by Vivi Paige
I kept pulling at the fabric until her dress was bunched around her waist, but she seemed intent on leading the charge as well. Moving fast, she untucked my shirt and unbuckled my belt. She popped open the button on my pants and then pushed the zipper down.
She didn’t try to tease me, nor was there any patient seduction happening. Instead, she moved like a predator that knew exactly what she wanted and would stop at nothing to get her prey. Yanking my boxer briefs down, she let my cock spring free and then gripped my length by the root.
I was about to pin her against the door once more when, using her free hand, she pushed me hard on the chest. I took a couple of steps back until my feet hit the stairs, but she didn’t stop pushing. She forced me to sit down on the steps, and then climbed on top of me with cat-like movements.
Reacting on pure instinct, I pushed the hemline of her dress up to her waist, and my eyes darted straight to her glistening folds.
“C’mere,” I growled as I reeled her in, and she threw her arms over my shoulders. Her legs laced around my torso, she only had to close the gap between us for my cock to be pressed against her wet inner lips.
I wanted to thrust—and moved my hips to do just that—but she put a stop to my actions. Shaking her head, she threw me a devious grin and then swayed her hips in the most maddening of ways. She grinded against me, my cock now slippery with her juices, and it took all that I had not to overpower her.
Why would I do it, though? She wanted to be in charge, and she was doing a good job. As far as I was concerned, this “woman-in-charge” deal wasn’t half bad. My philosophy was proven right when she grabbed my cock and angled it up, the tip now pressed against her warm entrance.
She looked straight into my eyes and, opening her mouth in a silent gasp, pushed herself against me. I responded in kind, and my long inches strained against her inner walls. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, my body boiling from the inside out as I buried myself in her.
It was perfection.
Our bodies progressed in harmony, each movement part of a dance that was as complex as it was simple. Belle’s soft moans bounced throughout the stairwell, pinging off the concrete walls and returning to us as a lustful echo. Those sounds were the sweetest I had ever heard.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I whispered against her lips, kissing her as our hips rocked against each other. My hands wandered to her backside and I dug my fingers into her soft flesh, eliciting another of her moans. Holding her in place, I thrust upward, putting as much strength as I could behind my hips.
Each time I drove my entire length deep inside her, another moan cascaded from her lips, which made me go even harder. Soon enough I got the results I wanted, and her moaning changed into full-blown screaming.
“Fuck,” she breathed out, resting her forehead against mine as she tried to regain some self-control. She stopped being as loud, but she was still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.
“That’s it,” I said. “Don’t hold back now.”
I didn’t need to tell her.
Her body was still ensnared by that flowing motion of her hips and, even though she no longer moaned or screamed, I could tell she was on an upward spiral of ecstasy. When her inner walls tightened around my hardness viciously enough for me to groan, I thrust one final time, which pushed her over the edge.
She laid both hands on my chest, slamming my whole body down against the stairs, and pressed her whole weight on me. Tilting her head back, she hissed through gritted teeth, her entire skin glowing as she came undone. I didn’t even blink as I took in the scene, my eyes drawn by the deep lines of pleasure etched in her face. At that moment, she looked like the most beautiful woman that had ever walked the earth. Not that I was surprised. As far as I was concerned, she really was the most gorgeous woman alive.
“That was incredible,” I murmured as her body melted into mine. The tension that had pooled in her muscles seemed to dissipate, and the death grip of her inner walls relaxed. I looked at her and smiled. I half-expected her to give me a dazed little smile in return, but that’s not what she had in store for me.
“We’re not done here.” There was firmness in her voice, the kind that left no room for arguments. She pulled back from me and I trembled slightly, my cock sliding out of her aching body. Before I had the time to prepare myself, she stood up, spun on her heels, and then sat back down. Straddling me in reverse, her back to me, she grabbed my cock once more and led it straight home.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she rode me like that, her movements making it almost impossible for me to control my body’s response. Hell, forget about the “almost” part of that sentence. I simply couldn’t control myself.
A fire raged under my skin, and I was so crazed with desire I wouldn’t even have known my name had anyone asked. I had turned into a wild beast, one whose sole purpose revolved around his prey. And thank God for that, because I had the hottest prey I could’ve asked for. Not that she was playing the role of submissive prey. Oh, no, she was putting up one hell of a fight, each movement of hers unleashing sweet destruction upon my body. When it came to sex, she was a tactical operator—one that knew all the right moves.
I tried to make it last, not wanting the ride to end, but even I had my limitations. Leaning back, my spine to the edge of the stairs, I pushed my heels against the floor. She slammed herself against me over and over again, her backside hitting my thighs repeatedly, and my eyes rolled with the ecstasy her movements caused.
Thrusting back at her, I slid one hand up her back and only stopped when I reached the nape of her neck. I threaded my fingers into her hair and, holding her still, I took the reins.
I went all out, pistoning into her as hard as I possibly could. Unable to restrain herself, she went back to her usual loudness, her moans erupting without any warning. With the echoes of her moaning all around us, I drove us both to the edge, and we jumped off the cliff without thinking twice.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to it, my cock throbbing with the same frantic rhythm of my beating heart. We came at the same time, the crack of pleasure’s whip so loud I could no longer hear her cries of pleasure. My brain couldn’t process the details as ecstasy flooded me, overwhelming my system. I absolutely loved every second.
Even when we came back to our senses, we remained locked in that embrace for a moment. We only pulled apart when we heard a door opening a few floors below us. Belle jumped up to her feet and pulled her dress down, a sly grin on her lips.
“Mind returning my thong?” She held out her open hand. I reached inside my pocket and fished out her underwear. I was about to hand it to her when I decided against it.
“You know what,” I stuffed her thong into my pocket again, “I think I’m going to keep it as a memento.”
“Wow.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at me. “That’s really mature of you.”
“I don’t want to be mature,” I shot back. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“It’s just as people say. You really are the boy—”
“Who won’t grow up,” I finished for her. “Damn right I am.”
Chapter Sixteen
I awakened at the crack of noon, sunlight filtering in through the blinds and splashing over my face. Groggily, I threw an arm over my eyes and rolled away from the offending sunlight, but the memory of my date with Peter—and the slight soreness between my legs—meant I did so with a smile on my face.
Looking back, I don’t know how that happened. I never intended to sleep with him—again. But when we met at the Garden and both of us were there for the same ludicrous reason, it was impossible for me to go through with any further malicious plans.
Fate can be a real bitch. It conspired to rob me of my dreams, preventing my ascension to the upper echelons of dance. Now it seemed that fate had cruelly shown me the one man who I was truly meant to be with—but could never have.
Peter and I had a strong connection already. It was eas
y to be around him. I felt light, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Peter might act like he was pretty cool, but he actually wore his heart on his sleeve. And it was a good heart.
But at the same time, he got under my skin in all the right ways. Every time he looked at me during our dinner date, it was with bedroom eyes. I’d been around the block a few times, and I knew how guys seemed charming on the outset but slowly tended to show their true colors.
I just couldn’t see Peter being like that, though. There was an authenticity, an almost child-like wonder to his attentions. He looked upon me like I was a revelation from the cosmos itself. I’d like to think that he’d never looked at anyone else the same way.
I knew I’d never felt a gaze like his, which stripped away my many carefully laid layers of protection and exposed my raw nerves. His boyish charm was part of his disarming nature. Peter made me feel like it was okay to laugh, and dance, and enjoy things.
When I thought about it, most of the men I’d known in my life were of the grimmer sort. Men like Crenshaw Hook, whose belly hid a nest of venomous snakes waiting to spew out at any moment. Or Fyodor Ivanovich, who felt no sympathy or remorse and spoke of bombing a club full of innocent people just because it would hurt one of his enemies, too.
No, not even one of his enemies. Just someone he’d been paid to hurt. A simple job, take the money and hurt the people. Is there something wrong with me that I just couldn’t fathom how that could possibly work? What synaptic leap was necessary to make someone see hurting people as not only necessary but no big deal?
I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed, yawning and stretching. No, nothing was wrong with me, but plenty was wrong with psychopaths like Fyodor. I mean, if not, I was born into the wrong world in an even more profound way than I’d thought.
Maybe that’s why I liked Peter so much. His child-like whimsy and the gusto with which he lived his life reminded me of my father before he got sick. My father was never too busy with his accounting work that he couldn’t dance with me. I stood on his shoes and we waltzed around the swollen timber office of the Jolly Roger. I missed that office, even if the floor was uneven and the windows crooked.
Peter lived life with gusto, too. He certainly wasn’t afraid to let me know he felt the same attraction I did. Unless he really was playing me… but I just couldn’t believe that. His boyish manner brought along a delightful lack of guile. Peter could be tricky, but he was not duplicitous. He didn’t pretend he felt things he didn’t.
I finally made it into the bathroom and dealt with my daily business. While I let the hot steam of the shower awaken my tired and cramped muscles, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if Peter were in the shower with me… cupping his hands around my soapy body in a sweet and loving way.
To say I had it bad at that point would have been an understatement. But a little voice in my head kept whispering that it wasn’t safe to let myself enjoy this newest infatuation. It kept telling me my life didn’t play out like a fairy tale. No happily ever after was ever guaranteed. Something was going to happen, something that would keep me and Peter from being together. I didn’t know what—the voice of anxiety and paranoia not being particularly articulate or concrete—but something. Something bad.
The water sluiced away last night’s sweat, but it failed to cleanse my thoughts of the nagging doubts and the lingering miasma of impending doom. I dressed more conservatively than normal, perhaps feeling like I needed to cover up and protect myself physically since I felt vulnerable mentally.
I dug out one of the few pairs of pants I had, skinny jeans several years out of style. Paring them with a wide-sleeved black top and sunglasses, I pulled my hair back into a bun and headed into the Jolly Roger.
As usual, I was the first one to arrive. My heels clacked loudly on the empty, darkened dance floor as I headed back to my office.
Once inside, I tried to catch up on my clerical duties—the legit ones since I always handled auction matters in short order. But it was no use. I couldn’t stop thinking about Peter or the night we’d shared.
I glanced up when I noticed movement on one of the security monitors. My heart sank when I saw Hook’s silver Lincoln limousine with its old-school rag top. He never visited the club this early. It had to be something unpleasant. If it wasn’t, he would have called.
As I watched him exit the passenger cabin, I picked up right away that he was furious. His face was marred by a glower that could have turned the weak-willed to stone. Even his driver seemed anxious to avoid his ire, hastily rushing up to open the Jolly Roger’s door so expediently that Hook didn’t even have to slow his angry stride.
Clack, clack, clack went the rubber heels of his designer dress shoes across the dance floor. Part of my mind quipped that it was probably the first time in decades Crenshaw Hook had been on a dance floor, but I was too terrified to find much amusement at my private joke.
My hands trembled, palms sweating as the door to the office burst open and Crenshaw Hook swept into the room. His dark charcoal suit might as well have been an executioner’s hood, given his manner. Hook leaned his gnarled hands on the desktop and leaned over toward me, putting his pointed nose right in my face. I reflexively shrank back, too afraid to call him out on this invasion of my personal space.
“Do you think I’m pathetic, Belle?” he spoke softly, oh so softly. I shivered in my seat. If he were ranting and raving, knocking things over, I wouldn’t be so worried. But this, this veneer of calm, was just too similar to the way he behaved right before he exploded into violence.
“Pathetic?” My dry voice cracked.
“Yes, pathetic,” he drawled in his sonorous baritone. “I did not stutter.”
“Of course not—”
“Don’t lie to me!” he bellowed, shocking me into silence. His jowls shook, and his cheeks flushed as he vented his anger. “Of course not. Of course not. The age-old cry of the sycophant. Oh, Mr. Hook, I would never dare to embezzle from you. Mr. Hook, I respect you too much to hide harmful truths from you. Oh, Mr. Hook, of course I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
This was a little more reassuring. He was venting his anger verbally rather than physically.
I won’t say I relaxed, but I did compose myself and fold my hands before me on the desk. “Captain, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s got you so upset.”
He flinched, I think perhaps because he was so caught up in his rant he forgot I was there. But angry realization flooded back into his gaze, and his cheeks, quickly enough. “Don’t play the dumb blonde card with me, girl. I’ve known you since you were six. The gears of your mind turn with devious complexity and speed. Otherwise, you would not hold the position in my organization which you have.”
I sucked in a deep breath of air through my nose and then let it slowly out of my mouth. I had to tread carefully here. The wrong word, the wrong glance, or the wrong light in my eyes could set him off on a violent fit.
“This is about my having dinner with Peter Mayne last night,” I stated it as a fact rather than a question.
“Having dinner?” His face split into a wide, toothy grin beneath his mustache, but those eyes remained cold as ice. “Having dinner. What a delightful euphemism to cloak around sordid acts. Having dinner. Please.”
I leaned back in the seat and steepled my fingers, trying to sound and act as innocent as possible. “Captain Hook, I don’t know where you get your information, but let me lay some facts on you. Fact: I went home alone last night and woke up the same way. Fact: Peter and I never left the restaurant together, only separately. You can check up on those if you wish.”
Hook stared at me for a long moment, his craggy features as inscrutable as his dark heart. Then he grinned, but it was the smile of a hunter who’d discovered a broken-legged rabbit caught in the cruel jaws of his metal trap. “Oh, yes, I am aware of the facts. You’re not speaking untruths, but still you’re lying. You’re lying by omission.”
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“Captain—”
“Don’t call me Captain. I hate it. Your father got away with it, but you’re not him. Are you?”
I wilted under his spewed vitriol, feeling very low and small. My hard-won confidence shivered under the relentless assault of his disdain. A tiny voice whispered in my head, See, no one believes in you because you’re not worth anything. “No, you’re not your father,” he continued. “William Barrie got around—oh, how he got around, both before and after your mother died—”
I flinched as he twisted the knife in my heart. I didn’t want to think such things about my father, though Hook’s words held the ring of truth.
“—but he never got his dick wet when it would compromise his integrity, his decency, or his promise to serve me at all costs. Unlike his daughter, who spreads her legs for my enemies without a second thought.”
“Mr. Hook—” I began.
“Silence.” He held up a palm as he dug out his cell phone from his pocket with the other. Hook turned the screen so I could see what it displayed. There was an out of focus pic of Peter and me at the restaurant. Hook’s knobby-knuckled finger swiped through the camera roll, showing a sequence. Peter disappeared under the table, and even though all you could see were my shoulders and head, it was quite obvious I was mid-climax. I turned my face away from my shame, but Hook snapped. “Oh no, don’t look away. We’re just getting to the good part.”
Hook cued up a video, a poorly lit top-down view of me and Peter in the stairwell. I covered my face, but the sounds of our passion echoed in my ears nonetheless.
“Disgusting.” Hook ended the video and slammed his hands down on the desk. “Look at me, Belle.”
I pulled my hands away and stared into his livid face.
“Men like Crocodile are not to be trifled with. He has billed me a six-figure sum for keeping him on retainer.” I gasped, sweat pouring from my body as I twisted under his accusing gaze. “Yes, it’s your fault. But you’re going to make it right. You’re going to call Ivanovich and tell him to take care of Peter Mayne—permanently.”