Queen In Play (The Manhattan Tales Book 2)

by Thorne, Willa

  “So exquisite,” he murmured between the sensuous kisses he trailed up the calves of my leg.

  A throbbing ache was settling in my pussy from these words, from this passionate display. Lifting my other foot, he followed the same pattern up to my inner thigh, and then he used two hands to spread me apart.

  “Mm… so wet for me,” his breath tickled my glistening lips. Involuntarily, my breath shuddered when he blew softly on the wet heat between my thighs.

  “Mason…” I whimpered, dipping my head back.

  His hand reached up, from his low position, and took my chin in hand. He forced my gaze down on his.

  “Look at me. I want you to watch me bring you to ecstasy,” His sultry voice was demanding. Seductive. It sent a flutter down to my stomach.

  “Yes, Sir.” I breathed softly. It was all I could manage.

  “That’s my good girl.”

  Without warning, his tongue was on my clit, circling slowly before he sucked and nipped gently. I dipped my head back and mewled.

  His tongue was miraculous, caressing and massaging my sensitive flesh. Then he drove his tongue inside me, and I lost all sense. He wanted me to watch him, and I’d forgotten. The sparks of pleasure caused my head to dip back several times and I gripped the porcelain of the sink as though my life depended upon it.

  “Mason…” I gasped, moaning his name. His fingers dug into the skin of my thighs as he held me in place.

  “Yes, my love?” His whispered response tickled my heat. My body writhed slightly, despite being held in place by his strong hands.

  “Please…” I could only muster a simple moan as I felt delicious pressure build within me. His tongue rolled over my clit before he took it lightly between his teeth and sucked. My body was alive with desire and my legs wrapped around his head as my feet were supported on his broad, toned shoulders.

  “Please…”

  He pulled away and left me feeling wanton and empty.

  “You need to be more specific. And you have not obeyed my orders.”

  My head tilted downward to meet his blazing gaze. His face glistened with my juices. I was at a loss for any sensible thing to say. He was right- I’d disobeyed his commands to watch him the entire time. It was entirely involuntary, but still…

  His finger trailed lightly down my inner thigh.

  “What to do with you, Jilly Bean?” He mused out loud, as though he was asking himself. I sucked on my lower lip. The thrill of it was arousing. I wanted him to fuck me and spank me at the same time.

  “I’ve behaved badly. You should punish me.” I looked up at him with the best doe eyes I could manage. I was still aching and swollen from the impending climax that never came.

  His eyes were fierce and dark as he stared down at me. He suddenly moved up, and his lips crashed down on mine. His tongue parted my lips, and forced its way into my mouth. I tasted myself on his tongue as his hands wrapped around me in a possessive hold. He held me like this, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me across the marble toward the steamy shower.

  “I have something better in mind,” he growled as he stepped into the shower with me. His lips moved down to my neck. His teeth and tongue were rough and punishing as he sucked and nipped on the skin of my neck. He slammed me against the thick glass wall of the shower, holding me in place as his mouth and tongue continued to mark me. Brand me. Possess me. Pinned in place against the shower wall, his arms moved mine above my head. A single bear-claw grip kept both of my wrists bound above my head as the steam continued to envelop us.

  The heat of the water was nothing in comparison to how he set my body on fire with a single touch. His lips moved down to my breasts, taking each nipple between his lips. His tongue twisted and rolled as he sucked deeply. I let out a groan as my body attempted to writhe, but I could barely move against the glass wall.

  “You are mine,” his growl was raspy.

  “Yes.” I could only whimper.

  Then his kiss on my mouth was searing, and filled me with so many unspoken promises. The phrase, “actions speak louder than words,” was proven so true in this white-hot kiss. I forgot to breathe. I forgot we were in a hot shower. I forgot everything in that single moment.

  “I love you,” I whispered involuntarily. I suddenly sucked in a deep breath, having said those words out loud for the first time. My dark eyes looked up at his. He only smiled lovingly, if not wolfish at the same time.

  His hold on me tightened more, if that was even possible. With one strong thrust, he speared me. I felt his cock plunge to the hilt and I cried out loudly in a moaning gasp from the sudden impact. He’d filled me completely and he remained like that with closed eyes, clearly savoring this moment.

  His eyes opened, fiery as they locked with mine. “I’m going to show you just how much I love you, my Jilly Bean.”

  Without waiting for a reaction from me, he continued moving in and out. His hands held my hips in place, as he took me with ease. His thrusts were punishing, delicious, passionate. I pressed my head against the glass, reveling in the pleasure that consumed me. His cock hit against my G-spot repeatedly, and I came undone around him. He kept me plastered against the steamy wall, now holding my quivering legs in place around his body. His tempo never let up and I might have forgotten to breathe as he fucked me through that profound orgasm. My toes were still curled in the steam as he filled me repeatedly. Claiming my entire body over, and over again.

  “Oh Mason.. Mason…” I moan loudly. My hands were now free, and I clawed at his back, leaving streaks of red where my fingernails dug. His pace was relentless, hungry, and carnal.

  “Say it again,” his voice was strained against my ear.

  “I’m yours,” I responded hoarsely.

  “Mm. The other bit- three words.” The British in his whisper was seductive and silky against my ear.

  “I love you,” my fingers scraped down his back as I said this.

  “Fuck, Jillian,” he rasped. Not the response I was thinking… but this is Mason.

  He pummeled me with his cock and I felt his hard, tight balls slap against me mercilessly, until he growled deeply against my damp hair. His body tremored against mine as he gushed deep within me. His perfect fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, surely leaving indents and bruises for tomorrow morning.

  His breathing was ragged against my neck as he returned to planet earth after such an intense climax. His entire body heaved against my small frame.

  “You’re everything to me,” his voice rasped against my neck.

  He held me there, still pressed against the shower, his cock still thick inside me. Time seemingly stopped, but I had to say those words one more time.

  “I love you Mason. Truly. Deeply.”

  His nose nuzzled my damp hair. “And I love you, my Jillian.”

  I could have stayed like this for eternity.

  ****

  Mason always loves when I wear one of his shirts after sex. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I enjoy making him happy. I threw the rumpled button down over my shoulders and left it half buttoned. I was swimming in it, but I could tell he appreciated the view, by the way his eyes roved hungrily over my body.

  “Easy there,” I giggled softly as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Didn’t you just have enough in the shower?”

  “Never,” his voice was pure seduction in my ear. My face hurt from smiling so much. “But I do need some food first.” He tenderly kissed the nape of my neck just before pulling away.

  He took my hand and we headed toward the kitchen to resume our sandwich-making. My heart was soaring as my mind replayed the passionate lovemaking in the shower. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced, and words could never describe it justifiably.

  He led me by the hand down the long corridor of his penthouse, leading from his sanctuary and master bath, to the open floor plan of his home.

  “Do you still want that glass of wine?” He asks, squeezing my hand lightly,
but he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks when we arrived at the sitting room, which is just off to the right of the kitchen. I looked from Mason, suddenly startled by his halt, then turned my head to the direction in which he was looking.

  My heart stopped beating for a second.

  Who was the strange woman sitting on the overstuffed lounge chair? Her disheveled dark hair was heaped atop her head in a messy bun. She wore an oversized white shirt, black yoga pants, and navy flats. Despite the time in the evening, she sported a pair of designer sunglasses that took up half her face.

  I looked up at Mason, puzzled, as he released my hand and stormed toward the woman in the sitting room. After the intense lovemaking session we’d had in the shower, I couldn’t feel jealous at the possibility of another woman, only profoundly confused. I remained standing in the hall as Mason greeted the woman who was sitting in the chair. I watched, off to the side, as he approached her.

  She stood slowly when she noticed him approach. When she stood, I could see how thin she was. There’s thin, and then there’s unhealthy. This woman appeared pale and unhealthy.

  “What are you doing here?” Mason asked her.

  “I can’t take it anymore. I took a flight, but father closed out my credit cards before I landed.”

  “You should have called me.” Mason grit his teeth. His knuckles were white as his fists balled furiously tight.

  “I have no phone. Father has taken everything. He shut off my phone and had the caretaker return it to him.”

  Zara. She looked completely unrecognizable since the last time I’d seen her. Months ago, she looked so glam in her floor length emerald silk, dripping with diamonds. I had no idea back then how troubled she truly was… I only knew what I had seen. I only saw her facade. The Woodward siblings knew how to wear their masks well.

  The knot formed in Mason’s jaw, and from this distance, I could see how much he struggled to control his fury. Very carefully, he pulled Zara’s sunglasses from her face, and she looked away from him.

  “Mason. No.” She held her hand over one side of her face.

  He wasn’t listening to her request, and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her face to look at his. He inspected her sallow face. Her usual olive complexion lacked any glow.

  Even from where I stood, I could see that her right eye was swollen and bruised, down to her right cheekbone.

  “Bloody hell!” His growl was so furious that even I jumped out of my skin. I watched Zara do the same. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

  “Who do you think?” His sister asked with a sullen response. “He was drunk, as usual. Now that you’re here, I’m his punching bag.”

  I sucked in a breath and clamped a hand over my mouth. My sharp inhale caught the attention of Mason and his sister. They both looked in my direction.

  I watched Zara’s green eyes scan me up and down. The facade of ice immediately replaced the sullen woman I’d witnessed just seconds ago. She held her nose high, with a look of arrogance and disdain on her unhealthy, injured face.

  It was then that I remembered what I was wearing, or not wearing… I wore only Mason’s oversized silk shirt, partially buttoned. My legs were bare and my hair was a damp, curling mess.

  Zara didn’t seem to focus on my lack of clothing, however. Her brow furrowed slightly as confusion consumed her face for a brief second. Then, her her eyebrows piqued and her lip curled into a sneer.

  “Get a good look. Do you enjoy what you see?” She directed that scorn toward me. “Whip out your cell phone and send a quick one to TMZ.”

  “Zara.” Mason’s tone was terse, clipped, and warning.

  “She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here.” Zara said, looking at me. She kept her gaze on me, even as Mason forcefully escorted her away from the sitting room, toward his study. “She shouldn’t be here.” She continued to repeat until I heard the click of the lock on his office door.

  I bit my lower lip, realizing how shallow my breathing had become. My heart jack hammered in my chest, and I no longer had any appetite for wine or food. Maybe wine or something stronger...

  Zara’s words echoed through my mind. She shouldn’t be here. There was no arrogance in the way she said those words. It actually sounded like a warning. Concern, perhaps. I was so confused. Her sallow, unhealthy appearance played over and over again in my mind as I returned to Mason’s master bedroom. My heart ached for her.

  17. Mason Woodward

  My blood boiled over in my veins. My rage was consuming. Zara sat on the plush bench in my study, and there was silence between us. My father has driven her to the brink of insanity.

  Who the fuck beats a woman who tried to overdose on pills? My father. The very man who hired a professional to take the life of the one woman I love most in the world, simply because he could not buy her off with money.

  My sister may have done her fair share of deceit, slander and blackmail, but it was always at my father’s bidding. After I’d calmed her down, I listened as she told me about her struggles in England. Before I returned to New York, the doctor had released her into the supervision of a twenty-four hour caretaking staff at my family’s country estate. I assured myself that this staff was the best I could afford. As far as my parent’s were concerned, Zara’s incident never happened. The media was paid off, the doctors and hospital staff were all forced into signing NDA documents. No two people have a worse case of denial than my own damn parents.

  Zara snuck away from our family’s country estate and returned to London. My father turned her away, not wanting anyone to see her in her current condition. She refused to leave, pleaing. Already having scotch and whiskey in his system, he swung at her. She arrived in my sitting room with only the clothes on her back. And people want to know why I refuse to procreate. This family is too bloody fucked up to deserve another generation.

  “You cannot be with her,” Zara blurted, changing the course of our topic. Her words tore me away from my thoughts.

  “I’ll be with whoever the fuck I want to be with,” I snapped coldly. I looked at my sister; her eyes were devoid of any emotion.

  “Is this all just a game to you, Mason?” She asked. There was nothing haughty in her tone, although the question could have been misinterpreted as rude.

  “Not at all. I intend to marry her, and I trust you will not tell father, now that I am providing you with a home and accommodations.” There was a warning chill in my tone.

  Zara was disapproving, but said nothing immediately. Her thin fingers traced the ornate stitching on the plush bench as she kept her glance away from me.

  “And you will raise your children in New York? Father will disown you.”

  “I’m aware of this, and I will not be fathering any children. Ever.” There were no ifs, ands, or buts about that conversation. I’d made my mind up on that subject years ago.

  “Does Jillian know the stakes at play if she decides to marry you?”

  “No, and I will not alarm her with such bullshit.” My hand clasped the whiskey bottle that had been on my desk.

  “You’re making a mistake. She’s playing a dangerous game.” Zara’s voice was soft, as though she was speaking with herself, and nobody else.

  My sister was delicate right now, and I had to keep myself in check, and ensure that I would not displace my rage on her.

  “Zara, you have a home here. You are safe and I will make sure you have everything you need.” I was very serious. “IF there is something you need to tell me, I would appreciate if spoke now.”

  My sister inhaled deeply and then glanced at me, assessing me to see if I would explode or remain collected.

  “On the night of the gala, father pinned a chip to my gown. He told me to refill our drinks, which was code for me to go take care of some other business.”

  I remembered that night. I was bored to death and could only think of fucking Jillian. My father seemed particularly interested in being pals with me that evening at the event.
I was a damn fool to not see through his scheme.

  “He sent me to your other property, where your woman was staying. He listened to everything I said to her. I was coached to make her feel as demeaned and inferior as possible. I mean, it wasn’t so hard. She was wearing frumpy pajamas and she’s not-”

  “Get on point.” I knew my voice sent a chill down her spine. No matter her state, she has no say in any of my personal affairs.

  “Father offered to pay her two million dollars, and gave her five days to make the decision. He said there would be repercussions if she refused. He wanted no further delays in marrying you to Aislinn. The marriage would have been beneficial in so many political ways, but… he knew your woman posed a threat to such a union. He bugged me, Mason. I’m sorry. He threatened to throw me out if I disobeyed and I was afraid.”

  “You know I would have taken you in if that happened.” I countered, gripping the whiskey.

  Zara shook her head. “I didn’t know that, not back then. I thought you were no different than father and mother. I thought I was alone, and when you took care of me after my attempt…” her voice trailed off.

  She continued, shifting herself to a more upright position. An emotionless mask dominated her face.

  “You cannot protect me, Mason, not any more than you can protect that woman-”

  “Her name is Jillian.”

  “You cannot protect everyone. Yes, you have money, but father has more. Yes, you have power, but father has more. It will always be that way until the day he dies. But if you stay with this w- with Jillian, he will not pass it on to you, and he will find a way to ruin her life.” No shit.

  I was aware of this, but said nothing of it to my sister. This has been the most she has ever confided in me, and I was not about to strip her newfound trust in me.

  “Appearances and status will always be of utmost importance to father. That’s why he was so angry when you were friends with the grunge freak-”