The Executive's Wife
The Wives Tales 2

Sophie didn’t want to die anymore. She was saved. Orin turned around to glare at her. One strand of hair had escaped the confines of the swirl plastered to his bald head and hung limply down the side of his face. The look he gave her after being defeated by Mr. Westland radiated pure waves of unrelenting rage.

Yeah, how dare she allow herself to be bid on by someone with more money, the nerve of her? The lock of greasy hair hanging unattractively to his chin made Sophie even more grateful he wasn’t about to be her–what was it the crazy new world order referred to this as?—her lord and master.

Orin looked the exact same way as he had on her first day of work. His nostrils flared in righteous indignation at having been thwarted by Matthew…again.

Sophie had needed her job because she helped support her mom and sister. She’d been fortunate Mr. Westland had agreed that Orin should be castrated instead of rewarded. She might have faced termination for failure to get along with her peers in any other company.

She and Mr. Westland exited Orin’s office, but she’d scurried away from his magnetic presence before she did something inappropriate, like throw her arms around him, latch her mouth to his luscious face, and refuse to let go. No, she’d saved that for a few months later at the Christmas party. A vibrant thrill ran through her at the memory of his hard-planed body trapping her against the metal door to the garage.

The auctioneer cleared his throat impatiently and motioned her off the stage urgently, as if she should hurry because he’d just made a bunch of money on her. She instead sauntered to the steps, earning his frown. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him as she passed behind him on stage.

“If you would step over here, sir, we can officiate the contract,” the Tiberius representative said to Sophie’s future husband at the foot of stairs off the stage.

The contract of marriage these days had a whole different meaning. Promising to love and honor et cetera went by the wayside to be replaced by who got what percentage of funds spent for the bride being auctioned off.

Sophie’s worthless scum of a father, a sperm donor at best, got to have a whopping ninety percent. Eight percent went to the auctioneer, and finally two percent went into the coffers of the Tiberius group. A cut they told everyone they earned by officiating the contract and ceremony joining the couple in matrimony. Plus the forty-eight hour body scan done to ensure consummation of every union. They certainly didn’t want people getting married to escape Tiberius persecution.

Men being forced to have sex with whomever they married supposedly made them more cautious about their ultimate choices. But Sophie only understood the rules favored men, and they could do as they pleased regardless of their initial choices. An uncontrollable and unwanted urge to weep came over her and she fought to stay serene.

The official Tiberius marriage broker stepped up and motioned impatiently for Sophie to come off the stage. It was time to meet the groom. As if he read her mind, Matthew Westland looked up at her, still paused on stage, and smiled lightly.

From behind her, Sophie heard the auctioneer say, “We’ll start the bidding for the next bride at five thousand and see where it takes us.” She paused at the head of the steps and gazed at her groom.

“Hello,” he said warmly and held out his hand.

Sophie remained quiet, fighting tears threatening to spill over burning eyes as she descended the few steps. If she so much as uttered one word, she’d burst into loud, uncontrollable sobbing. Her desolate mood stemmed from the narrow escape with the deviant in the front row along with the general horror of the auction. Unqualified and here-to-date unknown relief now raced through her, making her very emotional. A single tear slipped out and ran down her face before she could wipe it away.

“Why the tears? Is there someone else you would prefer to marry?” he asked in a low voice, taking her arm.

Sophie reached up and wiped away moisture and shook her head. “It’s the whole auction situation I find disturbing.” She then added quietly, “And if I ever find out who authored the Working Woman’s Auction Memo, which put me up for sale in my own damn company, I’m going kick his balls up his ass.”

Matt’s eyes widened briefly, but didn’t acknowledge her response. He simply led her to a room behind the stage where the funds would be paid and the ceremony performed. Sophie could smell his expensive cologne as they stood together, the scent of which sent her right back to last December and the wall she’d been pressed against when he’d kissed her that first time…and then…more.

Sophie watched him out of the corner of her eye. Her whole body vibrated with the memory of the last time they were together. He saved her, again. Maybe he remembered the kiss at Christmas. Maybe he felt something for her.

“Thank you for saving me.”

His sudden sardonic smile startled her as he whispered, “I didn’t actually do it for you.”

“Then why would you marry a veritable stranger? I can read the papers. I know you have…well, other choices.”

“You aren’t exactly a stranger,” he said, leaning in close, whispering in her now sensitive ear. “I know exactly how you taste, how you smell, and especially how you feel in my arms when you scream in climax. It’s an intriguing combination. One I found I couldn’t pass up.”

Sophie closed her eyes and felt her face go hot in memory of that supremely gratifying sensation, which had stabbed through her at his assistance long ago, as if she were experiencing it all over again. “I didn’t think you remembered. You never…” Her head bowed and she found she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Neither did you,” he stated coolly as she felt his arm circle her shoulders.

“You were my boss,” she snapped with accusation in her tone, still unable to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, that was my excuse, too. But it isn’t an issue any longer.” He squeezed her shoulder once and pulled her closer. “Is it? Are you ready to marry me, Sophie?”

This time she looked in his beautiful blue eyes before answering. “Yes. I would be…grateful to marry you.”

“I don’t want gratitude.”

“What then?” She sounded breathless to her own ears.

He laughed before he said, “Well for starters, I’d like to finish what we began in the parking garage hallway. That particular experience, while gratifying in many ways, has always seemed a bit incomplete to me.”

The combination of his warm, sexy body pressed up close, his sultry voice caressing her senses, and his decadent I-want-to-fuck-you-this-second cologne wafting all around made another rush of moisture accumulate between her legs in readiness. Sophie’s heart beat so thunderously in her chest, she couldn’t speak. She took short breaths to calm herself, but with it came Matthew’s sexy scent, the fragrance of which made her insides quiver in long awaited need.

He leaned in suddenly, right into her personal space. “And then I’d like to do it some more. And then some more after that.”

“Oh…” Sophie managed to say as a rush of air whooshed out of her lungs.

ADULT EXCERPT

“I promise I’ll never say this to you again, but please don’t make a sound.” She nodded her understanding yet again and felt a blush creep up to her face. No moaning or screaming out loud like she had under the mistletoe. Otherwise, the other occupant might lower his paper and stop them from completing their tryst.

The only thing worse than getting caught, she decided, was getting caught and failing to succeed in their task to secure their future.

And given the choice, she sincerely wanted a life with Matthew Westland, whatever it took.

Matthew twisted his head and placed his lips on hers, seductively teasing them open with a single lick as his hand moved further up her leg. Nimble fingertips buried themselves quickly under her skirt. His tongue quickly wrapped around hers in erotic plunder. He grabbed her underwear and tugged them down a few inches. She stifled the urge to suck in a sharp breath at his bold actions and concentrated on his lips to forget where she was.

Don’t make a sound, don’t make a sound, don’t make a sound, she chanted to herself.

Matthew had the most luscious mouth. It took all her focus to not react like she wanted to. A moan of appreciation bubbled up in her throat wanting to escape. His fingers niggled their way between her legs and stroked once, the sensation of which sent a sharp longing through her body. She was embarrassed to be wet for him already. She’d moistened up with supreme gratitude upon hearing his deep rich voice say, “one hundred thousand dollars.”

Not because she cared about his money. She honestly didn’t. No, she realized right away that with his generous bid, she’d get the opportunity to finish up what they’d started under that sprig of mistletoe. She was about to get her Christmas wish after all, albeit four months later than expected.

Moistening up was not hard for her to do when Matthew Westland said anything. Besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t longed for him aching through each and every lonely night since the Christmas party months ago. His magnetic presence enveloped her as powerfully now as it had back then. Sophie focused on the memory of their first sexual encounter instead of the distinct possibility Asher was about to catch them banging quietly in the back seat of a luxury stretch limo, no less.

She’d relished every lip-licking erotic moment with Matthew against that metal door, but afterward in the gray reality of January when the mistletoe had been thrown away, she was horrified at her actions. She experienced her first man-in-the-same-room induced orgasm. But when he’d reached for his pants to give her what she wanted, the ding of the impending elevator sounded through her like a twelve-foot diameter gong. She shoved him off and ran to escape being caught. She should never have let things go so far and yet a part of her also pouted about having been interrupted.

Her cab to the airport had arrived miraculously at the very moment she’d launched out the metal door. She’d jumped in the taxi, locked the door and told the driver she was late for her flight. She’d been breathing hard and she remembered the taste of Matthew Westland still on her lips as the taxi pulled away.

She hadn’t looked back, afraid to see that he’d come after her. She was afraid that if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to resist him. If he’d so much as crooked his little finger, she would’ve swum across frigid lake water to kiss him one last time. She knew her fatal weakness, and his name was Matthew Westland.

Her hand brushed the barely damp spot on the halter of her sexy velvet Christmas party dress directly over one lonely aching nipple, as the cab pulled away. A shudder had run through her, a shudder of needful, shameful want. She wanted more, craved more, of Matthew’s touch. But at that particular time, she couldn’t have it. He was her boss for God’s sake.

Matthew Westland was not an avenue she could explore. At least, not until now.

Sophie zoomed back to the present and the luxury stretch limo. The desperate need to consummate her humiliating auction-induced marriage to her former employer was in progress. She was wrapped around her boss—no—Matthew, her new husband, about to have sex as quickly as possible so his father wouldn’t marry him off to someone more politically connected. Not the dreamy honeymoon she’d envisioned, but she understood the necessity. Matthew promised to make it up to her. Actually, he already had against a metal door under the mistletoe.

Matthew kissed a path from her lips to her throat as he pulled the crotch of her panties aside. She felt his fingers slip inside of her very moist aching core, ever so slightly brushing past her clitoris, and she stifled the urge to jump through the tinted skylight she noticed in the ceiling of the limo. She was wet and ready for him, and now he knew it, too.

Should she be embarrassed? No time.

Matthew shifted silently on the seat and prepared to mount her. Her legs were spread as wide as they would go across the leather seats now caressing her half-naked butt. She managed to relax and opened her legs wider. She opened her eyes and caught sight of the not-distant-enough newspaper in her view. It only made her tense up again, so she turned her face away and buried it in Matthew’s shoulder.

She couldn’t believe Asher couldn’t hear them. Matthew already had his zipper undone and she hadn’t heard it. She felt the ridge of his enormous cock resting on the inside of her thigh. Another thrill ran through her at the knowledge she was about to find out if he was as big as she suspected. Her first feel of him was a memory from back under the mistletoe. Those oft whispered rumors of his impressive size were not at all exaggerated…then or now.

“Ready,” he whispered. She turned away from his shoulder to look in his face and nodded her assent. She held his sexy gaze until Matthew lowered the lids of his eyes seductively, and pierced her to the hilt with one very deep and very satisfying thrust. She sucked in silent breath of unbelievable pleasure as he quickly stroked inside her again, and again and again. The immense thickness of him penetrated and stretched her core to the limit with each deep stroke of his cock. Her body accommodated him…barely, but he kept up the pace of his thrusts even as she wondered what his definition of a few strokes was. 

Sophie melted into the smooth rhythm of his powerful thrusts, relaxing to allow the pleasure of it to seep into her tingling body. She pushed her hips forward to meet his next thrust and his cock seemed to slide even deeper. Whisper quiet, Matthew drove his cock inside her yet again. The angle of his thrust almost stroked her clit with every other push and the stirrings of a bone shaking climax grew within her.

The combined scent of the leather her half-naked butt rested on with Matthew’s unique scent of starched shirt and fuck-me-now cologne tinged with the acrid knowledge of being caught caressed and yet heightened her senses. Thrust. Stroke. Thrust. Stroke. Matthew was about to make her climax. She held back fearful she’d scream like a banshee if the wash of climax took her suddenly. Thrust. Stroke. Thrust.

God, he felt incredible.  Better than she ever thought possible. She’d wanted his cock buried inside her desperately back in that empty hallway. With him driving repeatedly into her now, sending bolts of delicious sensation deeply inside her core, she was on the verge of release. Sophie held back even though she wanted to sing, moan, and scream.

Oh, God, did she just make a noise?

Sophie heard the newspaper at the other end of the small space rustle. This was quickly followed by a choked gasp and the sharp thud a brandy glass being dropped hitting the carpeted floorboard of the limo.

“What the fuck?” Asher screeched, trying to stand as his rumpled newspaper fell aside in the center of the limo aisle.