by Christa Wick
"Not ever," he promised and put his mouth to me once more.
Pure heaven licked up and down my flesh, his thick tongue spearing inside me before pressing a firm line up to suckle that small pearl once more. I squirmed, moaned. My fingers tingled with the need to wrap around his head and hold him in place, but my arms remained bound by the gown.
"Please," I moaned, unsure of what exactly it was I pleaded for or against.
Collin seemed not to hear, his attention devoted to producing a volley of jerks and whips throughout my body. His fingers stroked inside me. He nibbled forcefully at my clit and labia, his lips shielding me from his teeth as he gnawed and nipped me toward the edge of climax.
I was right there, every muscle straining to clear that last hurdle and come crying his name, crying Collin and begging him to enter me with more than his hands.
From the floor, a ring tone began to play on his phone, the fanfare and building layers of the Ride of the Valkyries signaling that the caller was not only Stark's second in command, Trent Kane, but that the call came from Trent's second line—the one reserved for operation command.
With a growl, Collin rolled to the edge of the mattress and fished the phone from his jacket pocket. Punching the accept icon, he barked at Trent.
"Report."
Whatever Trent first said, I saw the tension ease from Collin's shoulders. His hand moved across the bed to reclaim my pussy as he listened. His fingertip ran a circle around the tight, narrow rim of my sex then raced up to run a slick oval around the hood of my clit.
"Tell me about him."
I tensed at that, suddenly nervous that him might be Glenn, although it seemed ridiculous to have Trent track Ames' background and overblown for Trent to use the operation command line to make his report. Collin must have sensed the change in me because he gave a hard little flick to the underside of my clit and his gaze cut in my direction. Suspicion clouded his eyes as he continued listening to Trent and I realized, ridiculous or not, the topic of their call really was Glenn.
"How long?"
Stark never stopped stroking me as he talked to Trent, but the rubbing turned rough. I could see all the small changes in his expression, the minute narrowing of his gaze, the barely perceptible flattening of his mouth.
Then his hand stopped.
He ended the call without saying goodbye to Trent then reached for his jacket. When he didn't slide the phone into the pocket, but started to push an arm into one sleeve, I knew I had been busted. He wasn't leaving because of some emergency—he was leaving because I had held back information about Glenn Ames.
Only one sleeve on, he stopped and looked at me. "What's your excuse this time?"
It was pointless to say that the reason behind my lie was because he didn't trust me. He would never trust me again after this last omission. I knew that—I knew it when I failed to disclose it that afternoon. Trust was never part of the day's equation. Humiliation was the sum total of why I had kept my mouth shut. Glenn had humiliated me when we broke up and any number of times while we were together. Stark had demonstrated a far greater capacity for control and degradation than Ames could ever dream of possessing.
"Mia..."
"Because it's humiliating," I whispered. "You were going to fire me anyway. You weren't ever actually attracted to me—that was all part of your game. Why should I tell you about an ex-lover who didn't think I was good enough for him, either?"
I sucked a big breath in, the words tumbling out even though I tried to stop them. "Why should I tell you how I had to crawl across the street from a job I actually wanted over to Stark International, applying for any position just to keep an apartment and the utilities because the man who was supposed to stand by my side couldn't even drive me to interview for my last opportunity in my field?"
There! If Stark needed any more of an explanation, I would have to go get an L tattooed on my forehead so that it would be beyond clear to him that he had suspected a total loser of corporate espionage.
Stark remained motionless and mute for longer than I could bear, my sense of stupidity mushrooming with each second I continued to clasp to my breast one small grain of hope that Collin would confess an actual attraction to me and forgive the omission, perhaps even realize his own role in my failure to disclose.
Finally admitting that moment would never come, I struggled to sit up. I clutched the ruined edges of my night gown together in a failed effort to shield my disheveled and naked body.
"I'll go," I choked out, abandoning my grip on the material and my piecemeal dignity. "I just need to grab my clothes."
I certainly wouldn't take anything he had given me. My foot touched the floor, my brain doing a scattered inventory of what I needed to gather before I could leave. I hesitated before my other foot could slide into place—all of my documentation was in Stark's keeping.
His hand wrapped around my hair, the iron grip immobilizing my retreat. His other hand pressed flat against my chest, just below my collarbone. Pulling and pushing at the same time, he roughly forced me onto my back on the mattress. He shredded the remaining fabric of the flannel nightgown, leaving my body entirely exposed to his view for the second it took him to spread my thighs and settle his torso over mine. He jerked his arm from the jacket then barked a command at me.
"Close your eyes."
Trembling, I obeyed. When I heard the slide of his zipper, the tremble magnified to a quake.
"Collin..."
"Quiet," he rasped. "Unless you are going to say no, don't say a fucking word."
I sucked a wet cry in and held it. He pushed into me all at once, his thick cock stretching me to the point of straining despite the warm, lubricating layer of my juices.
Shame rolled through me. I didn't understand why my body still wanted this man. With Glenn, I had stayed bone dry during the sex that followed our fights. Those experiences had been a penance—the fat girl's apology for questioning the love or motives of her handsome fiancé.
In that bed in the suite, Collin's muscular legs filling the gap between my soft, plump thighs, I was a river. My pussy the delta, its mouth open to pour my wetness into the sea of linen beneath us. I contracted around his cock, not in an attempt to expel him, but to squeeze every ounce of pleasure I could get from him before he sent me away.
The wet cry I had inhaled released as a humid moan and my hips began to rotate in a slow grind against the hard plane of his lower stomach. I didn't dare open my eyes, didn't want to see his expression and realize his arousal and attraction related solely to his punishment and control of me, with no regard to the flesh and bones or spirit on which he exorcised his anger.
His mouth touched my throat. I braced for the hard nip or bite he would deploy to ensure I remained docile. His lips glided smooth as butter over my skin to fasten at the hollow of my throat and gently suck. His hands, which had fisted the sheets around us, gripped my shoulders, roughly massaging as he held me down and threw all the power of his body into the thrusts with which he took me.
I whimpered, mewled, knowing he didn't care if I came but coming nonetheless, my body breaking down into jerks and quivers until I heard his harsh exhalation and he stopped.
Rolling from bed, Collin rose, his back to me as he dipped and retrieved his jacket. Walking from the room, he called over his shoulder as he zipped and buttoned his pants, his gaze never meeting mine.
"You don't leave until I'm done with you."
I nodded at the closed door then stared up at the ceiling.
Welcome to Dubai.
10
Collin
Thirty Minutes Earlier
The business with Omari kept me until midnight, first watching over him, then introducing him to his new personal security team. Even after I left the nervous princeling, I went to the second set of rooms I had reserved for myself so I could work with Trent to get more of our men in country—including his own arrogant ass.
Finally finished, I entered the suite with visions of a
naked Mia squirming in my head. Instead, I found the bottle of champagne untouched, the last of the ice floating around in the bucket. Standing quietly next to the table, I looked to Mia's room to find a closed door, no light underneath, and absolute silence.
Grabbing the champagne, I smiled at the challenge. I had kept a beautiful woman waiting, whether she believed herself beautiful or not. Nor did it matter that she was sexually pliable when faced with my controlling nature. I would have to atone for exiling her to the suite then leaving her alone the entire evening, even if my absence was completely her fault.
And it was her fault—I hadn't intended to come to the conference, only accepted at the last minute as an excuse to spend a week in a luxury hotel with my beautiful, recently appointed senior secretary. Nor had I expected new business to fall in my lap the first day in country or demand my immediate and personal attention.
Perhaps, subversively, I also wanted Mia twisting after seeing her with Ames, his hand on her arm, stroking her flesh, his hip brushing against hers, the shared joke he had leaned in far too close to tell her, the palpable tension running through her body when he did.
Tension that was mine to claim.
Pouring the champagne, I watched the pale gold liquid swirl in the flutes. The color reminded me of the last glimpse I'd had of Mia in the mirrored elevator doors before I propelled her inside and up to the suite, away from Ames and the other men whose hungry eyes had caressed her curves.
Need crawled up my spine at the memory. She had picked the tight fitting black skirt suit with the white accents that traveled the hills and valleys of her breasts and hips, drawing any healthy man's eye to her more prominent assets. Eventually, such a man would have to look up, to see the face that accompanied the lush, desirable flesh.
Her face was the final blow—her green eyes cloaked in smoky mystery, eyelashes almost brushing the pale pink of her cheeks. Then her lips, glimpsed last, when the certainty had already claimed me that it couldn't get any better, but it did.
I wanted to follow her into the elevator, lock its doors, drop my pants, and feel those frosted pink lips wrap around my cock as we rode up to the suite where I could spend the evening taking her and erasing any hint of attraction I'd seen her display while talking to Ames.
Crossing to Mia's door, I fantasized about which outfit she had changed into before retiring. Or maybe she had nothing on at all, annoyance at my standing her up goading her into stripping whatever corset or gown she had dressed her curves in and crawling into bed naked. Either would count as a win, giving me either faster access to her yielding flesh or the pleasure of slowly removing the clothing.
Placing the flutes on the nightstand, I brought the bedside light up to bathe the room in a soft glow. Looking at the bed, I found her eyes open, some worry flitting across her face before she tried to smooth it into something else. I'd get to the root of that worry and allay it after I learned just what waited for me beneath the covers.
I started to pull them away in a slow tease.
Flannel?
Fuck me—somehow, her first day in Dubai with no real resources, she had managed to retrieve all those pieces of her luggage she had crammed with innocence and self-deprecation that I had intentionally ordered stored away from her. I looked at her face again, noting the lack of make-up and the fresh glow of her pale skin.
Swallowing down my amusement, I scowled. "This is not what I provided you with."
"No." She reached for the covers, her hand brushing mine. "It's what I provided me with."
The haughty, maidenly tone perfectly matched the lace ruffling on the flannel gown, surprising a chuckle from me before I could hold it back. "Flannel, Mia, in the damnable desert. I should discipline you just for packing that granny gown."
Her nostrils flared and I couldn't tell in the light if it was arousal or irritation. The latter wouldn't be tolerated. I flicked the rest of the covers onto the ground in warning. "I'm definitely going to discipline you for Glenn."
And also because I wanted to feel that lush bottom against my hand, her juices dripping onto my lap from an innate arousal she couldn't control.
She swallowed hard at the threat and I still couldn't read her face—anticipation or guilt? Trent had been too busy getting more boots on the ground for Omari after the contract was signed to dive deep on Ames. Maybe there was more to Mia's encounter with her "former classmate" than I wanted to believe.
"Why?" she asked.
Capturing the bottom hem of the nightgown, I eased it up her shins even as I admired her open-ended question. She wanted to know what I knew about Ames before revealing her own details or offering an explanation. A nice tactic, but I didn't want her playing games with me, especially not the kind of games I had to play professionally.
I lobbed an open answer at her, one she would have to defend. "Your posture while talking to him."
"My posture was mortified!" she blurted. "I had no idea he would be here. I haven't seen him in over six months. I hate him!"
Hate? My chest tightened slightly at the word. Hate meant something more than a casual interaction had existed between them. Certainly Ames had been admiring Mia and quickly became territorial on my approach, as if he had the superior right.
For all I knew, he did.
"Hate is a strong word for a mere classmate, Mia." One hand still gripping the edge of the gown, I stretched an arm toward the lamp, tapping twice more to bring it to full brightness. Seeing the nightdress more clearly, with its long sleeves that ended in frills, to the pearl-like buttons that ran in a line from the middle of her breasts up to her rounded chin, I forgot about Ames for the moment.
She looked so sweet, fragile despite the fake glare she threw in my direction as she tried to move away from me. Sliding onto the mattress next to her, I tugged the gown up to her hips, spread her thighs then ran the back of my knuckles against the gusset of her panties.
She was on the defensive and I wanted to keep her there until arousal eroded the fight from her tense body.
"I was wondering how long it would take to get you wet, angry as you are."
I slipped a finger beneath the elastic band and ran the tip along the seam of her labia. Fuck, she was drenched, deliciously so. But for whom?
"Wet already. Were you thinking of me or Glenn?"
Her glare turned real at the question. "I told you, I don't like him."
Folding her arms across her breasts, she wedged her hands between them and her sides so she was locked down. She didn't like this line of questioning, which only deepened my suspicion that something had passed between them. Was that why she had come to bed as dressed down as possible? She didn't want me in here undressing her when Ames was elsewhere in the hotel?
"Hate him," I corrected, swallowing a sudden burn of bile. "But that doesn't answer my question. This thick cream could be for him."
"It isn't!" Another blurt erupted and the threat of tears brimmed her green eyes. "It doesn't matter how attractive Glenn is, he's a complete asshole."
So she found the over-manicured, metrosexual form of Glenn Ames attractive? Turning my growl into a chuckle before it left me, I tore the panties I'd been fingering from her body.
"An attractive asshole—sounds like your opinion of me, baby," I teased. "So which one of us has your pussy all worked up?"
I watched Mia shut her eyes, her cheeks starting to redden as she bit at her bottom lip then responded through clenched teeth.
"You!"
That was the answer I wanted, but I didn't know if I could believe her. Every time I thought I had Mia figured out, she surprised me.
I rolled until I rested lightly atop her. "Open your eyes. I can't trust you until you stop hiding."
Her obedience was slow, her cheeks cooling as she slowly unshuttered her gaze.
"Tell me again." I stroked the soft fur of her pussy, my dry fingers wicking away the moisture that beaded at the tips of her silken hair.
"I'm wet for you," she answered.
> Chest and cock swelled simultaneously, forcing me to lean a little closer and brush my lips over her soft cheek. "Such a dirty thing to say when you look so sweet and innocent, with your flannel gown and its pink flowers, love."
Love?
Fuck. Undoing the buttons on her gown, I pushed past the word and hoped like hell it had slid by Mia or only served to confuse her. I was enchanted with her, not in love. Love led to mistakes. Love got people killed. Love was something no one bounced back from when it went one-hundred percent ass up. I loved the way Mia trembled, loved the mix of trust and apprehension in her eyes, but I didn't love her.
Right—case closed.
Undoing another button, I started to breathe again. "Let's at least get you naked so I don't feel like such a defiler."
"Collin—"
I looked up, saw her expression reflexively jerk back at using my first name. "Mr. Stark..."
Calling me "Mr. Stark" after I had just called her "love." It didn't matter that I was merely enchanted, her reaction didn't bode well for me. But my fingers weren't in her and I was the idiot who laid down that stupid rule.
Time to change it.
"We're alone, Mia."
Lightly trembling, she remained obstinately silent so I made it a command. "You'll call me Collin when we're alone."
Still mute and I could see she held back tears—real tears. Not even the female Mossad agents I had run up against could fake their emotions so well. But knowing the pain was genuine didn't reveal its source. If she really was wet for me, why hold back?
Growling, I ripped the rest of the buttons off, the strength of my sharp pull shooting them around the room to bounce off the wall and furniture. Through the gap of fabric, I pulled one succulent breast out, my mouth instantly seizing on the swollen tip as I pushed two fingers into Mia's pussy. My thumb landed atop her clit to slowly rub up and down as I fucked my fingers in and out of her pussy.