Taming Lily

by Monica Murphy

  I wish I could taste it.

  He rears up just as I grab for his cock, my fingers curled tight around the base. It throbs against my fingers, hard steel covered with velvet, and I lift my lids to find him watching me, his jaw tight, his mouth grim, his eyes glittering.

  “I need a condom.”

  “Did you bring one?” I ask, stroking him, squeezing my fingers around all that hot, silky skin.

  His eyes close and a shudder courses through his body. I continue my paces, stroking him up … and down. Up and down. “I have one in my wallet,” he whispers, the last word hissing out.

  “Then go get it.” I release my grip on him and he leaps out of bed, going to where he left his clothes on the floor and rummaging through them until he finds his wallet. I lift up on my elbows, staring at his fine ass, the muscles that ripple and flex as he moves.

  My mouth waters and I wonder what he might do if I bit him there.

  He flips open his wallet and pulls out the wrapper, flashing me a triumphant smile before he climbs back onto the bed, joining me with condom in hand.

  “Can I put it on?” I ask innocently, dying to touch him again. I’d suck him into my mouth if he’d let me, but I’m also eager to know what it’s like to have him deep inside my body. Taking me. Fucking me …

  “Only if you promise to ride me when you’re finished,” he says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Deal.” I smile and he withdraws from me, lying on his back, folding his arms behind his head as if he has all the time in the world.

  Oh, this is going to be fun. Never taking my eyes from his, I tear into the wrapper slowly, pulling the rubber ring out and tossing the trash onto the floor. He smiles at me, sucks in a harsh breath when I run my free hand down the center of his firm chest, scraping my nails against his skin as my fingers travel down, down … past his navel, tangling in his dark pubic hair until I’m encountering his giant cock.

  “You’re big,” I tell him.

  “The better to fuck you with,” he says with a mock leer.

  A giggle escapes me. I don’t giggle. Not for real. I put on acts, laughing with guys like they’re the funniest thing ever when they are so … not. But this man, he might actually have a sense of humor hidden beneath that rough and rude exterior. “Like the big bad wolf?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah, princess. Do I need to start calling you Little Red?” He grins and I shake my head, fighting my smile.

  “I think you’d like that. Me pretending to be the scared little girl hiding behind my cape while you chase after me and finally take me down,” I taunt him, noting the way his eyes heat as he stares at me.

  “I already caught you.” He grabs hold of my wrist, stopping me from stroking his cock. “Put the condom on.”

  I do as I’m told when he lets go of my wrist, my fingers shaking as I fumble to slip the circle over the head of his cock. He watches me the entire time, making me nervous, and I lift my gaze to his as if seeking approval.

  By the satisfied smile on his face, I think he likes my obedience. And for some strange reason, I like that I pleased him. “Come here,” he whispers as he drags me over his body so I’m straddling him, my legs draped over his hips, my pussy poised just above his cock. I can feel him nudge against me, teasing my folds, and I grip hold of his shoulders, closing my eyes as I brace myself for his welcome invasion.

  Within seconds he’s giving it to me, his ragged exhale making my entire body clench in anticipation. “Look at me, princess,” he murmurs.

  My eyes flash open and he tilts his head, indicating I should look down. I do so, all the breath rushing out of me as I watch his cock slide slowly inside my body. I move in closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, his face at my throat as I start to ride him.

  He feels good. So big and thick, invading me completely. The man knows just what he’s doing, too, flexing his hips and pushing deep as I rotate and shift, making sure he hits all of my secret spots. His lips are damp, his breath hot on my neck, and I tilt my head back, squealing when he sucks on the skin right at my pulse at the base of my neck. His hands are on my hips, guiding me, holding me still so he can lift his hips and thrust deep inside my pussy, and a shuddery moan escapes me.

  “You like that?” he asks and I nod, too overcome to speak. Too afraid I’ll say something and ruin it. So I keep my lips shut, letting my moans and my whimpers and my body do all the talking for me.

  “You’re tight as fuck,” he continues, his voice raspy as he starts to pick up the pace. “Squeeze around me, princess. Let me feel you.”

  I clench my inner walls around his cock, pleasure rocketing through me when he groans. I like the way he holds me down. I like how tight he grips my hips, how brutal his thrusts are. He’s using me and I love it. I want to be used. I’m the one who’s always using, who’s always entertaining and putting on the show, and I’m so fucking sick of it.

  I just want to be free. To fly. To lose myself and let this man do whatever he wants to me. I just want … to feel nothing.

  And everything. All at once.

  Tilting my head, I curl my fingers into the damp hair at his nape and pull his head back, sealing my mouth over his. The kiss is a wreck, smashed lips and seeking tongues and nipping teeth, but I love it. He reaches between us and palms my breast, nimble fingers working my nipple as his cock works my body and his mouth works mine. Our bodies are slick with sweat, I can hear the squeak of the box springs as we move and bounce on the mattress, and when his hand slips farther, his fingers brushing against my clit, I almost lose it.

  “Sensitive?” he murmurs against my lips. His touch becomes more purposeful, his finger tracing over my clit again and again, and I can feel the orgasm building. I don’t want to come yet. I want to savor this. Enjoy it. The way his cock moves inside my body, the drag and pull as he thrusts again. And again. And again …

  “Oh God,” I gasp just as my orgasm hits full force, even stronger than the one he gave me earlier. It vibrates just beneath my skin, rippling through my veins, settling deep in my body, and I clutch him close, my mouth at his ear, my panting breaths in time with the spasms taking over me.

  Still he continues to thrust, his own orgasm coming soon after mine, his entire body going so still I lift my head, staring into his eyes just as the first wave sweeps over him. His hand grips the back of my head as he pulls me in, crushing his mouth to mine. I swallow his groans, run my hands over his shoulders and back as if I can soothe him through the shudders and the gasps and the moans.

  Not that I really want to soothe him. I’m not fooling myself into thinking what we just shared is something … more.

  This is nothing. Just one night of terrific, hot sex. That’s all it can be. I’m not built for relationships, for caring about someone. I’m too selfish. Daddy’s told me that time and again.

  And he’s right.

  Chapter Ten

  Max

  “YOU’RE COSTING ME too much money.”

  I yank up my pants over my ass, wincing at the sound of Pilar’s shrill voice directly in my ear as I slip through the opening in the sliding glass door and shut it, hoping like hell Lily didn’t hear her screaming at me over the phone. Every time she calls I feel like she’s yelling at me, even when I know she’s not. The woman speaks at a constant high volume.

  “What the hell are you talking about? How am I costing you too much money?” I charged her my normal flat fee for my services, including covering my predicted expenses, and I haven’t gone into overtime yet. Though she’s the one who added a bonus incentive, not me. I haven’t cashed that check yet, wouldn’t let myself. The way I’ve been falling down on the job, I don’t deserve to cash that damn check.

  The woman is fucking nuts. She likes to complain just for the hell of it. And I take it because she has every right to complain. I’d rather do anything else than take that damn laptop.

  I rub the back of my neck as I settle heavily into one of the plush, overstuffed chairs that are scattered all
over Lily’s lanai. The view is fucking amazing and I pause for a moment to take in the breathtaking sight of the sun coming up. The sky is hued with streaks of pink and orange, the water a gentle shimmery blue, and the salty scent of the ocean is in the air. This is way better than the shitty view I have from my hotel room.

  “Time is money, Mr. Coleman, and so far, you’ve wasted a lot of my time. You promised me thorough and quick. So far, you haven’t lived up to either promise.” She sniffs, sounding disgusted.

  It’s late, or early, depending how you look at it. Dawn is creeping in, turning the sky the lightest pink, and I yawn, wishing like hell I could go back in the room and collapse into bed. Gather a naked, warm Lily in my arms and let my dick do all the talking. She responds well to it, that perfect ass nuzzling against my rigid cock. Not that I can fuck her again. Turns out we got lucky. I had two condoms in my wallet and we used them both.

  But you don’t need a condom to have some fun. I made her come with my mouth twice. And she returned the favor once. We’ve been messing around all night and I’m exhausted. Though that wouldn’t stop me from crawling right back into that bed and feeling Lily up until she’s awake. I don’t care that she’s tucked in like Sleeping Beauty and down for the count. I know she’d be raring to go for another round.

  I glance through the sliding glass door and see that she hasn’t moved a muscle. My ringing cell phone didn’t disturb her, thank Christ. Leave it to my client to call me at dawn, but what the hell does she care? She’s six hours ahead of me. She got her beauty sleep.

  “Give me a couple days. I need more time,” I tell Pilar wearily, irritated with how she pushes. The woman is nonstop. Completely unsatisfied. I’d hate to be the poor sap tangled up with her.

  It’s my own damn fault, though. I’m the one putting her off and failing at my own job. Why don’t I just do what I’m supposed to and get the hell out of here?

  You don’t want to leave Lily, asshole. You like her. You’re insanely attracted to her.

  True. I could be fucking everything up, all for a girl. A beautiful, sexy-as-fuck, sweet-as-hell girl.

  “Three days tops,” she reaffirms. “Get that goddamn laptop and bring it back to me. I don’t care what you have to do to get it, just do it.” She ends the call before I can say another word.

  Fucking woman irritates the shit out of me. I open up the browser on my phone and start a more extensive search on my client, Pilar Vasquez.

  I did the requisite search when she first approached me, inquiring about my services. A quick name entry on Google told me everything I needed to know. Her age, what she looked like, where she worked. There were a few photos of her on Forrest Fowler’s arm, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Once I found out exactly what Pilar wanted me to do, I figured she was out for revenge against Lily because of Fowler family politics.

  But Lily doesn’t work for Fleur. She never really has, minus a few summers as a teenager. The minute she graduated high school she did her own thing, unlike her younger sisters. Traveling around the world, partying, dating a variety of men, making the rounds on the tabloids and gossip blogs, looking like a hot mess most of the time. Yes, I did thorough research on my subject, but not enough on my client.

  That’s where I failed. And I rarely fail.

  Tell that to the guys who died on your watch.

  I’d had my shit together. Joined the military right out of high school, eager to follow in my dad’s footsteps, to see combat, to fight this war and serve my country. I didn’t expect it to be so damn hard. To be so mentally and physically crushing. To lose my friends, men who worked with me, defended me, to friendly fire and to fight against the injustice of it all.

  The moment I was given my evaluation results and they expressed worry over my mental state, I knew my career in the army was done for good.

  Banishing the old memories that love to haunt me at the worst time, I focus on my Google results for one Pilar Vasquez. As one of the top employees at Fleur, she gets plenty of mentions, including a recent article in an online business magazine noting a promotion, accompanied by a photo of her standing beside Forrest Fowler in what looks like a boardroom.

  There’s another photo of her at a social event, hanging on Fowler’s tuxedoed arm while wearing a body-hugging gold, glittery dress. I study it closely, noting the way she’s looking at him, how his arm is wrapped tightly around her waist.

  They’re an item. A couple. And I’m a fucking stupid, blind asshole not to have realized this before.

  I scroll through more images, noticing there are quite a few older photos of her with a guy who looks a lot younger than her. Good-looking guy, angry expression on his face most of the time while she clings to him, looking like the cat that just licked up every last drop of the cream.

  The name is familiar: Ryder McKay. I immediately enter him in the search box and hit the images tab. Up come dozens of recent photos of McKay in London with none other than Violet Fowler, including mentions of an engagement and close-up photos of a giant rock on Violet’s finger.

  Interesting—and freaking strange.

  What sort of twisted relationships make up the Fowler family? It appears that Pilar at one time was with McKay. But now McKay is with Violet Fowler and Pilar is with Forrest Fowler. Talk about odd.

  And what does Lily Fowler have to do with any of this? Pilar mentioned in our initial meeting that Lily tried to damage her reputation. I can only imagine that Lily has information on my client and is using said information to blackmail her. Pilar won’t go into detail, which makes me believe that the information Lily has is pretty damaging.

  I’d like to know exactly what that information is.

  After a few more searches on other Fowlers—Violet and Rose, to be exact—I find out nothing else major and give up. Setting my phone on the tiny glass-top table right next to my chair, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, running my hands through my hair. What the fuck should I do? I have my subject lying in bed, sleeping like the dead after I just thoroughly fucked her, and I need to somehow, some way, search her room and get that damn laptop Pilar’s so insistent I take from her.

  Your opportunity is now, asshole. Why not take advantage of it?

  I sit up straight and crane my neck over my shoulder, studying the sleeping Lily once more. Her back is to me, her hair wild from the constant fucking, the white sheet wrapped tight around her sexy naked body. I bet those sheets smell like her, are drenched in her. I should have her come to my room for the next round so she can rub her sexy scent all over my sheets. I probably wouldn’t have the maid change them out for days.

  You’re a sick fucker.

  Yeah, I am. It’s like I’m fucking addicted to her. The sounds she makes, the taste of her skin, her sweet little tongue, her even sweeter pussy … damn. Being inside her is heaven. Feeling her pussy clench and tremble and squeeze all around me. The gush of wetness that coated my cock when she came drove me out of my mind. I couldn’t hold back with her. She makes me crazy with wanting her.

  And she’s the last woman I should want.

  Heaving a big sigh, I stand and open the sliding glass door, thankful it glides shut so quietly. I stand at the foot of the bed, studying Lily lying on her side, the sheet loose around her breasts, giving me a teasing glimpse. I want to go to her. Kiss her all over her body until she slowly awakens. I want to spend the morning in this bed with her naked.

  I can’t, though. I have a job to do.

  Her tiny purse sits on the dresser and I go to it, peering inside. There’s not much in there. A lip gloss. Six crisply folded twenty-dollar bills, two sticks of gum, and her room key. I pull out her ID and study it, surprised at how completely different she looks in the photo that was taken—I squint at the fine print—two years ago.

  She’s blonder in the picture. Lots of makeup on her face, especially her eyes. Her lips are curved in this almost mocking smile and her lids are heavy, looking like she just woke up and was nursing a wicked hangover.r />
  The Lily Fowler on her ID card looks nothing like the Lily currently lying in the bed not ten feet away from me.

  Shoving the ID back in her purse I turn and study the room, contemplating where I should look next. The mirrored closet door is shut and I go to it, carefully sliding it open, breathing deep to calm my racing heart. Adrenaline pours through me, pushing me to the edge, and I peer inside. There’s nothing in there—no clothes on the hangers, no shoes scattered on the floor. Her suitcase sits on the other side of the room, on top of one of those folding metal stands that hold luggage.

  I’ll search the top of the closet first and if the laptop isn’t there, the suitcase is next. It’s gotta be stashed around here somewhere. I saw it with my own eyes on the plane.

  Well, I saw a bag that looked suspiciously like a laptop case but I never actually saw a laptop. For all I know, I could be chasing a mythical object that doesn’t even fucking exist.

  The air conditioner clicks on, a blast of cold air hitting me, and I shiver. I snoop around in the closet, reaching along the top shelf, where no one ever puts anything—unless maybe they have something to hide. I gently slap my palm along the smooth wood, encountering nothing. Until I reach deep into the recesses of the farthest corner and my palm makes contact with something. It’s hard and cool to the touch, like metal.

  There it is.

  Excitement ripples through me as I pull it down off the shelf, glancing toward the bed to make sure Lily’s still asleep, which she is. She owns a MacBook, top of the line, nothing less for the Fleur heiress. Holding the laptop close to my chest, I crack it open and wait for it to start up, not surprised at all when the password screen appears. I fumble with the laptop and set it carefully on the dresser, then pull my phone out of my pocket, opening it up to my email and scrolling until I find the one from Pilar with the subject line “Possible Lily passwords.” She had her suspicions and sent a list along to me.