by SE Chardou
Hell, I should have been given an award for putting up with Richard Conlon as long as I had. He was old, cranky, addicted to Viagra and thought ten minutes of vigorous pumping inside me was good sex. If that hadn’t been enough to drive me mad then Cam surely would have with his pawing hands, and insatiable sexual appetite. Too bad he didn’t know what he was doing other than how to please himself.
I’d dealt with sexual predators and sadistic bastards my whole life though I would never play the victim card. The fact remained most men didn’t know how to please a woman, and although it was our job to teach them, I’d neither the time nor the inclination where either one of my “lovers” were concerned. I was happy to be the empty vessel of their sexual pleasure, safe in the knowledge that I would never be mother to their children or trapped with either one of them forever.
This train of thought wrapped itself around my brain and squeezed for dear life until I felt the silky, velvety lips of Dorian pressed against mine.
All thoughts of bad lovers left my mind as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, adding tongue between my open, willing lips. I wanted to feel passion; need and the carelessness of a sensual, sexual one night stand with a stranger. Someone who didn’t expect anything from me but a good time, abandonment from the daily routine, and nothing else. The same casual, wanton thoughts applied to me in return. I didn’t need promises of love and forever—just the sexual ache I’d lived with so long from unfulfilled and empty sex to disappear, even if only for just one night.
“So, tell me, are you ready for this?”
“Ready for what?” Playing coy had certainly worked for me in the past; why shouldn’t it work now?
“Listen, I do realize you are a grieving widow. I don’t need a rape charge brought up against me. It would ruin my career and believe it or not, I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am in life. No golden spoon helped me along the way nor was I able to name-drop any famous relatives. Everything I’ve earned, it’s been on my own talent and no one else’s—believe me.”
I smiled beguilingly though I hoped he didn’t take it as a sign of condescension or unwarranted placation. “I never thought otherwise . . . besides, do I look like the kind of woman who would cry rape? I’m highly buzzed but not drunk enough to not know where I am or what I’m about to do. In fact, I haven’t wanted something so much in a very long time.”
Dorian smirked though I knew he meant for me to take the expression any way I pleased. “Then let the games begin.”
It was amazing what women would do when faced with a drop-dead gorgeous man who obviously had money, power and prestige.
Being a celebrity never hurt the bottom line either.
Not that Dorian was all that hung up on his looks. He knew he was pleasant to look at and quite the package but he was far from being conceited.
In fact, he knew he could have accomplished everything in his life even if he hadn’t been blessed with a good bone structure.
Certain people had it. Some called it charm, others called it charisma but it was definitely a feature and quality that could not be bought or taught. Either one had it or they didn’t.
Both his parents certainly had it, and he thanked whatever imaginary man in the sky above he’d inherited it.
The look in Alyssa’s hazel eyes fascinated him yet he instinctively knew she wasn’t one of his usual conquests out for a good time. There was always a predatory look in their eyes and their body language spoke loud and clear.
She had the body language all right but her fucking eyes—there was something about them that stirred something deep inside of him no woman had ever made him feel.
Dorian wasn’t careless, naïve or a novice.
He had a heart, physically, but he didn’t have the ability to feel empathy or sympathy for others. It wasn’t part of his DNA.
His father always accused him of being like his mother while his mother merely gave him a valuable piece of advice, “Fake it till you make it.”
He’d done as he was told and it definitely helped him throughout life. Appearing to be the kind of person he wasn’t was a taxing situation but one he did so well, eventually, it stopped being difficult and started to become fun.
There was a rush associated with fooling people into believing he was a person who didn’t exist at all, and the most fun he’d experienced in his whole entire life. It was like acting only his job never ended until he was alone and could truly drop the mask and become himself again.
Unfortunately, acting like someone he wasn’t became a drug in itself. It was much more fulfilling playing with people’s emotions, and it became the hit he craved. He would never be weak enough to be addicted to any pharmaceutical, street or legal drugs but the adrenaline that coursed in his veins when he played a part fueled him like no other. It was his own personal weakness that he knew could destroy him in the end should he meet the right woman but it hadn’t happened in all of his twenty-something years of life. He’d almost taken it for granted that it would never happen for as long as he lived.
And then this beautiful woman, vulnerable yet strong; tough yet compliant; aggressive yet passive had invaded his life when he least expected, and she had trouble written all over her.
If Dorian was smart, he would have called her a taxi and sent her home; Alyssa was too much of a risk, and he innately knew it.
Sex was a great stress reliever but not if her very presence might crack the very armor that kept him sane, controlled, and completely self-reliant.
He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket to make the call before he changed his mind. However, the moment Alyssa’s silky arms wrapped around his neck, his hand involuntarily dropped the phone and it fell to the hardwood floor.
Although he should have been worried about the damage—it was a very expensive and rare Ulysse Nardin after all—all he cared about was pressing his lips against that silky mouth.
So many hidden fantasies and a sense of revenge rolled into one took over him as he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her as close as possible to his own body.
His cock instantly hardened the moment he felt her natural soft breasts pressed against his hard chest. There was a sense of womanly curves despite her lithe form. She felt real and so very fucking alive in his arms, he wanted to steal her breath just to feel like what it must have been like to be Alyssa O’Neil Conlon.
Normal.
Fabulously wealthy beyond her dreams, and without a care in the world other than beauty treatments, looking flawless, and getting properly laid every now and then.
Nightmare-free, and without a past that could never be erased or forgotten no matter where his temporary home happened to be at the time.
Some memories could never be erased. Between his parents’ calculated neglect, and the life of spending most of his formative years on a continent that was a continued war zone of greed and human tragedy, it was surprising he was still somewhat sane. After witnessing the worst aspects of humanity, Dorian could never bring himself back from the brink of madness though he’d never fallen into its seductively evil clutches either.
It was his precious clarity that centered him but it was also a burden he carried until he exhaled his last breath on this earth.
Having Alyssa in his arms made all that crap disappear from his mind, and he found himself to be in the moment with her. Their tongues tentatively played around with one another’s; the feeling was electric and beyond mere human physical contact.
His hands wandered from her waist to the soft contours of her ass, and he squeezed softly, feeling the sinewy muscle buried beneath. There was absolutely nothing fake about this woman. She wasn’t the average, overly made, plastic surgery-enhanced trophy wife-turned-widow. She was the real deal with a natural body made for sin without the need of breast or butt implants, or anything synthetic to make her something she was not.
She pulled away first, almost reluctantly but only to look longingly in his eyes. There was a silent questi
on she secretly demanded of him but he would never reveal it to her.
“Would you like some privacy? The bedroom? You don’t seem like a wild, crazy chick who would be down with a quick, five minute romp here in my living room.”
Alyssa laughed out loud, and the sound was absolute music to his ears because she was so fucking real. “Is it that obvious?”
He nodded though his mind had started to drift off once again as he grabbed her hand and slowly walked her to his bedroom.
In a city filled with phony and less-than-genuine people who always had an agenda or ulterior motive, how the hell had she managed to stay so grounded? No wonder why she’d become a trophy wife so easily. She was real and wouldn’t have ever been the type to marry a man strictly for his money.
Dorian knew a lot about Alyssa but he knew for a fact that she hadn’t married her now-deceased husband for his money. She had other reasons that perhaps meant more than he could ever know but he wouldn’t allow himself to do anything at the moment but keep his eyes on the prize.
He had a plan of his own, and if he practiced patience, everything would work out exactly as he’d imagined but not if he lost sight of his mission and allowed this enigmatic minx to make him lose focus every time she acted real.
For some reason, he expected her to be a little drunken and awkward as she walked up the steep set of stairs that led to a large loft and his bedroom area with an attached bathroom he’d had remodeled when he’d bought the place. Her movements were lithe, fluid, and he could watch that perfect ass of hers flex as she tackled the stairs with precision and grace despite the amount of alcohol in her blood.
Dorian had a job to do and he would make sure to make this a night she wouldn’t forget any time soon.
He watched as she sauntered into the loft space and observed her surroundings. The place was as cold and sterile as the rest of the house but it was also extremely neat to the point of military precision and not an item was out of place. There were scented candles, a deep masculine scent burned usually every night and the whole place smelled deliciously elegant and male though there was no denying a feral quality present perhaps she hadn’t caught on to yet.
Alyssa walked over to the bed and stopped a few feet in front of it before she deftly slipped out of her little black dress where it fell to a pool of silk at her feet. She tossed it to the side, leaving her perfect body on display—at least from the backside.
Her panties were feminine lace hip huggers that managed to make her look even more fuckable than the smallest thong ever would. The high heel Louboutins she wore accentuated her legs while her shoulders were pulled back. The outline of her perfect breasts were hidden by her arms, which obscured their view as they hung to the sides of her body.
Dorian knew a fellow predator when he met one. There was nothing coy about Alyssa whatsoever. She spent a lot of time and effort to sculpt her body; she was quite proud of it but at the same time, there was a hint of almost reluctant embarrassment bordering on shame.
She couldn’t know—very few people knew anything about Dorian—so her conflicted feelings manifested from a part of her life he had nothing to do with in the least. If he took a wild guess, it was probably the result of her illicit affair with Campbell, her adopted brother who happened to be a run-of-the-mill bully and sexual predator who did not take no for an answer. It was obviously a relationship she had love/hate emotions about but she would never admit it to anyone other than herself.
He realized he could read her like an open book. She was much more transparent now that he had her here in his home. Every speck of information he had about her now made perfect sense.
Alyssa wasn’t a predator at all—she was a frightened young woman who would only lash out when she felt her own life to be threatened. Then again, with her former childhood—her real father murdering her mother in front of her before he killed himself with a bullet in the head—would wound the heartiest of souls.
There was no way all the therapy in the world would ever make her forget the hell she’d endured at a young age.
Dorian wanted to ease her fears and make her feel like everything was going to be all right but that would be too easy. The best way to harden a person like her was to continue to push their level of endurance; unfortunately for her, it was something he happened to be very good at doing.
He walked up behind her, silent and deadly, before he pushed her onto the bed where she fell face first. She righted herself in no time at all, and formed the classic doggy-style position, as if she wanted him to humiliate her as much as he desired to do.
The thought of her perfect ass poised in the air, the only thing standing between her wet pussy and his cock was a pair of expensive La Perla underwear transformed his hardened cock into a weapon of mass destruction. He enjoyed the pain of his pants hindering his dick but there was only so much torture he could inflict upon himself before he lashed out.
All thoughts of decorum and niceties left his mind as he ripped off his tailored silk shirt, expensive buttons hit the floor like precious pearls. He undid his pants and allowed them to fall from his body.
If Alyssa was the perfect natural female specimen than he was her personal Adonis. His body, toned and hard yet built, was the ultimate compliment to her feminine physique. He climbed on the bed behind her, the moon providing the only light in the dim room yet it felt so right for this to be their first time together.
He ripped the panties from her body, the delicate fabric tearing away from her with a flimsy ease that excited him even further.
Dorian noticed her breath had increased and she purred with pleasure the moment one of his hands slid over her perfect mound as his fingers caressed her hard clit while he finger fucked her slowly and deliberately.
Every time his calculated movements caressed her G-spot, she pushed her ass into the air, trying in vain to control her own body that had turned against her with such an overwhelming need for sexual gratification.
“Fuck me,” she whispered though it almost sounded like a whimper.
He had her exactly where he wanted her as his fingers circled her clit again in a slow tortuous pattern.
“You forgot to say ‘please.’”
Dorian smiled as she rode his hand until he produced her first orgasm for the night—and judging by her crazed reaction, it was obvious she hadn’t had a decent sexual experience in a long time, if ever.
He withdrew his fingers and brought them to his nostrils before he opened his mouth, and licked her juices off his fingers. She tasted sweet and innocent, like the ideal version of the flawless wanton creature she truly happened to have become over the years.
His actions were quick and rough as he grabbed a hold of her waist and pulled her closer to him, ignoring the whimpering of the fabric burns he’d probably caused against her knees. The moment he grabbed a hold of his cock and slid it inside of her, she sighed with an undeniable pleasure he hadn’t heard faked in a long time.
Alyssa was like a starved, dehydrated woman in a desert yet her beautiful, soaked cunt allowed him easy entrance. Her pussy grabbed a hold of his dick in a vice-like grip that felt so good it was the perfect amount of pleasure and pain rolled into one.
For a moment, he didn’t even move inside of her because he wanted this mental picture to stay with him until the end of time. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing a woman on her knees, delirious in a state of pleasure he caused her while he gazed admiringly at his handiwork.
For a filly, Alyssa had broken a little too easily and he wanted more resistance from her. It’s what had driven him all these years. To see her like this but at his mercy and know she had no way to fight back or stop what came next.
He entered deeper inside of her before he began to move, slow yet harsh thrusts that had her mewling and begging for more.
“Oh, God, yes . . . that’s it. Fuck me hard—make it hurt—punish me.”
The words spoken in that perfectly feminine voice gave him room for pause beca
use he wasn’t expecting them from her. If she were his usual type, it would make perfect sense but she didn’t know anything about his lifestyle and yet she’d taken to his cock like a newborn baby to its mother’s breasts.
Dorian grabbed her hair in a vice grip with one hand while the other clutched her waist so tightly, she would surely have a bruise by dawn. “You want me to hurt you, baby?”
“Yes,” she whispered in a voice that almost sounded ashamed of her own desires. “Make me your slut. I’m your whore. We just met and yet here I am . . . in your bed with your cock buried balls deep in my pussy. Please treat me like the fuck toy I really am.”
Those words, the ultimate aphrodisiac, turned him from the usually refined gentleman he used as a veneer into the sadistic, amoral prick he truly was beneath the flawless suits, outrageous haircut and toned body built for sin.
Dorian thrust in and out of her, his cock getting harder by the minute as her pussy acted like the ultimate torture device. He couldn’t get enough of her and thrusts gave way to him pounding her into submission.
He didn’t realize his own strength until her legs had collapsed beneath her and he lay on top of her, one hand gripping the space next to her on the bed while the other still held her silky hair.
The end result was something neither of them could have expected as she clenched one final time and screamed out her orgasm. He tried to hold out but the pressure was too much and before he could stop himself, he found himself coming with her. They both teetered on a precipice that had pushed them both over the edge, and into territory completely unknown.
Dorian pulled out as the cum still spurted from his cock and watched as it landed on her back and ass as she thrust that beautiful cunt of hers into his line of sight. The very place he’d been before yet one that seemed so foreign and still unknown as if it held secrets he’d only begun to explore.