“Perhaps I want you angry, Connor Blake,” she murmured thickly. “Perhaps I prefer you angry. Because it’s a damn sight more exciting than you acting like you have a permanent stick up your—”
But she didn’t get to finish. With a hard jerk, Connor pulled her around.
And then his mouth was on hers, demanding and hot as fire, and she was being propelled back fast. The wall hit her back, Connor pressed hard to her front, six foot four of long, lean muscle, crushing her. On the shelf next to her, a fragile white vase teetered and fell onto the floor, knocked off by the impact and even though it fell on carpet, it broke.
Victoria barely noticed. Connor didn’t give her room and he didn’t let up, his mouth on hers devouring her like she was his last meal.
It was glorious.
She raised her hands to his shirt and gripped the cotton, tearing it apart so she could get her hands on his body, touch his bare skin. He cursed against her mouth. “Fuck. Did I say you could touch me?”
Victoria spread her hands out on the hot, smooth skin of his chest. “Did I say you could kiss me, prick?”
For an answer he crushed her mouth under his again, his tongue pushing inside, exploring her, demanding more. She gave it to him, panting, taking what she wanted as well. And then she felt his hands at her skirt, jerking it up in a sharp movement, stitches ripping. His fingers curling around the waistband of her panties, tearing them aside, sliding between her thighs and into the slick folds of her sex.
She cried out against his lips as a deep, vicious pleasure caught her in its grip.
He grabbed her wrists in his free hand and pushed them up and over her head, pinning them against the wall. Then he curled his fingers inside her, pushing deeper, and she shuddered helplessly.
“Look at me,” he ordered roughly. “Keep your eyes on me, dirty little girl.”
And she did, the pleasure twisting even tighter at the furious, savage look in his eyes. He was unguarded, an elemental, raw kind of passion radiating from him that stole her breath. That made her want to demand even more from him.
“Why?” she panted. “Afraid of losing your nerve again?”
“Shut your mouth, beautiful.” He flexed his fingers inside, wrenching a desperate moan from her.
Oh God, she was trembling with excitement and exhilaration. From the feel of his fingers and the press of his body, the musky scent of aroused male. The hard, blazing glitter of his eyes. And it hit her with the force of a blow that she wouldn’t go back to what they’d had before, even if Jessica’s letter hadn’t arrived. Even if they were still together.
She didn’t want that passionless, cold existence. She wanted this. She craved it. And she wanted it from him.
“No,” she said, breathless. “I will not shut my mouth.”
He bared his teeth. “Then you’re asking for fucking trouble.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking for.” She leaned forward just the tiniest bit, inches away from the storm in his eyes. “I want it, Connor. I want you angry. I want you raging. I want you wild. So do it. Give it to me.”
His gaze darkened and she could see the pulse at the base of his throat beating fast. But he was holding back. Like he was standing right in front of a line he didn’t want to cross.
So she crossed it for him.
She kissed him, sinking her teeth into his lower lip. Biting him hard.
He made a growling sound in his throat and jerked his head away, his chest heaving. Then he pulled his fingers out of her and released her wrists, putting his hands on her hips and turning her so she was facing the wall. Shoving her up against it.
She turned her head, the cool paint pressing against her cheek, trying to get a breath because she was so turned on, so excited she could barely breathe. His hand settled on the back of her neck in a heavy, possessive hold, keeping her exactly where she was. Then she felt him rip away the rest of her panties so she was bare from the waist down.
“Keep still,” he breathed in her ear. “Don’t fucking move.”
But she wanted to move. She wanted to keep pushing. So she began to turn around. He cursed and shoved her back against the wall, and this time he took her hands and pinned them above her head again. Victoria pulled against him, the movement prompting another of the knickknacks in the shelves nearby to fall. And perversely it gave her pleasure to see it break.
In fact, she wouldn’t mind if everything in this pristine, sterile fucking room broke. If the couches were ripped, stuffing strewn everywhere. The electronics pulled from the wall and smashed on the floor. The stupid black-and-white art pictures thrown over chairs, the canvases ripped.
Because she didn’t want white and pristine and sterile. She didn’t want calm. Not anymore.
Connor growled again as she pulled against his hold, plastering her to the wall with his body. “Beautiful little bitch.” His breath was against her neck. “You want me to fuck you hard? Be my filthy slut?”
She struggled to get a breath, her heartbeat so loud it was like a plane taking off. “You can try. But I’m not sure you’re man enough for me.”
He laughed, a low, savage sound that wound her excitement even tighter. “You think you can play with me, don’t you, dirty girl? Well, we’ll see who’s in charge when I’m buried balls deep in your cunt.” His fingers tightened around her wrists. “Legs apart. Now.”
The dirty talk was insanely hot, his hard grip even hotter. “Make me.”
He obliged, kicking her legs apart. “That was easy. But then you don’t really want to make this difficult for me, do you? Not when you’re so fucking greedy for me.”
She was shivering now, feeling sharp movements behind her. Then came the rip of foil and he must have torn the condom packet open with his teeth because his grip on her wrists didn’t falter. She couldn’t help herself, shoving back against him, thrilled when he cursed viciously and shoved back, her cheek pressed hard to the wall.
And then his cock was pushing inside her in a deep, hard thrust.
“Oh…God….” The words were sharp, desperate. “Connor…”
He didn’t pause and he didn’t hold back, driving into her, each thrust shoving her against the wall. “You want more and harder, you have to tell me. Give me the words, Victoria.” His hips flexed, his voice rougher, darker. “And you’d better make it fucking dirty otherwise you won’t get what you want.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the slide of his cock, the stretch of her sex around him, the weight of his body pinning her. She was surrounded by heat and power, the sheer force of his fury. It was like being in the middle of a hurricane and she loved every second.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me harder.”
“Where shall I fuck you, Victoria? Where do you want my cock?”
“I want it in…my pussy.”
He reached her with his free hand, jerking on her blouse and pulling it open. “I said make it dirty.”
She didn’t like to swear and she most especially didn’t like the word he wanted from her. But it was so erotic hearing him say it to her and she wanted to give it back. Especially when his hand roughly pushed her bra up and took her breast in his palm. “I want…” He squeezed her, pinched her nipple. “I want your cock in my c-cunt.”
“Louder.” He thrust again. “I didn’t hear you.”
She lost patience. “Shut up and fuck me, you prick!” She shoved back against him again. “Harder. I want it harder!”
And he did. Hard and deep, and with each thrust she was sure she could feel the walls tremble. Or maybe that was just her. Maybe that was just the orgasm beginning to build like lava underneath a volcano. Heavy and hot and unstoppable.
More things fell off the shelf but neither of them noticed.
There was nothing but panting and sweat and raw, animal lust.
He drove himself inside h
er and she could feel herself begin to break apart, cracking like the vase. Cool and calm Victoria Blake, shattering. Leaving someone else in her place.
Connor’s dirty girl.
Then the hand on her breast dropped between her legs, pinching her clit, and she came fast and she came hard, sobbing against the wall as he found his own release, his hoarse cry loud in her ear.
For a long time she didn’t move and neither did he, his breathing fast and hot against her neck. He’d let go of her wrists and it was only his arm sliding around her waist that kept her upright.
The high of the orgasm began to fade, leaving her feeling raw and bruised and strangely frightened for reasons she didn’t understand.
Then his mouth moved against her neck, a soft brush of his lips so at odds with the roughness of the sex they’d just had, that she didn’t know quite what to do. A shiver wracked her. It was gentle, almost…tender.
“Don’t run away, Victoria,” he whispered. “Stay the night. Please.”
Chapter Nine
He shouldn’t have said it like that, as if he was helpless and needy when he wasn’t either of those things. And yet he couldn’t stop the words from coming out.
She smelled of passion and sex. Rain-drowned magnolia and musk. Her softness against him was like a gift he didn’t know he’d wanted.
Christ, he thought he’d been so good, forcing himself not to take her in the hallway. Forcing himself to keep control and walk away. But she hadn’t let him. She’d made him confront her, take her. Give her his anger and now he felt…hollowed out.
He wanted to get away from her, get some space to put himself back together again and yet he didn’t want to let her go. It was as if the smell of her, the feel of her, filled the empty, hollowed out space in a way he didn’t understand and yet craved anyway.
Victoria was silent, standing motionless in front of him.
And he wished he’d never phrased it like a fucking question. Wished he’d just ordered her upstairs and into his bed like he had the night before because then she’d have to do it.
“I’m not running,” she said at last, her voice frayed as torn silk. “You were clear what you wanted.”
He didn’t know why he felt such relief but he did all the same. And he didn’t want to step away from her, wanted to keep holding her like this, her body against his, savoring the unfamiliar joys of physical closeness while he could.
Eventually though, he knew he had to move. Slowly, he withdrew from her then smoothed down her skirt, noticing the fabric had torn. Jesus Christ. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to buy you a new skirt.”
“It’s okay. I don’t like skirts much anyway.” She was leaning against the wall as if she couldn’t move, her forehead pressed to the smooth expanse of paint. Her hair, which had been in her usual neat work bun, had come loose, inky black curls falling down over her neck and shoulders.
He reached up and began to gently tuck the silky strands back into the bun. Still she didn’t move, allowing him to tidy her hair without comment. As he neatened up the last lock, he noticed marks on the side of her neck. The marks of his teeth.
A small current of ice wound through him.
Blood everywhere. His mother lying unconscious amidst the shattered glass. His father standing there, still shouting at her. So much violence. That’s all his father was about. Live by the sword, die by the sword…
And you’re just the same.
He pushed away from her, his hands shaking. “Why don’t you go upstairs and have a shower? I’ll get dinner ready.”
Victoria turned around and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth red and kiss-swollen. And he could feel the hunger for her rise in him again. The need to tear off her clothes and have her bare skin against his.
She gave him a sultry, indolent look. “You don’t want to join me?”
He did. But he wasn’t going to. He needed the time to collect himself and more sex wasn’t going to do that. “Not yet.” Turning away, he added, “This dinner won’t cook itself.”
She didn’t press so he left her to it, using the bathroom downstairs to clean himself up then going back into the kitchen to see to the food he’d put in the oven earlier.
He’d made a lamb tagine as soon as he’d gotten home from work, remembering a conversation they’d had years before about places she’d always wanted to visit. Morocco and the Middle East had featured highly. So he’d cooked something he hoped she might like, adding a cucumber and tomato salad and couscous. The simple task of cutting up the tomatoes and the cucumber was calming, the wild beat of his heart steadying as he put them into a plain white bowl.
Okay, so he’d promised himself he wouldn’t hold back with her. That he’d give in to every dark urge he’d ever had. But he didn’t like how those urges overtook him, overpowered him. How they seemed to hook into the anger living just beneath the surface of his skin.
He’d always prided himself on the fact he treated women with respect. That he didn’t take part and actively frowned on the casual sexism that so often cropped up in his job. It was another thing that set him apart from his father, who’d treated his wife like she was his own personal slave.
And yet here he was, shoving a woman against a wall. Calling her a bitch. A slut. Tearing her clothing. Biting her. Not just any woman either. The woman who was his wife.
He stared down at the bowl in front of him, at the green and red of the fresh vegetables.
Had this week been a mistake? Was letting himself off the leash dangerous? Both for her and for him? Because God knew, he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. If he hurt her. He wasn’t a man who hurt women. He’d never be that man.
Yet something wasn’t right. The setback with the Anderson case was fairly major, but he’d had setbacks with cases before and hadn’t felt nearly so furious as he had when he’d gotten home that day. He certainly had never taken out that anger and frustration on anyone else before.
What was happening to him?
Perhaps you should call it off? Sign the papers now?
Well, that was one way to fix it. And yet the thought of it was…not acceptable. He wasn’t ready to end the week. Despite the dangers, he wanted more. Which made him not only a selfish prick but a sick one too.
“Hey? Are you okay?”
He looked up from the salad and his heart nearly stopped.
Victoria was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded. Her hair was loose and damp down her back, and all she wore was one of his white business shirts. The hem came down to mid-thigh, leaving her legs bare and if he wasn’t very much mistaken, she wasn’t even wearing underwear.
“I’m fine.” He straightened, desire igniting inside him once more. “Did I say you could borrow one of my shirts?”
Her mouth curved, as if his response had pleased her. “No. But seeing as how you ruined both my skirt and my panties, you kind of owed me.”
Something else had joined the desire slowly hardening his cock and making his blood pump hard. A possessive kind of feeling, one that approved very much of her in his shirt. Mine, it said.
“Keep it on,” he heard himself say. “You look fucking sexy. And I like seeing you in something of mine.”
Her gaze held his for a long moment then her smile deepened, pink glazing the smooth olive of her cheekbones. “Well, thank you. I rather like it myself. Anyway, that smells good.”
“Go sit down and I’ll bring it out.” Best they ate now. Before he grabbed her and had her on one of the kitchen counters.
They ate at the big glass and white wrought iron dining table they’d both chosen when they’d first bought the house. They’d both liked the clean lines and restrained elegance of it, but they almost never sat there eating dinner together. Their schedules had always been too busy.
So it was strange to sit there
, eating a meal he’d prepared, watching her sit opposite wearing nothing but one of his business shirts, her only other adornment the black cloud of hair he was rapidly becoming obsessed with.
She wasn’t the reserved, cool woman he’d married now. She was someone else, somehow different. And he found himself watching her, fascinated.
“This is good,” she said, forking up some lamb. “Middle Eastern, right?”
“It’s a lamb tagine. From Morocco. You said you wanted to visit it once.”
She raised a brow. “You remembered that?”
Connor leaned back in his chair, idly playing with the glass of red wine he held. “The night we met. At the law school ball. You said you wanted to travel and that you wanted to go to Morocco.”
“God, really? That was years ago.”
It had been but it was fixed in his memory. She’d worn a plain, classy black dress, different to all the other women in their tight, glittery outfits. He’d been drawn to her cool intellect and the air of reserve about her, admiring both qualities. There had been nothing overly passionate or intense about her and he’d appreciated that. Been attracted to it because it had suited him. He hadn’t been looking for either passion or intensity.
“I still remember.”
She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret, then glanced away, chewing thoughtfully on her lamb before swallowing and reaching for her wine. “Well, perhaps I’ll actually get to go while I’m in England. Be nice to travel somewhere different.”
He shifted in his chair, trying to tear his gaze from the view of her bare thighs he could see through the glass of the tabletop. She had her legs tucked under her, the hem of the shirt hiding the shadowed space between her thighs. But still he couldn’t seem to stop looking.
“What about Jessica?” he asked, distracted.
There was a pause.
“I’m not sure you have the right to ask me that question.”
Her tone was cool, even. A return of the Victoria he’d married, not the sexy woman with the sensual smile who had greeted him in the kitchen earlier.
He finally tore his gaze from her legs and met her dark eyes. There was no heat in them now, or that sensual amusement of before. They were cold, a door slamming shut in his face.
Living in Secret: Living In..., Book 3 Page 13