by Laura Carter
“The creator swears it’s his and that he hasn’t sold or licensed any part of it before the deal with Constant Sources. Do you think it’s a copycat or the same game?” I ask.
“Hard to say but I can tell you the concepts look identical and obviously the name is the same.”
I want to believe Stuart, for Gregory’s sake, but something tells me this is the game Gregory paid seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds for. The question is, who has the software? How did they get it and why would they try to claim ownership when they surely expect a fight?
* * *
Jackson is waiting outside when I step through the revolving door of my office block at six thirty. An early finish for me, but then I am about to leave the firm. He steps out of the driver seat of the Mercedes in his usual black suit, white shirt and black tie combo, moving to hold the passenger door open for me. I smile when I see Gregory already in the backseat.
“Thanks, Jackson.”
He nods and closes the door behind me as I slip onto the leather seat next to Gregory, who hangs up his call and drops his Blackberry into his inside pocket. The privacy screen is already rolled up to the roof, shielding us from Jackson or, judging by the look in Gregory’s hooded eyes, shielding him from us.
“Get here.” His hand is under my hips, lifting me towards him as the Mercedes eases into rush hour traffic.
Hitching my dress far enough up my thighs to drop my knees either side of Gregory’s legs, I straddle him, sitting back onto his legs.
“Gorgeous,” he says, pulling his hands down the sides of my body. “I said I wouldn’t stop thinking about you today. I haven’t. Now I have a raging dick in my trousers that’s dying to be inside you.”
His words speak to my groin and it takes physical and mental strength to focus my attention away from the thought of him entering me, his thick length filling me completely.
But I do kiss him, getting lost in the feel of his warm wet tongue on mine, the softness of his lips.
“Gregory, I need to talk to you about Black Diamonds,” I manage, pulling myself back from him to sit back on his thighs, panting.
He slips his hands under the hem of my dress and they move like silk across the bare skin of my legs above my stockings. With his thumb he traces a line over my thong, gently parting my labia.
“And I need to talk to you, but unless you mean the black diamonds on your finger, it will have to wait until after.”
He pushes the satin to one side and dips his thumb just inside my lips, purposefully not touching my clit. Teasing me.
“After what?” I part whisper, part moan.
He finally rolls his thumb across my swollen bud, dragging a breathy groan from my lungs. His fingers slide easily into my drenched entrance.
“Your first orgasm of the night.” He moves with a lazy motion, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb circling my tightly wound knot. “I’ve thought about nothing but fucking you all day. In that dress. Out of that dress. Every way until you’ve got nothing left.”
My thigh muscles tighten as the sensation between my legs intensifies. My nipples harden. My lips part. We’re in the backseat, the windows are tinted, the privacy screen is up, but seeing traffic, people on the streets, knowing we’re surrounded and fully clothed, all adds to my urgent craving. I unbuckle his belt, his button and zip as he continues to work me, inside and out.
I reluctantly move to kneel on the floor and take down his boxers and trousers in one move and see my erect reward. Bending forward, bracing myself on his thighs, I turn my tongue around his solid tip, delighting in the low rumbling sound of pleasure emanating from his chest as he holds himself, working his shaft as I suck, my eyes open so I can appreciate the arousing image.
When I can wait no longer, I rise to the seat, my legs either side of his, and brace myself with my hands on the ceiling as I wiggle, helping him move my dress to my waist. Then I shift forward until my body is over his pelvis. He holds my target as I lower myself onto him. I take all of him, to my edge, on the brink of painful hedonism.
Locking my mouth over his, my tongue mirrors the rotations of my hips. Our breathing quickens, our bodies heat. Gregory thickens inside me and I moan into his mouth, forcing him to absorb the sound of my increasing need to climax.
His hand moves between us and his thumb moves back to my clit. “Finish for me, baby.”
He guides my hips with his free hand as my body loses control, my hips gyrate erratically. I bite his neck and my lungs ache to cry out as he pushes me over the edge and I come around his throbbing cock.
He takes firm hold of my hips with both hands, keeping me still as he pumps his length up into me. His rhythm shifts, his hands move to my breasts, squeezing hard, and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he releases into me.
“God, I needed that,” he says, pulling my hair down one shoulder, brushing the skin of my neck with his lips. “I’ve needed you all day.”
I return his touch, nuzzling into his neck as our bodies calm and he starts to retract inside me. “I really do need to talk to you about Black Diamonds,” I mumble against his rich scented skin.
His Blackberry rings and I move to the seat beside him, adjusting my clothes as I go.
“Ryans.” His tone is clipped, maybe even more than his usual CEO abruptness. “What did you find?” He casts his eyes fleetingly to me. “Email it to Jackson. Agreed. No, keep monitoring.”
The Mercedes rolls to a stop outside the front entrance to the Shard and the privacy screen separating the front and back of the car winds down. My cheeks flush red as Jackson’s profile comes into view. I look anywhere other than the rearview mirror, trying to avoid eye contact.
“Scarlett, go inside and call the lift. I need to talk to Jackson.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
Grinding my teeth, I climb out of the car and slam to door shut behind me.
“Good evening, Miss Heath,” the concierge calls, dipping his head.
“Good evening.” I try my best to hide my mounting irritation from my words.
The lifts doors open and I step inside with my laptop in one hand, my frame handbag over my opposite forearm. I press 64 and as the doors begin to draw closed, Gregory strides inside. His body is tense, his eyes ablaze. He rides the lift as if I don’t even exist, rubbing a hand across his late day stubble then sliding it, too tightly, down his throat.
When the doors open to his floor, he steps to one side, finally acknowledging my presence, to let me out first. He opens one side of the white, high-gloss double doors to the apartment for me to walk in, his black eyes meeting mine as we cross. The lounge smells of something delicious, meaning Amy must have just left.
I place my bags down on the floor and as soon as I stand, Gregory thrusts me back against the wall of the lounge, lifting my hands above my head, holding them still with one hand as his other drags up the side of my body. His mouth assaults mine, fast, rough, his teeth meeting my lips. His body pushes against mine, his pelvis ramming my arse against the wall. His cock hardens as his body touches almost every part of mine.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.” He pulls my lip hard between his teeth then rests his brow on mine, his eyes squeezed shut.
“About what?”
“More than I care to discuss.”
“Tell me.”
He’s silent but his exhale is long, hot and heavy against my lips, a wave of heated desire. His hands grab my waist and shoulder, turning me so I’m facing the wall, my palms pressing the plaster above my head.
He yanks my hips back an inch so they’re pushed up against his crotch, then he pulls down the zip running from my neck to my coccyx and pushes the material apart, exposing my back. His hands roam across my bare skin as his hips turn slowly against my
arse.
“My day started with you having a nightmare and running away from me.” His words are thick, deep and masculine. “It got worse, and right now, I just need you to take me out of my head.” His mouth meets my shoulder, sucking and biting the skin. “Give me what I need.” He blows air in a line down the nape of my neck then follows the same path with his tongue. “Give me you.”
My head rolls back and drops forward in acquiescence.
“Say it.” His hands move inside my dress, around my waist and up to my breasts, pushing down the cups of my bra to tweak my nipples.
“Yes.”
It feels like one swift move as he pulls my hands to my sides and pushes my dress across my shoulders to the ground. I return my hands to the wall, palms down above my head, balancing my body as I lift my heeled feet out of the dress.
His hand grips my hipbone then slips into my thong which is no doubt drenched from our ride home. His fingers move over my still sensitive clit then breach my entrance, pulling my pelvis back against his erection.
“You’re soaked. Full of me. Do you have any idea how fucking sexy it is knowing that you’re full of me?”
“Gregory,” his name leaves me on a breathy whisper.
“What, baby? Tell me why you’re saying my name.”
“I want you.”
“Where?”
“Inside me. I want to feel you.”
“Take off your thong.”
I do, bending further back into him to slide the material down my legs. I lift one leg to step out, then the other. He hooks his hand under my elevated thigh and moves it back, my heel locking around his waist, exposing my sex to him.
“Feel yourself.”
The embarrassment I feel is fleeting. My body is too desperate, too charged and too wanton. I move my hand between my parted lips and realise how wet I am. My fingers glide across my clit. Gregory holds his hand against mine, encouraging my fingers lower then pushing me inside so I can feel our earlier pleasure.
“That’s it, baby.”
He removes his suit jacket, casting it to the floor with my dress, then unfastens his trousers, leaving me briefly to take them off and remove his shirt. My entire body is tingling, mounting, as my own incendiary fingers work me higher. His naked body rests against my back, his legs inside mine. He gropes my breasts, pulling me back against his chest.
My legs start to feel weak, trembling as I near the precipice. His hands trace every curve of my body, his rock-hard penis lies in the crease of my arse.
“Gregory, I’m close. I want to come with you inside me.”
He growls as he pushes me forward, my palms meeting the wall. I’m in my heels but I still rise to the tips of my toes to account for his height. When he’s positioned, he teases me, entering just an inch. I drop back onto my heels and he thrusts deep inside me. Delicious. Deadly.
“Gregory, god, Gregory.”
“Keep touching yourself,” he barks.
It’s sensitive, too sensitive, my legs could give way, but I do as he says, my hips bucking back into him when my fingers touch my clit. The tips of my fingers find him, thick and wet, entering me tirelessly. The feel of him. Knowing I’m taking all of him. It sends my head into a spiral. He wraps a hand around my waist, holding me to him, stopping my legs from collapsing beneath me. His teeth clamp down on my shoulder.
“Not yet,” he says, groaning into my back.
“I can’t wait. I can’t.”
“Wait.”
He pulls out, leaving me panting against the wall, my insides on the edge and screaming for more. He grabs my hand from the wall and leads me to the stairs, guiding me to kneel halfway up. Then he kneels on the step below mine and straightens my body against his chest. He pushes my knees further apart and I lean my head back against his shoulder, my sex crying out for him to reenter, my legs grateful for the relief from standing. Holding my hips, he thrusts up into me, both of us moaning as he slips back into place, my body instantly lifting again. He takes my hand and moves it back to my entrance so we’re both feeling him driving into me.
“Gregory. I need to come.”
His lips clamp onto my neck and he sucks my skin hard as his cock sinks deeper. “Now, baby, together.”
Need. Delight. Relief. I scream his name as he roars expletives and our bodies shudder together, bucking in sync, his arms holding me against him as we climax violently, him deep inside me, my body merging into his.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my neck, holding me to him until our breathing settles.
“Don’t ever thank me, Gregory, not for that. I love you.”
“Baby, I love you so much it’s going to be the death of me.”
“Food first or bath first?” I ask as we fumble to our feet at the bottom of the stairs.
“Bath.”
“Okay. I’m sorry to burst your bubble of ignorance, Mr. Ryans, but we do actually need to talk about the game.”
* * *
I stand between his legs whilst he adjusts his position, then guides me down into the bubbly water between his thighs. Leaning back against his chest, I hum contentedly as he strokes water up and down my chest.
“Black Diamonds, come on then.”
I don’t intend the enormous sigh that escapes me before I speak. “Someone has applications pending in Europe. They pipped us to the post by a matter of hours again.”
“And now you’re very concerned.”
I roll over and rest my chin on my hands on his chest. “Very. Whoever it is, they’re following the exact pattern of my registration plan.”
“Four jurisdictions, couldn’t it be coincidence?”
I shake my head. “No. Not now. It’s too coincidental that the registrations are so proximate, and the pattern.”
“Surely the pattern is obvious, you dealt with the biggest jurisdictions first.”
“Gregory, you need to start hearing what I’m saying. I think this is purposeful. Now, someone thinks they own this game or they’ve made an exact replica and want to register their game before we register ours. That way, if there’s a fight, they have a solid claim, particularly in jurisdictions where the rule is first to register wins.”
“I sense there’s a but.”
“I just can’t stop thinking about the order and timing. Gregory, I think someone is doing this maliciously. Either someone, like you say, knows the most obvious pattern of registration, or...”
He pushes himself to sit higher in the bath. “Or they have your plan.”
“That’s where I’m getting to. I’ve spent the day thinking about who it could be and the obvious place to start is people you, or I, or both of us have pissed off.”
He looks up, searching, listing, realising. “That’s a pretty big list.”
“Yes. The people who have access to the plan are Tim and Jean-Paul. Perhaps they’re pissed about the way Nick Henshaw was fired?”
“No. The game is to benefit Constant Sources, they wouldn’t do it.”
“Nick Henshaw? Would they have given the plan to him?”
“No. Their allegiance doesn’t lie with Nick. They wouldn’t dare.”
“Well, there’s Stuart? There’s something about him, Gregory. And he works in your building, he knows computers, it’s not like he couldn’t find the plan.”
“Why on earth would he be looking, Scarlett? He works for me now and it was his game. He’d breach the terms of our deal if he did anything like that and I doubt he wants to pay seven hundred and fifty grand back.”
He does have a point. He reaches out, encouraging me to lie back into his chest. “It’s that woman Stella, from Lara’s party and the hunt. She hates me for being with you. She’s malicious.”
His chest vibrates against my back as he chuckles. “Do you real
ly think Stella would get back at you for taking me off the market by entering into an intellectual property battle with you?”
I laugh with him. “I guess not. There’s an obvious person in Trina. I thought about her a lot. I’m waiting for her next move. But what would she know about games and IP?”
“And it’s way off the mark in terms of her motivation. She wants to pull the lid off a pan of bribes, stealing or copying a game isn’t going to achieve that.”
Now I laugh harder. It’s completely inappropriate but his muddled saying in the midst of him being serious is just too damned cute.
“What can possibly be so funny right now?”
“Baby, what you just said was a whole other level of mess. I think you mean lift the lid, not pull and god knows what a ‘pan of bribes’ is. For an intelligent man you—”
His hands move to my hips, his fingers digging in until I squeal. “Say sorry.”
“I’m sorry.” I giggle. “Seriously, though, there is one other person. I don’t know how he’d know about the game necessarily but he definitely wouldn’t need sight of my registration plan to know what I’m thinking.”
“Jack.”
“He was my boss for a long time, Gregory. He might be a sick bastard but he taught me a few things in that time.”
“And me putting him behind bars gives him a damn good reason to want retribution.”
“Yep. I can’t piece everything together but he fits the bill of seriously pissed off and knowledgeable about the market and the legals behind everything.”
“Alright, lady, you’re starting to wrinkle, let’s eat.” He pushes me up, standing and climbing out of the bath. The conversation might be over but his own thoughts are just getting started and he needs space to mull it over. I get that. It’s how I work, too.
I follow him out of the tub and let him wrap a white towel around my shoulders after he’s tied his own around his waist. “What did you want to talk about?”
“My mother wants to discuss wedding plans with you. She’d like you to have lunch with her at the weekend.”