Mr. North

by Callie Hart

  “Hold your hands over your head,” he commands.

  I do it quickly. I don’t want him to think I’m hesitating. Raph picks something out of the drawer filled with toys and comes over to the bed. He holds up the item for me to see: a pair of shining, silver handcuffs. “You want out at any point, Beth, say the word and I’ll release you.”

  “What word?”

  A slow, sinful smile spreads across his face. “Peter Piper. You’re never going to say that accidentally, now, are you?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Good.” He fastens the cuffs around my wrists, then hooks a jump ring in the center of the chain between the cuffs over small hook attached to the headboard. I can’t squeeze my hands out of the cuffs. I can’t unhook myself. Can’t escape. Weeks ago, trapped in this position, I would have freaked the fuck out. My mind would have transported me back to the barn, to my mother being pinned down and assaulted. I’m hardly free from that memory now, but it doesn’t fill me with fear. It doesn’t make me want to tear myself free and run, because this is different. So incomprehensibly different, that I’m filled with nothing but an intense spark of desire.

  “Now we have that out of the way, I’d appreciate it if you could address me as Sir,” Raphael informs me. It’s not necessary for him to demand this, but I understand the appeal. He’s the head of a multi-billion-dollar company. People obey him at every turn, every day. He’s used to being referred to with reverence and respect, so why wouldn’t he expect me to do the same in this situation? I nod my head slowly.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl, Beth. Good girl. You’ve made me so unbelievably hard already. Would you like to see?”

  My body reacts, sending another wave of expectation skittering and bouncing around inside me. “Yes. I’d…like to.” It feels slightly shameful to admit to something like this, but I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter if he knows how I feel about him. It’s fucking obvious.

  Raph removes his clothes. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, sliding the material from his arms and folding it over the back of the chair by the desk. His pants are next. I find myself staring at the hard, cut muscle that forms his stomach and his chest. He must spend hours working out. Hours . The results are quite remarkable. Raphael hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers and inches them down over his hips. “A quick fuck up against a window is one thing, Beth, but I’m not for the faint of heart. Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want me ?”

  This is a loaded question. He’s giving me yet another out. Giving me the opportunity to back out of this now, before I get emotionally or physically hurt and further. “I’m sure. I want you,” I whisper. “I want all of you. Every part.”

  Raph pauses a second, a hint of surprise on his face. I don’t think he was expecting me to sound so sure. My voice doesn’t waiver, though. There’s nothing but confidence and excitement in my tone. “All right, then,” he answers. He pushes his boxers down his muscular thighs, and they fall to the floor. My eyes travel to his cock without being bidden. There’s no avoiding the fact that he intrigues me. I’m beyond intrigued, though. There isn’t a word in the English language to describe how badly this man turns me on.

  He’s perfect. Nine inches. Clean and cut. Thick and erect. He has the kind of cock I want to tease with my tongue. The kind of cock I want to slather with lube and just stroke up and down in both my hands. Damn, that would feel so good.

  “I can see how pleased you are right now,” Raph breathes. “You’re going to be even more pleased when I start fucking you with this thing. I know how to fuck with it. I know how to make a woman come with it. I know how to use it to make you feel good. I know how to be a dirty boy with it. When you leave this apartment, you’re not going to be able to walk properly.” He takes hold of his erect dick and slowly runs his hand up and down it, his teeth slightly bared. He’s a force of nature like this, so raw and savage. He’s like no man I’ve ever seen before.

  My pussy tightens at the thought of him slowly inching himself inside me. This is so different from our crazed encounter in the anteroom. This is planned and intentional. This is going to be so much more . I’m losing all self control as he stalks toward the bed, a look of dark intent in his eyes. “I haven’t bound your feet, but I want you to stay very still, Beth. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you let me, I’m going to teach you. To train you. I’m going to give you the skills you’ll need to navigate a sex life with me, and it will make you strong. You’ll be unstoppable. You’ll be able to make me come in a heartbeat, but more importantly…you’ll be able to drag it out. You’ll be perfectly capable of teasing me in the same way I’m about to tease you. The longer I hold back, the harder my dick gets, Beth. You’re gonna like it hard, I can tell.”

  A statement like that, coming from someone else, would probably make me feel dirty. I only feel empowered, though. I am so turned on, it’s a miracle I’m not shamelessly begging and pleading with him to fuck me. There’s still time yet. He’s not going to end this quickly. He’s going to stretch it out until I’m climbing the walls.

  When Raphael touches my body for the first time, it’s between my legs. He climbs up so that he’s kneeling on the edge of the bed, between my legs, and he stares down at my pussy with a kind of ravenous appetite that sends nervous chills dancing over my skin. He moves with the utmost care as he places his hand over me, cupping my pussy, applying a dizzying, satisfying pressure than makes me angle my hips upward, grinding myself into his hand.

  “So greedy already,” he muses. “Your pussy’s so warm. Wet. I already know it’s going to taste amazing on my tongue.” Slowly, he draws his hand back, using his fingertips to tease small circles against my clit. Somehow he knows how to touch me. How my body will respond to him if he touches me in a certain way. It’s not long before he has me panting, rocking against his hand. This is not me. This is not how I normally behave. There’s something about Raphael North that makes me step outside of my own body, though. It doesn’t matter who I become when I’m with him. All I know is that I like the transformation.

  Raphael growls at the back of his throat as he works me into a fever. The look on his face, so animalistic and determined, makes me want to scream. I manage to keep my cries contained for the most part, but every so often I can’t help it; I whimper and moan, my head tipped back, my spine arching away from the bed below me. Raphael doesn’t look away for a second. He tells me when I can breathe. He tells me when I can writhe. He tells me when to be still, and he tells me when I can come.

  When he prowls up the length of my body and takes my nipple into his mouth, it feels like fireworks are going off inside my head. And when he roughly slams himself into me, thrusting, rocking his hips against me without mercy, the cries I’ve been fighting to bite back are ripped from my throat. I scream his name. I pant, and I struggle for every lungful of oxygen I pull into my body. Raphael fucks me until I’m straining at my handcuffs, battling against them, trying to free myself. Not because I’m terrified and I feel threatened by his dominance, but because I want to touch him. I want to feel the flat, hard, packed planes of his muscle underneath my palms as I guide him into me over and over again. I am locked into position, and I’m unable to move, though. Raphael closes his hands around my throat as he slams himself into me. His grip is loose, but a jolt of panic surges through me all the same. How much pressure would he need to apply to snap my neck right now? Cut off my air supply altogether? The prospect of being choked has never excited me before, but the way Raphael’s fingers caress the sides of my neck as he tightens and releases his hold has me flooded with need. The way he’s pinning me down with those pale green eyes of his, spearing me to the bed, has me wanting him to squeeze a little tighter. He must know how frantic I’m becoming; Raph chuckles breathlessly as he fucks me even harder.

  “You can come now, Beth. You have my permission. Soak my cock with your cum. Make me drip with
it. I’ll come for you, too. I promise.”

  It’s like a switch being flicked somewhere inside my head. I’ve been holding back my orgasm ever since he pushed himself inside me, but the moment he says those words to me, it’s game over. I can’t hold it back any longer. I have to do it. I have to come. Pleasure rips through me like a tsunami, dragging me under, stealing my words, my breath, my ability to even think straight.

  “Oh, shit! Raph… Oh god !”

  The moment I tumble over the cliff, head first into my climax, must be all too visible to Raph. He takes hold of me by the hips, and he fucks me like a damn freight train. Seconds after I come, he pulls out of me, palming his cock, taking hold of it and working his hand furiously up and down the length of it. He explodes, his cum spurting up my body, landing on my stomach and my chest, and I lay as still as possible, reeling from the act. So hot. So, so fucking hot. Raphael’s chest is heaving. He reaches down, rubbing his fingers into the mess he’s made on my skin.

  “Open your mouth,” he commands. I do it, and he slides the very tips of his fingers past my lips, touching them to my tongue. “Lick them clean,” he tells me. “Suck them. Lick my cum from them.”

  “Yes, sir.” I enjoy the task way too much. When his fingers are clean, Raphael runs them back through his cum, but he doesn’t put them back in my mouth. He takes the slick fluid he’s collected on his hand, and he rubs it firmly between my legs. He pushes it inside me, into my pussy. He rubs it over my ass. He spends the next few minutes meticulously gathering up his cum from my belly and my breasts, then rubbing my clit with it and inserting it into my pussy. When he’s finished, he holds himself over my body, his face only a few inches away from mine. God, he is so beautiful. He’s like no other man I’ve ever laid eyes on before.

  “You’re mine now,” he tells me, biting down on his lower lip. “I’m claiming you. No one else may touch you, look at you…even flirt with you without my prior consent. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Excellent.” Raphael appears to be vibrating with satisfaction as he un-cuffs me. “You realize I went easy on you, don’t you?” he says softly. “You realize, the next time I am inside you, things will be very different.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He strokes my hair, tucking a strand back, away from my face. “You can take it, Beth. I know you can. I hope you’ll be ready. I’m going to make you fucking weep with ecstasy. I’m going to show you how I can make your body sing.”

  Downstairs, when I’m fully dressed, I feel like I’m still vibrating with the power of the orgasm he just gave me. My head is clouded with it. Not clouded enough to keep me from speaking my mind as he kisses me goodbye, though.

  “You’re not a bad person, Raphael. You really didn’t do anything wrong. Chloe—”

  He cuts me off, placing a finger over my mouth. “No more. Please. I’m not the victim here, Beth. I’ve only lost the past five years. Chloe lost her life. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Raphael. I just don’t think Chloe would—”

  “Enough! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear her name on your lips. If we’re going to be together, we’re never going to talk about this again, okay? I can’t do it. I fucking won’t do it.”

  Wh…what the hell ? A horrible sinking feeling pulls at my stomach. I don’t want to fight with him. I don’t want there to be any more friction between us than there needs to be. But…god damn it, I just can’t hold my tongue. “You still love her, don’t you? You’re always going to love her. I’m going to be competing with a ghost every second of every day I spend with you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Beth.”

  “How is that ridiculous? You’d rather accept you’re guilty of a crime you didn’t commit than face the past head on and let this go. That speaks volumes to me.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t say a damn thing to you, Beth.” It’s common knowledge that the color red means danger. Right now, though, the color green is fucking terrifying. Raphael’s eyes flash and glimmer with anger; I’ve never seen him look so angry. The muscles in his jaw pop and strain and he grinds his teeth together.

  “Why not?” I whisper. I should keep my damn mouth shut, but I won’t be his doormat. I won’t be told what observations I can and can’t make, especially when they affect me.

  Raphael closes his eyes for a second, breathing hard down his nose. The veins in his arms stand proud beneath his skin, his hands clenched into tight fists. I can see the resolution on his face when he opens his eyes. “Because, Beth. It’s none of your business. None of this is any of your fucking business.”

  I turn and I flee the penthouse, and Raphael doesn’t call out after me. He doesn’t try and stop me from leaving. I don’t take a breath until the elevator doors have rolled closed. Once I’m alone, encapsulated inside the little silver box, hurtling down toward the ground, I let out a loud sob, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. I allow myself to cry until the elevator slows and the doors roll open again.

  After everything we just went through…

  After the amazing sex we just had…

  After convincing me that our lives are already so intertwined…

  How could he say something like that to me?

  It’s amazing how quickly a moment can change for the worse.

  Thirteen

  Beth

  S crew him . Screw him and his stupid square jaw, and his beautiful cheekbones, and his dumb, perfect hair. Raphael North can go guilt himself directly to hell. But then…that’s the whole point. He will guilt himself directly to hell. He’ll allow himself to carry the guilt of Chloe’s death for the rest of his life, and no matter what he thinks, that is my fucking business. It’s already going to be hard enough as it is, trying to build a life with him. We’ll never work out if the Waldorf Hotel accident lingers over us for the rest of time. There will always be a sour note twisting the happy moments of our lives, and I refuse to accept that. I will not tolerate it.

  I’ve stopped crying by the time I leave the Osiris Building’s parking structure. I don’t like what I’m about to do. I don’t like it one bit, but I need to clear Raph. I need to have him cleared, so he can start living his life again. He’s been trapped up there in his penthouse overlooking the city for so long now that I really believe he has no idea what the real world is like any more. For so long he’s been a prisoner, first held by the state, and then by his own conscience. Like most people who get locked away, I think he’s come to accept the confines of his imprisoned life. He’s so used to staying there now and having people come to him when he needs to have meetings, having people drop off groceries, to clean and bring him his laundry, so used to experiencing the city from such a distant, great height, that anything else seems terrifying to him, that anything else must seem frightening. I get it. I don’t fucking like it, but I get it. He’s going to need time. A lot of time. Once I’ve managed to have Chloe’s death ruled an accident, maybe it will be easier for him to face the world, though.

  I allow Nate to drive me across town, mostly because I don’t know where I’m going. He doesn’t mention my black mood, or the fact that I’m stabbing my fingernail into the stitching of the leather armrest like I’m trying to rip it open. He doesn’t say a thing until a taxi swerves in front of our car, nearly hitting us, and I buzz down the window and lean out, screaming like a banshee at the other driver.

  “I take it you and Raphael had a falling out, then?” Nate asks airily.

  “Something like that.” The words barely have room to slip out between my clenched teeth.

  “Do I need to ask why…?”

  “Because he’s a pigheaded, rude bastard.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That .” Nate is obviously trying not to smile. “Should I even bother asking why we’re burning across town to try and exonerate him if he’s such a pigheaded, rude bastard?”

  I let my head rock back, and I close my eyes, sighing—the very sound of surrender. “Bec
ause…I’ve fallen in love with him,” I say quietly. “Not the smartest move, I know, but…it’s too late. It’s true. I’m in love with him.” Nate doesn’t say a word after that. We travel the rest of the way across town in silence, my confession hovering in the air between us like a toxic cloud.

  The Haliday, Falcon & Ross Investments and Wealth Management firm is right where you’d expect it to be: on Wall Street. I haven’t been there before, though, and I have no idea how the hell I’m gonna get into the building, so Nate’s company is a blessing. He parks a block away in a public parking lot, and then the two of us walk over to the building together. “Are you sure this is the easiest way for us to get hold of a copy of the accident report? We’re legally allowed to petition for a copy from the police department, you know?” I say.

  “I’ve tried. Raph put a block on all requests pertaining to his case. I’m sure there was an element of bribery involved, but the case files have ‘gone missing,’” he says, throwing up air quotes around the last two words. “I know Paxton has a copy because he took it from me a couple of days after the accident happened. I asked him for it back shortly after, but he kept forgetting to bring it with him when he came to visit Raph at the penthouse.” Nate holds the heavy glass entry door open for me, ushering me inside the luxurious lobby of the Haliday, Falcon & Ross offices. The building isn’t a skyscraper. From the outside, it looks quite simple and reserved, only six or seven floors—very small by Wall Street standards. It’s only when you walk inside that Haliday, Falcon & Ross’s true status hits you; they own the whole building. They don’t share with any other firms or businesses. The entire seven floors is theirs. There might be a couple of other firms based out of New York that could afford to purchase such prime real estate and hoard it for themselves, but none of them bother. It’s a ridiculous, not to mention unnecessary, expense. The company must pull in a staggering amount of money every year to justify such a grand display of wealth. And if Paxton Ross is a partner, he must be banking an obscene paycheck every month. We’re talking six figures and above, easily.