Claiming My Vengeance

by Jessica Blake

  “I forgot. You can buy just about anything, can’t you?”

  “Just about,” I agreed amicably, grabbing my briefcase and picking up my keys from the kitchen counter, tucking them in my pocket.

  “Then buy a fucking clue,” she said quietly, her eyes glittering. “You may be good in bed, but that’s all you’re good for to me. Maybe I’m the one using you. You’ve handed me access to Devlin, and I can finally make that cocksucker pay. Meanwhile, I get to stay in a fancy apartment, a luxe penthouse, getting serviced by a rich, good-looking man.”

  She ran her eyes over me, lingering in the region of my dick. When she darted that pointed pink tongue out and licked her lower lip, giving me a wicked smile that didn’t quite thaw the coldness in her eyes, I couldn’t help it. I got hard.

  “Liv—”

  “I get to remember what it’s like having money again,” she went on, that cocky grin returning to her face. “I don’t have to worry about the hole in my roof or kicking drunk assholes out of a bar for a living. As long as I’m giving you what you want, I’m on vacation. And as soon as I’m done here, I’m gone.”

  Part of me knew she was just hitting back, and it was my fault for starting the whole thing, but a deeper part of me wondered how much of what she was saying was true. Had I been right not to trust her? Everyone had an angle.

  “Playing mercenary bitch doesn’t suit you, Olivia.”

  She shrugged, the wide neck of her shirt slipping down one shoulder.

  “I’ve spent the last seven years learning how to defend myself from entitled rich boys who see anyone they perceive as weaker than themselves to be expendable. I use my weapons where I can find them.”

  “Don’t lump me in with Devlin,” I warned her.

  “I don’t have to. You’re doing that all by yourself.”

  Olivia spun around, and with as much dignity as a woman wearing only a long t-shirt could, she left the kitchen. I picked up my coffee cup and threw it into the kitchen sink so hard it shattered, kicking white shards of ceramic back onto the counter.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Liv

  I was almost pathetically grateful to Gabriel for starting a fight.

  This had to stop. Gabriel Ainsley had too much control over me. The man could practically make me come on command, and while that was amazing, it was also addictive and dangerous. I was afraid that every time he fucked me, I was one step closer to losing the self I’d created. To not caring anymore.

  When I’d woken in his bed, surrounded by his scent on the pillow, on the sheets, on my skin… I was feeling vulnerable, and I hated it. Then, to see him standing in his kitchen in a bespoke suit, tailored to fit perfect and smooth over his broad shoulders and narrow hips, face shaven and dark brown hair gleaming and combed neatly back, looking like a damned GQ cover model, I’d felt like I was standing too close to the edge of something I didn’t want to identify.

  Now, as the door slammed downstairs and I stomped into the bedroom, I was working on regaining my footing on what had become very unsteady ground.

  I realized that the only clothing I had with me was yesterday’s pair of jeans. I had no underwear to put between myself and the denim, and I badly wanted a shower. Killing time while I waited for my things to be delivered, I headed back down to the kitchen, not wanting to be in Gabe’s bedroom, where the scent of sex was still strong.

  There was hardly anything in his fridge, except for three kinds of beer, a jar of olives, some cheese, and a half-empty carton of eggs. The cupboards turned up only energy bars and a box of stale cereal.

  Firing up the intimidating stove, I made myself an egg-white omelet, and lacking anything else cold and normal, like juice, washed it down with a bottle of Bell’s oatmeal stout. Why would they have made it with oatmeal if it wasn’t meant for breakfast?

  I cleaned up the pieces of broken mug in the sink and wiped the little white shards off the countertops before making a cup of coffee to chase the beer with a hit of caffeine. The doorbell rang while I was rinsing the small skillet I’d used, startling a curse out of me, but when I opened the door to peek out into the hallway, my backpack and laptop bag were sitting outside the door.

  I used the shower in the gym, avoiding any steamy memories from Gabe’s the night before, changing into a black pair of leggings and a vintage Ramones t-shirt. After yet another cup of coffee, I set up my laptop at Gabe’s desk, resolving to double down on my work so I could get the hell out of Chicago.

  My attention was caught by the photos I’d noticed the night before. One was a dark-haired, smiling young woman with a tiny, dark-haired baby — Gabriel’s mom and Gabe himself, I assumed. Another was an older man in a military uniform with Gabe’s gray eyes. Probably Grandpa Chester. I was oddly touched by the photos. It was obvious Gabe spent a lot of time working here, and the idea that he’d surrounded himself with family didn’t fit the rest of the hardass image he cultivated. Carefully, I turned both pictures away, so they weren’t facing me directly. I didn’t want to see that side of him.

  Putting Gabe out of my head wasn’t easy, but when I booted up the laptop, I let out a whoop. The hacker password program had worked. I now had access to Devlin’s files. Shooting off a quick, businesslike text to Gabe, I forwarded him the password so he’d be able to provide it to his IT guys. I wasn’t trying to hog the glory. The more people looking through this stuff, the sooner it would all get figured out.

  I didn’t receive a response, but that was fine because I was soon neck-deep in invoices and deposit records, checking and cross-checking for inconsistencies in amounts. It surprised me to find out that Devlin was actually very good at covering his tracks, at least when it came to embezzlement.

  I grabbed a notebook and pen from inside Gabe’s desk and started jotting notes. Payment made to Gullivaney Concrete, $28,004. Invoice amount to customer, $36,500. On and on, until I had sheets of paper filled with proof that Devlin had been overcharging customers and skimming the excess.

  When I got tired of that, I switched to Devlin’s calendar and email. The calendar was more difficult, written in some kind of shorthand that probably only made sense to him. “Cl at 430 re: D. A. B.” Cross referencing initials against emails only solved a few of the puzzles. D. A. B., for example, I connected to Davis and Barnes, a lumber company outside of Chicago. Others weren’t as easy. “Py C. I. $5k,” had me stumped. Pay someone, but whom? There were several entries for C. I.

  The emails didn’t turn up a lot, and I wished I had Devlin’s phone. It looked like he did most of his communications via calls or texts. After several hours spent staring at the laptop screen, and with a killer headache brewing behind my eyes, I helped myself to one of Gabe’s tasteless energy bars and another beer — a Best Brown this time. I couldn’t believe a single man wouldn’t even have a bag of Doritos on his shelves. If his intention was to leave me here to starve, he was doing a damned good job of it.

  It was only three-thirty, and I was already feeling a little stir-crazy. I amused myself for a while by pushing buttons. There was one that made the windows go opaque. Another kicked on a sound system. Classic R&B, I noted, hearing Marvin Gaye’s voice. I approved.

  The gigantic TV retracted into a custom-designed teak entertainment stand with one click. The refrigerator had more buttons than anything else. Hot or cold water, coffee, in case the Keurig was on the fritz, and a touchscreen that told you when you were running low on things, or if you preferred to look for yourself, showed you via camera what was on the shelves, so you didn’t have to open the door.

  Um, yes, I saw for myself that Gabe needed eggs, thanks. I shook my head, surprised there wasn’t a shiatsu massage setting. Gabe’s washer and dryer were also smarter than me, I found, as I washed my clothes. There were roughly eighty-six settings on the washing machine alone. I punched the only one that had the word “clean” in it. After being not-rich for almost a decade, I was finding some wealthy indulgences to be baffling.

  Finally, I headed for G
abe’s gym, intent on working off the nervous energy that had trickled back through sitting at a desk all day, leaving me edgy. Punching a modern alternative station up high, I started a warm-up. Mountain climbers, jumping jacks, lunges, sit-ups, push-ups… I felt better once my muscles started to burn. I hit the weights, working on shoulder presses, arm curls, leg presses, and decided that some indulgences weren’t unreasonable. I’d love to have a home gym.

  Moving to the mat, I started running Taekwondo forms, working through Palgwe Il Jang. Focused, breathing steadily, this was a completely different kind of exercise than pushing weights, and it required concentration, balance, and attention to detail.

  I ran through the movements fluidly: attention, left low block, step, right middle inside block, step, right low block, step, left middle inside block…

  The routine, one I’d done hundreds of times, soothed me, and I could almost hear my instructor’s voice in my head: “Right, middle, punch!”

  From there, I segued into yoga, stretching deeply, feeling the muscle aches of both a hard workout and the multiple sexual interludes I’d enjoyed with Gabe the night before. I dropped slowly from a standing stretch to bend at the waist, hands flat on the floor, and walked into downward-facing dog. Which, now that I was thinking about it, reminded me of Gabriel in the shower, his fingers digging into my hips. God, that man was good.

  Hands on my hips. Real ones this time.

  I hadn’t heard Gabe come in over the pounding rhythm of the music, and he was lucky I didn’t scream. My heartbeat unsteady, I walked my hands backward and came upright, feeling the hardness of his erection against my ass. My back to his front, he held me in place with his hands moving up my waist to my breasts, kneading them firmly, pulling me back against him.

  In the mirrored wall on the other side of the room, my eyes met his. Pinching lightly, pulling through the fabric of my t-shirt, I watched him bring my nipples to hard peaks. He bent his head and bit the side of my neck sharply, startling a gasp out of me, and heat flooded my core.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” His breath was hot against my ear and I felt his cock pulse insistently against my backside. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  He wasn’t the only one feeling crazy. Gabe was still dressed in his suit, having only loosened his tie, and a hot man in an expensive suit, to me, was like a Victoria’s Secret catalog to a horny teenage boy. I could already feel any resistance slipping away as I watched him touch me in the mirror.

  His hand slid down the front of my body, and I could see the glint of a gold cufflink in the sunlight, where the sleeve of his jacket had pulled back a couple of inches. He cupped me through my leggings and gave me a hard caress.

  I was supposed to be angry with him. We’d fought, not even ten hours ago. He was entitled, controlling, manipulative…

  Use him.

  I’d warned him.

  Turning around in his arms, I looked up into his cold face. “Were you thinking about servicing me when you were at your desk in your office? Thinking about what you wanted to do for me next? Did you put your hands on yourself, imagining they were mine?”

  I slid my hand between us, grasping his stiff cock through the smooth material of his pants. Sliding my palm upward against the underside in a bold invitation, I rubbed my thumb over the head, feeling a drop of wetness soak through the fabric.

  “Don’t toy with me, Olivia.” His hands tightened on my shoulders.

  “Isn’t that what you were planning on doing with me? Toy with me? You put your hands on me. Why else would you have interrupted my workout?” I reached down with my other hand and gave his balls a light squeeze.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  I’d come to that conclusion on my own.

  “Dangerous games are more fun with two. Should I tell you how I want it this time or are you going to surprise me? Or, since you brought me here, do you want me to service you?” I sank down to my knees, licking my lips when I was eye level with the bulge in his pants. He pulled the band from my hair and tangled his fingers in the long strands.

  Running my hands up his thighs, feeling the thick muscles hidden beneath the tame suit, I made my way slowly to his belt. I undid the buckle, feeling like some sexy secretary in a porno movie, getting carried away in my own game, despite myself. I unhooked his leather belt and undid the metal fastener beneath. Sliding his zipper down slowly, I made sure that the back of my knuckles rubbed him all the way down and was rewarded by his indrawn breath and the tightening of his fingers in my hair.

  I tugged down the front of his underwear, and his erection, thick and heavy, bobbed upward. “Mmm, what’s this?” I gave him a slow lick, from base to tip. Pulling it down, I took him into my mouth and sucked hard. His hips jerked forward in an uncontrolled movement, forcing his cock a little bit deeper into my throat, and I felt my entire body throb in response.

  I worked him over, swirling my tongue around him, gently scraping with my teeth, reveling in the fact that he wasn’t the only one with power in this dynamic.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gabe

  I could be an asshole, and often was, but I acknowledged that I’d gone too far this morning.

  I couldn’t leave the office until almost six, but I ordered takeout steaks and a chocolatey dessert as a mild peace offering. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I could hear thumping bass. I opened the door and Bastille was pumping out of every speaker in the apartment at top volume.

  Wincing, I set down the bags on the kitchen table and dropped my briefcase. Olivia was likely in the gym, and I should have shown her how to control the Bose system before I left. Or, come to think of it, not. There hadn’t been a good time after announcing I could fuck any woman I wanted to explain how the sound system worked.

  Bastille shifted to Bishop Briggs’s “White Flag” as I reached the top of the steps. I made it to the doorway and couldn’t go any farther. The song made for apt background music. Olivia, her hair tied back at the nape of her neck, was moving sinuously through some sort of martial arts routine. Fluid motions were punctuated by powerful-looking blocks and punches. Her eyes were closed, her face serene. She looked like a dancer, every movement precise perfection.

  She finished, blowing out a soft breath, her back to me, and stretched her arms upward, her black t-shirt riding up to show a swath of smooth skin. And then she’d slowly bent at the waist and flattened her hands on the floor, and my cock jumped in response to the sight of her luscious ass, outlined clearly in black leggings. As she moved forward into some kind of a triangle pose, I couldn’t resist the inviting position.

  I should have walked away. Turned the music down from the main floor so she’d have known I was home. I resented the fact that I couldn’t make myself do it. I resented the pull she had on me, that she was unknowingly able to reel me in so effectively.

  Now, she had picked up the pretense of this morning, seducing me like a practiced whore. Her mouth was hot and wet, sliding easily up and down my cock as she gave me the best head I’d ever experienced. But it was wrong.

  “Stop it,” I demanded.

  She looked up at me, her lips wet and pink, letting the head of my cock slip from her lips.

  “Get up.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice pure innocence as I turned the music down.

  Her breasts were heaving as she stood, and I could tell she was as turned on as I was. Wanted to fuck as badly as I did. But I pushed my dick back in my pants and zipped them, putting some space between us. “Yeah, something’s wrong. This isn’t you. Why are you acting like this?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know this isn’t me? You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m starting to. And you’re just acting this way because of this morning.”

  She crossed her arms and eyed me narrowly. “Really? You think I want to go down on you because you insulted me by bragging about other women? That makes a lot of sense. I think you just d
on’t like giving up your control.”

  Oh, this wasn’t about me. This was about her. “Is that what you’re doing here? Trying to control me?”

  “Maybe. But you can’t handle it. You’re afraid to let someone else take a turn in the boss’s chair. You have to be responsible for everything.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Really?” She pursed her swollen lips. “From what I’ve observed in literally every single situation I’ve seen you in, you’re the one calling the shots. Just now, you were all ready to go, coming up behind me and surprising me with a hard-on, and all of a sudden, I do something you don’t expect, and you can’t handle it. You can’t handle any situation where you’re not the one pulling all the strings.”

  Olivia was manipulating me. But damn it, she was also wrong. “Fine.” I smiled at her and held my hands out to my sides. Classic surrender pose. “I’m all yours.”

  She walked toward me slowly, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. Running her hands up my chest, she pushed my suit jacket off my shoulders. I shrugged, and it fell to the ground. She circled me, making a little humming noise of approval, and I shoved my hands in my pockets, just so she could see I wasn’t trying to touch her. Not because they were shaking.

  They couldn’t be.

  “No, I’m going to need your hands out.”

  She undid my cufflinks, dropping them on my jacket, and then unbuttoned my shirt at each wrist. Liv stepped close enough that I could smell vanilla spice, and loosened my tie further. Undoing the knot, she pulled it away from my neck and it hissed against the linen of my dress shirt. After dropping it to the floor, she began undoing my buttons, starting at the throat. With every opened button, she pushed my shirt wider, her hands warm on my skin, sliding across my pecs. Another two buttons. Her fingers skimming my ribs. Three more. A light touch across my belly. Finally, she pushed my shirt off my shoulders and studied me, like a museum exhibit. Circling slowly, a light caress across my bicep, a fleeting whisper of touch running up my spine.