by Geneva Lee
“Fuck me, beautiful. Your mouth feels good,” Smith rasped, his eyes hooded as he watched me.
God, I loved putting on a show for him. Nothing had ever made me feel more alive—more irresistible—than when those eyes were on me. I existed for these moments.
He pulled away from me and leaned down so that his face was inches from mine. His arm snaked down, gripping my wrist and bringing my arousal-coated fingers to his lips. “I need to taste that.”
Smith sucked each finger leisurely, turning the pulse at my core into a sharp, insistent stab of want. My legs dropped open on the bed as I began to squirm, restraining myself from pulling him down on top of me. He dropped his hold on my hand, his mouth still clamped over my middle finger, and hooked his arms under my shoulders. Finally releasing me, he flipped me onto my stomach and climbed into the bed. I didn’t dare move as he positioned himself behind me. I knew better than to interrupt him when he was taking the reins. His hands dug into my hips as he wrenched my spread thighs over his lap. I was facedown on the mattress, my hands clenching the linens for strength.
“I’ve missed this.” He stroked his palm across my buttocks and down to the quivering mound between my legs, sending a jolt of electricity charging through the sensitive spot. “I can feel how much you want to be spanked. Did you miss my palm on your ass?”
“Yes, Sir,” I moaned against the fabric. And I had. It made me feel filthy how much I’d missed it. The first slap hit the right cheek lightly, and I bit down on the comforter, afraid I would come just from the contact. Heat blossomed across the tender skin, and Smith caressed it lovingly.
“More?” he prompted.
I nodded, my teeth still clenched.
“Ask me for what you want.”
My mouth fell open, the plea falling wantonly from my lips. “Please spank me.”
“Happily.”
The next thwack was harder, jarring me so forcefully my legs tried to clamp shut against Smith’s waist. I just needed a little friction. But Smith was far too skilled to allow that. Instead I endured a series of smacks ranging from playful to punishing. When he finally stopped, my ass stung from the erotic assault. My mind was blank, capable only of processing the hot, pulsating sensation spreading through my behind. Smith didn’t say anything as he yanked my body another few inches back and inserted his cock inch-by-glorious-inch in my throbbing entrance. His hands stayed on my waist, keeping me still as my body acclimated to his girth.
“You’re so wet and so tight. Are you ready to come for me?”
I choked out a yes. Oh God, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. It was the only word that held any meaning, and I screamed it as he thrust inside me, liberating the climax that he’d built in my core. He hammered relentlessly so that with each violent stroke another wave of pleasure seized hold of me. I clawed at the bed, trying to hold on to the feeling. I never wanted it to stop. I never wanted him to free me. But as the spasms quieted, he withdrew and guided me carefully onto my back before pushing back inside.
“Look at me,” he demanded in a gruff voice. “I want you to see what you do to me, Belle.”
I forced my drooping eyes open as he rocked slowly. Smith’s thumb found my clit, and I watched as his shaft disappeared inside my body.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Smith towering between my spread legs, the root of his shaft visible between the pink folds of my flesh.
My muscles tensed, already readying themselves for the next unstoppable onslaught.
“Fuck, beautiful!” he grunted as I felt the first unmistakable jet shoot against my velvet channel.
I lost myself with him, my legs wrapping around his waist to urge him faster as we unraveled together. When he finally stilled, he gathered me in his arms, sealing his mouth over mine. Our limbs tangled together as the kiss deepened. This was where I belonged. This was the man I belonged to. Breaking apart, we collapsed, still knit around each other. His hand cupped the side of my face, drawing me back to his lips and the promise of much more to come.
Despite the crowd at CoCo’s the next afternoon, I felt more relaxed than ever. It was amazing what a night of orgasmic bliss could do for a girl. From the corner of the restaurant, Lola waved me over to the table, grinning widely. The smile vanished from her face as a waiter appeared at the table to take our drink orders. The lanky server looked a bit too pleased to have two women in his section. He squatted beside the table, but before he could get a word out, Lola cut him off.
“Bourbons. West’s please,” she instructed him, dismissing him without a second glance in his direction. When he disappeared toward the bar, she shot me an annoyed look. “He’s been hovering like a puppy since I sat down.”
“That bad?” I asked with a laugh as I hooked my bag over the back of my chair.
“Worse. He needs to reconsider his tactics if he thinks he’s going to be picking up more than my signed bill.” Lola shrugged good-naturedly and tapped her phone on, switching to business mode. “Now let’s chat about where you’re at with publicity.”
One of the reasons I’d approached Lola to tackle this issue was due to her ability to get down to business. Today was obviously going to be no exception. The trouble was that I didn’t really know where to start. Unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap to buy time, I tried to think. “Honestly, I just secured a business front. I still haven’t received the logo comps and we haven’t begun to buy inventory yet.”
Not to mention the fact that most of my ideas were mere scribbles in a notebook at this phase.
“Have you written a business plan?” she asked as she swiftly typed a note on her mobile.
“Um, not exactly. Not an official one. I have a lot of notes.” Smith had pushed me on this as well, but he’d also been more than happy to distract me from completing the task.
“That’s your second order of business then. Before you jump into it, I need a one page summary pitching the idea and explaining the subscription tiers and how much you anticipate charging.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were consulting.”
Lola tilted her head. In this thoughtful position, she looked more like her sister, Clara, than usual. “About that…”
I braced myself as she paused. If she backed out now, I was screwed. I barely had time to shower every day. There was no time to find another publicist willing to strategize this early in the game.
“I want in,” she said, surprising me. “This is my last year at university. Next semester I need a job. Know anyone that might hire me?”
There was no ignoring the implication in her question. “You want to actually work for me?”
So far the reactions to my unexpected foray into business had been a mixed bag. Most of my friends were enthusiastic but only mildly interested. My mother had almost had a heart attack. And Smith? I still wasn’t certain. He’d fronted the expenses, but he’d also been looking for a way to get me out of Hammond’s sights. Funding my company might have simply been a calculated move.
“Unless you don’t want me.” Lola took a sip of water, her expression totally unreadable.
“No!” I said too loudly, cringing when a few other patrons turned to stare at me. I lowered my voice and leaned over the table. “I definitely want you. I think I’ve got the right idea for the business side of things, but I’m not a PR expert. It’s just…I can’t really pay you. Yet.”
Or maybe ever. I silenced the voice. It was too early to give up.
“I figured.” Her response was nonchalant. She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear. “Look, I don’t really need money. What I do need is something I can get excited about. My father has been breathing down my neck to partner with him on some new start-up, but for many reasons, I don’t want to go that direction. So since I don’t have to worry about money, I want to build something of my own. I could even contribute additional finances.”
“Finances aren’t an issue,” I reassured her as my cheeks heated.
“Then let’s get
started,” she suggested as the waiter reappeared with the bourbons.
“We have a business name and a studio space, are we ready to get started?”
She smirked at this, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “We have an idea. Let’s start selling it. I want to approach the high-end magazines by week’s end to do features on you and the business. Publications create content months in advance. We’ll want the press when we’re up and running, not months after we launch.”
Things were moving fast. A week ago I had an idea, now I had a partner, a storefront, and more on my plate than I’d bargained for. It was beyond exciting, but underneath the initial thrill, there was a fair amount of anxiety. “It’s okay to be scared, right?”
“Yes. If your life doesn’t scare you a little, you probably aren’t living,” she said without hesitation, raising her glass. “To partners.”
“I hope you’re right.” I touched my drink to hers and shook my head. She had no idea how much my life scared me sometimes. “To terrifying new possibilities.”
By the time we’d finished a short strategy meeting, I found myself anxious to get back to the office. The blissful calm that I’d experienced since leaving Smith this morning had been replaced by a frantic desire to focus. In two days, I’d managed to secure an office and a business partner. Digging my phone out, I bypassed checking my overrun inbox and tapped out a message to Edward.
BELLE: Bless has two things to celebrate this week!
EDWARD: I knew you could do it, babe! Drinks on Saturday? I want to hear all about it.
BELLE: You’re on.
EDWARD: I’ll text you the details in a few.
Before I could drop my mobile back into my purse, an incoming call buzzed from an unknown number. I stared at the screen, torn over answering. I knew I should let it go to voicemail given the circumstances, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was a businesswoman now. The call could be important. In the end, curiosity won out over patience.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Have you reviewed the documents I messengered to your flat?”
My eyes closed involuntarily at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Did you block your caller ID?”
“I can’t get you to answer my calls, and those documents are of a time-sensitive nature,” she said, sounding far from apologetic about deceiving me.
I’d been avoiding her calls for weeks, along with the unopened envelope that had arrived after our last disastrous visit. She’d made it clear then that I was nothing more than a signature to her.
“I also heard you’re going through with this foolish website business,” she continued swiftly. No doubt she had a lot of complaints to lodge before I ended the call. “Where did the capital for that come from? Did your aunt finance it?”
“Aunt Jane hasn’t given me a penny.” Just emotional support, I added to myself.
“It would have been a far wiser course of action to focus your energy on our estate.”
My estate, the unwanted birthright I’d received when my father died, was the last thing I wanted to think about. Once I’d been willing to marry well to keep it afloat. Now I didn’t care if it sank, or my mother along with it.
“I assume you have everything under control,” I responded coolly. She’d never asked me for my opinion on how we might deal with the estate’s debts. Instead she’d simply harassed me to find a way to maintain her aristocratic lifestyle.
“The producers want to start shooting the show this Christmas,” she said, her tone taking on a level of exasperation somewhere between panic attack and meltdown.
“I’ll review it when I have time.” In truth, if it meant getting her off my back, I’d sign the entire grounds over to the BBC immediately. But I suspected it was going to be more complicated than that, and I didn’t want to spend what little time I had with my personal legal counsel talking through contracts.
“I would hate to have to take further action,” she threatened.
I stopped in my tracks, accidentally causing a couple to knock into me on the pavement. Mouthing an apology, I darted to the front of a shop. “Care to explain what that means?”
“If you have a company, you have assets,” she said in a smooth voice. “The estate is in your name, which means I can transfer its debts to you.”
“If you do that,” I said between gritted teeth, “pack your bags.”
“I can’t believe you would throw the woman who gave birth to you out on the street!”
“That is one debt that’s been paid, and I definitely don’t owe you for anything else,” I hissed, quickly adding, “I’ll review the contracts.”
I hung up, fury vibrating through me. Pressing my back to the glass window, I stared out at the midday crowds while I forced myself to breathe. Smith would never allow her to ruin Bless, but I couldn’t ask him for help without coming clean about the depth of my estate’s financial crisis. I’d sign the papers and with them grant her and it a few more years of life support until I could finally pull the plug on them both.
Tugging at the bill of my baseball cap, I glanced casually down the street. I’d had worse ideas in my life but not many. But after my recent rendezvous with Belle, I found myself too distracted at work to accomplish much. Her recent absence felt more acute than it had in weeks, as though I’d opened a fresh wound and had to restart the healing process. Except I didn’t want to. Instead, her absence festered and stung, leaving me desperate to claw at the itch.
I approved of her choice in location, her building situated in a quiet pocket of the neighborhood where she would be tucked away safely. Maybe it would help soothe the possessive curiosity that ate away at me all hours of the day. I knew where she lived. Now I needed to see where she worked. I’d reined in my desire to have her followed, settling instead for the satisfaction of knowing her car was LoJacked. Too much interference on my part would undermine the front we’d contrived. But it wasn’t easy having my heart walking around outside my body.
The knob welcomed me in, a fact I noted with displeasure. She should be more careful. I opened the door and poked my head into the studio. She was at her desk, her usually neat hair piled into a sexy tangle on the top of her head. The loose black t-shirt she wore draped over her pert breasts. She’d never shown up in my office dressed this casually. I’d have remembered yanking her jeans around her ankles if she had. Her lack of makeup, save for her bright, crimson lipstick, only made her look sexier. This was Belle behind closed doors. This was Belle on a night in. This was the Belle I coveted—the natural, untamed version she hid under couture dresses and high heels. It was the part of her she kept to herself—the part I wanted to claim as my own.
“You should really lock this,” I announced as I quietly entered.
She jumped, her hand fluttering to her chest, at the unexpected interruption. Confusion flashed in her pale blue eyes as she took in my similarly dressed down appearance before her sinful lips twisted into a wicked smile.
“Jeans and ball cap? Is it casual Friday?” she asked, dropping her pencil on the desk.
“Wednesday, but I took the afternoon off.” I closed the door, making certain it locked behind me.
She leaned forward, affording me a better view down her shirt. “What’s in the bag?”
If she wasn’t more careful about putting her tits on display, she’d never find out. “I brought my girlfriend lunch.”
“You are committed to this normal bit,” she said.
I’m committed to you, beautiful.
I kept the thought to myself, uncertain where it came from and what exactly it meant. Also because it sounded a bit too much like a fucking greeting card. I dropped to the floor and folded my legs underneath me. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head and joined me as I pulled containers out and handed her one.
“What do you think?” she asked, waving her spoon at the space surrounding us before digging into her curry.
I looked closer, uninterested in eat
ing myself. “Lots of potential.”
“It’s a blank space,” she admitted.
But I understand what she saw in the studio. It was large enough to accommodate a start-up inventory. Eventually she would need a bigger home base for Bless, but for now it would keep her busy—a distraction I was counting on.
We discussed plans over chicken tikka masala, but I hardly noticed the food. All I could see was how her face lit up as she shared her vision for the empire she was creating. She’d come in to my life deceptively, a pawn in an agenda she knew little about. Now that I’d made her part of my life for real, I would do everything in my power to help her achieve her dreams.
“Care to give me the grand tour?” I asked when we’d piled the leftovers back in the sack. Standing, I held out my hand, drawing her up to her feet and into my arms.
“There’s not much to show you.” Her voice took on the breathless tone that always made me hard. “The loo’s through that door. My desk is right here. That’s all.”
“Show me what it’s going to be,” I encouraged her, doing my best to ignore the steady throb of my cock.
Taking my hand, she led me over to the shelves. “This is where the packing and shipping materials will be. Over there”—she pointed to the adjacent wall—“we’ll have the clothing racks. I’m still working out the best system for organizing them.”
I glanced over at the rickety table she was using as her desk. “And that’s where your desk will be.”
“That’s where my desk is.” She frowned a little as she surveyed it.
I made a mental note to purchase one and have it delivered.
“You’re plotting,” she accused me. “I have everything I need and enough money to get a base inventory ordered. A desk isn’t on the priority list.”
“You need a new desk,” I said dryly. “One for an executive.”
“Are you insulting mine? It holds my computer. It’s the right height. It’s yet to fall apart.” She continued to rattle off a list of all its benefits before I pressed my index finger to her mouth.