“In that case, things will get a whole lot more interesting.” His tongue flicks across his lower lip, and my mouth goes dry.
We’re not talking about Caylee or his job any longer. There’s just the two of us in this small room with no window where he’s sucking up all the air. Part of me likes where this is going and wants more, wants to play and tease.
His hands slip around my waist and slide lower, one big palm cupping my ass. His expression is pure wickedness as his hand moves in circles over my cheek, tugging at my thong. My dress rides up with the movement. It’s so short, though, there’s not much fabric left to cover my curves.
Oh, fuck me.
I can’t help but move my hips swaying closer to him. I also can’t help it when my hand closes around his cock through the sleek fabric of his trousers. It’s bigger than I expected and so very hard. I rub and feel a thrum of power as he responds.
“Do more of that and I’ll tell you anything,” he mutters.
Then he’s pushing me backward until I hit the door and his mouth closes over mine, forcing my lips apart so his tongue can sweep from side to side, taking control. He tastes of bourbon and something citrusy. I’ve never liked bourbon before, only now I can’t get enough. Oh god, but he tastes good. Who knew kissing could be like this?
His hand moves up my side and over my arm until it pushes the skinny strap of my bag off my shoulder. It falls to the floor. I ignore it. Then it’s the strap of my dress falling over my arm With his other hand, he reaches behind and tugs at the zipper and then it’s my dress on the floor and only my strapless bra separates us.
He’s in charge now, and I know it, don’t mind it. If asked, I couldn’t say how I ended up in his arms. It’s almost as if he herded me back here with this exact activity in mind. Heat blasts from his big body.
His fingers drift over the swell of my breasts. The lace edging my bra barely covers my nipples. Two fingers linger on the border. “What do you know about Harley & Sweet?”
My chest heaves as I suck in a sudden breath. “Only what I told you, I swear.”
“Wrong answer. I think you’re a smart girl. Smarter than your friend, anyway. I think you’ve added two and two and know more than you’ve told me.”
His tone is harsh and commanding. At the same time, his big palm is kneading and stroking my flesh. Heat builds inside me. I don’t know why, but tears sting my eyes. I can’t raise a hand to wipe them. He controls me with his sensual massage.
“Please, tell me what you know and then I’ll make everything better. I promise.”
I don’t believe him about the better part. I can still see the predator lurking in the depths of his gaze. I still and go silent.
His palm slides up my back and before I’ve taken two breaths, my bra swings free for a second and then it’s gone and I’m naked before him. It’s crazy to think I can hide from him, that I might be able to get away, but instinct has taken over. His mouth lowers and takes my nipple, sucking and teasing. He’s not gentle. There’s nothing soft or easy about this man.
I can’t help but respond to his suckling, shoving my hips against his cock and grinding, moving around and around, matching the pace of his tongue on my tit.
He lifts his head, lips moistened and slightly red. He licks his lip. “Sweet, just the way I imagined.”
“Why do you care what I know about your company?”
“It’s my—”
“Oh, shut up! Don’t tell me it’s your job.”
One eyebrow lifts in an arch. “All right. What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. About the red shoes and everything. What’s going on? What’s the deal with the stupid contracts that can’t possibly be legal?”
He lets go of me and backs away a step. His trousers are still tented from his erection, but he ignores it. He folds his arms over his chest. It would be easy to hate him for making me want him, for making my pussy weep for his cock, but I’d be fooling myself. I want his cock sliding in and out of me more than anything. It makes me forget I’m standing here in nothing but a thong and a pair of nude heels.
He hasn’t forgotten. I’m thinking the arms folded over his chest are a protective mechanism. Maybe holding himself back.
“What do you know about the contracts?”
“Only what Caylee told me.”
“I’ve already assured you she will be safe. Why do you keep asking about it? Are you working for someone?”
“Working? Are you crazy?” I drag a hand across my forehead. “Oh, wait, I forgot who I was talking to. Here’s the only thing I want to know: will Caylee be safe?”
“As far as I know, she’s on a conventional date.”
“Which means there are unconventional dates?”
When he doesn’t answer, I step forward and smooth my palm over his cock. He sucks in a ragged breath. Deliberately, I unbuckle his belt and push the zipper down and free his cock. It juts out of the opening, huge and proud and beautiful. His eyes smolder like coals.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Just how unconventional are these dates?”
He doesn’t bother answering, but surges forward, and I’m pinned against the wall again. The steely heat of his cock burns into my belly. His tongue invades my mouth while his hand snakes around the back of my head, preventing me from moving even if I wanted to.
Move? I want him to fuck me. There’s nothing that will stop me from spreading my legs and welcoming his length inside me. There’s nothing he can say that will stop what’s going to happen.
My body slams against the door again and again as he presses against me, savaging me with his kisses. He’s breathing hard when he steps out of his trousers, yanks his necktie loose and shrugs out of his shirt. He didn’t have to do all that, but I’m glad he did. My fingers close on the fine black hair on his chest, skate over his brown nipples and slabs of muscle. He’s got tattoos everywhere. Some in foreign languages and script I’ve never seen before. I trace one of them with my tongue. I want to explore every inch of his hard flesh.
Whirling me around, he picks me up and settles me on the desk, spreading my legs wide as he kneels. I’ve never had a man’s head between my legs before, never felt his tongue part my inner lips and suck and. . .
Oh. . .
My. . .
. . .fingers dig into his hair, gripping and pulling, winding through the thick, black strands. Electrical jolts shoot from my pussy and then I’m melting in his arms. I arch my back as he brings me closer to the edge, closer and closer and then he stands, grinning. He stopped too soon, on purpose.
I want to come so bad, but I forgot—he’s in charge.
His cock is mine. I fist him, stunned at the girth and why not? Everything about him is big. “I’ve only guessed a few things about Harley & Sweet,” I say as I stroke his huge length. “It’s all just speculation. I don’t know anything for certain. Nothing except this.” I squeeze him hard and start to kneel so I can take him in my mouth. He stops me and kisses a trail along my shoulder and wraps his arms around me.
I’m not a small woman. He lifts me easily and thrusts his cock between my legs. “This is all your fault,” he says, still holding me as if I weighed no more than a child.
“You’re saying I did this to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you had to question me about the phone and what Caylee told me? Just doing your job, yeah?”
“That, too.”
He lowers me gently onto the desk, and I lay back, my legs spread wide for him, my pussy throbbing with need. I’m so wet I’m probably flooding the desktop. As if to make sure, his thick fingers thrust inside me, first one and then another with his thumb circling my clit.
I gasp, feeling helpless under wave after wave of pleasure.
“You love knowing how you turned me on. You like turning men on, don’t you?”
His fingers control me. All I can do is moan and beg for more.
“Would you put on a pair of red shoes?” he asks.
<
br /> “If it means you’ll fuck me.”
My answer angers him. I can feel it in his hands, the way they tighten on my flesh, the way his cock trembles. He’s on the far edge of control now, ready to break. Moisture gleams on the dark red head of his cock. I lift my hips to him, begging wordlessly for what only he can give me.
When I think he’s going to plunge into me, he pulls away and steps back from the desk, leaving me spread-eagled.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I push up on my elbows, stunned.
“You’re like all the others, but I’ve got news for you, there isn’t $10K in it for you. I’m just going to fuck you.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Yeah, that’s right. That’s the problem. You’re like all the others in that way, too. You don’t fucking think.”
There’s no way he could know it, but I think too much.
I slide off the desk and fumble on the floor for my clothes, ready to get out of here no matter how badly my pussy aches for him. He pushes me down. His hand slams against my ass.
“What!”
“You need to be taught a lesson.”
“What the hell? You’re crazy. I’m out of here.”
“Not yet, you’re not.”
I was almost on all fours hunting for my bra, but then he pushes me into position.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.” His expression has gone to a dark and scary place.
“No, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
But it’s too late. I’m kneeling on the floor, and he’s behind me, whacking me on my cheeks with his big hand. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt and only turns me on more. God help me, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No matter what he does to me, I only want more. My head hangs between my arms. Shame and excitement mix and blend until I don’t know what I’m feeling, only that if I don’t get his cock inside me soon I’m going to die right here on the floor.
When his blows slow and turn into strokes again, I wiggle my hips slowly in a kind of dance.
He groans. I turn my head and see that he’s stroking himself. I want to offer to do that for him, but realize it might not be the smartest thing to speak right now. There’s some kind of battle going on inside him, one that might turn deadly if I stupidly attempt to intervene. Instead, I let my body roll to the side until my shoulders are on the floor, my knees to the side and slightly raised. I take a nipple between my fingers and tweak it, all the while staring at him with my mouth slightly open. Then I spread my legs in welcome.
His resistance lasts about one minute and then he’s all over me, his huge cock plunging into me in one massive thrust. I take all of him, relishing the way he spreads me wide and stretches me with his thickness. He stills, the head of his cock at the entrance to my womb, but only for a second. And then he pulls back, and he’s fucking me hard and fast and without one ounce of concern if he might be hurting me.
He’s not.
I love it. I love his harsh mastery.
I love the way he’s pumping in and out of me relentlessly. It’s rough, and I want more. His balls slap against me, and he’s grunting and sweating and breathing hard. There’s nothing sweet or romantic about this. This is fucking, fast and dirty and intense on the floor of an anonymous office.
I don’t even know his name.
I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist, taking him deeper into my pussy. Then he halts and shudders and then his head rears back in a silent bellow, and his seed fills me. My inner walls pulse around him and I come apart with him.
Later, I have no clue how much later, when we’re lying there still and sated, he says in a small voice, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not. Really, not lying.”
He lifts up on one elbow and toys with my nipple with one hand. “I wanted to punish you.”
“For what?”
“It’s not your fault.”
There’s a knock on the door and a masculine voice calls, “Nathan, you in there?”
Our eyes lock. Whatever intimacy we had going shatters and he closes down, the blankness returning. A wave of sadness fills me. I feel like I’ve lost something and don’t even know what that is.
“Yeah, what you want?”
“It’s Tucker. Needs you up in the Eye. Like yesterday. He’s totally pissed.”
Nathan. I know his first name.
He jumps to his feet. In about two minutes flat he’s dressed again. I’m still on the floor, fiddling with the clasp to my bra. He steps over me on his way to the door and pauses, one hand on the knob. “There aren’t any cameras in the hallway. Wait about ten minutes after I leave, then go back out into the club.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me holding the ripped shreds of my thong.
NATHAN
A job is a job is a job.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Even though I’m on the inside now, and the pay isn’t quite as stellar, I’ve still got my place in one of the most exclusive organizations in the world. I’m a good soldier. It’s how I was raised. I do what I’m told.
Even when I hate my orders.
I let my feet carry me toward the elevator. My mind is back with Brooke where I left her on the floor. I stepped over her because the boss called when I could still taste her on my tongue; still feel a tingle on my lips where we kissed.
I’m an asshole.
Not exactly a newsflash. All I had to do was find out if she was wired. I could have done that without fucking her. I’m sure Tucker doesn’t care what method I used to make sure she was clean. The fucktard probably considers it (yet another) perk of the job. The truth is that I couldn’t help myself. I wanted her like no other. I had to have her. She put up a fight, but only about the phone and my questions. She wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
She’s just another pawn.
Even if she wasn’t wearing the red shoes tonight, she will and soon. Once they find out about the deal, how many women can pass up the kind of money H&S offers? And with what I now know about sweet Brooke, the ultra-rich dick who takes her contract will want more than one night. That’s the part that’s killing me. That other guy will want more because I want more. There’s absolutely zero chance she won’t get her ticket punched the night she arrives wearing the red shoes. No chance I’ll get to pick up that ticket.
Part of me keeps hoping she’ll do the smart thing and go home; forget she ever heard of H&S or considered waiting by the door for the special delivery of an expensive pair of red shoes.
I punch the button in the elevator too hard. One of the newbie security guys who gets on the at the same time gives me a look.
“What? You got a problem?”
“No, sir.” Immediately, he studies his shoes. He’s wearing a uniform that sports his nametag: Davis. He looks up at me again, eyes narrowed. “It’s just that there’s a problem upstairs. I thought you should know. . . before you. . . go up. We’ve got to stick together, right?”
He’s young, this one. Can’t be older than his early twenties. With his buzzed haircut and upright stance, I figure he came straight to H&S from the arms of Uncle Sam. “Tucker have you on chauffeur duty?”
“Helo,” he says with a note of pride in his voice, making him a pilot.
Then I remember that Alexander Ferrara is arriving soon. No mere limo would be good enough for the billionaire.
There are cameras in all the elevators operating twenty-four-seven, but no one monitors the feeds at all times. I tell Davis, “Nod if I’m right.” Without waiting for him to respond, I continue. “Alexander Ferrara is upstairs in the Eye and he got here too early so he crossed paths with the French fuck, de Hainault.”
Davis nods.
Keeping the players separated is so important to Tucker it’s almost a religion. At the very least, it’s part of his catechism. Alexander Ferrara is worth billions; Etienne de Hainaul
t is a mere millionaire with a metric shit ton of heritage behind his name. De Hainault thinks all that history should mean more than zeros on a bank account. Which is why allowing those two players to cross paths is a mistake in the form of an instant alpha-dog pissing contest that’s bad for business. If Tucker’s operating true to form, he’s called the pilot upstairs to make him a scapegoat for the disaster of Ferrara and de Hainault arriving at the same time.
Before the elevator reaches the floor on which the Eye is located, I stab another button. The elevator glides to a halt and the doors slide open. “Your stop.”
Davis frowns. “That’s the wrong floor. Mr. Voss ordered me to come to the Eye.”
“You’re right, genius, it is the wrong floor. Trust me when I tell you that going to the right floor is a bad idea.”
“But—”
“Get the fuck off the elevator on this floor, understand? And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay lost until this thing blows over.”
“What about Mr. Voss?”
I sigh, thinking my guess this kid came straight out of the Air Force is dead on. He’s still functioning under the rules of command and will follow them faithfully even though his new commander is ruthless. “I’ll take care of Mr. Voss.”
The kid nods slowly. “Okay.”
“One more thing. There’s a redhead downstairs.” I tell him about Brooke Lopez and where to find her. “Make sure the lady gets safely wherever she wants to go.”
“Yes, sir.” Davis exits the elevator and somehow manages not to salute.
I’m not going soft. Ensuring Brooke is all right is about me being able to focus. When dealing with Alexander Ferrara, distractions can become deadly. Plus, the kid now owes me one. You never know when such things will come in handy.
When the elevator doors open into the Eye, I see Tucker, along with Marco De Luca, in the middle of the high-tech space. A blond-haired man dressed casually in jeans and a black shirt lounges against a support column. It’s a good thing I know everything about Ferrara—from his sleek black loafers (no socks, of course) to his messy hair—is studied and planned. Nothing the man does happens by chance. I figure the smart money is that Ferrara’s early arrival isn’t mere chance. What I want to know is why de Hainault? If Ferrara wanted to tangle with another player for alpha male status, there are about a hundred other players he could have chosen.
Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) Page 5