Loving You Easy. Roni Loren
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crates. Only the dim blue light of her phone screen filled the space.
Lenore: *struggles but secretly likes having your hands on me*
Dmitry: You like the idea of being captured?
The question wound through her like sweet temptation. Never before would she have considered that a desirable scenario. She’d spent half her life being scared someone would grab her. Her mother and the cases she’d worked had put that fear in Cora. It was a legitimate fear. But playing that kind of game with someone she could trust? Facing that nightmare scenario and twisting it into something sexy? She’d never be able to trust someone that implicitly, but virtually, she could go there in her head.
Lenore: Only if you’re the captor.
Dmitry: Mmm. I’d like to watch you struggle for my touch. I’d make you ride your edge until you beg. I bet you’re beautiful when you beg. I know you sound sexy when you do it.
Goose bumps chased over her skin. Since she couldn’t picture the real man, she pictured the version of him from the game. She imagined him knotting the ropes around her wrists and ankles, touching her everywhere, searching fingers and hot skin, making her want all the things he could give her.
Dmitry: Are you struggling now, L? Are you getting wet at this boring work thing?
She shifted in her shoes. Her blood was pumping, the place between her thighs growing warm. The dark felt like a cloak around her. Safe. Secret.
Lenore: Yes. It’s not feeling so boring now.
Dmitry: Where are you? Meeting? Your desk?
Lenore: At an event, stepped into a hallway.
Dmitry: Are you wearing a skirt?
She frowned. Never. She’d never felt comfortable in the things, despite her mother’s repeated attempts to get her to wear them. She glanced down at her pinstripe dress pants and white silk tank top. Grace had given her a thumbs-up on the outfit, but Cora doubted Lenore would wear such a thing.
Lenore: Dress
Dmitry: Perfect. Part your knees. Pretend I’m there with you running my hand up your thigh.
Despite the fact that she wasn’t really wearing a dress, she stepped a little wider, imagining his hand gliding up her legs and along her overheated skin, causing her to shiver. Her nipples became obvious points beneath her shirt.
Dmitry: Did you do it?
Lenore: Yes.
Dmitry: Picture my fingers beneath your dress, trailing up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side. Can you feel them, teasing you, not quite giving you what you want yet?
Sensation traced over her skin and she tilted her head back against the wall. God, she longed for that feeling, wished she could will him into existence right in front of her.
Lenore: Yes.
Dmitry: Tell me what you need.
Lenore: You. Your touch.
Dmitry: I bet you do. You’ve been good for me, so I won’t make you wait. I can feel how slippery you are against my fingertips. I slide my finger lower and push inside.
Cora shuddered, her breath quickening.
Dmitry: You’re so wet for me, L, and I can feel you tighten around me. You need this so badly. You want to beg for more, but you have to be quiet. No one would know what I was doing to you. The event would just go on around you. You’d wear a nice polite smile while I fucked you with my fingers and made you come all over my hand.
A gasp slipped past her lips as her inner muscles clenched hard. She was steps away from a crowded party, but she could almost feel his hand on her, thick fingertips finding her sex and pushing inside her. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together, trying to put pressure where she needed it most. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her nipples turned sensitive against her bra. She wanted to touch, to get relief. Her fingers curled against her thigh. Maybe she could just press the heel of her hand . . .
“So I think it’s time for our very important business meeting.”
Cora’s eyes popped open, and her breath caught at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. She automatically clutched her phone to her chest, blocking the light.
A woman laughed. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”
Two shadowed forms came into view and passed by Cora as they headed toward the back of the hallway. The fine hairs that had escaped the twist in Cora’s hair fluttered against her face as the couple kicked up a breeze in their wake, but neither noticed her. She was just another shadow.
Cora squinted. There was enough light that she could make out the height of the man, the petiteness of the woman, but not much else. They were walking close together, obviously sneaking away for something and in a hurry. Cora glanced toward the entrance and the rectangle of light that led back to the party. She needed to bail.
“Keep it up with the laughing,” the man said, his voice low but ringing with authority. “See how long it takes me to shut you up.”
Cora stiffened and her attention swung back to the couple.
But the woman made a sound like she’d just taken a bite of the best chocolate. “Look forward to it, sir.”
Sir. The word rang through Cora. Reverberated. Sir. It meant a very specific thing to Cora. But this couldn’t be that. Her mind was just stuck on Dmitry and the game. This was probably some assistant and her boss sneaking off to make out. She needed to leave, make it known that they weren’t alone. Hello, innocent bystander here! I was just leaving. Don’t mind me!
And she was all prepared to do that until she heard the sound of a zipper and shift of fabric. She turned her head automatically toward the noise, the harsh unzipping like a beacon.
The woman’s breaths were sharp in the darkness—quick, anticipatory. Sexual.
Cora tried to pull her attention from them, tried to make her feet work.
Look away, Cora. Look away!
The man’s voice sliced through the silence like a bullet. “Suck it.”
Cora froze.
And she didn’t look away.
“Suck it.”
The two utterly male words filled the dark space and hit Cora like a knee to the gut, stealing her air. The command wasn’t directed at her, but, God, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anything hotter. Suck it. It should’ve sounded stupid. Juvenile. It so didn’t. Her free hand pressed flat against the wall, and she tried to stop breathing altogether.
There was a rustle of movement—the woman getting to her knees, no doubt, and the man showing her what to suck.
Cora decided then and there that she was a bad, bad person because goddamn, she couldn’t make herself leave now. She couldn’t look away. It was the Hayven game manifesting in real life, and she had a front row ticket.
She blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision. Now that she hadn’t looked at her phone for a minute, her eyes were adjusting to the inky darkness. The couple was a few yards away from where Cora had tucked herself between the stacks of plastic crates. She wouldn’t be completely hidden from their view if they looked her way hard enough, but both seemed too involved to bother. The woman was on her knees and had her back to Cora, a long curling ponytail snaking down her spine, and the man had his head down, his focus on what was about to happen. The moment before impact. The moment before pleasure.
Cora held her breath. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. Like air had ceased to move. A still, heavy quiet.
Then, her