wide apart, he pushed her head back until it was resting on his desktop. Then the evil man had put the phone on speaker and played with her—fingers and mouth teasing her hard nipples and playing with her clit—while she bit her tongue and tried desperately to hold back her moans. He’d told her to be prepared to surrender if she came to him and he hadn’t been joking.

As much great sex as they had, they were also incredibly intimate on a nonsexual level, snuggling and holding each other close as they talked. At one point, she asked Joseph something she’d always wondered. They were lying on the couch in the aftermath of Joseph taking her against the living room wall. Brought on by the simple act of Livia walking across the room, he’d lifted her until their hips aligned, then with her legs around his waist and her back to the wall, he’d taken her. It was carnal, spontaneous, and utterly amazing.

Afterward, lying on the plush area rug in his living room, relaxed in one another’s arms, she blurted out, “Why didn’t you ever marry?”

Silence followed.

“If you want to tell me, I mean,” she rushed to say. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

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