Beholden (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 2)

by Madison Michael

  Randall was more patient - not significantly more, but enough. He could wait her out, push her further and further until she had to let him take the lead. She felt so damn good that it was hard to wait. However, he had learned that if he delayed just a little longer, they would both win.

  “Please, Randall, please.” She was begging him, pulling at his broad shoulders.

  “Please what, Sloane? Tell me what you want, Babe. Tell me what you need. Do you want me to stop?”

  “Oh God, no,” she pleaded.

  “Just let go. Trust me to take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

  He lifted his head long enough to take a small break, knowing he was driving her crazy. He knew that Sloane thought he was about to move up her body, that he was about to give in to her desires. He slid his tongue slowly up her inner thigh lightly, teasingly until he reached her center again where he barely touched her. Sloane moaned.

  “That feels incredible. More. Please, more please.” He did it again, Sloane tried to raise her hips for more but Randall was stretched across her lower body.

  “Please what, Sloane. What do you need?”

  “You know what I need, damn you.” He could feel her toes clench, her fists tighten in his hair. In response, he lightened the touch of his tongue even more.

  “Just tell me what you want.” He was relentless. She did not want to ask. It would mean she had handed over control and he wanted that capitulation as much as he wanted to give her pleasure. Not to break her, never that, but to show her that he would not be manipulated. He would happily let her have the upper hand, but from this day forward, she would understand that he was allowing her to have it, that he could take it back.

  At least in this, they would be equals, capable of give and take. It might keep her from trying to push him around or take him for granted. It was the only way they would be able to love each other and trust each other. He felt like this struggle was the only way to teach her that she could rely on him to be there for her.

  “Fuck me, damn it. Fuck me already,” she growled at him.

  “Tsk, tsk, what kind of language is that for a proper young lady?” If she could have reached a lamp, she might have smashed it over his head and he knew it. He dipped his head one last time to run his tongue hard over her, sucking her hard nub into his mouth until her hips bucked wildly around him.

  Lifting off her in a fluid movement, he propelled up and into her body in one powerful move, sinking deep into her heat, filling her completely. He felt her tighten and spasm around him instantly, before he even had a chance to move. He paused for her orgasm to subside before kissing her hard, letting her taste her juices on his mouth and thrusting his body into hers. The powerful muscles in his ass bunched and released as he slammed forward into her repeatedly.

  He wanted to last just a minute longer but he couldn’t do it. She excited him too much. Using every ounce of power, Randall continued to rise and fall, sliding along the walls of Sloane’s passage, feeling the friction and heat. She was still so tight around him, even after he had stretched her repeatedly. She felt perfect.

  Sloane had her legs wrapped tightly around Randall, his body pinned her legs to the bed with his weight, and his arms shook with tension. He bent his head to kiss her mouth, sucking on her lips and tongue, breathing into her mouth and taking her breath in return.

  When he felt like his heart would explode, Randall felt Sloane shudder under him with a last, long low moan of pleasure. He plunged into her one last time and released the last of his pent up desire before falling upon her like dead weight.

  His arms still shaking from the effort of holding himself up for so long, but he realized the trembling was nothing compared to the quivering of Sloane’s entire body. She clung to him, slowly regaining the ability to breathe and to think, as the overwhelming pounding in her chest subsided.

  Randall lay upon her for a long time before finally moving away and rolling onto his side, bringing Sloane with him, spooning around her. She was fragile, tiny with his bulk wrapped around her. Her breathing was still labored and harsh.

  “Ssh, hush now, love,” he said, stroking a sweep of dark hair away from her face. Sleep, Sloane. I’ve got you. Just sleep.”

  He heard her breathing even out and quiet finally. She must be exhausted. He knew he was. He allowed himself to close his eyes, never letting go of her. He fell asleep feeling like a king.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sloane awoke to the smell of coffee. Seeing the shirt Randall had worn last night thrown haphazardly on a bench at the foot of the big bed, she threw it over her naked body intending to find a bathroom and then the source of that delicious aroma.

  Putting on the enormous shirt – he really was a mountain of a man – and rolling up the sleeves, Sloane took a moment to look about her. The room was huge, modern and masculine with a king sized bed flanked by two highly functional nightstands and modern lighting on the wall above them. Persian rugs covered polished dark wood floors, adding reds and blues to the otherwise neutral space. A wall of windows was hidden behind floor to ceiling plantation shutters, currently closed tight but unable to completely keep out the light of a dazzling sun.

  Sloane had no idea what time it was. She found a beautifully appointed bathroom, also enormous, with double sinks and an oversized shower, used the facilities and ran her fingers through her hair to untangle any unruly spots. It was unnecessary, just habit, since it hung in a flawless and shiny curtain down her back, as always.

  Padding barefoot out the bedroom door, Sloane passed another large bedroom, an enormous and stately office, another modern bath, and two closed doors she assumed were closets. She ran her hand over the dark wood bannister, shining from a recent waxing as she wandered to the lower floor. It was one huge, high ceilinged open space that included kitchen, dining and living rooms. It was all dark woods and white walls with nothing blocking the view from end to end except a gorgeous light fixture over the heavy glass dining table and a modern steel hood hanging above the stove.

  She ran her fingers lightly over the wall of cabinets, sleek and shiny white running the length of the room, then moved across the open space to look through an expanse of doors and windows. The two sets of sliding doors opened to an expansive yard. In addition to an attached narrow deck she spied a brick patio at ground level, surrounded by flowering trees and shrubs. At the far end of the open space was an impressive outdoor kitchen and modern teak sofas, tables and chairs. Their modern lines somehow blended flawlessly with the old-fashioned brick fireplace and chimney. It looked inviting, a peaceful oasis right in the heart of the city. Sloane wondered if perhaps Randall would allow her to sit out there a while before returning home today. It was so beautiful.

  Speaking of Randall, Sloane had not heard a sound anywhere on the two floors. She went in search of coffee and Randall, feeling embarrassed and shy about seeing him in the bright light of day after the previous 24 hours of decadence.

  Finding the coffee pot first with an empty cup in front of it, she poured the brew and took a fortifying sip. On the counter beside a bowl of sugar substitute, she found a note saying “Good morning, Gorgeous. Trust you slept well. Didn’t have the heart to wake you but I miss you already. Call me.”

  He was gone? It explained the silence at least. Randall had left Sloane alone in his home? She glanced at the clock on the stove and quickly understood why. It was almost 10:30. She had slept over ten hours. She never slept this long or this late.

  Then again, I have never had seven – OMG seven! - incredible orgasms to wear me out so completely.

  Seven. The man was a modern marvel. In the light of day she was mortified to realize some of the risks they had taken, the things they had done. He allowed her to explore an untamed, wicked side because she trusted him not to push the envelope too far. Not to take risks that were dangerous or from which they could not escape.

  Wow, I really do trust him.

  When had she stopped trying to maintain total con
trol and just trusted Randall to take care of her? She wasn’t sure exactly when the power had transferred but she knew she felt safer with him, cherished and cared for. For a strong, capable woman who had never relied on anyone, she couldn’t deny that it felt pretty damn good.

  Don’t let anyone know that, Sloane, or you will never have the upper hand again.

  Sloane sipped at strong coffee as it cooled. The expensive coffeemaker was still on, keeping the coffee the perfect temperature so that it tasted like warm heaven on her tongue. Wandering the kitchen, Sloane touched the cool marble surfaces lightly as she went past them. Everything was very neat and sparse. The sun reflected off the bare glass and stone surfaces and brought a warm hue to the dark wood trim.

  A neutral palette and bare floors continued into the living space. A very long brown sofa faced two low-slung steel and leather chairs across a large square glass coffee table piled high with biographies, memoirs and best sellers. A spectacular rug covered the large floor creating a conversation area. A modern gas fireplace surrounded by black slate created a visual wall with marble running up to the high ceilings. There was no art on the walls; the garden view, the carefully chosen furniture and rugs were all the art needed. The space felt open but not cold and Sloane surmised that any piece in the room, the small sculptures, the rug, the furniture, was worth more than everything in her apartment combined.

  Climbing the openwork wooden staircase more appropriate for a conservative New York brownstone than this modern space, Sloane wondered who had designed the townhouse. The combination of traditional and modern worked well together. Even more, she wondered who kept it so immaculate. Everything was spotless, with not even a dust mite revealed by the bright morning sun.

  She wandered into his office, all dark woods and bookshelves, then the guest room reminiscent of a fine hotel and the well-designed bath in the hallway. She admired his views of the river from the second floor windows. When Sloane looked up at the ceiling, the exposed wooden beams and pipes reminded her that Randall lived in a converted warehouse. She marveled at the conversion. It was impeccable, and suited Randall perfectly. She loved every inch of the space, as different as it was from her upholstered and wallpapered condo, it was still gorgeous, and felt like a home.

  The townhouse was massive; the downstairs had felt wide open so that while she could see it was big, she didn’t really feel the size of it. But upstairs, with rooms offering north, south or river views, she could get a sense of how large a space he really owned. To capture views like this, he had to cover an entire city block, an almost unheard of feat in such an expensive neighborhood.

  Sloane was brazen in her inspection, opening drawers and closets shamelessly. Everything was neat, clothes folded perfectly, expensive dress shoes lined up with shoetrees assuring they would retain their shape. Even the desk in his office was neat, the surfaces cleared of papers, minimal knick-knacks and only in the best of taste. There was a small crystal paperweight that she knew came from Tiffany’s and a few framed pictures of his mother. A gorgeous Mont Blanc pen sat in a holder at the top of a large leather blotter. Very conservative. Very banker. It looked and felt remarkably similar to his office downtown.

  Where the walls on the lower floor had been bare, the art on the walls upstairs was large and eclectic. She saw Wyatt’s influence in some of the modern selections. Wyatt. Why had she wasted so much time with him? Sloane now realized she was much better suited to his friend. Randall understood her better, knew what she needed. He pushed her around in a way that made her feel strangely safe. He knew she was a strong woman and he treated her like the intelligent and successful woman she was. They felt evenly matched to her, like partners.

  But he also knows how take complete control. He keeps me off guard, on my toes.

  Randall could read her like a book, anticipate her petulant and demanding moments and head them off before they started. He enjoyed her wit, but by having Randall a step ahead of her, she found herself witty but not bitchy.

  Randall brought out the best in her. When she was with him, Sloane realized, she liked herself more. She felt good about her choices, her interactions with people. She was able to participate, not compete. She could be with people without strategizing how to best them or put them down.

  Not only was the man too handsome for his own good, smarter than her (she acknowledged begrudgingly) he was also imaginative and wild in bed. That could have been enough for her. It was certainly far more than she had experienced with other men.

  On top of everything, she enjoyed spending time with him, liked matching wits, sharing a meal, sharing a bed. She could appreciate problem solving with him too. She realized she admired him, looked up to him and depended on him, when he wasn’t drinking.

  I have barely seen him take a drink when we we’ve been together. Could I have misjudged him or has he changed?

  Sloane heard her cell phone ringing in the other room and ran to answer it. Assuming it was Randall, she didn’t bother to check caller id and answered with a chipper “Hi there.”

  “Well hello yourself, Sloane, its Sandra Berensen calling from Addison, Fine and Stark. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

  “No not at all, Sandra. What can I do for you?”

  Sloane was surprised to hear from her father’s law firm, especially from Sandra, the daughter of John Berensen, her father’s horrible prosecutor. Since the firm had helped negotiate the reduced sentence and depleted the Huyler’s savings, she believed she would never hear from these people again.

  There should be nothing left to talk about.

  “How are you and your family, Sloane?”

  “Good, Sandy, if you overlook the fact that my father is in jail and my mother is forced to sell her home. Of course, you must also ignore the total collapse of our family business. Otherwise, we are doing really well.”

  “I guess I had that coming, Sloane, my apologies. You know the whole team did everything we could to help your father, but the evidence was pretty damning.”

  Even when she apologized, this bitch managed to say mean things.

  Sloane had her radar at full blast. She never trusted lawyers, her distrust greater now that they had lost her father’s case. Sloane felt better now that she had bared her claws, but she retracted them to learn why her family was suddenly of interest to Addison, Fine and Stark.

  “Sandy, did you need something?” Sloane tried to hide the disdain slipping into her voice and her obvious urge to get through this call quickly.

  “Well, as you know, most of what we need is in the files from your father, but we need your tax returns, personal and corporate, for the years since his indictment. It’s just last year and this year. So if you could get us the copies, we should have everything we need.

  “Need, why would you need anything?” Sloane was clearly bewildered.

  “It should be obvious Sloane. We are trying to get ahead of things.”

  “What things?

  “Well, we are trying to prevent your indictment, head it off at the pass, so to speak,” Sandy continued, impatient with Sloane’s lack of understanding.

  “Me? They are indicting me? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Just when I start to believe I can weather this storm, are things getting worse?

  “I thought Mr. Addison already called you about this, Sloane,” Sandy responded, annoyed. “We received information last week that the federal government is reopening the investigation. An informant notified us that they are looking into you. They believe they have a case against you on charges of conspiring to defraud your clients.”

  Sloane felt like a dead weight landed on her chest. She dropped onto the bed, her quivering legs no longer able to hold her. After a few labored breaths, she found her voice.

  “What? I don’t understand! I did nothing wrong here! Yes, I knew my father was negotiating contracts with Chinese companies assisted by the Chinese government, but that was all I knew. And there is nothing illegal in that
. I handled marketing and advertising stateside. There was no way I knew about the client theft and government bribery. I was never involved with any of that.”

  “Sloane, you need to be careful what you say, even to me unless you retain me as your counsel. We just got word of this, so I don’t have much to go on. If there is nothing to find, they will find nothing.”

  “That is what they said about my father, and he is serving six years. I don’t understand. Why would they think I was guilty?”

  “Sloane, calm down. It’s the association, I imagine. Everyone knows how close you are with your father so I would speculate that they think he shared information with you. Mind you, that is just speculation.” Sloane could hear that Sandy thought she was guilty too.

  Sloane was silent, flustered and unsure what to say. It was true her father loved sharing the business with her, but the international contracts had been very different. He had investors with whom he worked entirely separated from her.

  “So, you will want to engage our firm again if it becomes necessary, Sloane. After all, we are already so familiar with the case.”

  “Yes,” Sloane answered realizing that Sandy was talking to her still. She was in shock from this revelation. “Yes, I will engage Addison, Fine for sure, when the time comes.”

  “Remember, Sloane, right now it is an investigation. I am sure we can prevent it from going further, if you have nothing to hide.”

  “Is it public knowledge? Will this be in the papers?”

  “No, Sloane, if they cannot prove anything, it may never be public. We should know in about a month. So, we got most of the documents from PHPP already, but we need those last few things from you. Do you need me to repeat what you need to send over?”

  “PPHP? What are you talking about? How is PPHP involved? I appreciate the call, and the information, Sandy, but now I am more confused than ever.”

  “Randall Parker hasn’t said anything? Damn, I guess he didn’t want you to know he was involved. Forget I mentioned it Sloane. Just get us the docs and we can take it from there.”