by Christa Wick
First I would drive away the tears, bring forth her soft moans and then she would tell me what was wrong. Gnawing at the cherry pucker of her nipple, I pushed my fingers into her sweet hole, felt her muscles suck and milk at the invaders. Her tears momentarily forgotten, she started to moan as she moved, her body arching as her tight pussy slurped at my fingers.
Damn, she was a lightning rod, ten thousand volts out of nowhere all at once, ready to come the moment my fingers were in her. I pulled out, peeled my jacket away and destroyed the buttons on my shirt in my haste to remove it. Taking it off proved too much as Mia whimpered from my withdrawal.
I moved down her body, pushed her thighs apart and kissed her swollen, shiny clit. When my tongue found and started to tease the pearl tucked inside, she vibrated. Breaking the suction, I pushed three fingers deep into her.
"Stop pretending, baby. Stop hiding."
My chest swelled knowing, at that moment, she was wet for me, ready to come for me, mine to command.
"That little sham of a girl inside you, I'm going to destroy her tonight." I shredded the rest of her gown, used it to bind her arms. "You won't listen to her ever again."
I cupped her mound, my palm bearing down as I pushed three fingers into her. "This is what you'll listen to. This soaking wet hole that wants to be filled and completely possessed."
"Do you want to come, Mia?" I demanded.
"Yes."
Fuck, yes. Fingers buried in her, I stroked her throbbing clit with my thumb as I gazed into her green eyes. The apprehension was gone, just the trust and raw need as thick as the juices that covered my palm.
"No more hiding?"
"No—none," she answered.
"I won't let you go back," I promised, my face dropping to her hot pink folds, mouth watering with the need to suck and slurp her to climax. "Not ever."
Her entire body tracked my mouth, squirming and moaning with each flick of my tongue. Her arms strained against the flannel binding, her fingers lightly danced.
"Please," she begged.
I lost myself in the softly voiced plea and the sharp jerk of her flesh, the needy squeezes against my finger, the faint panting breaths she took.
My phone shattered the enchantment, the ringtone one I could not ignore. I retrieved the phone, promising myself I would skin Trent if the reason for his call wasn't life or death. Barking an order at him, I kept my touch on Mia soft and teasing. I didn't want to lose the momentum I had built in her body, didn't want her brain circling back to whatever had put her on the brink of crying.
"An advance team sixty bodies strong on the Omari contract will touch down in twenty hours. I'll touch down in less than ten. For my inflight reading pleasure, I'm looking at the print out on Ames."
The little click in Trent's voice at the end meant I wouldn't be happy with his report.
"Tell me about him." My chest tightened with the hope that any displeasure would be directed solely at Ames and not the soft bundle of pleasure that had just tensed beneath my hand. Feeling that tension, I gave a hard flick to the underside of her clit.
Listening to Trent, I watched Mia carefully.
"Entry level hire at BlackTide, but..." Trent paused and I could almost hear the internal "I told you so" commentary bouncing around inside his head. "Looks like he and your girlfriend were roommates—in an apartment that only had one bedroom."
My grip on Mia's pussy roughened. Now, more than a desperate omission from her resume, I had a secretary with a supposedly ex-lover working for a major competitor. She had lived with him, fucked him, presumably loved him, and told me he was nothing more than a classmate.
Thinking with my dick, I had bought it lock, stock, and barrel.
"How long?"
"Seven months," Trent answered. "He filed a change of address same month we hired her in. Now can we fire her?"
I snapped the phone shut without answering. I grabbed my jacket, pushed an arm into the sleeve, intent on leaving. Only, if I left, I wouldn't know how she had got past me twice, wouldn't be prepared for the next Mia.
I looked at her, my attention on the lines around her eyes and not the green pools I kept drowning in. "What's your excuse this time?"
She didn't answer. Probably working on the delivery of her lie.
"Mia..." I growled.
"Because it's humiliating," she 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?"
She sucked a big breath in, the words surprising me with their vehemence. She sounded like she believed every word. How could she think I wasn't attracted to her? Did she have any idea how selective I was?
Apparently not because more raw hurt spilled from her.
"Why should I tell you how I had to crawl across the street from a job I wanted to Stark International, applying for any position just to keep an apartment and 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?"
The words slowly sinking in, I remained motionless. Her voice was full of anguish. I wanted to believe her, wanted to find Ames and beat the ever loving shit out of him for making her feel this way, for training her to think she wasn't beautiful. I wanted to roll Mia across my knee and thoroughly discipline her lush ass for thinking I wasn't attracted to her.
Fuck. She had lied to me twice, betrayed me twice and the need to sink into her still bloated my cock.
Next to me, Mia struggled to rise.
"I'll leave. I just need to grab my clothes."
She wanted to leave. Trent wanted her gone. Neither one of them would get their way. I would remove all access she had to the outside world and to my company. She would stay this week with me in Dubai and I would get the truth out of her. The risk to my company, my people—to me—would be neutralized through her voluntary imprisonment.
I would have the truth from her and I would take my pleasure.
Grabbing a handful of Mia's thick hair, I forced her onto the mattress and shredded the rest of the flannel gown. My gaze skimming over her exposed flesh, I settled onto her body. Her thighs parted to receive me. Yanking my jacket off, I ordered her to close her eyes.
She obeyed, lips trembling, her whole body shaking. When I slid my zipper open, she dared to speak.
"Collin..."
"Quiet." I didn't want any more lies, couldn't risk her soft voice fucking its way into my brain, teasing me into believing that the entire situation was nothing more than a coincidence.
"Unless you're going to say no, don't say a fucking word."
Not giving her time to respond, I pushed into her all at once. Tight, almost unyielding, but wet. A river. A rolling, coiling, thrashing river as I pounded into her. Dangerous, moaning, eyes closed to me as I ground against her, the sweet body beneath me climaxing hard from my cock even though she denied my attraction to her.
My mouth found her neck, the need to throttle her subdued by her warm, fragrant flesh. Finding the hollow of her throat, I started to suck. My hands trapped her shoulders, massaging them as another wave of release whipped through her amazing, giving flesh.
Beautiful, raw. I released into her as her body broke into jerks and quivers she had no hope of controlling. I left her like that, as quickly as I could, not looking at her sweet, hurt face as I departed with my threat hanging in the air between us.
"You don't leave until I'm done with you."
11
Mia
Stark didn't touch or talk to me the next day. Trent arrived and explained the rules of what amounted to my house arrest. I was not to attend any more of the seminars. I would take no meetings, have no visitors, make no calls. I was free to roam the suite between eight in the morning until six in the evening, then I had to stay in my bedroom. This would be my schedule for each remaining day of the conference until he or Stark informed me otherwise.
&
nbsp; When I offered to leave and pay my way back to the States if only they would return my documents, Trent blushed before offering an apologetic "no." I was, he amended, free to turn in my resignation and leave immediately, with my accommodations paid for by Stark International. If I did not wish to resign, I had to follow his instructions to the letter.
"So," Trent stood, his arms folded across his chest. "Do you want your passport?"
I didn't answer—no need for me to wear my shame on my sleeve. After a few seconds passed, he accepted my silence, pivoted on one heel and marched to the door like the ex-soldier he was.
Hearing the metallic click as the lock on the suite's entrance engaged, I looked at the clock and started to cry.
I cried a little less on my second day confined to the suite, less still with each day that passed. By the morning of our scheduled flight home, I had completely exhausted my supply of tears. The only faces I saw during that period belonged to the maids who came to clean the suites, the staff who delivered my meals, and the security team that allowed them into the room.
Dry, empty and exhausted, I waited with my luggage in the suite. Trent came half an hour before it was time to leave the hotel. Two hours later, he still remained with me in the room, his attention discreetly focused on his phone as he awaited orders from Stark.
Another hour later, I finally found my voice. "What the hell is going on?"
He didn't answer, the only acknowledgement of my question contained in the single flick of his gaze in my direction, hostility oozing from the corner of his eye. I didn't ask my question again. Not because he intimidated me. Hell, I wasn't even angry from the look he gave me. He was second in operations command at the company and he was babysitting the overweight, future-former secretary of his boss.
I understood. Hell, I even empathized with the guy. I kind of hated me at that moment, too. I certainly wished I could vanish into thin air and no longer be his problem—or Stark's.
At nine-thirty in the evening, more than six hours after our plane should have departed, Trent took a phone call, gave a few affirmatory grunts then gathered up his things.
"Should I get my bags?" I asked, the question coming out as a squeak after the hours of absolute silence.
"No, you should unpack."
I nodded, not understanding, only knowing that if Stark was staying in Dubai, I didn't want to leave. Before Trent could reach the door, I risked one last question.
"Should I remain in my room?"
"Yes," Trent answered, quickly killing the embarrassing note of hopefulness my voice had held.
Something had to break, and it had to break soon. I was in my room, in the dark, the clock crowding in on one in the morning. I had taken a long, hot bath after Trent's departure to ease some of the tension from my body. Once dry, I had climbed into bed naked. I had run through the sedate night clothes I had packed and the idea of putting on one of the revealing items that had arrived a week ago in the black box hurt too much.
Stark had no intention of ever seeing me in them and I would be the only person who knew I had gone to bed bare-assed.
My prediction remained right on target until the second the clock's display winked to tell me I had passed yet another hour alone in Dubai. That's when I heard the outer door to the suite softly open and shut. Hearing the sound, I expected the steady, inexorable fall of Stark's shoes across the marble-tiled floor, muffled for seven steps as he crossed an area rug, then a few more audible steps until he reached the door to his room.
I focused so intently on hearing that exact progression of sounds, I failed to recognize when his steps led to my door, not his. The handle turned and I jerked, pulling the covers tight up under my chin.
Without a light to guide him, he stopped next to the bed and quietly stepped from his shoes and clothing. Tension coiling tighter by the second, I waited for Stark to pull back the covers.
He didn't. At least not immediately.
"You always make some little sound when you sleep, Mia." His fingertips brushed over the top of the covers to find their edge. "Usually, just a deep, steady breathing I could set my watch by. Sometimes little moans that make me want to wake you..."
My heart stopped. Was Stark saying he had come into my room these last few nights and sat next to my sleeping body? Or was the room bugged?
I swallowed, not wanting to think about the latter possibility. If the room was bugged, he would have heard my crying, the big, fat sobs that had wracked my frame that first night and again the following morning. If he heard that and stayed out, he was a bastard. I didn't know what the alternative made him. Anyone else, and I would have been creeped out to think he had entered my room and watched me sleep.
I took another hard swallow and added a shake of my head. I would not allow hope or the stupid idea that Collin Stark genuinely wanted me to take root inside my thoughts and feelings again.
Another shake and I needed to vomit. Why had I stayed the week if I didn't want to nurture the hope that he cared for me?
For my job?
No, I would have preferred losing my apartment and starting over from scratch if it was just about my job—or even if my job was only part of the consideration. My position at Stark's company hadn't been the real factor that first time we had sex, it wasn't the first night in the hotel, either. Both times had been ... possession? Like he was a demon or incubus, sucking my willpower away the second I knew he intended to touch me, to use me.
Stark peeled the cover back. "I told you to stop hiding if you wanted my trust."
"I don't want your trust," I answered as his weight pushed down the other side of the mattress.
Accepting Collin's trust would mean offering my own. I didn't have any to give. The realization slammed into me. All I wanted was Stark's controlling hand. Not his affection, not his love—just his mastery of my body.
The light came on, just that first tap of illumination against the base but enough that he could look at my face and see I told the truth. His brow lifted and, for a second, his jaw relaxed.
I felt a small snort building in the back of my mouth. Had I just surprised the CEO of Stark International?
I think I had.
Putting his game face back on, Stark pushed the covers down my body. He took his time studying my naked form in the faint light offered by the bedside lamp. The tip of his middle finger touched lightly in the center of my mound and he pushed a soft line down the hidden split of my labia, following the seam to where the hair ended and trailing back up to his starting point before speaking.
"Your face suggested otherwise on the plane."
"That was a week ago," I offered. "I've had time to think about what I want from you."
He met my gaze, another surprised look dashing across his features. His hand took possession of my mound, firmly cupping my flesh.
"What then do you want?"
The answer came quickly. I had understood why I wanted his rough, detached possession of my body almost as soon as I realized I wanted it. He may have unlocked some deeply biddable part of me, but, in the end, I would leave with one thing from him—the one thing I desperately needed.
"A cure."
12
Mia
My training started the next morning. Within seconds of my answer, Collin left my room, naked and carrying his shoes, his clothes folded over one arm.
"Eight," he had rasped before leaving. "My room. The black corset and heels."
I set an alarm for seven and had my first, gloriously full block of sleep in over a week. Lightly nourished, squeaky clean, my make-up flawless, I clacked across the marble floor to his room at seven fifty-five.
I had left the corset and heels for last in preparing, lingering over my make-up, my flesh hidden beneath an oversized robe until I no longer needed to look at myself. Then I stuffed every fold into the corset and put on the barely there triangle of black that served as underwear with all the careful skill of a neurosurgeon, certain that the outfit would explode any se
cond.
I stood outside the door, refusing to knock. Stark had to have heard the sharp click of my heels and would know I was waiting. Any second past eight that I stood outside his door would be because he willed it. It wasn't my place to knock but to wait, the heels already torturing my spine, until he acknowledged me.
Two minutes after the hour, the door swung open and I almost passed out. Stark had arranged for more than just my outfits. He had on the tightest, most mouth watering set of black leather pants I could ever imagine.
With my tongue rapidly swelling to twice its size, I swallowed and began to choke.
"Don't fall to pieces so soon, Mia." His hand gripped my elbow and pulled me into the room. "I told you on the plane I had plans for you—clamps, plugs, feathers, floggers ... chemicals to cool or heat your flesh when my touch or words are not enough to penetrate."
I felt certain for a second that his touch and words would always penetrate, but then I remembered my purpose for staying. I didn't want Stark or any other man to hold this kind of power over me ever again. He would be my cure—not my lover, not my friend, not the man who would break me before he reformed or abandoned me.
Just my cure.
I straightened my spine and briefly met his eyes before lowering mine to the floor.
"Better," he said then pointed to the corner. "You need a time out while I prepare."
Hiding the shake in my legs, I took up the same position I had that time in his office. My face directed at where the two walls met, I smiled to myself. That first visit to the corner, I had tried to analyze everything. Analysis had been my means of escape my entire life. It had directed my choice of degrees, soothed me when I was most lost.
Today, I would analyze nothing. I would feel, and like a drunk who has to consume alcohol to the point of death before reaching a turning point, I would saturate my senses with Stark and the things he did to me. I would embrace the pain and pleasure, not examine it. I would feel his voice and hands smooth over me, not try to predict their meaning, intent or direction.