Crave Me

by Geneva Lee

  “Hammond,” he said in a clipped tone, his hand sliding under my skirt. “I was under the impression we were speaking over dinner tonight.”

  He traced along my seam, his feather-light touch sending a pool of moisture gushing to welcome him. My eyelids clenched shut as I waited, spread in invitation, for him to fuck me however he saw fit. All I cared about was that he filled this desperate ache building in my core. But his other hand curved around my neck and squeezed, forcing my eyes to fly open. My startled gaze met his. There was no question who was in charge here, so when he withdrew his hand, he mouthed, “Eyes open.”

  “I merely wanted to discuss our plans,” Hammond answered. “Is this a bad time?”

  Thanks to the knot blocking my mouth I couldn’t yell yes, but Smith merely smiled wickedly at me and shook his head. “It’s the perfect time.”

  Smith pushed a finger between my wet folds and circled my engorged nub, drawing a smothered moan from my lips.

  Oh god, I wanted him inside me. I wanted this torturous game of foreplay that had coloured our time together to end. I wanted to be fucked, and Smith knew it, which is why he continued his teasing strokes along my pussy. I was a trapped animal, cornered by a predator I had no hope of escaping, because I didn’t want to be freed. I wanted to be devoured.

  “I want this meeting to be between the two of us,” Hammond informed him. “Leave your toy at home.”

  I was dimly aware of the fact that I was the one being uninvited, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care about it at the moment. Not with Smith’s fingers working their clever magic on my clit. The man was infuriating. He was a connoisseur of the slow burn, and I was learning quickly that he didn’t mind taking his time when it came to pleasure. What he didn’t seem to understand was that sometimes a girl needed a quick, rough shag.

  “Miss Stuart is my assistant. She comes when and where I tell her to.” His eyes landed on mine, and the implication was clear. He wasn’t speaking to Hammond now. He was instructing me. I wasn’t getting off until he said I could.

  “This is a private affair. I assure you that you will have no need for her,” Hammond argued, growing agitated but still trying to stay cool. I recognized the sound of it because it was exactly how I felt.

  “I always have a need for her.” Smith’s finger plunged inside me, followed by a second one. He rolled and kneaded, coaxing me closer and closer to the brink. I held on through sheer force of will, not allowing myself to fall over the edge. My hands clutched the edge of his desk frantically, searching for an anchor as his touch set me adrift at sea. The water was calm, but the current warned of oncoming waves—the kind that would push me under and hold me there.

  Hammond’s tone switched from businesslike to snakelike instantly. “Need I remind you that she’s connected to some very important people.”

  Smith shifted forward, pressing his weight against my body as the pad of his thumb settled over my clit again. A shudder wracked my body, and my legs coiled around his waist. His breath was hot on my face, his lips inches from mine. I longed to kiss him—to close the gap that always stretched between us. Between his words and the magnetic pull of his body, it seemed possible. But it wasn’t, especially given the scarf wedged between my teeth. No, another kiss was dangerous in more ways than one. Kisses were expectations, and I didn’t dare expect anything from Smith Price.

  He was sending me mixed messages: controlling me, controlling my body. Protecting me while pushing me away. Keeping me close even as he shut me out. And maybe I was reading this one wrong, too. Maybe what he was trying to tell me was lost in translation, twisted by the heady pleasure he was ravaging on me. Smith leaned down and brushed his lips briefly over my forehead as he increased the pressure of his hand between my legs. “And now she’s connected to me.”

  It was in his voice—the command to let go—and I plunged headfirst into his storm. Pleasure battered me, tightening across my limbs until my skin felt as though it would snap from the pressure, and then…release. I climaxed in bursts, clutching the desk while my legs snapped shut like a sprung trap around his body. The fingers inside me, the hand continuing its tireless siege, were my anchors. My whole being centered around him and the pleasure he could give me.

  Or refuse me.

  I could hear the voice on the other line, but it had faded, lost in the rush of blood and pheromones coursing through me as I endured each crest and crash. Smith murmured something I couldn’t comprehend and hit the button on the receiver. In one swift motion, he tugged the scarf from my mouth, freeing my final few gasps of pleasures. He held the loose scarf by the knot and drew me forward. There was no resisting his pull, not while he had me—for all intents and purposes—collared. And certainly not while I was still throbbing with the memory of his touch.

  The orgasm had only succeeded in making me crave him more. All the rational reasons to stay away from him—to keep myself emotionally detached—vanished as he pulled me roughly to his lips, still gripping the scarf. He’d released me, but he still had me caged. And with each day, the possibility of escape—the possibility of leaving him—grew more incomprehensible. Couldn’t he see that he didn’t need to trap me? To control me? That I was becoming his?

  That I already was his?

  Our lips crashed together, and I lost myself in him. Resisting him was like holding my breath and this kiss was the gasp following its release. I wanted to swallow him, consume him, let him infect my blood—and god, I hoped he felt the same way.

  He pulled back slightly, his mouth still grazing mine, and tightened his hold on the scarf until there was no slack left. My hips squirmed forward to seek contact with him. The orgasm had been mind-blowing but not altogether satisfying. His closeness coupled with the spots where we touched only made me want more.

  “You liked it when I played with you, beautiful.” His teeth nipped at my lower lip, sending a shock of desire jolting through me. “You’re such a good girl. Always doing as I say. Feel how hard that makes me.”

  I pried my fingers from the edge of the desk and gripped the erection tenting his slacks. He was firm and hot, and I involuntarily caressed the hard length, imagining how it would feel inside me. Smith groaned and pressed closer as he unfastened his pants with his free hand.

  “I’m going to take you, Belle,” he growled, “and I won’t be gentle. I’m going to fuck you hard.”

  I opened my mouth to welcome the scarf, knowing I’d need it to muffle my screams, but he shook his head.

  “I want to hear you while my cock is inside you. No holding back or I’ll punish you.”

  “Punish me?” I repeated, half fearfully and half hopefully.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asked as he shoved down his boxer briefs, allowing me full view of his generous length.

  I grew wetter at the sight and at the thought of what a real punishment from Smith might entail.

  “It depends,” I hedged.

  “I’ve spanked you before.”

  A blush crept over my cheeks and I nodded. “Only playfully though.”

  “This won’t be playful,” he said in a low voice as my fingers closed over his shaft. He rocked against my grip, stroking himself with my clenched fist. “It will burn and sting and I won’t stop until your ass matches your pretty pink cheeks. You won’t be able to sit down without remembering my hands.”

  Oh my god. I refrained from turning over and presenting my buttocks to him. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be completely possessed by him, knowing any true pain I experienced at his hands would be matched by pleasure. I needed his hands on me—violently, passionately, any way I could have them.

  His eyes hooded thoughtfully as if he could hear what I was thinking. “Not yet. You haven’t earned a punishment.”

  “What have I earned?” I asked in a breathless voice.

  “This.” He rocked against my hand, sending his hot velvet shaft against my palm. He grabbed my hip, digging his nails into my tender flesh and urging me r
oughly around. My scarf slid loosely around my neck, still gripped by Smith. His palm spread across my back, and he shoved me down, flattening my breasts against the cold, smooth surface.

  “Spread your legs and show me your pussy,” he ordered.

  My legs parted willingly. I’d been with other men, but none of them had ever produced such instant, wanton reactions in me. I couldn’t refuse his demand, even though I felt a tingle of self-consciousness as I put myself on display.

  “I’ve told you about how I wanted to fuck you the day we met,” he reminded me as he nudged open my folds. He paused there, torturing me with a patience I didn’t share. “I wanted to twist those pretty pearls around your neck like this”—he tugged the scarf sharply—“and watch your red lips gasp for air while I screwed you. I wanted to know if I could turn a good girl bad. You’ve proven to me that I can, haven’t you?”

  He already knew the answer. He already knew how to undermine my self-control. All he had to do was ask and I was his. My screams. My body. My pleasure. It had all belonged to him since the first time he took me in his sights.

  “Put your hands behind your back. I’m in control.”

  I did as I was told, crossing my wrists over my tailbone and tilted my head so that my cheek rested on the desk. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, still in his suit, his tie still knotted at his throat.

  “I’m going to fuck you hard, beautiful.” His cock slid a fraction of an inch inside me, stretching my hole until I’d been reduced to a consuming ache at my core. “You’re going to walk around the rest of the day full of me, and you’re going to feel it. Do you want that?”

  I nodded, my teeth instinctively finding my bottom lip.

  Smith jerked the scarf, raising my head from the desk. “Answer me when I ask a question. Properly.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I breathed as my heart raced, already anticipating what was about to happen.

  “Oh, beautiful”—he pushed me gently back down to the desk—“I love it when you call me by my proper name. It reminds me that you’re a lady even when you’re being a slut. It tells me you know who you belong to and what I expect. Your behavior deserves a reward, so ask me for what you want.”

  I licked my lips, my eyes closing in expectation. “I want you to fuck me, Sir.”

  My response was met with a stinging slap across my ass.

  “Ask,” he repeated.

  “Please, will you fuck me, Sir?” I squealed as the heat of his rebuke spread through my bottom.

  “Yes, beautiful, I will.” He thrust his length roughly until he was pounding deep inside me. His hold on the scarf tightened, lifting my head until I was staring blindly at the ceiling, too lost in the rhythmic strokes to see anything but stars. His other hand left my hip and closed over my wrists. Smith tugged them back, raising me higher so that my breasts bounced against the cold wood. He plunged in and out, alternating between slow thrusts and violent ones that lifted my feet from the floor. As his pace quickened, so did my breathing until I could no longer hold back my cries. They spilled from my lips in anguished sobs.

  It was too much. The control. The way he dominated every inch of my body and mind. It was everything I’d ever wanted and never knew I needed.

  Smith drove deep, impossibly deep, and buried himself against my soft cervix. Circling his hips, he pushed the small of my back with my pinned wrists and manoeuvred my body so that my clit pressed against the crisp wooden edge of his desk. It dug into the pulsing bud. Then he began to screw me again with deliberate precision, grinding it as I swelled over his punishing cock. My mind went blank except for the vibrations of pleasure that burst from my core and rippled through my body. There was only his cock. Only him.

  “Come,” he ordered gruffly. His voice strained from the nearness of his own climax. “I want to hear it. I want everyone in this building to hear it and know that you belong to me now.”

  As if to prove his point, his body crushed against mine, impaling me on his cock. My head snapped back, allowing his lips access to my neck as a scream ripped through my throat. I cracked along with the howl, ecstasy spilling through me and igniting the nerves that ran like fault lines across my flesh.

  Smith growled, his teeth sinking into the curve of my neck, as the first hot jets lashed against the battered entrance of my womb. His hand released my wrists, allowing me to catch myself as I fell forward. And then the fullness of his cock vanished, replaced by the last spurt of his seed onto my tailbone.

  The sensation of him lingered inside me. Before him I’d never allowed a man to come anywhere but my mouth. Now I wished Smith would mark me every day. He stepped back and I felt his eyes surveying his prize, but I was too blissed out to move. Not that my legs would be steady enough to hold me anyway. His fingers skimmed across my swollen seam, spreading me open so that the evidence of his climax leaked down my sex.

  “Do you feel that, beautiful?” he asked in a husky tone. “Your pussy is full of me. Who do you belong to?”

  “You, Sir,” I mumbled, the production of complete thoughts still proving difficult.

  Smith slid an arm under my torso and drew me up. I turned into him, nuzzling my face against his suit jacket and breathing in his spicy cologne. He pushed my skirt down and pulled me closer, tipping my chin up so that our eyes met. The hunger that had shone from his eyes was sated, and he kissed me softly.

  “The car will pick you up at seven.”

  I blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness in my head. “I thought I wasn’t invited.”

  “Your place is at my side. I’ve missed having you there this week, and I won’t be without you this evening.” There was no mistaking the finality of his words, and I wasn’t about to argue. Not when it was exactly what I’d longed to hear. “Be ready by seven.”

  “I’m always ready for you.” I flushed as I spoke. There would be no mistaking what I meant either.

  “Talk like that will get you bent back over this desk, beautiful,” he said gruffly, “and we both have work to do.”

  He released me and I looked away, suddenly overcome with shyness. There was still so much I didn’t know about Smith—so much I didn’t understand about him and his job—and yet I’d given myself to him fully. He rested a hand on the small of my back and I could sense that he wanted to reassure me. Neither of us spoke as I buttoned my blouse, but when I was finished he leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear.

  “It’s a formal dinner. Wear stockings, and heels tall enough that I can fuck you when I need to, but leave your pussy bare,” he ordered.

  My breath hitched and my mouth went dry, but I forced myself to respond. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I want you to come home with me tonight,” he continued, and his cool eyes studied me as he spoke. He pushed a lock of hair out of my face. “Cancel your plans for the weekend, you’re going to be rather tied up.”

  A spasm of excitement shot through my core, but I did my best not to show him how aroused the thought of another weekend in his bed made me. As much as I lusted for his body, I needed to maintain some control of our relationship. I might turn into a reckless addict when he touched me, but I wanted the balance of power to remain equitable the rest of the time.

  “I’ll do my best to clear my calendar.” I wouldn’t promise him more that that, even if I knew there was no way I could resist his request.

  “Clear it, beautiful. I plan to spend the entire weekend making you come and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  His head slanted, crushing his mouth to mine, and I melted into him. In the end, I didn’t say yes. There was no other choice.

  Who was I kidding? This wasn’t equitable. Not even a little. I was falling for Smith Price. Hard and fast.

  I just hoped wherever I landed, I wouldn’t find myself there alone.

  London traffic turned into a nightmare midday, so despite the fact that Smith had left the Veyron keys sitting on the reception desk—an act I took as an invitation—I decided to hit the pavement to finish out my
to-do list. I made a mental note to thank Smith for keeping all of his personal and business needs in a relatively compact geographic area. But heading out on foot meant that I had considerably less time to deal with things before tonight’s dinner plans.

  I hoped this evening ran as hot as this morning had. Smith and I seemed to be stuck on a perpetual roller coaster, vacillating between on and off, hate and affection, hot and cold. When we were apart, I couldn’t decide if I actually liked him, but when we were together, I needed him.

  I always wanted him.

  “Belle!”

  I froze on the spot. There was no way I’d just heard his voice, but turning, I discovered I was wrong.

  Philip stood on the walk in front of the law office and ran a hand through his floppy blond hair. He looked like the same lanky Harris Tweed ad. Although his hairline might be receding. With any luck, he’d wind up bald before his thirtieth birthday. Karma had a lot on her plate, but it appeared she had my back on this one.

  “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to see me,” he said awkwardly.

  “No, it’s more like you’re the last person that I wanted to see,” I said coldly, before tacking on, “ever.”

  I had no idea what he was doing here. I’d spotted him at Clara’s wedding before things had gone wrong. Retrospectively, I had considered it yet another bad omen. I’d managed to avoid him ever since.

  Now he was standing in front of me. I waited for my heart to leap, waited for any sign that I still had feelings for him. Mercifully, there were none. All I felt was a pit opening up in my stomach. There were very few times in my life when I’d wished the earth would swallow me up. This was definitely one of them.

  “I know things ended poorly between us.”

  I threw my head back and laughed at his choice of words. It felt liberating.

  “I heard about you and Pepper. Congratulations.” My voice took on a snide tone. “I hope you won’t mind if I don’t send a gift.”