by Nora Flite
He lets out a gritty moan as his cock thickens, convulsing, stretching me out. He continues pumping as he comes, the condom keeping his seed blocked from me, but the heat is still there.
Suddenly he's gone. It's so abrupt I gasp, rolling onto my elbow to see what happened. "Marshall?"
He yanks his pants up, tucking himself away. His firm dick bulges through his dress pants. Showing me his back, he hurries to the attached bathroom. The toilet flushes; the condom. Water runs as he washes his hands. It's the only sound.
"Marshall?" I say again, nervous. "What's wrong?"
When he doesn't answer I tuck my knees to my chest, pulling my dress into place, painfully aware of my pulsing lower lips gone bare from my tossed-aside panties. I'm beyond lost by his behavior. He's gone from needing to touch me to running away.
Marshall exits the bathroom, still not meeting my eyes. "I'm fine."
"You're not acting fine."
Ruffling his hair, he grabs his shirt, dressing himself with careful precision. “Don't worry. I'm sorry about your makeup and hair.”
Blinking, I touch my lips, then glance at the mirror. My chin is stained red from my lipstick, my hair a tangle. I look like I just had sex. Which, I did. A tiny laugh explodes out of me. "Who cares?" I ask, looking back at him.
"The guests at the Gala might."
My smile slips. "We're still going?"
"Yes. of course we are."
He adjusts his cuffs, hiding his tattoos away. But it's more than that. Marshall has slipped his suit back on, disguising himself as a man who didn't just whisper darkly in my ear, or hold me close in a way no one ever has.
Hugging myself harder, I offer him a smile that feels plastic. "Right. Of course. Let me clean up and we can head out. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay," he says, lingering a minute, mouth partly open, a thousand unsaid things ready to spill from his tongue, and god, I fucking want them to pour out.
They don't.
He turns away and exits, giving me privacy to freshen up so we can pretend we didn't just do what we did. Maybe he can act like nothing happened. I can't.
I warned him before.
What happened here changed me.
And there's no going back.
Chapter 10.
The Gala is colorful and packed wall to wall with cheerful energy.
I barely feel it through the numb wall surrounding me. Still, I put on a smile when needed, shake hands when introduced to important people, and remember my etiquette training burned into me from years of being a member of my snobby family.
It's good armor. No one realizes how my heart is swaying side to side, ready to tear itself in two while I cope with the fact I'm standing near Marshall Klintock as he clicks his drink on others and acts like he didn't take my virginity half an hour ago.
He glances at me; I turn away on purpose. Deep down I hope it bothers him. Childish? Sure. But I'm too sour to care. Besides, he isn't acting like someone responsible for what he's done, either.
There's champagne all over the place, as well as an open bar. I head over and wave down the bartender. "Do you have anything without alcohol?" I ask.
His smile creates dimples in his smooth cheeks. "Do you like cranberry?"
"I love it."
He shakes some things into a glass, handing it to me. "A special spritzer, please enjoy."
"Thanks," I say earnestly, leaving him a tip before I stroll along the wall of the gorgeous room. It's sparkling with crystal chandeliers and a huge spiraling staircase that gives me vertigo just to look at.
In a corner I spy a familiar face. Bradford Mink is laughing loudly, rings glimmering on his thick fingers as he shakes the hand of a gruff looking man dressed in a sharp black suit. There are a number of men and woman in the group, their luxury brand purses and shoes broadcasting their wealth to everyone else.
Bradford spots me—my stomach twists. He's waving me over. I know I can't pretend I didn't see. Sipping my drink, I make my way to his group. "Now here's someone special," Bradford says as I get in earshot. "Meet the star of my newest gallery, Leona."
"Oh, no, I'm not a star," I say quickly.
"Modest," he snorts. "This young lady is going to sell every canvas that hangs at the Ramette House." He winks, and I wonder how he can be so sure. His smile is beyond smug.
One of the men nods at me. His muscular frame is so large, his suit has to be custom. Something about him reminds me of Marshall but I can't place it. There's a piercing in his tongue, it sparkles when he talks, making me so distracted I don't hear him at first. "What, sorry?" I ask.
"I said you're in the right crowd." He holds up his glass with a grin. "Rub elbows with Bradford and you're set for life."
"Set how?" I ask.
"Money. Fame. Political pull. Whatever you need, you just ask. That's how it works when you earn someone's favor."I’m surrounded by knowing smiles. I want to say that's not what I'm chasing. Instead, I put on my sweetest smile and say, "Thanks for everything, Bradford. I mean it."
He waves me off, back to talking to one of the women in a low-cut top. Another man, all muscle in his Armani suit, leans in to speak in Bradford's ear. Another flicker of unease traces around my brain. But there's only so much room for confusion, and the rest is taken up by my current personal problems.
"Hey," tongue-stud man says to me. He looks me up and down, and I feel his eyes ripping through my clothes, picturing me in a way that makes me ill. "You got hooked up with Bradford through Marshall Klintock, didn't you?"
"Yeah," I say, tuning in curiously. "You know him?"
"Anyone who needs a good problem solver knows him, if you get my drift."
"Sorry, I don't."
"Shit," he says, scratching his neck uneasily. He shoots a quick look around before flashing me a sideways grin. "Forget I said anything. I don't want to get on that guy's bad side."
I shake my head. "Wait, what's your name?"
"Nicolo," he says reluctantly.
"Nicolo. Okay. Tell me what you mean," I insist, leaning closer to him.
His wide mouth tilts down in a deep frown. "You really don't know? That's probably for the best. Personally, I'd keep as much distance between yourself and Marshall Klintock as you can. He's got a reputation."
He starts to back away; I grab his jacket by the hem. "Wait! What reputation? Do you mean the mafia stuff?"
"Dammit, lower your voice," he says gruffly. There are a few people eyeballing us, he notices and bends close to my ear. "You need me to spell it out for you? Fine, chickee. Listen up. Your pal Klintock is dangerous. Not someone you go fishing with unless you want to see how the fish spend their days up close and personal. Follow me?"
"I follow," I whisper. "Thanks." A surge of panic hits me. I have to get away from the crowd. I make a beeline for the open doors.
When the breeze tickles my bare neck, I sigh in relief. There are less people outside mingling underneath the lighted arches that lead to a vast vine covered fence. I know the city is on the other side because I can hear the cars honking. There are thick green hedges shaped like cones dotting the length of the space. Wandering towards them, away from the low chatter, I press my glass to my lips. The drink is tart; it makes my tongue buzz. There are barely any lights where I stand. I hug myself, shivering from the winter chill. But I don't hate it. It's a distraction.
My purse vibrates, surprising me. The light radiating from my phone makes the green hedges blue. It's a text from Katy, I realize with relief.
Katy: Sorry for the late response. You awake?
Me: Barely. I'm at a boring gala.
Katy: You always hated those. Must be a great reason to be there.
Me: Networking.
Katy: I can hear you rolling your eyes.
Chuckling, I type with one thumb as fast as I can, with the glass occupying my other hand. I drink another mouthful.
Me: Things are moving fast here.
Katy: Oooooo, sounds scandalous.
I flush
hot red. I didn't mean it that way, but she isn't wrong. Tempted by telling her what happened, I stroke my screen, hesitating. My phone buzzes again.
Marshall: Where are you?
My heart skips. Lifting my eyes, I scan the outdoor area, finding no hint of him.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore him and text my sister instead.
Me: I need to ask something.
Katy: Ok
Me: Do you think Marshall could hurt me?
I hold my breath as I send the message. A footstep, so slight I almost miss it, alerts me I have company. "There you are," Marshall says, swooping in close. He's wearing the same clothes he fucked me in. I catch a whiff of a scent; like fire, and musk, and my own sweat from when we moaned together. My muscles tense. I clutch my phone, lowering it to my hip. His eyes follow it down. "Who were you talking to?" he asks.
"Nobody," I say, putting my phone in my purse.
"I thought you didn't drink," he says, indicating my glass.
"I don't." Pursing my lips, I throw my spritzer back, swallowing it in one gulp that leaves my nose burning from the bubbles. I don't know why I do it, I guess just to piss him off, though he doesn't look bothered. Wiping my lips, I set the glass on the ground near my heels. "Did you want something?" I don't keep the acid from my tongue. He notices, his eyebrows crawling upwards.
He looks at me like he wishes he could crack his way through my skull and see the thoughts swirling in my head. His chin lifts, attention going to the hedges, not looking at my face any longer. "I did want something, yeah."
"Well, what was it?"
Marshall dips his head in, lips pressing to mine before I can prepare myself. It's just a kiss but it makes me deaf to the distant chatter of the other guests. They might not be there anymore, how would I know? Marshall has a talent for making me feel like we're the only two people in the universe.
I don't have time to snap to my senses and end the kiss. He does it instead, his scar glinting in the garden lanterns like a tiny second crescent moon. Blinking rapidly, I touch my mouth. “That's what you wanted?”
"You sound shocked."
"I am. You've been acting cold to me all evening."
Marshall glances back at the gala. “Were you waiting for me to find you out here?”
"Avoiding you, actually."
His eyes burn, warming me in the dark night air. “You expect me to believe that."
Adrenaline spikes through me. “What?”
"I'm not falling for your act, Leona." His fingers curl around my wrist, my skin lighting up. "I just kissed you. I felt you respond. You might be angry with me, but I'm positive you were hoping I'd come looking for you." He scans my face, then the hedges again, before pushing me against the foliage until we're surrounded by it. "The first place I searched was here, where the flowers are. You can't hide your heart from me, no matter how angry you are."
In a haze of desire, I lock eyes with him. "I'm beyond angry at this point, Marshall."
"Because you thought I was ignoring you. Does this seem like I'm not paying close attention to you?" Stroking my cheek, he runs his fingertips down my throat until he travels the path between my breasts to my navel. I whimper, spine arching, and he grabs my hip tighter. "Fuck, I love how you respond to me, Leona." His breath scorches my ear, teeth nipping my tender skin. “Are you too pissed off to enjoy more of my cock, sweet girl?"
Why did he make it so hard to think? Marshall is a master at changing the mood, at shifting the dynamic. We're in public! Does he have no limits?
He palms my ass through my velvety dress. “Answer me."
My pussy clenches, like it's eager for his roughness. The frustration in me from his hot and cold behavior hasn't vanished. But his aggression is a welcome path to direct my emotions. “Make me enjoy it," I taunt him. "Prove I'm so transparent to you, or I'll walk away and never touch you again." I kiss his mouth with all I have. He tenses through his bones. His reaction shows me a hint of the power I have over him.
Growling around my tongue, he cups my jaw, forcing me back. “Careful. I love a good dare."
"Empty threats are just that, Marshall."
Something cruel and sexual moves in his eyes, his voice red-hot coals. "You think I have limits. You're confident I care enough about those people in that building behind us to not make you scream your head off. That I won't allow them to hear you come for me over and over. You have no clue how far I'll go to prove a point, darling."
My clit swells, skin trembling through to my scalp. "That's ..."
His palm brushes my stomach. “No backing down now, Leona. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you need it, and maybe," he uses his entire body to press me against the hedges, his erection nudging my pussy through my dress, making me wetter, “just maybe I won't let the guests know how your orgasm scream sounds."
I moan, biting my knuckle to muffle it. “You wouldn't."
"There's a million things I'd do that you'd never expect."
Briefly, I want to tell him that I do expect unthinkable things from him. That more than one person has warned me that he's not someone to tangle with. But I want to be wrong. I want to forget the danger. He nuzzles my neck, tasting my pulse, and I do.
He reaches down, thumb-pad stroking my pussy's slit through my outfit. "If you don't say it before I make you come, the deal is off."
"Marshall, wait ..."
"Say it," he demands in his fierce, gritty voice, thumb still rubbing my clit, making my thighs shake. I can't see past the corner of his addictive mouth. My heart reverberates as he takes me closer to the edge, and to the point of no return.
"Ah," I groan, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He smells wilder than the fresh air around us. I'm not cold here, my insides are all fire. "Okay, okay, okay. You're right, I want your cock. I want you to fuck me again."
"Did I leave such an impact on you?" he asks with a dark chuckle. Scooping my dress up over my middle, he snatches my right leg, hooking it on his hip, grinding his hard-on across my soaked panties. He ruined one pair tonight, would he destroy a second?
Reaching between us, I trace him through his pants from top to bottom. He hisses in delight, the sound empowering me. I undo the button of his pants, reaching inside to gingerly explore with my hands, cupping his balls until they flex.
He rolls his hips into my touch, then gasps. "You get me so hard, fuck." Holding my arm, he pulls my hand away from his shaft, kissing my inner wrist. "I want more than that, though." Letting go of me, he reveals a condom from his pocket. "Put it on."
My pulse races as I break the foil, touching my first condom. It's slippery and smooth. He moves his belt and pants out of the way just enough to expose his thick prick into the vague light. I can barely see anything now and hope no one can see us.
Sheathing his cock with the condom, I see my own hands shaking. Carefully, he tugs my panties along the thigh wrapped around his body. My planted foot gets in the way. Settling my weight against the hedge, he hoists me upwards, holding me like I weigh nothing. It's just like when we were in the elevator.
The cool air strokes my bare, soaking wet pussy as I whimper. Marshall kisses my ear. "I can smell how excited you are," he whispers. His cock gets stiffer somehow where it bounces against my belly. Bracing my heels against his back, I try to rub myself onto his fat cockhead. "Ah-ah, so eager," he teases.
"Do it," I demand, breathing heavily. "You said you wanted to, so do it. That's all that matters, right? Getting what you want?"
I say it before I can stop myself. In my defense, I'm dizzy with lust, my barriers in shambles. Marshall freezes. I can't see his face. I wish I could. I need to know what he thinks. Did I say too much?
His cock sinks into me in one swift motion. I shout in delighted shock. Unable to control myself I wriggle in place, finding no purchase as he holds me in the air, but every bit of movement pushes him further inside of me. I'm stretched on and on until I'm seeing stars.
I inhale violently when his root touches me. It's t
hrilling, the sensation of being stuffed. I expect it to get looser when he strokes out, but I'm wrong. No matter how slippery my thighs feel, my pussy can't relax. It's as if his cock keeps swelling bigger, expanding until I'm on the edge of orgasm.
It makes me delirious; too good, too tight, too hot. I'm boiling from my center out, sweat streaming just below my breasts.
He angles my body, forcing my clit to grind against his muscles. Thrusting onto his cock, I look upwards at the sky. There should be stars there, but thanks to the city lights, there aren't any. That's fine; there's plenty of cosmic energy buzzing to life inside my body.
My insides flutter, wild heat flowing down until I wonder if I'll stain his pants. He thrusts faster, clutches me closer, and all at once I shudder with my climax. “Yes, god, yes!” I cry out, and if there's anyone in the garden there's no way they don't hear. I don't even care anymore.
“That's it,” he coaxes me in a thick voice. “Come for me, don't you dare stop."
I have no choice but to obey.
I slide my hands across his chest, seeking anything to grab onto. My pussy hugs his shaft as it pistons in me. He hasn't slowed, he's riding through my orgasm, pushing me to the brink to see what he can make me do.
The hedges scrape at my neck. They tangle in my hair, and I smell the fresh greenery as he closes his mouth over mine. I can imagine we're in the middle of a forest, like the wild fantasies I scribbled across my pages. He's a beast-man claiming me, and I’m the girl brave enough to enter his domain.
I'm trapped by my addiction to him. I can't end what we have, so eager to lock myself against his rocking body as he shakes my core with thrusts that never cease.
“I'm nearly there,” he pants when he ends our kiss. I try to see his eyes like I did before, hoping for a hint of what he thinks about this, about us. There's fury in his irises, an onyx so black, so rich, I could fall straight in and vanish. “You really think all that matters to me is getting what I want?" he blurts. I open my mouth, but he grits his teeth, fucking me like he's proving something, rattling my answer into oblivion. "I want you, Leona. That part's right. I want you here, and I wanted you earlier, and I think I'll want you later ... and tomorrow ... and ..."