His Pawn

by Emily Snow

  Once I comply, he grips my waist with both hands. Without another word, drives himself hard and deep inside of me.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  GRAHAM

  I didn’t plan on this.

  Even though we’ve got months left before I throw her out of my life for good, I didn’t plan to not want to quit her as soon as I had a taste. She’ll be just like any other woman, I had told myself. Or she’ll be worse. She’ll be fucking boring. But Elle surprises me. Already, I can’t get enough of her tight body, and I want to try her in every position before it’s too late.

  She can’t get enough of me either. She meets my demands eagerly, a shy smile on her lips, and it drives me wild.

  Damn, I didn’t see this coming.

  “You’re going to wake the couple who lives downstairs,” I tease her on our third—or is it the fourth?—round, but she doesn’t try to swallow her loud, throaty moans. I don’t want her to. They’re genuine. Not that porn star bullshit some women pull.

  “Can they hear me?” she pants. “Please tell me they can’t. Please tell me—”

  Dragging her mouth down to mine, I suck on her tongue until she whimpers. “Who gives a fuck who hears us?”

  “I’m going to come again,” Elle cries, tilting her head far back until her long black hair brushes my thighs. She bounces harder and faster on my dick, riding me like a pro.

  “I told you what I’d do to you if you came again so quickly,” I remind her, but she shakes her head.

  “I can’t stop. I can’t...”

  She keeps bobbing and rocking against me, her sweet lips unable to form coherent sentences as her pussy pulses around my cock. This girl—my sweet dove—is going to drive me fucking insane. Lifting her off me, I pin her on her stomach again and bury myself deep inside of her. She’s wet and tight. After tonight, if I’m ever going to get any work done with her around, we’re going to have to set boundaries.

  “I warned you,” I say, and she wiggles in response. Gripping her curvy hip with one hand, I slap her little ass with the other.

  One.

  Two.

  A third time.

  Releasing a sob of pleasure, she shudders beneath my hand and makes noises into my pillows I never thought I’d hear from my pearl-wearing Eleanor. I splay my fingers over the bright red handprint on her creamy skin.

  “That feels—” She looks behind her, sweat clinging her hair to her face and shoulders. Her skin is flushed, her breath puffing out of parted lips. Pausing, I trace a fingertip over the outline of my hand on her ass and she rewards my dick by clenching around it. “I’ve never—”

  “Are you ready to give up?” I pull my cock out of her body and rub it from side to side, smearing her wetness across her skin, from her cunt to the insides of her thighs. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No,” she cries. “Fuck you, Graham!”

  I stroke my hand over her smooth back, drag my fingertips over the sweet softness of her smooth skin before I land one more slap on her ass cheek.

  It’s the final slap that does me in. Slamming my dick back into her warm body, I come hard, gripping her slick hips and thrusting into her until she’s clenched every last drop of cum from my balls.

  Pulling out of her, I fall back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. I stiffen a moment later when she snuggles up to me. What the fuck is she doing?

  She doesn’t talk, but her body says more than any words she could ever mutter. She drapes her leg over my thigh. Places one hand on my chest. And then she closes her eyes, sighing contently.

  Scaring the fuck out of me.

  “Good night, Graham,” she whispers.

  I don’t know why I took the pictures, but just looking at them hours later when I can’t sleep makes my cock go rock hard in a matter of seconds. She hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t realized that while she was on her stomach and grinding her ass against me, I’d captured her in the most provocative poses.

  Staring at the unsent message on my screen, I squeeze the edges of my phone and shake my head. I decide against ruining things just because her hand is on my chest and she says my name in her sleep.

  I’m not ready to give her up yet. Not when we’re just getting started.

  Tossing my phone on the pile of clothing on the floor, I untangle myself from her and reach into the nightstand drawer for another condom before I shake her shoulder.

  Fucking Eleanor Courtney.

  This girl is going to cause me more trouble than I ever anticipated.

  Her blue eyes flutter open and she smiles slowly. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.

  “What’s wrong is that you’re sleeping when there are better things to do,” I growl in her ear, sliding my hand between her legs. Something sharp twists my chest when she brushes her fingers across my face, so I catch her hand in mine. “It’s your move, Elle.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ELLE

  “My move?” I swallow a gasp, fully waking, when Graham’s lips meet the heel of my palm. He nods his head slowly and releases my hand. “What should I—what do you want me to—”

  In one swift, expertly controlled motion, he rolls us both over so that I’m on top of him, sitting on his stomach. His cock jerks up, nudging my bare ass. I shiver and shake my head, and a cocky grin snakes across his face. “Why?” he demands.

  “Because you’re too…” I moan as he scoots me back slightly. My knees connect with the mattress, so I support my weight on them. He holds my hip firmly in one hand and uses the other to guide the head of his erection back and forth over the entrance of my sex. “You’re too big to do that.”

  “Too big,” he drawls, pride dripping from his low voice. “Say that again, Elle.”

  “You enjoy having your ego stroked, don’t you?”

  His lips twist. “I enjoy having my dick stroked even more. I’ve already gotten that from your mouth and pussy. Now all we’re missing is your ass.” His fingertips dig into my butt cheek, kneading the soft flesh. Desire flares in his dark eyes as I arch my back. His knuckles skim my wetness, and his breath halts. “What if I promise just the tip?”

  “You’re a politician.” He lifts an eyebrow questioningly. “Your promises don’t mean anything.”

  He drags his cock from my clit, back to my pussy, and then repeats. He laughs at the choked sound that rips from my lips. “I promised to fuck you good, didn’t I? I promised to make you scream my name, and I delivered. I promised to possess you.” He bends his knees, and I rest my back against his legs, my hair falling around his body and my face. He grins up at me, takes his hand off my ass, and brings it to his mouth. Gaze challenging mine, he licks the tip of his thumb.

  “Graham,” I murmur, panic rising in my voice, as his hand comes toward me. I frantically move my head to each side and start to roll off of him, but he narrows his eyes. Slaps his cock against my sex and draws a shallow gasp from deep within my chest.

  “I’m not going to force you. That’s not, nor will it ever be, my thing.” He flicks his wet thumb over my clit, tracing a circle around it. I clench my teeth and ball my hands in the sheets on either side of our bodies. “But I will promise you this: sooner or later, that ass will be mine, too. I will possess every inch of you, from your head to your body—every part of it.”

  “Every part of it tonight?” I duck my head so I won’t have to meet his gaze. He objects by pumping my clit between his thumb and forefinger, his touch so demanding and urgent that I’m panting when my chin lifts. He smirks and tilts his head to one side. And the stare he pins me with is absolutely primal. I swallow hard. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you turn me on. You’re so innocent. So shy when we talk about things you’ve never done.” His brow creases, and my stomach flutters because I’ve never seen this expression with him before. It’s almost unsure. “It’s not an act with you.”

  “What’s not an act?” I breathe.

  “Being so fucking good, dove. I’ve never been with someon
e so … you.”

  “Would you rather I tell you to fuck me”—my voice hitches—“everywhere?”

  “No, not tonight. Tonight I’d rather have you like this.” He closes his eyes, parting his lips as he inhales. “Trusting and so goddamn you.” Almost if on cue, his cock stirs against my sex. Automatically, I sink down on him in response.

  His eyes fly open. He jerks his fingers from my clit and his shaft and quickly slips both his hands under my ass, clenching roughly to stop me from going any lower. My sex pulses around the base of his cock. Blowing out a raspy breath, he glares up at me. “Goddamn, Elle, don’t do that.”

  “This?” I tighten around him again, so he grips my ass roughly.

  He raises his shoulders and slides us until his back is against his headboard. His face is inches from mine. So close that, in the moonlight, I can see that his jaw is clenched. That the muscles in his shoulders are taut. “If you do that again,” he warns in a voice that makes me shiver, “I will fuck you, no rubber. I won’t pull out because your pussy’s too good to think about shit like that.”

  I drag my teeth over my lip, but he stops my smile with his fingers. Moving one dangerously close to the very place he’s promised to eventually possess. “Unless you want a cunt full of cock and cum, and I do mean every last drop, I’d advise you not to do that … thing again.”

  “You said it was my move,” I remind him softly. My shoulder blades tug together as he shoves his face closer to mine. “But I promise not to do it again. I just wanted to see how it felt to feel you—ohhhh!” The breath flies out of my lungs as he scoots off the headboard and flips us over, pulling out of me. The sensation of his full heat leaving my body courses a violent ripple through my body. He slams me onto my back, giving himself the upper hand.

  “You will feel it, Elle. Every inch, no rubber, nothing but you and me. Just not tonight.” His smile is hard, pained. He hooks his hands behind my knees and guides my legs up, higher and higher until he lets go and slips his fingers under my feet. He shakes his head at the sound that escapes my throat. “I’ve changed my mind, Elle. It’s my move.”

  “To do what?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “To make you come. Again.” He leans away from me, brown eyes capturing mine as he bends his head to my belly button. My toes curl when his tongue darts out and licks a path down to the juncture of my thighs. He pauses. “And again.” He looks up at me. And then, he melts me to nothing with a half-smile that burns through me, hotter than any fire. “And again.”

  “O-okay.”

  He inhales. “You smell like sex, Elle. Like me.” My thighs tremble around the sides of his face as his nose tickles my clit and he breathes heavily against my flesh. “Like us.”

  His shoulders go taut at that last bit, and my ribcage tightens. My next words are so strained, they hurt. “Is that bad?”

  “No. Never. Do you want me to show you how good it is?”

  He kisses my clit until it’s throbbing. Then he turns his attention to my pussy, his mouth soft and desperate, as I open for him. Each lash of his tongue is a gift and a curse, and I feel myself hanging on the edge. Needing to fall. Needing. Just needing.

  I’m flying high, teeth sinking so deeply in my lip that I taste blood mingling with desire, and I buck my hips when his fingers replace his tongue. They thrust deep inside of me, crooking and hitting me in a spot that makes me cry out.

  “If I can’t fuck you everywhere,” he starts, and then kisses the inside of my thigh, “I’m going to at least taste you.”

  “Grah—” His name lodges in my throat as he slicks his fingers from my sex to my ass, spreading me apart for him. I make a noise that doesn’t even sound human. And then he buries his tongue in my ass, lapping slowly, voicing his approval with a soft sigh.

  “Goddamn, Elle, you really are good.”

  It’s only six words—six short words that would be insignificant to anyone else—but they push beneath my skin. I bow into him, my voice far away as I come undone. I no longer care about the people who live beneath him. I don’t care that he’s exploring me in places where I’ve never been touched. And I don’t give a damn about what’s happening outside these four walls.

  Because inside them, I’m climaxing, shattering into pieces for him.

  Inside these walls, in this room, Graham Delaney possesses me.

  Just like he promised he would.

  New Year’s in New York is the quietest I’ve ever seen the city, and it’s almost refreshing. I’m still unsteady from the night before, but after breakfast—and a toe-curling introduction to every single shower jet in his state of the art bathroom—Graham tells me to get dressed. He’s on the phone when I walk out of his bedroom in jeans, an off the shoulder sweater, and gray and white Converse, but he pauses and sweeps his gaze over me as I slide onto one of the silver bar stools behind the island dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  “—I have to go.” The person he’s talking to responds, and he smiles coldly. Taps his fingers impatiently against one of the windows across the room. “That’s really none of your business, is it, V? Enjoy your New Year.”

  The moment I hear his phone beep, I turn on the stool and arch an eyebrow. “Working on a holiday, Senator? Why am I not surprised?”

  Juggling his phone between his large hands, he bares his teeth into a frustrated smile. “I’m always working, but this call was simply … V being V. About personal matters.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It is.” But he drags his gaze over me as he says it, and the hungry gleam in his eyes twists me into hundreds of intricate knots, from my brain to my center. Holding his finger over his phone’s side button, he approaches me. His stride is self-assured. Animalistic and demanding. I tear my eyes from his and nod down at the screen powering down.

  “You don’t need to leave that on?” Shaking his head, he snatches me to him, catching my breath. He’s good at that—making me breathless. It makes me worry, makes me question what I’ll have left once this is all said and done. Large hands fan over the dip in my waist and dig into the soft skin there. When I raise my chin and meet his stare, his fingers explore south. Down to my hips. Desire pools in my core. “If this is your reaction every time I ask a simple question, we’re screwed.”

  “Fuck, we’re already screwed,” he murmurs. I blink. Because of the conflict in his expression and the slight break in his voice and the spasm of his hand on my hip. He masks it fast, offering me his trademark smirk. “My reaction, by the way, is because of this.” He leans away and skims his gaze appreciatively over my body again. “One night of good dick and you come all sorts of undone. No pearls for you today, Ms. Courtney.”

  “Any chance to praise yourself, huh?”

  He puffs his chest out, and I fist my hands to keep from reaching out and touching him. “Any.”

  From his Fifth Avenue apartment, we walk to Central Park, and then to Times Square, which is still recovering from last night’s festivities.

  “We missed the ball dropping,” I sigh, nibbling on the hotdog we picked up from a street vendor along the way. He throws his head back and laughs, so I whip my stare in his direction, glaring through my sunglasses. Unlike the night we had drinks at the piano bar, he’s actually dressed for the weather—in jeans and boots, a checkered button-up and an Italian wool overcoat. He’s wearing shades, too. Tom Ford’s that put mine to shame.

  He bends his head so low I get a glimpse of chocolate brown eyes from beneath the frames. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

  “Because there’s a dick-shaped object in your mouth and I’m compelled to get excited about that. And you’re whining about not seeing a fucking ball drop.” An arrogant grin plays on his lips, and I emit a tremulous sigh when he hooks a finger in the belt loop of my jeans. He tugs me flush against his body and presses his mouth to my ear. “Wasn’t it much more stimulating to feel balls dropping instead?”

  “I never said it wasn’t. I—” Flaring m
y nostrils, I wrench out of his grasp and toss the rest of the hotdog in the first trashcan I see. I peek over my shoulder to find he’s still smirking. Go figure. “You need prayer.”

  One of his shoulders pops up. “Don’t worry, I’ll confess everything.”

  We walk along the sidewalk in silence, his hand on my ass and our thighs brushing with every step, a peaceful silence lingering between us. When my phone vibrates in my pocket, I break away from him and duck under the overhang of a luxury menswear store. Apologetic, I glance up at him as I fumble for my phone. “Sorry, just need to make sure this isn’t—oh.” I groan and jab my tongue in my cheek. “Definitely not important.”

  He lifts a thick eyebrow as I fall in stride beside him. “Let me guess, your father? Wants you to make him look good today on network news?”

  There’s acid in his voice that catches me off guard. Up until now, he’s been passive whenever we spoke about my dad. Apparently, Graham’s not a Robert Courtney fan. Running my tongue over my lip, I shake my head. “My ex-boyfriend.” My phone rings again, and shame twists my stomach because I know precisely why he’s calling. “He must be back in town and wanting a start of the year quickie.”

  “Isn’t he a festive little fuck?”

  Laughing bitterly, I start to return my phone to my pocket, but he stops me by closing his fingers around the bottom of the device. My heart jumps into my throat. “What are you doing?”

  A gradual smile stretches his golden features. “There will be no quickies for you anymore, Elle.” I don’t have time to protest before he accepts Alex’s call and brings my phone up to his ear. “Eleanor’s currently engaged, sorry.”

  My volume is set loud enough that I can hear my ex’s reply after a brief pause. “Zach? Is that you?”

  Graham whips his sunglasses off and pins me with a look that obliterates my senses. After I mouth that Zach’s my brother, the tension in his shoulders uncoils.