Untamed (New York Heirs #1.5)

by Drea Blackery

  Emma bit her lip as she considered. “Actually, it sounds amazing.”

  I took in the soft look in her eyes. Fuck me, but Emma really was in love.

  “It’s not amazing,” I corrected. “It’s boring.”

  “Stop trying to convert me to whorism, Marlon.”

  “Why not? Maybe you’ll like the freedom to have no-strings-attached sex with whoever you want, whenever you want.”

  “You forgot to include screwing half the female population in the city.” Emma smiled sweetly. “In which case, my answer starts with “N” and rhymes with “ho,” which, by the way, is what you are.”

  I took the beer from her hands and set our cans on the coffee table. “Turn around.”

  “Jesus, what now?”

  “Do it. That’s an order.”

  Emma rolled her eyes but obeyed, sitting crossed-legged on the sofa to face away from me.

  I shifted closer to her back, bracing one leg on the floor and bending my other between her and the sofa. I tried not to think about the fact that her earth-shaking ass was now between my thighs, inches away from my cock.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why must I—”

  I pressed my hand over Emma’s eyes to shut them. She sucked in a breath, and her lashes trembled against my palm like a fragile butterfly.

  “Now imagine you’re in the bedroom with a man,” I murmured into her ear. “Not the guy you love. Imagine…me.”

  Emma jerked at that, and the movement brushed her back against my bare chest. The feeling of her body on mine was…unexpected, and I had to take an extra breath to get my focus back.

  “Marlon da Silva.” Emma licked her lips. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “An experiment.”

  This was a game I knew we shouldn’t be playing, but nothing was going to make me stop.

  The way things were headed, this mystery guy that Emma loved might be the only one she ever had, and that was a fucking crime. She was meant to experience more, and as her best friend and full-time tormentor, it was my responsibility to make her see that.

  I leaned closer to her, wrapping my other arm around her waist and holding her firmly against me. “Are you thinking about me?”

  “No,” she ground.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Ass.” Then after a long pause, “What now?”

  “We’re in the bedroom together, yes?”

  “Yes,” Emma gritted.

  “Good,” I said softly. “Now I’m taking off my shirt. I’m taking off…my pants.”

  Her breath caught.

  “Can you see my body in your mind, querida? Can you see the lines of my abs, the tattoos on my arms?”

  Still keeping her eyes closed, I reached for her hand in her lap and placed it on my arm.

  Emma’s hand shot away upon the contact, as if my skin scalded her.

  “Do it,” I murmured against her ear. “Trust me.”

  The slim column of her neck worked.

  Then hesitantly, she touched her fingertips to my arm at her waist.

  My throat went dry at the soft contact, and my arm instinctively tightened around her. That movement made her ass brush over my crotch.

  I swallowed hard. “Do you feel the lines of my muscles?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Touch them.”

  Emma slowly stroked her fingertips over the raised veins that wound around my forearm. Then she trailed up to my biceps, tracing the dark tattoos that marked my skin.

  Her light touch felt like a torturous foreplay. I found myself growing hard.

  “Marlon,” Emma whispered breathlessly. “What are we doing?”

  Something fucking dangerous.

  But I wasn’t going to stop, not until I had taken us all the way to the end.

  I pressed my lips against her ear, running them over her delicate outer rim.

  “Imagine me getting into the bed with you,” I murmured, letting my warm breath fan over her skin. “I’m running my fingers down your body lightly, like a feather. Where do you want me?”

  Emma swallowed hard, her throat working unsteadily.

  “Tell me, querida.”

  She licked her lips. “My…my breasts.”

  I saw Emma’s bare body in my bed, the gentle slopes of her breasts and the mind-blowing curves of her thighs and hips laid out for me like a feast. I’d never seen her naked before, and I realized that I was liking this fantasy a little too much.

  “I’m running my fingers over your breasts, playing with your pretty nipples.” I licked my lips, as if I could taste her dark pink tips. “I’m sucking them into my mouth.”

  Emma’s mouth parted in a soundless breath.

  “And then my hands wander…”

  Her short nails sank into my bicep muscles. “D-down.”

  “Your pussy?”

  Emma dipped her head in a tiny nod.

  I pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her ear to reward her, and she gave a soft moan.

  My teasing smile faded. I was now watching Emma hungrily for every small gasp, every swallow of her throat, and I couldn’t look away.

  “My hand wanders down to your pussy…” I said huskily, “and I find you wet for me. I’ll pet you right there, play with your swollen little clit until you’re soaking my fingers. Does it feel good, querida?”

  Emma bit her lip and gave another small nod. “More,” she whispered.

  Ah, fuck. I didn’t expect her to play along.

  I leaned my forehead against her temple, trying to get my unsteady breathing back in control.

  “I’ll get down and taste you with my tongue,” I said tightly. “I’ll eat your sweet pussy until you’re moaning my name and begging me to fuck you.”

  Emma swallowed audibly. She leaned back against my shoulder, and her back arched with the movement.

  I dropped my gaze to her nipples. They were obvious now, swollen and aroused, begging me to take them in my mouth and feel the hard little buds against my lips and tongue.

  But I couldn’t touch her. I wouldn’t be able to stop there.

  “Should I take you?” My accent was thick as I murmured in her ear. “Should I fuck you the way I’m not supposed to?”

  Emma bit her lip, dipped her head once.

  Shit. I buried my nose against her neck, smelling her clean scent. “Spread your legs for me. I want to slide my cock into your tight little pussy.”

  Emma moaned softly and curled her fingers into my arms. Her ass rocked back against my straining erection, and I couldn’t resist grinding against her. I wanted to fuck her so bad it hurt.

  “Can you feel how hard I am for you, Emmaline?” I bit her earlobe and sucked, drinking in her gasp. “How my cock wants your pussy?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you want me gentle or rough?”

  “Rough.”

  I groaned softly. I never knew. “Then I’ll pin you down and fuck you so deep and hard you’ll feel the vibrations in your bones. Your pretty breasts will bounce for me and you’ll moan my name so loudly the whole fucking city will hear it.”

  Emma’s breathing came faster. Her eyelids darted under my palm.

  “Do you like this, Emmaline?” I rasped. I brushed my thumb under the soft swell of her breast, pretending that I was touching her nipple.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes.”

  I lowered my mouth and bit on the skin at her neck. “Then come. Squeeze my cock with your pussy and scream my name.”

  Emma ground her ass against the sofa again, arching her back and gasping softly.

  She was thinking about coming around me, and shit, I knew I would be thinking the same thing later, platonic love or not.

  I kept my lips pressed to her neck, still suckling leisurely. “Say my name.”

  “Marlon.” It left her lips as a breathless gasp, the way like I wanted.

  I removed my hands from her eyes and waist.
<
br />   Emma stared dazedly up at me from where her head lay against my bare shoulder, her wide eyes blinking several times as she tried to get her bearings.

  Then her look of arousal turned into horror.

  “What. The hell. Was that?”

  “A game.” I inhaled deeply, trying to get my pulse back to normal. “You like the mind sex we just had?”

  “N-no!”

  “Your moans told me yes,” I pointed out. “Your body tells me yes. And you literally told me yes.”

  Emma’s arms quickly crossed over her breasts, her murderous expression promising revenge. “I will kill you so slowly…”

  “Consider it payback for your prank earlier.” I made a show of stretching my arms across the back of the sofa and gave her my most irritating smile. “Now imagine one more thing for me, Emmaline. For the rest of your life, you'll only get to fuck that guy you love. This little fantasy about me that has got you hot and wet? It. Will. Never. Come. True.” I cocked my head. “Tell me. Is that guy still worth it?”

  Emma glowered at me sullenly.

  “Yes.”

  The smirk was wiped from my face. That wasn’t what she was supposed to say.

  “Who is he?” I stared, confused as hell now. “Why do you like him so much?”

  “Honestly? I’m starting to wonder too.”

  My brow cleared. “So you’re changing your mind about him.”

  “No. God, you’re such a dick, you know that? Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Why, because you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight?”

  She scoffed. “Give me one good reason not to strangle you right now. Just one.”

  “I can’t think of any, chica. First I’m a dick, and now you want to strangle me.” I tilted my head and grinned. “That makes it a handjob, no? You know I can’t turn that down.”

  “Are you high?” she demanded.

  “I talk about sex all the time.”

  “Yes, but this was…” Emma shook her head and pressed the back of her hands to her pink cheeks to cool herself. “Were you trying to seduce me, or something?”

  I shrugged. “Nope.”

  But I was.

  Because I didn’t like the idea of Emma waiting on one guy for that long. She was strong and funny and feisty and she deserved better than that bullshit.

  But Emma was right. This couldn’t happen again. We already came too close to the line.

  I finished off my beer. “I’ll back off if you promise to think about me when you’re touching yourself later. Consider it your assigned homework.” I raised a finger when she growled threateningly. “And don’t forget to give me a solution about Wyatt. Today was a big fuck-up.”

  “And whose fault was it?” Emma threw back.

  “Yours, querida. It’s never the boss’ fault.”

  “Jesus.” She got up from the sofa and did a perfect jump shot with her empty beer can, putting it into the trash can in the kitchen. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  I watched as Emma strode down the hallway to her bedroom. That was how she walked, like she had some place important to be. No swinging of hips or sashaying for this girl.

  Before disappearing into her bedroom, she paused to look back at me.

  “None of the girls came back with you today?” she asked casually.

  “I just lost a partnership,” I informed her. “I need beer now, not pussy. And you can’t go yet, you haven’t told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “The guy you’re in love with. Who’s he?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Try me.”

  “Nope. I have an early class at the uni tomorrow, so Adeus.” She threw me a backward finger-wave and kicked her door shut behind her.

  “We’re not done, Emmaline,” I called from the sofa.

  “Goodnight, asshole,” her muffled voice called back.

  I sat at the sofa for a few minutes more, making sure Emma had really gone to bed before I dropped my head on the back of the sofa. The impact of what we just did began to sink in.

  I was hard as stone for my best friend.

  “Puta merda,” I muttered.

  I had always been careful with Emma. I knew that the moment I saw the other side of her, the one that reminded me nothing of a sister and everything of a woman, I wouldn’t be able to unsee it.

  Like the sexy way she had arched her back, and the responsiveness of her body. It made me want to do more than just talk dirty to her.

  “Fucking shit.” I thrust my fingers into my hair.

  I had just fantasized about sinking my cock into Emmaline Brown. I had imagined her moaning my name as I screwed her right here on this sofa where we hung out. What the fuck.

  At least she had the sense to pull away, going straight back to the role of best friend once the game was over. The man she loved obviously had a good hold on her.

  My eyes narrowed.

  Was it one of the guys who attended her classes at the university? Someone from my security team?

  Whoever he was, I was going to find out. And if he wasn’t good enough for Emma like I suspected, I’d convince her to drop him.

  Feeling more assured, I got up from the sofa and angled my body to the right. Then I dropped my empty beer can and swung my foot.

  The can sailed across the room and went into the center of the trash, right after Emma’s.

  Goal.

  “Are you happy there?” my mum had asked me during one of our weekly phone calls. The familiar huskiness of her voice was incredibly soothing coming from two thousand miles away.

  I’d been with Marlon two years by then, and that night, I was holed up in my bedroom watching Netflix while he had been out partying with his friends as usual.

  He had invited me to join them—he always did, but I declined. Watching him mess around with girls was not my idea of a good Friday evening.

  “Are you happy there?” my mum had asked.

  I was happy being with Marlon.

  But I also wasn’t.

  “Yeah,” I said instead. “I like it here.”

  “The McGraws came by today. You should’ve seen their faces when I told them you’re working for Marlon da Silva.”

  Her glee was infectious, and I grinned as well. “Don’t brag, Mama.”

  “I wasn’t,” my mother protested. “I’m just proud. My baby girl’s all grown up now, even sending money home. You should’ve seen their faces,” she added again.

  As much as I wished otherwise, my mum wasn’t kidding.

  We had never been well-off, but things were starting to look up with the money I got working for Marlon. He was right, he did pay good money, and the people who had once snubbed my mum for being a single mother suddenly became friendly with her, acting like they had always been.

  I hated it, but my mum was relieved to belong again.

  “Get some nice clothes for yourself and Ethan. And if you wanna show off...” I shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  “That’s better,” Mama joked. “I’m so proud of you.”

  But in reality, I was living my life according to the schedule of a party boy.

  I wanted to live up to Mama’s pride—and my own—so the following Monday, I went and applied for the role of martial arts instructor at one of the city’s universities.

  Marlon kept the sleep cycle of a vampire, so my work hours were often night-time. The classes took up all the free time I had left in the mornings, but at least I was calling my own shots again instead of waiting on his time.

  Narrowing my eyes at the punching bag in front of me, I pretended it was Marlon and gave a few lackluster kicks to his imaginary crotch.

  My class was in fifteen minutes, but I was freaking drained. I barely got an hour of sleep before I had to make my way to the university. Most of my time before that had been spent tossing and turning in bed, hearing Marlon’s low, sexy accent murmuring dirty things in my ear.

  Does it feel good, querida?


  Spread your legs for me.

  Should I fuck you the way I’m not supposed to?

  Yes, okay, and God, yes.

  I wasn’t kidding myself. I knew from the start that it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t pull away. Every erotic word Marlon had said to me, the low groan that escaped his throat made me hot and bothered everywhere. That large, hard bulge that he’d rubbed against my ass would keep me up for nights to come.

  And because this was Marlon, the ultimate bane of my life, it wasn’t even the most alarming part.

  Marlon’s business associates called him The Wolf—and not in a good way.

  Whenever Marlon found something that interested him, usually a juicy piece of info that he could use to blackmail some poor bastard, he latched on to it like a dog with a bone and refused to let go until he got what he wanted, which was ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time.

  And of all the things to dangle in front of Marlon’s nose, I just had to pick the most tempting one.

  A guy I was in love with?

  Christ, that was the biggest bone of all, deep-fried crack, and Marlon wouldn’t let up until he got his claws around it.

  Shaking my head sharply, I planted my feet into the gym mat.

  Right-left jab, right-left jab, kick, kick. Repeat.

  “Hey.”

  I caught the swinging sandbag and steadied it, grinning at the massive blond guy that had appeared in front of me. “Hey.”

  Dylan was a college senior who started showing for my classes two months ago.

  While his interest in mixed martial arts wasn’t surprising, his attendance at my self-defence class was, because Dylan was a linebacker on Bramston’s football team. The guy was built like a tank on steroids—no one would ever be dumb enough to threaten him.

  I pulled off my gloves and swept my damp hair off my sweaty forehead. “What’s up?” I smiled, grateful for the distraction. “You’re early today.”

  “Came in for some warm ups and saw you practicing.” Dylan hooked his thumb through the shoulder strap of his huge duffel bag and gave an appreciative whistle. “Real glad I’m not that sandbag, that last hit had to hurt. You gonna teach that today?”

  “Nah, I was just letting off some steam.” I stretched my arms out to loosen my muscles. “I’ll be demo-ing a couple of defence moves from Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.”

  “Did someone say Brazilian?”