An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3)

by Nadia Lee

  Her algebra teacher usually assigns about twenty problems for homework, and Elliot works through all of them with my sister, painstakingly checking her work and praising her when she’s done well. A bright smile lights her face, and a pang reverberates through me, followed by a warmth that seeps all the way to my bones.

  He isn’t supposed to be this damn sweet. He’s supposed to be the arrogant, entitled prick who ordered me to get on my knees to suck him off and called someone else’s name out while climaxing inside me. He’s supposed to be the heartless jerk I’m giving my body to for a year so that I can have money—a sum that will provide me with a means to get rid of Mr. Grayson and exercise control over my own destiny.

  I can’t deal with this sweet, patient fellow who’s helping my sister with her homework—and doing a better job of it than I could. He’s already probably ruined me for sex with other men. I don’t want to long for more…spending evenings cuddling and watching movies, or walking along a beach holding hands… How ridiculous to even entertain the fantasy, given that we’ll be through with each other in a year?

  He tilts his head, then looks over his shoulder as though he’s sensed my eyes on him. Our gazes lock, and my heart thuds with a crazy, erratic beat that inexplicably hurts.

  Nonny’s touch on his arm has him tearing his gaze from mine, and then he’s explaining some new point.

  I lower my head and quickly flee the scene before any more of it can get to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Annabelle

  I shower, then put on a decadently sheer nightgown from the closet. It’s made of more lace than silk and reaches mid-thigh. Its emerald color deepens my eyes and the low cut showcases the swell of my breasts.

  I climb into bed, pulling the sheet to my collarbones and read on my phone. I downloaded a free romance novel last week, and I’m going to see if it’s distracting enough to help me relax.

  The story is surprisingly riveting. The firefighter hero is seriously hot, with a gorgeous body and incredible bedroom skills. He makes the heroine come so hard she almost loses her mind. A couple of days ago I would’ve shaken my head at the author’s literary license and thought, Well, we can’t have a hero who isn’t a bedroom fantasy, can we?

  But now it’s different.

  I know what a skilled man can do with a woman’s body. How he can bring it to an orgasm so powerful the pleasure borders on pain.

  My breasts grow heavy, more sensitive with the memory. A familiar heat pools in my core as a tingling sensation sweeps over me. My nipples ache, and my breath goes shallow.

  The emptiness between my legs throbs. I roll to my side, trying to get more comfortable, but my skin prickles with need.

  Giving up, I lie back, my eyes closed, the phone clutched in my out-flung hand. The firefighter in the book takes the heroine from behind while she’s on her hands and knees. What would it be like to have Elliot like that, all wild and uncontrolled? Heat rises to my cheeks, and I bite my lower lip to suppress a moan.

  Awareness tickles my senses before my brain registers Elliot’s presence in the bedroom. I keep my eyes closed as though I can lessen the impact of his nearness by not seeing him.

  There is a featherlight touch along my jawline. I shiver.

  “What’s giving you that look?” he whispers, his breath fanning my skin.

  “Nothing,” I say finally, not willing to tell him what I’ve been fantasizing about.

  The mattress dips, and he tugs the sheet away. “Lovely,” he whispers, slipping a hand under the hem of my nightie. His callused fingertips brush over my bare legs and hips. Despite the light touch, I feel them all the way to my clit.

  “Doggy style, hmm?”

  My eyes fly open. His head is tilted and he’s reading the text on my phone.

  I hit the sleep/wake button, and the screen goes black instantly. But it’s too late.

  He watches me with lust glittering in his gaze. My heart pounds so hard I can’t hear anything except the roar of the blood.

  “Is that what you want, beautiful?” he asks, pressing his nose at the crook of my neck and inhaling my scent. He nuzzles gently. His five o’clock shadow grazes my skin, and I feel the rasp as though it’s a direct flick over my clit. “Want me to get you going, make you beg for it on your hands and knees?”

  The scenario he whispers about should be too preposterous. I’ve never begged for sex, ever. It was never that exciting or important. But with Elliot…it’s different. I wonder if he can actually make me beg…and what it would take to become that desperate.

  He pushes the nightgown out of the way and presses his mouth on every unveiled inch, from mid-thigh to pelvis, where I have a pair of nude panties on. With one finger hooked on the left side and teeth clamped on the other, he pulls them down. His breath fans over my legs, and the edge of his upper teeth scrapes my skin, leaving a trail of heat behind.

  After pulling the underwear off, he studies them. “Lovely. And wet.”

  My face flames at the glistening moisture in the crotch part of the panties. But he exudes a confident sexuality and satisfaction, as though everything is the way it should be.

  Fisting the scrap of satin in his hand, he slowly moves over me. His tongue traces the inside curve of one thigh while he drags the satin up the other. After an eternity, the two meet at the apex. He pauses over my damp curls, breathing in. “Delicious.”

  My mouth dries, my body throbbing with anticipation. I can almost feel my clit swell with eagerness for what’s to come.

  But he doesn’t put his mouth there. Instead he nips my belly and then laves the stinging spot. Air saws in and out of my lungs, and I clench the sheet under me.

  The firmness of his lips, the abrasive five o’clock shadow and sharp nips of his teeth contrast with each other, teasing my senses. I whimper. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. He’s taller, easily a hundred pounds heavier—all of it muscle—and could hold me with ease. But even without the strength and size difference, he can dominate me with his strength of will and the dark focus in his eyes that pins me to the bed.

  His hand moves upward and rolls a nipple between his fingers, while his mouth closes over the other rigid peak. My back arches of its own volition. Sweat films over me like mist, and I can’t do anything except hold onto the sheet.

  “Spread your legs,” he orders.

  “Yes,” I whisper breathlessly, mindlessly. The pleasure he elicits is like a drug in my bloodstream, and I’m like a junkie desperate for another hit.

  He rewards me by cupping my soaking flesh. His thumb brushes over my clit. Electric pleasure jolts through me, and I let out a ragged breath. He pushes a finger into me. It slips in easily, and my inner muscles grip it greedily.

  “You’re so fucking tight.”

  “You didn’t have any trouble,” I point out, almost mindless with what he’s doing to my body.

  “Only because you’re so wet.” He adds another finger. “Jesus.” He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Love the way your pussy grabs me.”

  That only makes me clench harder. Some of my exes talked to me during sex, but with them, somehow…it was awkward. There’s nothing but heat between me and Elliot. It’s like I’m totally with him in the moment, instinctively understanding that if he feels even a little bit of what I’m feeling, it must be pretty good…that he’s not just saying stuff because he thinks it’ll turn me on.

  He pumps his fingers. “I want you ravenous for me. I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name so many times you go hoarse.”

  The heat searing me is too intense. I feel like I’m burning from inside out. I brace my feet against the mattress and match his rhythm.

  “Yes, beautiful,” he whispers darkly against my wet, sore nipple. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” I whisper, rolling my pelvis for more.

  He curls the finger, hitting the sweet spot inside me. “Don’t come until I say you can.”

  The second after the co
mmand registers, he circles my clit with his thumb, slick with my own juices. Pleasure coils tightly in my womb. Even the soles of my feet tingle with it.

  I cling desperately to sanity. I’m not used to this. Usually I’m thinking about something to help me get somewhat excited or just fake the damn thing so it can be over. But these endless rippling waves of pleasure, each stronger than the one before, are driving me out of my mind, and all I want is for him to let me have it. I’m craving it more than air.

  His mouth is back, on my other nipple. I let go of the sheet and tunnel my fingers through his silky hair. The cries coming out of my throat sound nothing like me.

  Suddenly his hand leaves me, and I moan at the loss.

  “On your hands and knees.”

  My muscles clench. I’m so primed, I scramble to get into position.

  He reaches into the drawer for a condom. I look at him over a shoulder. He strips out of his clothes and shoes, discarding them carelessly on the floor. Pre-ejaculate glistens and drips down his thick, hard shaft. With a fierce look of focus, he rolls the rubber down his cock. My tongue darts out and licks my lips.

  His hands grip my hips, tilting them. “Gorgeous.” He kisses my butt, then nips it.

  I tremble. “Please…”

  He gives my ass a proprietary slap. “Remember what I said. No orgasm until I give you permission.”

  My ass stings deliciously. My toes curl at the steel in his voice. “Yes.”

  He dips the head of his penis into me. I’m so sensitive there that I feel it all the way to my fingertips. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

  “Yes.” I arch my pelvis, needing more. “Yes, ye—”

  And he drives all the way into me in a single stroke. He fills me, balls deep, and I cry out at the unbelievable friction, the way elation floods my body.

  He pulls out, then thrusts back in. Each plunge is stronger than the one before, and the power behind them makes my breasts swing. That adds another sharp sensation to the act. They swell and ache.

  I’m so close, but I can’t let go. My face contorts, and every muscle in my body strains against the orgasm building inside me.

  “Come,” he orders in that dark, hard voice.

  That’s all I need to let a torrent of euphoria sweep me away. The climax erupts violently. I clench my teeth, but it’s no use. A high-pitched cry tears from my throat anyway.

  I thought he’d let go too, but he doesn’t. The hands at my hips grip me with bruising force, and he’s driving in deeper and harder, pushing me to another brutal orgasm that wrings more pleasure than I thought I could handle.

  The sound I make is almost bestial. And still Elliot doesn’t stop. The drive of his cock into me is relentless, flesh slapping against flesh. I come again and again, my tissues going super-sensitive. I scream again, every cell in my body combusting. Elliot finally lets go, his cock slamming into me for one last, impossibly hard time.

  He wraps his body around me and pulls me close. When I can breathe more normally, I run my index finger along his brow. My muscles feel like warm honey, my skin still damp and hot.

  Elliot…

  The name is on my tongue, but I suddenly stop. To me, it’s Elliot who’s given me the mind-shattering moments, but to him I’m not even a person, just a convenient orifice he’s paid for.

  And just like that all warmth leeches out of me. I squirm, but he doesn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong?” His breaths fan my neck.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just trying to get comfortable.” Away from you.

  He moves, and I adjust. I can’t pull away without making a big deal out of it, so I close my eyes and pretend that I’m anywhere but in Elliot’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Annabelle

  The dream hasn’t been bothering me for a while, although it used to almost every night. It’s amazing that the details never change.

  Summer flexes its muscles, squashing my hometown in Minnesota with the kind of brutal heat I experienced at Florida State. The scorching weather also makes tempers flare. It’s almost like some kind of cosmic connection between the sky and the people. And I can feel it in the way everyone in Lincoln City looks at me. They don’t blame me for what happened, but they do think I’ve unjustly reaped the benefit of my dad’s fraud. Their resentment hits me like stones, but I keep my chin up.

  They can say whatever they want, think whatever they want, but I still don’t believe it’s true. There has to be a mistake—all the things people say about my dad.

  My only worry is Nonny. She’s only thirteen. She can’t cope with her classmates shunning her or the way she’s suddenly been disinvited to all the parties and sleepovers.

  I’m still shaking that Susan Lexington’s mom told Nonny she had to go home because she isn’t welcome anymore. What a bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” Nonny says, her voice small, as I drive back home.

  “It’s not your fault.” I don’t call Mrs. Lexington names out loud. Nonny’s still too young for that kind of stuff.

  “Do you think it’s true? What people say?”

  “No,” I say decisively. “No way.”

  “But everyone says Dad was running a Ponzi scheme.”

  “That’s what nasty rich Wall Street guys do, not Dad. Only thing he did is try to help people in town make money so they could save for their retirements or their kids’ college and stuff like that.”

  “But…”

  “The whole economy is awful right now, and it’s been slow to recover.” I look over to see how much she’s understanding. “Even a professional investment company would’ve lost money. People just want to blame Dad for bad timing.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, Nonny. Dad’s a great guy, super smart too. But how could he trick everyone in town? That doesn’t make any sense, right? I mean, it’s not like everyone else is too dumb to figure it out if it’s really a fraud.”

  She thinks that over. “I guess.”

  “He even has a partner. Are they saying that Mr. Smith is too stupid to figure it out too? He went to Dartmouth, which is a really good school.”

  She nods.

  “I’m telling you, it’s all bull.” I let out a rough breath. “Once the truth comes out, people are going to be sorry they were mean to us. You’ll see.”

  “Okay.”

  Even as she says that, I know she’s unsure. She’s only thirteen. To her, being accepted and liked right now is more important than some future apology from the people around us.

  I park my car in the driveway. As Nonny and I walk toward the three-story brick house with a cheery yellow roof, I can hear loud, angry voices coming from our home.

  Mom and Dad didn’t used to fight, but now they argue all the time. Nonny stiffens, but I force a smile for her sake. “Come on.”

  I open the door and yell out, “We’re home!”

  Instantly the yelling stops. Mom comes out, her hands beautifully manicured and soft. I have her eyes and nose, but Dad’s mouth and brow.

  “Why don’t you go up and change? I’m making pot roast for dinner,” she says with a labored smile.

  Nonny’s shoulders sag with visible relief that the fight’s over. I’m worried about my parents. I don’t want to see them fight either, but I don’t know what to say.

  Nonny and I go upstairs. “When are they going to stop?” she asks as she drops her duffel bag in her bedroom.

  “Probably soon.” As soon as Dad’s name gets cleared, I’m sure. Mom can’t stand the scrutiny and social condemnation. She’s used to having a full calendar, stuffed with charity events, lunches and dinners. Beautiful and vivacious, she’s always been the center of Lincoln City’s social scene.

  “I heard that they’re going to divorce,” my sister whispers.

  “Nope. Never going to happen.” I crouch in front of her. “Don’t listen to what everyone says.” Despite my calm words, apprehension slithers over me like rancid oil. Mom and Dad are terrible at hiding things from me. I could always guess
what they got for my birthday and Christmas.

  Loud yelling comes from the yard. Startled, I jump to my feet. It’s the voice of my dad’s partner in the investment company.

  “It’s all your fault, you fucking bastard!” he screams, his words slurred. He almost sounds drunk.

  Dad says something back, but it’s hard to make out with the other man’s ranting.

  Pop pop pop.

  I jump at the deafening cracks. My heart pounds. They sound like gunshots, but—

  Nonny’s hands clutch me. “Anna!”

  “Shh…” I soothe her and take a quick peek at the front yard. My blood turns to ice. Dad’s on the lawn, something red pooling around him.

  There’s a shriek, then the door bangs open and Mom rushes out. The gun swings toward her.

  No!

  I grab Nonny and cover her ears with my hands as though that can block out the horrible sound.

  Pop pop pop!

  My entire body shakes, and I hug Nonny tightly and get on my knees. My instincts are split—call for help, or keep Nonny safe? What if we’re next? Oh my god!

  Another bang reverberates the air. My shoulders snap up around my ears. I clench my teeth to contain a scream. Nonny opens her mouth, and I shove a palm over it.

  No, no, no! Please…!

  I breathe roughly. The air is too thick, and it smells metallic and ugly. I can’t hear anything over the thumping of my heart.

  No, no! Don’t hurt my sister! Leave us alone!

  Suddenly my wrists are bound, and I can’t move. Nonny’s gone. To where, I don’t know.

  “No!” I scream. “Please! Not my sister!”

  But I’m too weak. No matter how hard I look, I can’t find her—it’s too dark.

  They asked for it, murmurs rise around me. Got what they deserved.

  A crippling pain guts me. Grief and sorrow crescendo, and I drown in a sea of anguish.

  * * *

  Elliot