Caught Up: With An Alpha Billionaire (A BWWM Romance) (A Love Like No Other Book 1)

by Heather Banks

  We slowly made it through the grass to where the car was still idling, blinkers on. My eyes ran over the sleek lines of the body and the gleam of the chrome. He let me go for a minute to open the door, and I felt an immediate loss of heat as our bodies separated.

  “What kind of car is this?” I asked, as I eased myself into the passenger seat. The soft, supple leather upholstery slid against my damp skin as I settled myself into its welcoming curve.

  “Tesla Model S,” he grunted, and watched until he was sure I was in the car. He slammed the door, and seconds later he opened the driver’s side door and got in next to me.

  I could barely hear the car running, but I could still feel it purring under me, raw and alive. “It’s all-electric, the wave of the future,” he said, as he tapped a few icons on the control panel and shifted the car into drive. I noticed he didn’t put his seat belt on; I put mine on, anyway.

  “I don’t live far,” I said, as he pulled away from the curb. “Turn right on Michigan Avenue, then go right on Wacker. Not too far from the Riverwalk.”

  He nodded without responding. I could see his jaw muscles working, his lips pulled tight. I hoped he wasn’t too pissed I was sweating all over his seriously cool car. I tried to cut the tension.

  “Uh, I had George fax over some deposition questions for you to take a look at,” I said. “He said he was going to do it today.”

  “I got them,” he responded. “My admin will send them back tomorrow.” I noticed he was going what I considered to be too fast for downtown Chicago, but I didn’t say anything. When a light in front of us changed from green to yellow, though, and the car in front of us stopped short, he had to slam on the breaks.

  “Jesus,” he exclaimed under his breath.

  The momentum threw me forward a little, and he put out his arm to stop me. His forearm made direct contact with my breasts, and I gasped. The car stopped and he let us maintain contact for just a second too long.

  “Are you all right?” He asked, finally dropping his arm. He glanced at me sideways, and I caught him checking out my lean, muscular legs. He looked away quickly, his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

  I could feel myself blushing, and I tried to ignore it.

  What was happening to me? I wasn’t exactly a prude, but I was also not someone who breathed sex into every situation. But Alex Richardson seemed to bring out an animalistic lust in me, and I could barely think of anything other than our bare skin rubbing together.

  No, that’s a lie – I was also thinking about how he would taste, and how his nipples would harden between my fingers, and how his dick would feel thrusting between my legs. Every accidental touch was setting my imagination on fire.

  It hadn’t been that long since I’d had a good lay– had it?

  “Ah, so,” he started, clearing his throat and lightening his voice. “How long have you worked at Bender & Bender?”

  “Three years, right out of school,” I said, thankful for the small talk. I could see his shoulders ease a little as he drove. “I went to University of Chicago.”

  “No kidding,” he said, glancing at me. “I got my MBA from there.”

  “I loved it,” I replied. “Great school. But I thought you started MarkTec when you were 19?”

  “I did,” he said, smiling. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t get my degrees, though, too.”

  “Well, aren’t you the overachiever,” I joked, letting myself relax a little bit into the leather bucket seat.

  “What were you doing out tonight?” I asked, knowing how lame it sounded before the question even left my lips.

  “Just taking a walk,” he responded. “I like to go down to the lake sometimes, just to clear my head.”

  “Did it work?” I asked, not sure if I was expecting him to answer.

  “For a little while,” he said, glancing again at me sideways, “until I ran into you.” He smiled.

  It was a suggestion. The thought that I could fill his head was sexy, heady. I forced myself to breathe regularly.

  Luckily, I was spared from commenting, because up ahead I could see my apartment building.

  “Here, this is me, on the left, I’m on the third floor,” I said, pointing. He angled the car over to the right side of the road across from my building, and I had to admit, the car looked like it handled like a dream.

  Alex then parallel-parked, guiding the car into a tight spot.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, more panicked-sounding than I meant to.

  “What do you mean?” He retorted, and looked at me as he threw the car into park and flipped the key.

  “I mean, why are you parking?” I said, moving to open the door. I wanted to be rid of him, before I exploded with want. I needed a very long, semi-cold shower and to pretend this run-in had never happened.

  “I’m going to walk you up to your apartment,” he stated, as if it wasn’t open for discussion.

  “You really don’t have to –“

  He cut me off. “Do you have an elevator?” He asked, looking dubiously at the turn-of-the-century Victorian building.

  “Er, no,” I said, and realization dawned.

  “How are you going to get into your apartment? You said you were on the third floor, right?”

  I mentally slapped my forehead. I hadn’t even thought of getting up to my apartment; I was so focused on getting away from Alex that I hadn’t considered anything further than getting out of the car.

  “Oh,” I said, defeated. “I could call my friend Trish, she lives about ten minutes north of here,” I said, weakly.

  Alex smiled wryly. “I’m here. I’ll help. I don’t mind,” he said, that warmth I’d glimpsed at our first meeting fleeting across his face.

  He didn’t strike me as someone who would be gentlemanly, so I was a little surprised at his insistence on helping. But, when it came down to it, I’d either have to call Trish, and sit outside for at least ten minutes waiting, have Alex help me, or crawl up three sets of somewhat rickety, definitely dirty stairs. The choice seemed clear.

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  He slid out of the car, slammed the door, then came around to my side to help me out.

  He hauled me out of the sedan easily; his motions betrayed a strength I hadn’t suspected. He slung my arm around his shoulder and helped me hop-walk across the street, dodging traffic, until we reached the door of my building.

  He let me go, and I fished the key out of the inner pocket of my running shorts. I unlocked, and looked mournfully at the flight of stairs stretching up into what seemed like oblivion.

  4. Opening Statements

  “Did you say…third floor?” He asked, incredulously.

  “Yeah, top floor. I was going for safety,” I explained lamely.

  We hobbled inside and the door pulled shut behind us. We both looked at the stairs with dread.

  “Fuck it,” he said, and grabbed me. He threw me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and started up the steps.

  It took me a minute to regain my powers of speech.

  “Put me down!” I squealed, as he made his way up the first flight. “I can walk!”

  “No you can’t,” he said, sounded barely winded. God, if the paparazzi could see this. I’d have a hard time explaining that photo to Bender tomorrow.

  “Just shut up and let me carry you. It’ll be easier for both of us.” He had one arm locked around my upper thighs, and rested his other hand on my ass.

  I don’t think it was an accident that’s where his hand landed, either. And it certainly wasn’t an accident when I felt his fingers squeeze a little. I jerked, and he grunted.

  “Stop wiggling,” he said, some amusement in his voice, as he hit the landing to the second floor. His hand gripped my rear a little harder.

  Maybe he is just making sure he doesn’t drop me, I thought, though I didn’t believe it for a second.

  “One more,” he said, starting up the next flight. The lights flickered on the hallways as the aut
omatic timer, always set for 7:00 p.m., kicked in.

  I jounced on his shoulder as he started struggling with the last few steps, his breath coming a little faster. The feel of his hand on my bottom made my own breath come a little quicker as well, and I couldn’t wait until I could bid him good riddance at the door to my apartment.

  We hit the third floor landing, and he finally set me down. There were only a few steps from the landing to my door, my apartment taking up the entire third floor. He held my elbow as we made it to the door, and I retrieved the apartment key from atop the doorjamb.

  “Okay, thanks for mortifying me,” I said, not meeting his gaze. I knew my cheeks were flushed from the familiarity he’d assumed, and the fact that he’d had to help me out when I’d been so vulnerable. I just wanted him to leave.

  “I haul you up two flights of steps and all I get is a ‘thanks’?” He demanded, his breath more even now. His face was inscrutable, and I was beginning to think he was a person that was impossible to read. Maybe that’s why he was so successful.

  “Uh, sorry,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. “Do you want a drink, or something?” I hoped like hell he declined, because I did not want him in my apartment. My brain screamed “no, no, no” as I heard his answer.

  “Sure. Thanks,” he said, waiting on me to open the door.

  I repressed a sigh. I unlocked the door and we both went inside, me still hobbling, him assuming power over the whole room as soon as he entered.

  He closed the door behind him. “I can get my own water,” he said, and headed towards the kitchen.

  “I can get it,” I protested. He stopped and raised his eyebrows, and looked pointedly at my injured ankle.

  “Okay,” I said, again giving over to him. I limped to an easy chair and lowered myself down.

  My apartment was sprawling, with a ton of natural light and overstuffed, comfortable furniture. I didn’t have much in the way of artwork or decoration, since I wasn’t much of a decorator, and I was usually busy with work. Plus, Aaron had taken the few posters we’d put up together, and I’d ripped any pictures of us out of frames and burned them in a trashcan.

  I could hear the refrigerator opening, ice clinking, and water running, then Alex came back out of the kitchen with two glasses of ice water. He held one out to me and took a drink of his own.

  “Thanks,” I said, gratefully taking a sip.

  “How does your ankle look?” He asked.

  I looked down at my foot, still in its shoe. “Okay, I guess.”

  “How do you know if you haven’t even looked?” He demanded, and grabbed the coffee table, pulling it closer to the chair.

  He put his water down and then perched himself on the edge of the table. He grabbed my foot and propped it up on his knee.

  “No!” I said. The last thing in the world I wanted was for this man to take off my smelly running shoe and sweaty sock and see for himself that I hadn’t had a spring pedicure yet. I tried to snatch my foot away, but he was too quick. He caught my calf between his strong hands, and I was beyond grateful that I’d shaved that morning. My dark skin glowed satiny with a leftover sheen of sweat.

  “Let me look,” he said, pulling off my shoe without asking permission. “I played football in college and had quite a few bad ankle sprains,” he said, turning my foot back and forth, looking at where my ankle was now starting to swell above my short running sock.

  “Really,” I said, dying. “You don’t need to do this, I really appreciate your help, but I can take it from here. This is not part of the attorney-client relationship.”

  He didn’t respond, but instead he picked up his water glass and held the smooth, cold surface against my swelling ankle. I gasped from the cold.

  “You need to get ice on it,” he said, rubbing the glass against my skin. I could barely believe it, but the way he held my foot and massaged the cold into it was almost sensual.

  I could feel heat starting to pool in the pit of my stomach, arousal pricking my crotch. I just watched him as he worked the glass, mesmerized by the tinkling ice and cold of the surface.

  He put the glass down and then started gently massaging with his fingers. First, I felt pain, but then the joint started to warm and I felt some tightness release. But as loose as my ankle was getting, my skin began to feel tighter and hotter, my breath becoming shallower.

  Was he trying to seduce me by fixing my stupid sprained ankle?

  If he was, it was working. I watched his fingers work and imagined them rubbing my calves, my thighs, and higher…

  And then he was doing it. His hands traveled up my legs to squeeze my inner thighs, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “What are you doing? I’m pretty sure it was just my ankle that was the problem.”

  “I’m doing what you want me to,” he said, his gray eyes boring into mine. There was fire in his irises, his skin taught over his aristocratic-looking cheekbones. His sensual lips parted slightly, and I wanted to kiss him more than anything.

  He was right. It was what I wanted. But it was a bad idea.

  “No, really, we shouldn’t –“ I began, as his hands went higher, sliding under the material of my running shorts.

  “I don’t care,” he murmured, his fingers coming dangerously close to my sex. My shorts were ones that didn’t require underwear, and I was regretting picking them out to wear this evening. The only thing between his probing fingers and my core was an inch or two of flesh.

  “Admit it,” he said, husky. “You were attracted to me at that first meeting. That’s why you’ve been avoiding talking to me,” he said, his hands sliding to the outsides of my thighs to almost wedge between the chair and my ass. My heart was pounding and I wasn’t sure I was capable of coherent thought, let alone a good argument as to why having sex was a bad idea.

  “I just don’t think it would be professional to do this,” I protested. Despite myself, though, my body was responding; I could feel my nipples harden beneath the tight fabric of my tank top, my cunt throbbing.

  “Fuck professionalism,” he said, now massaging the muscles of my rear, hard. I squirmed with pleasure and had to stop myself from moaning.

  “But I can’t effectively be your attorney if we’re involved,” I said, as he withdrew one hand and slid it under my tank top, grabbing my breast and finding the nipple with his thumb.

  I fought the urge to let my eyes fall shut and drop my head back with pleasure.

  “Tiffany, no offense, but I’d rather fuck you than have you as an attorney,” he said, sliding the hand that was still in my shorts around to cup my wet folds. When he felt the swollen heat there, he took it as an invitation and slid his finger inside me.

  My professional duty was officially forgotten as I arched into his hand, relishing the feel of his probing my core, the sweet invasion making me even wetter. I groaned, finally closing my eyes and letting my body take over.

  He took my silence and obvious pleasure as consent, and I was glad he did. He withdrew his finger from me and let go of my breast, and grabbed and yanked my pants off, over my injured ankle.

  Being naked from the waist down in front of him was even more of a turn-on, and I could smell my arousal. He grunted, a sound from the back of his throat, at the sight of me spread before him.

  “I want to see all of you,” he demanded, and I couldn’t deny him. I peeled my tank top and sports bra off, and I was completely bared for him to see.

  “You are beautiful,” he breathed, re-capturing one of my breasts with his hand, roughly pinching the tip of the dark, puckered areola. He brought his head forward and took it in his mouth, nipping at the skin and lathing my peak with his tongue. Bolts of arousal coursed from my chest to my cunt, making me clench with anticipation.

  I slid myself off the chair and knelt in front of him, as he was still perched on the edge of the coffee table. I started working on his shirt, unbuttoning as fast as I could. I wanted the feel of my nipples against his pale skin, the heat-on-heat our naked bo
dies would bring. As I popped the buttons, he released my breasts and kissed me, his mouth greedy, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth.

  I could feel the need in his kiss, and I responded with my own. I wanted this man inside me, now. I was past reason, and couldn’t believe I’d tried to resist him. I had known from that first meeting was that this was how we’d end up, naked and coming in each other’s arms.

  As our tongues parried, I finished on his shirt buttons and pushed it off his shoulders. He unbuckled his own belt quickly, and then his pants. I unzipped his fly and could feel his erection bulging, straining to get free.

  He returned one hand to my crotch and thrust two fingers inside me now. I responded with a gasp, but managed to push his pants and boxer shorts down over his hips as he stood up slightly, releasing his cock.

  “You need to be ready for me,” he said, as I simultaneously realized the same thing as I glanced at his size. He was huge, bigger than any man I’d ever been with. He wasn’t just fingering me for my pleasure; he was doing it to make sure I was wet and ready enough to receive him.

  A pang of anticipation made way for a flutter of pleasure as he slid a third finger into me, stretching me and bathing his hand with my wetness. His thumb made contact with my clit and I bucked into his fingers, arching and begging for more.

  His thumb rubbed against my most sensitive spot and I could feel a climax building in me. It had been a while, but my body had not forgotten what to do. As he pulled his fingers out of me, he stroked my clit even quicker with his middle and index fingers. The delicious tension pooled in my pussy and then I fell over the edge, gasping and grabbing his shoulders, my nails biting into his skin.

  He gave me a second to come back down from my climax, and then he stood me up, pulling me up to standing.

  Kissing me again, he twined his fingers in my stiff ponytail, still a little damp from my run. He clasped my lips to his, hard, and pulled me against him, our skin now meshing together. I could feel the length of his dick pushing wantonly into my stomach, searching for entry.

  He backed me towards the couch a few feet away. When we reached it, he gently pushed me down so that I was laying back, waiting for him. Before he mounted me he grabbed my knees and spread my legs apart, hooking my injured leg over the back of the couch and setting my other leg so that my foot rested on the floor. I was so open and vulnerable, but it was so erotic I could feel myself throb and build towards another orgasm without him even touching me.