by JC Harroway
‘Sounds like we both need some down time.’ His stare dips to my chest, lingering where the robe sits just above my breasts. His eyes have the same regret they wore in his office yesterday.
‘Perhaps we should talk. You seem to have things on your mind. And I also have questions.’
When his eyes land back on mine, they’re even more tortured and burning up with coppery flames. ‘You could take my mind off anything...’ He steps closer, bathing me with the scent of his cologne.
His stark honesty, his vulnerability, renders me immobile. Perhaps he’s feeling as adrift as me. My breath hitches. Power and certainty thrills through me, setting off a series of delightful shudders.
Work can wait. Pleasure is the perfect antidote to my unsettling doubts over Hamilton’s. I need to forget that the only certainty in my life right now is how much I want him.
I step closer too, dip one shoulder so the robe slips down my arm, exposing half of my chest. ‘Is that right? Even though I’m the enemy?’
His pupils flare. ‘We could call a temporary truce...’
He lifts his free hand slowly and traces one fingertip along my collarbone and over my exposed shoulder. The contact spreads through my entire body like warm honey, chasing away the last lingering seeds of mistrust and resentment, and bringing that glorious abandon I craved when I texted him.
He knows how to make good on that seductive look on his face. How to make my body sing. The wild fluttering of my heart tells me I’m addicted to his distracting touch.
‘I know this will likely surprise you as much as it does me,’ I say, ‘but on this subject we agree.’ I take another sip of wine and he does the same, his stare locked with mine.
Excitement floods my nervous system. Professionally he’s the master of his universe, and he’s even the master of mine at the moment, unless he has a change of heart about the merger. But physically, we’re equals. Both driven to forget past demons with our sensual game.
I take his glass and place both mine and his on the table. My heart beats like a drum as I step close and tug the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head until his ripped, bronzed torso is revealed to my greedy stare.
Damn, he’s a work of art. Broad chest, strong arms, toned muscles. When he held me close on Friday, for a few seconds I felt surrounded. Protected. Safe.
With my eyes locked to his intense stare, I pop the button on his jeans and slide down the zip. He stands there as if he expects my worship, and he’s right to assume. I want to run my hands and mouth over every beautifully masculine inch of him, not for revenge, but for the pleasure it will give me, the pleasure I’ll see in his ardent green gaze. But he’s not unaffected—his chest rises and falls on ragged breaths.
He’s hard, his cock straining behind his boxers, demanding my attention. I shove down his jeans and underwear and encircle him, sliding my hand slowly and provocatively over his rigid length until he cracks and bites out a curse.
His hand fists my hair with an impatience that’s echoed deep inside me. I want him wild and on edge. I want him greedy and demanding. I want him quaking with desire before I cease the torture.
He drags my mouth up to his, delivering a crushing kiss that steals my breath and makes my fingers clutch at his arm. I dig my nails into his warm, satiny skin and sway against his hard chest, trying to stop myself from collapsing into him with the force of my longing.
‘How are you going to punish me?’ he growls against my lips and I feel the same sensation buzzing between my legs in recollection.
I whimper at the look of fierce, unadulterated need on his face. He’s close to the edge.
‘I’m going to suck you.’ I pull back, watching his face contort with rapture. His pupils flare wide and I drop to my knees. I want him to lose his mind until he’s not sure if he detests me or craves me. Until he wants me out of his sight one minute and is frantically searching me out the next. Until he’s as helpless to stopping this as I am.
We’re both trapped in this spiral. The question is: are we heading up, or down?
For now it doesn’t matter. All I want is to taste him.
‘This is for making me want you, even when my head knows better.’ With his eyes on me, I glide my tongue from the base of him to the tip, capturing his every reaction—the harsh intake of his breath, the tightening of his grip on my hair and his sculpted mouth falling slack with desire.
Not satisfied with anything other than his full surrender, I draw the head of him between my lips, tonguing him as if he’s a delicious lollipop.
‘Fuck...’ He drops his head back, his eyes scrunched closed for a second as he adjusts to the intensity of pleasure jerking his body.
His thigh is steel under my hand, his hips thrusting uncontrollably as he watches the progress of my mouth over the most sensitive part of him.
‘Mmm...’ I hum low in my throat, losing myself in his pleasure and my power, easing off on the suction, teasing him, taunting him, punishing him. This inebriating sense of control chases off my earlier qualms. My memories. My loneliness.
I keep my lips pressed to the spot I’ve identified makes him shudder so I can stimulate him while I talk. ‘You brought me here to do a job, but you haven’t been honest with me.’
He glares down, wildness in his expression. The thrill of his transformation pounds between my legs. Gone is the sophisticated, commanding businessman. I’m in charge now that the tables are turned.
‘Beg for your punishment,’ I whisper, ensuring my lips hit the right spot as they form the words.
He grits his teeth, defiance warring with passion and need in his stormy eyes.
‘Suck me,’ he barks, his hips jerking as if of their own accord.
It’s good enough. The desperation in the ferocity of his stare restores my confidence. I’ve got this and any other challenge thrown my way.
I smile, wrap my lips around him and slide my mouth as far down his shaft as I can. He hits the back of my throat, his salty, musky taste flooding my mouth.
‘Ava!’ His groan urges me on as his other hand joins the first in cradling my head. His fingertips flex against my skin and tangle in my hair.
His expression becomes shot through with vulnerability as he watches my mouth glide over his length. It’s heady to know I can undo him as easily as he undoes me. That I’m not alone in this helpless obsession. That we’re equally matched in the art of war.
But I don’t want a draw. I want to win.
I keep my mouth on him as I free the belt of my robe, peel it open and then slide one hand between my legs. I’m wet for him, aching and empty and equally desperate. I graze my clit with one fingertip, spasms racking my body in rapturous waves.
‘Don’t you dare come,’ he says, gripping my hair in his curled fingers and thrusting his hips in an erratic rhythm. ‘I have plans for you. I want you naked and coming all night. You robbed me of that last time, when you fled my room.’ He grits out the words through clenched teeth, too high on arousal to do more than take what I’m giving him.
I want to argue, but denial would be a lie.
I grip the base of his cock and angle him back so I can take him deeper, suck him harder, drive him wilder. With every grunt and groan he makes, my pulse flies higher. I’m not alone in this hurricane. He’s trapped too, somewhere between distrust and delirium. Enmity and ecstasy. Restraint and release.
I moan as I find the rhythm I need on my clit. This is so hot—the helpless, crazed expression on his face alone is enough to make me come. He may not trust me with business matters, but his body is mine in this moment, and I don’t want to stop until he free falls and releases himself to our combustible chemistry.
He looks down and hisses out his breath, his eyes bouncing between my mouth and my hand between my legs.
Fresh determination slashes across his face. ‘Stop.’
&
nbsp; Regret is clear in his eyes as he jerks his hips back out of my reach so he slips from my mouth.
I cry out in protest, so close myself that I feel robbed.
In a single move, he drags me to my feet, pushes the robe from my shoulders and hauls my naked body against his hard chest.
‘You drive me insane...’ he grits out. We connect, shoulders to thighs. Scalding hot skin and quivering muscles. Helpless need rising between us. ‘I can’t stop wanting you.’ His tongue dives between my parted lips and he growls out a feral sound.
Triumph blazes through me on a fiery wave that zaps my nerves—together we’re part of something temporarily bigger than us, something compelling and insistent that won’t be denied.
Not enemies. Not lovers. Caught somewhere in between.
Sterling yanks a condom from his pocket, his other hand still wrapped around my waist. He kisses me while he heels off his shoes and kicks away his jeans and boxers. I’m walked backwards towards the bed while my body goes into the meltdown I’ve grown to anticipate—a prelude to his addictive brand of sex.
For now I’m done testing him. I’m slick between my thighs, longing to have him thrust inside me with that sexy grunt he can’t hold inside. Craving his loss of control, knowing it will drive us both over the edge into oblivion.
‘Hurry,’ I say. My hands move frantically on his warm skin, which is taut over rigid slabs of muscle. His body is a work of art: toned and powerful, unashamedly masculine, crushing me under his weight until I feel we’re somehow joined, co-existing in a way I’ve never felt with another soul.
Like you could belong...
No—there’s no room in me for such a dangerous thought. Alone is safe.
When my thighs hit the edge of the bed, he snatches his mouth away from our kiss. ‘Turn around.’ His hands on my hips urge me into the position he wants.
I obey his domineering order all too eagerly, sliding onto all fours on the bed and watching him over my shoulder. I know what’s coming. His sublime and thorough possession. Unrelenting fervour I want with a desperation that terrifies me, because I need to cling to some semblance of animosity between us to fight him professionally for my past, my sense of belonging. My life.
He stares between my legs as he covers himself with the condom and then his eyes traverse my backside until they lock with mine once more. Understanding flares between us—we’re in this compulsion together.
‘Please,’ I beg, because I know it will feed the fire in him and urge him on. And then I’ll get my relief.
He steps up close, his thick thighs brushing the backs of my legs and buttocks and setting off a series of seismic tingles that travel to my core. I laugh and cry in triumph as I get what I want: his touch. Oblivion. Freedom.
His hand slips between my legs from behind, locating my drenched clit. He rubs over the swollen nerves, working me into a frenzy so I arch my back and bite my lip to contain the shock of pleasure.
But it’s no use. It’s too big to hold inside.
With his hands gripping my hips, he notches his cock at my entrance and I spread my thighs to accommodate him, urging his domination with fragmented words of encouragement that feel ripped from that tightly wound part of me that normally carries all of the weight and makes all of the decisions.
‘Yes... Now... More...’ My fingers dig into the bedspread as he pushes inside me, stretching me. I brace my arms, pushing back against him to increase the friction and take him deeper.
He curses, his fingers digging into my hips as he thrusts again and again. ‘I can’t decide what feels better, your mouth or your pussy,’ he says, his breathing ragged.
I know what he means. Every time we’re intimate I think it can’t get any better, but it does.
‘Looks like I’ll have to try harder to make a distinction.’ I squeeze my pelvic floor muscles until he gasps and bends over me to rub at my clit in retribution.
‘Bad woman. What shall I do with you?’
I pass him the control of my pleasure so I can let go and simply fly. ‘Keep doing this,’ I say, scrunching my eyes closed as intense delirium holds me captive and wipes my mind clean.
He groans against my back, his prickly facial hair scraping the skin between my shoulder blades as he bucks inside me and strums his fingers over my clit.
‘Ava,’ he groans, the tone of his voice telling me how close he is to unravelling with me.
‘Yes, yes!’ I cry, my fingers joining his between my legs as my climax tears through me. We come together in a cacophony of ecstatic cries that echo from the hotel-room walls.
As I come back to earth I marvel at the depth of my hunger. How can I have needed him so desperately, knowing his plans for my business? How can I have started off punishing him but quickly surrendered? Because it’s too good, that’s why.
And good things end, leaving you alone again.
Sterling withdraws and uses the bathroom while I breathe through the frigid panic taking up residence in my chest. It’s just the effect of endorphins. Who knew sex could be so gratifying and addictive but also leave me so raw...?
When he emerges from the ensuite bathroom, I catch sight of his expression and my stomach sinks. Rather than appearing satiated and restored, he still seems haunted. I expect him to dress and leave, but he shocks me anew.
‘Mind if I stay a while?’ he asks, scrubbing a hand through his still damp and messy hair.
I shrug, still high from my orgasm. The sight of him naked and proud and somehow vulnerable sparks renewed desire in my blood.
My heart lurches. Perhaps we might be friends, when this is over. I have precious few of those and someone as professionally well-connected as Sterling could be an ally.
Perhaps he could be more than a friend...
Only I’m broken, my parts barely held together like a cracked eggshell. Trust, reliance on someone, only leads to pain and abandonment. And I feel as if I’ve already written the manual on those heartbreaks.
‘Not at all.’ I draw aside the covers and tap the bed beside me in invitation to distract from my terrifying thoughts. I sit up and try to rectify my disastrous hair. He sees my attempts, catches my wrist and then strokes the dishevelled mess back from my face with a tenderness that leaves me jittery and confused.
‘I’m starving,’ I say to cover my reaction. ‘You’ll have to watch me eat something from Room Service, I’m afraid.’
His smile touches his eyes, layering heat and something less tangible there. ‘I could eat something from Room Service. I came around to invite you to dinner, but seeing you in that robe robbed my appetite.’ He drops his hand from my cheek and collects our wine, depositing the glasses on the nightstand. He plumps the pillows and joins me in my bed as if we’re an old married couple about to watch the late-night news together.
We stare at each other. I laugh. He grins. It feels good to break the tension after an unsettling day and the intense sex we’ve just shared. And the more intense emotions...
‘You’re on my side,’ I say to hide the fact that I want to kiss him again.
‘No, you’re on mine.’ His voice is a playful rumble. ‘But at least we’re not at odds over that, too.’
He raises one eyebrow—a reminder of where we started and how much more complex things have become between us since what was supposed to be a one-night stand.
My stomach knots with inevitability. He’s right. Regardless of how hot we are together, we can’t both have our way businesswise. Is that logic and objectivity talking—his merger makes financial sense, and I believe he will find a buyer and make huge profits—or am I simply slipping under his sensual spell?
Damn—that’s not good.
CHAPTER NINE
Sterling
I WIPE MY fingers on a napkin and place my tray on the nightstand, a sense of calm satisfaction radiating through me. Astonishing after
dealing with a string of irate calls from Josh today.
‘I was a teenager the last time I ate French fries in bed,’ I admit with a grin, trying to forget the demands of my stepbrother. My feeling in any way light-hearted being here—in Chicago, a city that connects me to Marcus, dealing with the dissolution of his company—is a testament to the power Ava holds. Not, as I first assumed, over my business decisions where Hamilton’s is concerned, but over weakness of a different kind: my weakness for her and for this connection I can’t seem to ignore or get enough of—the reason I asked to stay a while.
Being forced to remember the past, and Marcus’s role in my life, makes me forget who I am and what I’ve achieved in the years since I was a boy under his control.
Ava swallows a bite of her burger and wipes at her mouth. ‘I can’t imagine a teenage you doing anything quite so...mutinous as eating junk food in bed.’
Mutinous...? I guess it was pretty rebellious in Marcus’s household, by his standards, by which I’d been forced to abide.
Discomfort grates at my skin; rebellion is exactly the emotion I’ve battled today. Rebellion against the urge to capitulate and hand over Brent’s to Josh. Let him wade through the consequences of his father’s poor management, underinvestment and years of neglect. It’s about time he woke up to the man his father really was, the man he could be when driven by jealousy and tyranny over another man’s child. Even discussing Marcus’s business draws me back to a time in my life I hate reliving. A time of powerlessness. Impotence. Rejection.
But exposing Marcus to Josh means exposing Marcus’s true nature to Mom. I don’t want to be responsible for her pain by blackening his name—it’s my job to protect her, and she likely knew his worst side anyway.
Except the vengeful part of you does want her to know everything.
No, I won’t stoop to his level. I’ll never be like Marcus. Instead I’ll make something successful and positive out of Brent’s. Move on. Help Mom to do the same.
‘Why can’t you imagine my wild side?’ I ask.