by Naima Simone
She screamed.
She clamped down on him and, between his mouth and fingers, he gave her every measure of the orgasm, not stopping until she fell limp on the table. Her pants lanced the quiet of the room, and his harsh breaths underscored hers.
Fuck. Lust strung him tight, and if he didn’t get inside her, he was going to snap.
He shot to his feet, the chair beneath him falling backward. With his body moving before his mind could fully deliver the order, he scooped Mycah up in his arms, cradling her. He calculated the distance to the bedroom, but his cock determined the couch was closer, and he headed there. Mycah didn’t open her eyes as he gently deposited her on the sofa that was easily double the size of his at home. But he didn’t remove his gaze from her while he quickly stripped his remaining clothes and boots, pausing only long enough to remove a condom from his wallet.
“Hey.” He knelt beside the couch, cupping her face and tilting it, sweeping his thumb over her cheekbone. “Look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered, then lifted. Satisfaction punched him in the chest when her pleasure-glazed brown eyes met his. Because he’d put that look there. The feeling was primitive. It was arrogant. But fuck if he didn’t own it.
“You good? You still with me?”
She blinked, the haze clearing. Her gaze roamed over his face then lower, down his shoulders, chest and lower still, taking in his dick that stood at rock-hard attention. He didn’t try to hide from her, fisting his erection, stroking it. Letting her see just what she did to him.
“Yes, I’m still with you.” She reached for him, covering his hand with hers. Replacing his hands with hers.
A full-body shiver racked him as her delicate fingers wrapped around him, squeezed him. His head bowed, palms flattened on his thighs. And he watched her—watched her touch him. Undo him.
“Enough, baby,” he ground out, gently sweeping aside her devastating fists. “I want to finish inside of you.”
Picking up the protection, he ripped it open, swiftly sheathed himself and then climbed onto the couch. He crouched over her, one knee separating her thighs, the other planted on the floor. The head of his dick kissed the wet, tiny opening of her sex, and he shook from that barely there caress, yet he paused.
As much as it cost him, he gripped the arm of the couch and pressed his forehead to hers, carefully crushed his mouth to hers...and breathed Mycah in. As he parted his lips, slowly slid his tongue into her, he mimicked the action with his cock.
Thrust.
Penetrated.
Buried deep.
Heat. A liquid heat that scalded and had him drowning at the same time.
He clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the couch’s arm so tight they pulsed in protest. His muscles howled with the need to move, but the stranglehold she had on his dick... Too tight. Almost painfully tight. And too fucking perfect. He didn’t want to break it.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he scattered hard kisses to the corners of her mouth, chin, cheekbones, temples, forehead.
“Talk to me, Mycah.” He studied her, searching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her sex fluttered around his dick, as if acclimating to his width, his length. And he granted her that time. Still, before he did anything else, he wanted those words to move. “You okay? Tell me what you need from me.”
Her tongue wet her full lips, and she met his gaze. “Don’t hold back with me.”
Groaning, he hooked a hand underneath her leg, and withdrawing until only the tip of him remained notched inside her, he thrust home. Their twin groans saturated the room, snapping his control. Her nails bit into his waist, and that added a flare of pain to the sensory overload that catapulted him into this erotic storm.
He didn’t fight it. Didn’t want to. No, he willingly became a part of it. He let go, sweeping Mycah up with him, riding her, fucking her with an abandon that should’ve alarmed him. And if he’d cared enough to slow down, to analyze why this woman affected him in a way no other did, he might’ve been scared. But he didn’t slow. Didn’t analyze. Didn’t care.
Flipping them over together, he buried his hands in her curls, dragging her head down and fusing their mouths together as he slammed up inside her, urging her to take him even as he did the taking. And she obeyed that unspoken command. Her hips crashed into his over and over, she rose and lowered, doing a lewd dance that threatened to send them into the sweetest, dirtiest oblivion.
Mycah trembled, her sex quivering around him, and heeding that signal of a looming release, Achilles reached between them and circled that slick, swollen button between her feminine folds. Circled, rubbed. Pinched.
With a high, hoarse scream, she came.
And a couple of strokes later, he went with her.
Even as he hurled over that edge, he knew one truth...
Once wouldn’t be enough.
Four
The elevator doors opened with a quiet hiss and Achilles stepped onto the executive floor of Farrell International. It’d been three months since he’d attended the reading of his father’s will. He barely managed to suppress a shudder. God, even thinking that word still had a fist of disgust and anger lodged in the base of his throat. It’d been three months since he’d arrived in Boston to find out about Barron’s death. Since he’d gained two half brothers. Since he’d become a billionaire who owned and ran one-third of an international conglomerate.
But in those ninety-and-some-change days, he’d yet to stop feeling like an impostor. Yet to stop feeling like the fifty-first part of a fifty-piece puzzle that the manufacturer mistakenly added to the box.
The Feral Farrell.
That’s what they called him.
Not to Achilles’s face. No, Boston’s so-called polite society and his older brother Cain’s many business associates weren’t brave enough to risk their reputation or bottom line to do something as stupid as blatantly insult a Farrell. Bastard or not.
More specifically, insult Cain, the rightful heir, the son Barron Farrell kept and acknowledged. They really couldn’t care less about offending a man they didn’t believe would be around a year from now.
They weren’t wrong.
Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his suit pants, Achilles kept his gaze focused straight ahead, not glancing around and taking in the quiet but obvious wealth of the executive floor. It wasn’t the first or the fifteenth time he’d been here. But the art on the walls that cost more than his entire cabin or the furniture that had most likely been handpicked by some interior designer who catered to celebrities and presidents alike unnerved him every time he stepped foot up here. Hell, even the smell would make a great candle labeled “Money to Burn.”
Achilles silently growled, battling the urge to yank the tie from his hair, rip this restricting suit jacket from his shoulders and flip one of these desks like an enraged reality housewife. That would give these people a show. That’s why they watched him like a hawk, after all. Waiting for him to lose his shit like an uncivilized sideshow act. Just so they could say, I told you so. He’s not like his brothers. Not like Cain, the heir. Or Kenan, the charmer. He’s not one of us.
Again... They wouldn’t be wrong.
He wasn’t Cain, who, unlike Achilles and Kenan, Barron Farrell had kept instead of abandoned, and trained from day one to run his international company. Achilles wasn’t Kenan Rhodes, who, though he was another illegitimate son, had been adopted and raised by an influential and powerful Boston family.
No, Achilles was the ex-con, semireclusive bastard who preferred the company of code and computers to people.
There’d been only one time since he’d arrived in this city that he’d felt wanted...needed. As it often did, more than he cared to admit, his mind flickered with images of that sex-soaked night in a five-star hotel with a beautiful woman he was half-convinced he’d conjured up. Only the scratches he’d carried on his
shoulders and on his waist and the chafing on his dick the next morning had proved to him that he hadn’t. Those and the dreams that continued to haunt him like erotic wraiths all these months later.
How many times had he woken up, shaking with lust, back bowed, lips twisted in a snarl? How many times had he found himself searching the crowded streets for that familiar, stunning face? Or cocking his head, listening for a certain low, sultry voice?
One night. That had been the limit he’d set. And he didn’t regret it. Because as his unconscious mind revealed, Mycah could’ve become an obsession with him. And he didn’t need anything—not obligations, not promises, not brothers, not obsessions—holding him here when his year came due.
Nothing would hold him back. He would be free to return home, unfettered.
Fuck.
He deliberately inhaled a breath, quieted the riot of morose thoughts swirling in his head.
None of this mattered. None of it changed the fact that he’d promised to remain in Boston for a year to helm Farrell International with half brothers he hadn’t known existed three months ago.
He’d made his billion-dollar bed and now he had to lie in it.
“Good morning, Mr. Farrell.” Charlene Gregg, Cain’s executive assistant, greeted him with a warm but professional smile as he approached her desk. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
Achilles nodded and strode past her. Why Cain insisted on including him in these business meetings eluded him. Contract negotiations, board or acquisitions meetings... Having Kenan there since he was a marketing genius made sense. But Achilles? He couldn’t give a damn about any of it. Just leave him to ride out the next nine months on the IT’s eighth floor, where he’d carved out a place for himself, and he would be fine.
Clenching his jaw, he grasped the handle to the conference room door and pressed it down.
“...reputation precedes you—Here he is.” Cain stood from one of the black leather corporate chairs that flanked the long wood table, Kenan rising, as well. “We were waiting on you to arrive before we started the interview, Achilles.”
Achilles dipped his head in acknowledgment, quietly shutting the door behind him.
“Sorry. I had a call and was held up,” he said.
Partly true. He’d been on the phone with one of the sales reps about possible new virus protection software, but it’d ended nearly a half hour earlier. It’s what he’d started working on after the call that had consumed his attention and made him lose track of time. But he couldn’t share that with Cain and Kenan. Not with anyone.
He moved toward the chair next to Kenan and avoided his younger brother’s too-sharp gaze. God, for someone who constantly seemed to wear a smile the man was too fucking perceptive. It annoyed the hell out of him.
As if reading Achilles’s mind, Kenan smiled wider, a gleam in his eyes. “No problem. We know how much you insist on attending these meetings, so we didn’t want to go forward without you.”
Thank God he’d been an only child for thirty years.
“Achilles, we were just starting,” Cain said. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were attempting to imprison a smile at Kenan’s not-so-subtle smart-ass dig. Three months ago, Cain Farrell would’ve seared the paint off the walls with a scowl at Kenan’s antics. But now, he fought back a grin. Funny what falling in love and getting engaged did to a man. Cain turned toward the woman rising from the seat across the table, sweeping an arm in her direction. “Let me introduce you to Mycah Hill. She’s interviewing for the VP of operations position.”
Mycah.
Shock, icy and rough, slammed into him. Every muscle in his body locked as he stared at the woman across from him. The woman who had let him lose himself in her body on several surfaces of a hotel room. The woman who, months later, refused to be evicted from his head.
Goddamn, she was...gorgeous.
As if Fate were having a slow day and decided to play a game of “Whom Can I Fuck with Now?” Mycah could’ve been plucked right from his memories and set down in this conference room. The same tight, honey-brown spirals that even now he could feel over his palm. The same beautiful face with its oval-shaped, dark brown eyes, sculpted cheekbones, lush, decadent mouth and delicate but stubborn chin. The same thick, curvaceous body that conveyed a sensual strength that had his chest squeezing and his dick hardening.
What the hell was she—what had Cain said her full name was? Mycah Hill?—doing here? No, wait. A job. The position of vice president of operations. At the company Achilles owned a third of. His company. What were the odds she hadn’t known?
Even if she hadn’t been aware of his identity that night in the bar—and he believed she hadn’t since the news about him and Kenan hadn’t broken yet—she damn well did now. The media scrutiny on the sudden appearance of the two Farrell bastards had been hell since the funeral. And from the moment they met, Mycah had struck Achilles as a smart woman. And she wouldn’t apply for a job without first thoroughly researching the company and its owners.
Yes, she would’ve walked into this building forewarned and armed with the information that she would be sitting across from the person she’d seen biblically naked.
That made one of them.
He narrowed his gaze on her, meeting those level espresso eyes. To her credit, she didn’t avoid him. Admiration and anger tangled in his chest.
What was her plan now? Admit that she knew him? That she’d spent a night under him, over him, spread wide for him?
Or pretend that she’d never laid eyes on him before?
“Mycah, this is Achilles Farrell, our third brother, and Chief Digital Officer of our IT department,” Cain continued with the introduction.
Mycah nodded, offering Achilles a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Farrell.”
So it was to be option B.
The well-mannered thing to do would’ve been to reply, but at the moment that was beyond him. He was too busy strong-arming the disappointment and anger barreling through him like a rampaging bull.
Which didn’t make any sense.
This disappointment in her. This rage. He’d been more than aware whom he was taking to bed. Known that her pretty talk aside, that if he’d met her on the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill in the light of day, she wouldn’t have anything to do with his rough talk, rough hands and rougher demeanor. Her kind with their flawless pedigree, upper tax bracket, superior education and untouchable society.
Although, he’d proved just how...touchable she was, hadn’t he? No matter how much she probably wanted to forget.
Too fucking bad.
Still, he dipped his head, rolling one of the executive chairs back and lowering into it. Kenan shot him an exasperated glance and Achilles returned it with an arched eyebrow.
“Since calling all of us Mr. Farrell could become a little confusing,” Cain said, reclaiming his seat, as well, “why don’t we go with Cain, Kenan and Achilles?”
Another smile from her, and Achilles curled his fingers into his thigh under the table, remembering how those lips had curled against his own. Had parted so easily and greedily under his own. Shit. He shifted his gaze from her to the wall of windows over her shoulder. This interview had to end before he did something monumentally stupid.
Like beg her to give him one more taste of that heady lavender-and-cedar scent...
“I can do that,” she agreed.
“Great. Let’s get started.” Cain passed Achilles a folder, and with no choice he opened it, finding her résumé inside. “We’ve gone over your résumé, and I’m very familiar with your reputation, which is impeccable. Over at Ryland & Co., you were key in restructuring their policies and departments. Thanks to the programs and streamlined procedures you implemented, the company substantially created higher ROI as well as optimization of workflow. I have to admit, I spoke with certain mana
gement personnel over there, and they spoke highly of you and admitted that you helped attain growth and profit for the business. That’s a glowing recommendation, but one I already knew. The question is—” Cain rested his forearms and clasped hands on the table “—why are you looking to leave Ryland to come here?”
Mycah didn’t immediately answer, instead mimicking Cain’s position and meeting his steady gaze, before making visual contact with each of them. Though his eye contact was shorter. Still, Achilles found himself leaning forward, impatient to hear her reply. This woman—professional, reserved, confident—he’d glimpsed that night in the dive bar. But damn if he wasn’t reluctantly fascinated by this facet of her.
“Ryland is a good, stable company. I wouldn’t have stayed with them for seven years, the last three in the position of VP of operations, if they weren’t. But Farrell International isn’t just good—it’s the best. And here, I can be the best. I can start at vice president of operations, but that’s just the beginning and not the end of where I can go. I’ve done all I can at Ryland, and one thing I can’t abide is stagnancy. And—” she arched an eyebrow high, the corner of her mouth twitching “—there is the matter of the salary you’re offering, which is almost double what I’m making now.”
Kenan chuckled. “Honesty. I like it.”
Cain cocked his head. “So you wouldn’t be satisfied with the position of vice president of operations?”
Again, Mycah copied him. “Would you?” she retorted smoothly.
Cain slowly smiled. “No.”
Ambitious. Probably ruthless. Achilles silently snorted. Why wasn’t he surprised? Virtues both his half brothers would admire. Achilles had seen those same qualities in the inmates who’d come into the jail and desired to rule the pod, make life fucking miserable for the rest of them who just wanted to get through their sentence with their heads down and as little trouble as possible.