by Emily Snow
“Was it a woman?” I blurt out. His eyes narrow questioningly, and I clear my throat and lick my lips. “The reason why you asked me to leave your place the other night when it was so obvious you wanted me to stay, was it another woman?”
“We both know you don’t think that at all. Remember, I’ve seen your reaction to the thought of me fucking another woman.”
Recalling the afternoon at Monroe’s, I shake my head. “No, I didn’t mean like that. I meant ... in the past.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Elaborate, Elle, so I can figure out what the fuck it is you’re trying to say.”
“That I’m getting to you,” I whisper, crossing and uncrossing my legs, feeling a surge of power when his eyes lower to my thighs. He doesn’t budge, so I continue. “I’m saying that someone broke you in the past, and your motivation for asking me to leave was control.”
I wouldn’t call his expression furious but detached. Graham Delaney does detached better than anyone I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something considering I’ve been around politicians, lawyers, and a mother who sweeps problems under the rug without blinking an eye, my entire life.
“Are you a journalism major or a fucking psychologist?” he questions in a flat voice.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. I know nothing about you except that you’re wealthy and can kick my ass at chess.”
“You know where I’m from.”
“So does anyone else with access to the Internet.”
“You know what I want,” he adds.
“Knowing you’re attracted to me doesn’t help me figure out why.”
“What about you?” He smirks. “I still don’t know what naughtiness you got into to make your father cut you off. Wouldn’t you say we’re just about even?”
I wring my hands together in my lap. Other than Blake, nobody outside my family and Zach and Jameson’s closest friends knows about my brother’s marriage to his longtime boyfriend—or how my father had responded by informing us that Zach’s sexual preference would kill his presidential ambitions—and I’m not about to reveal any of those details to Graham.
No matter what my body’s reaction to him might be, I can’t trust the man as far as I can throw him.
I shake my head. “No, we’re not even. You know that whatever it is, I feel passionately enough about it to give my dad—and his money—the finger. I just want to know why you’d pursue such an unconventional relationship when you can have any woman you crook your finger at. I’m trying to understand you.”
Heaven help me, I’m desperate to understand him.
“Stop,” he snaps. “Because it’s a waste of your time. My motivation is simple. Greed. I want to possess you, want to fuck you speechless, and want everything about you. I’m not broken. I’m nothing you’re trying to make me out to be, so unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Fuck me, Graham,’ we’re done here. Your move, Ms. Courtney.”
“Fine,” I tell him, glaring directly into his dark eyes. “Fuck me, Graham.”
TWENTY-ONE
GRAHAM
She must not think I heard her loud and clear the first time. She gets up. Sauntering over to my desk like she’s a fucking Bond girl, she splays her hands flat on the mahogany and leans down, giving me a front row seat to the magnificence that are her tits in a white sweater. Her single strand of pearls dangles right in my face. If she only knew what those pearls did to me and my cock.
“Fuck me,” she repeats slowly.
Does she have any idea what she’s asking me to do?
“Why?” I demand, furious at my dick for wanting this woman so much to bring her here. I had planned to get her hot and wet and send her away again, but then she’d turned the tables on me. “Why do you want me to?”
She blinks. “Because you started something and refused to finish.”
“Or is it because I’m all you’ve thought about for days? Or because you’ve gone to bed every night since then with two fingers pounding your pussy and my name on your tongue?” I demand. She licks her lips—the telltale sign that she’s probably already ordered a vibrator or two— and I crook my finger at her. “Come around here.”
My dick gets hard just watching her walk around my desk to stand before me. She looks perfectly put together in black pumps, a red skirt that reaches her knees, and that white sweater that hugs her full breasts like a second skin. Christ, I’d love to have my cock between them.
“On your knees, dove.”
She opens and closes her mouth like she’s about to argue. Then, biting those beautiful lips, she kneels in front of me, her back straight. Framing her face in my hands, I watch as she closes her eyes and sighs. I want her. Not because she’s a game or because I want to fuck her shithead father over for what he’d done nine years ago.
I want Elle because my body craves her.
I need to fix this situation fast.
“I was going to wait until tomorrow night to call you,” I tell her, brushing my thumbs over her high cheekbones. She turns her face into my right hand, landing a trembling kiss on my palm. My fingers spasm, but she doesn’t notice. “I was going to make you wait.”
Her eyes open, and she frowns. “Why would you do that to me?”
Punishment. I’d wanted to retaliate for what she’d done to me when she left New York. Only, I’d caved the second I saw her on the sidewalk and decided that one day early wouldn’t make a difference.
I can see now how fucking stupid that decision was.
She continues to stare up at me, looking like a lost lamb, so I cup the nape of her neck. Her black hair spills out of its loose knot. I like it better like this. Like the idea of pulling Elle’s strings while my cock fills her sweet mouth.
“Undo my zipper,” I say, leaning back in my chair and gathering a handful of her hair. Blue eyes wide, she glances from the zipper to my face, her mouth opening slowly once she realizes that I’m RSVP-ing to her empty invitation to fuck her.
“The zipper,” I reiterate.
She follows my direction with shaky fingers, pulling down my zipper and unhooking the button of my gray pants. Hesitantly, she parts the fabric and looks up at me questioningly.
“Do you want me to...” She takes a deep breath. “Should I...” I push my boxers aside so that my cock springs up centimeters from her glossy lips. She swallows hard. “It’s huge,” she says flatly.
“On what fucking planet is that a bad thing?” Gripping her hair, I guide her mouth down. I pause, stopping her before she wraps her mouth around the thick head of my erection, and tilt her face up to mine. “You’re full of shit.”
She flinches. “Why is that?”
“For all the shit you talk, the prude shines right through the moment there’s a dick in your face. If I’d known you were an oral virgin, I would have—”
“Kiss my ass, Senator Delaney,” she hisses, just before thrusting my cock deep into her mouth. I hit the back of her throat, choking her. She buries her fingers in my thighs and holds herself there for a moment.
Holy fucking shit.
She’s deep throating me.
Elle with her frumpy-ass sweaters and her skin that flushes at the slightest sexual suggestion is on her knees in front of me, deep throating me like a champ.
“Easy,” I warn, drawing her head back.
She responds with a ragged moan and does the exact same thing again, taking as much of my dick as possible until she’s gasping for air. Our gazes lock. Her blue eyes are wild and sexy as she bobs her head up and down, fucking me hard and fast with her tongue, sucking so hungrily that I have to pull her head back again so I won’t blow my load.
“If you don’t stop I’m going to send you out of here with a red ass, Elle,” I growl.
She nods her head in understanding and muffles something that sounds like a yes before devouring my cock. She’s good at this. Fuck, she’s amazing. She has one hand stroking my balls and the other jerking me off while she greedily licks the head of my dick.
&n
bsp; “You’re too goddamn good,” I groan.
She traces her tongue greedily down my shaft and looks up at me with eyes so innocent I nearly turn her over my desk and fuck her bare. “On what planet is that a bad thing?” she demands, twisting my own words against me between deliberate strokes of her tongue.
“The one where I can’t stand the thought of you sucking another man off like this.” Shit. The moment I tell her that I regret it because her blue eyes darken. Sadly, it’s true—I don’t want to think of her mouth on another motherfucker’s cock.
Tightening my hold on her hair and grabbing her pearls in the other hand, I lean against the desk. She takes this as a request for more, crashing her mouth against me, driving me into the back of her throat over and over.
“Fuck,” I growl.
She leans away, using the slickness left from her tongue and her hands to drive me to the brink of insanity. I look down at the sight of her on her knees. Take in her flushed cheeks, heavy breathing, and beautiful features. Eleanor Courtney is perfect, and once again, I forget why I approached her. I forget that I planned to use her to make myself feel better. And then I kick myself for being a fucking fool.
Pulling her to me by her hair and pearls, I thrust my cock between her lips, and she accepts me greedily. “That’s it, beautiful,” I tell her. “Just like that.”
She tries to say something, but it results in a vibrating hum that finally pushes me over the edge. Pumping into her three final times, I grit my teeth to hold back the roar in my throat and come in her mouth.
Then, my beautiful, prude, lip-licking Elle offers me one final surprise.
She swallows.
TWENTY-TWO
ELLE
Every time I close my eyes, I picture Graham’s massive erection and the uninhibited way I’d attacked it, and him, in his office. In the same freaking building that just so happens to house my father’s office. Going down on Graham like that, in such a public place—it was a first for me. Pleasuring him, listening to him groan with desire and wrap his hand around my hair, had left me wet and aching. I’d wanted more. Had silently begged for more.
And once again, Senator Sexy-Ass had told me to leave with the promise that he’d get in touch with me soon. After two days of pretending that I don’t care when or if he calls, I start thinking of reasons why I should be glad he hasn’t.
One: When he does actually get in touch with me, he’ll probably just drive my body to the point of exploding and then refuse to have sex with me. Again. And that crap is getting really old.
Two: No matter how badly I want him to do the deed with me, he’s still a master manipulator. A hot, moody manipulator.
Three: He’s occupied my thoughts, my dreams, so much that seeing him again so soon will only strengthen whatever sorcery he has over the place between my thighs.
Four: Yeah ... did I mention that he’s kind of a manipulative bastard?
But when I wake up on New Year’s Eve, there’s a message from him waiting on my phone. I read it as I brush my teeth, my skin tingling more and more with every word.
Graham Delaney: I’m in Manhattan and I want you to come.
Instead of texting him back, I call while making my bed. “You want me to come to New York tonight?” I ask as soon as he answers. Or does he want me to ... come?
“I’m going into a business meeting with my father and brother.” But his voice is still lowered—rough and sensual. My knees turn to mush. “But yes, I want to see you since I won’t be back until the third. Your flight leaves at six.”
“I have work on the second.” I stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress, smoothing out a wrinkly section with the palm of my hand. “Plus, how do I know I won’t come to New York just to have you play more games with me.”
“I’m sorry but I have no idea what games you speak of. You’re going to have to be more specific, Elle.”
“You’ve been toying with me, Senator. Phone sex, oral sex, and then you watched me touch my vagina—”
“This is a phone call, Ms. Courtney, not an anatomy course,” he interrupts, “You’re a big girl. You can say it.”
I snatch the island-themed bedspread from where I’d deposited it on the floor and throw it on the bed. “My pussy,” I whisper harshly, waves of heat and pleasure crashing through me. “The point is, I’m starting to wonder if you can deliver.”
He chuckles. “Say that again. Not the part where you tried to bait me with bullshit we both know isn’t true, but that scandalized whisper where you stopped referring to your cunt using Sex Ed terminology.”
Desire settles between my thighs, and I clear my throat. “Pussy.”
“One moment,” he says in a low, sexy rumble. A few seconds later, he returns, his voice teasing. “In my message, did I ever say anything about fucking you?”
“No, but—”
“Are you wet?” What a stupid question. Of course I am. My silence provokes him to ask me again, though. “Is your pussy dripping for me, dove? Are your little fingers buried between your thighs right now because you’re hoping that tonight will finally be the one where I give you everything you choked on—and the other inches that wouldn’t fit—standing, bent, and everywhere in between?”
Trembling, I sit down. “Graham,” I murmur.
“How many fingers are you up to? Two? Three? Is your clit throbbing for me, Eleanor, because you’re ready for my cock to stretch that sweet cunt of yours? Because you’re ready for me to slam into you, pull your hair back, and tell you what you want to hear?”
In spite of my thick cotton pajama bottoms, when I cup my sex, I swear I can feel the heat radiating from my body. “And what would that be?”
“That your pussy is mine. That your ass is mine. That your throat—Christ, that beautiful talented throat—is all mine.”
Oh. My. God. “Yes,” I whisper through trembling lips.
His voice lowers to a soft, taunting whisper, “Maybe after dinner—if we get around to it.” If we get around to it?! I release a hoarse cry, and he chuckles. “Be at the airport before six, Elle. I’ll text your flight details.”
Grasping the bedspread, I catch my breath before saying, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“There’s no see to it. You’re going to come.”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m just going to give in to him after he’d spent the last five minutes teasing me. “Give me an hour, and I’ll let you know for sure.” I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear the front door bang open but then my roommate shouts my name. “I’m back here!” I yell shakily.
“Company?” Graham demands.
“My roommate. And don’t you have a meeting to go to?”
“They’ll wait. I find your heavy breathing and panting far more interesting than stocks and numbers.”
“You know, it’s a wonder you even know what’s in your bank account,” I snap, frustrated that I’d let him get me all hot and bothered again just to be shot down.
My door opens, and Blake pops her head inside, revealing a new shoulder-length haircut. “I’ve been waiting to grill your sexy ass about ...” She stops talking when she sees the agonized look on my face. Shaking my head, I nod down at my phone. She cringes and backs into the hallway. “I’ll talk to you when you’re done,” she whispers.
“Look, I have to go,” I tell Graham, flustered. “I didn’t expect her back until the end of the week, but it looks like she decided to surprise me. I don’t want to be rude.”
“Of course you don’t.” Before he ends the call, he tells me one final time, “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
Releasing a harsh exhale, I stare down at my phone for a few seconds before throwing it face down on my bed. After I take a quick shower to erase the effect Senator Sexy-Ass had on my body, I find Blake in the kitchen. She’s sitting on a bar stool at the divider, sifting through her mail.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your phone sex.” She squints up at me. “You should really think about locked do
ors.”
I glare at her as I twist my towel into a turban over my wet hair. “I was not having phone sex.” She purses her lips together skeptically. “I swear.”
“But that was him, though? The guy you came to Manhattan for?” When I nod, she squeals and claps her hands together excitedly. “Give it to me. Give me everything. Let me live vicariously through your torrid affair with the older man.”
Groaning, I walk into the kitchen. “For starters, I love your hair.” She thanks me with a wide grin, fluffing her blonde hair and striking a pose. “And secondly, he’s not that much older than us.”
She shrugs. “You’ve been so closed-lipped about him, I wouldn’t know.”
Sliding the mug I’d purchased in Perth two summers ago under the coffee maker, I start a cup of hazelnut coffee. “Thirty-three. Only eleven years older than me.” Which, saying it aloud makes it sound like a lifetime.
“Oh, that’s not bad!” She opens an envelope and skims over the contents with a disgusted look on her face. “Student loans can bite my ass,” she growls under her breath. She glances up as I spoon sugar into my coffee. “It’s crazy, I’d convinced myself he was in his forties. He must have all his shit together!”
“He’s ... something.” I down a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. “He wants me to fly to New York tonight, but now that you’re back, I think I’ll tell him no.”
She freezes in the middle of ripping open another letter. “You’re going to use me coming back as an excuse not to see your Edward Lewis?” She glares at me as I dump another spoonful of sugar into my coffee.
I roll my eyes, watching her organize her unopened mail in a neat stack. “You’ve watched Pretty Woman one too many times. Trust me, this guy won’t ever climb a fire escape for me.”
“Yeah, but you could always fuck him at a piano.” Laughing, she slides all five feet of her petite body off the bar stool and marches toward the hallway. “Are you coming?” She looks over her shoulder, arching both eyebrows. “You can give me more details while I pack your bag for you.”
Because Blake refused to let me leave for New York in the sensible navy blue dress I picked out for myself, I step off the private plane at Teterboro Airport just after seven thirty in an outfit she’d personally chosen for me from her own closet. It’s a little black dress with long, lace sleeves, a round neckline, and a flared skirt that’s much shorter on me than it is on her, thanks to our six inch height difference. I’ve paired the dress with the same pearls I’d worn to Graham’s office and nude platform pumps that make my bare legs appear super model long.