The Vault Box Set

by Summers, Eden

  “Very little.” He’d made sure of it, always happy to distance himself from triggers of his past. “But I processed Ella’s application, so I’m familiar with her reasons for being here.”

  “Pamela,” the woman murmured.

  He ignored the correction and prowled around the bench seat. From the rebellion in her eyes and the stubborn set to her shoulders, he could tell she wasn’t a natural submissive. She wanted the fight. Might even crave it more than the physical pleasure.

  “You can leave, Shay.” He kept his focus on Ella, taking in the stories her body willingly whispered. She was confident, her posture straight, her chin high and proud. She also came from money. Her shoes were polished and clearly designer. Her corset was made from expensive material, not a cheap knock-off. And her blonde hair was immaculately cut and pulled into a neat ponytail.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Leave,” he grated.

  “Pamela?” Shay questioned.

  He shot the bartender an incredulous stare. “Leave. Now.”

  She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m going. I’m going.”

  She muttered something under her breath—an expletive, he was sure—but he let it slide, choosing to focus on Ella instead.

  They stood in silence, a few feet apart, sizing each other up. She was trying to predict his failure before he’d even begun. The added challenge made his pulse increase. There was no excitement in her features. Not even a hint of hope. The walls of pessimism were firmly erected, and he’d take pleasure in knocking them down.

  “Shay claims no man can get you off.”

  Her chin lifted. “That’s right.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  She scoffed and gripped the strap of her handbag, hitching it higher on her shoulder. “Look, this isn’t going to work. We’re both wasting our time.”

  “Why is that?”

  She swallowed, fear or manners holding her back.

  “You can be honest.” He wasn’t a pussy who could dish out brutal honesty without taking it in return.

  “Really?” She quirked a brow. “In that case, I’m not interested in being with someone driven by arrogance. This isn’t a game to me. And I refuse to coddle another guy who thinks he’s skilled, when reality would prove he’s delusional.”

  “You think I’m delusional?” Her disinterest was cathartic. A breath of fresh fucking air. Maybe he needed to get Shay to start a rumor about him loving the thrill of the chase. That way women would stop stalking him and he could go back to enjoying his time in the Vault.

  “I think you’re like everyone else here who expects me to give them a quick thrill and a boost to their ego. I assure you, you’ll get neither from me.”

  Feisty. This woman continued to grow in appeal.

  “Look…” She sighed. “I apologize for being rude, but this is pointless.” She made for the door. “I’m sorry Shay interrupted whatever you were doing.”

  “Leaving would be a mistake.” He didn’t turn to her. He didn’t need to. Although she was abrasive, her hope was palpable. “I promise I’ll give you what you need, but I won’t chase you. You walk out the door and I won’t follow.”

  Her footsteps paused and a deep breath whispered into his ears. “How can you promise that?”

  “Because what you interpret as arrogance is actually experience. Unlike other men, I know what I’m doing.”

  Her wide eyes spoke of silent disbelief. He let her mull it over, predicting a number of responses before she finally spoke.

  “A long list of conquests won’t help. My appetite is more specific than most.”

  “Have it your way.” He strode for the door, eating up the space between them.

  Her throat convulsed. Her fingers twitched. “Wait.” She held out a hand, her heated palm connecting with his chest, the delicate touch powerful in its gentleness. “How?”

  He quirked a brow. “How?”

  Her hand fell and she huffed. “How would you make me come?”

  “Chitchat isn’t really my thing. Why don’t you just let me show you?”

  “Because every other man who’s received the opportunity has crashed and burned.”

  “It’s not my fault you’ve had bad taste in lovers.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the callous slits of spite making his cock twitch. He had her. She may not know it, may not even approve of it, but he’d definitely won.

  “Drop the bag.” With the jut of his chin, he indicated the leather strap hanging over her shoulder.

  She puffed out her chest, and the rebellion spurred his pulse harder. Faster. He was fully invested now, wanting her to continue the game because most women barely tweaked his interest.

  “Drop it.” His voice was low, the command unmistakable.

  She didn’t move. Refused to comply.

  Silent laughter filled his chest at the obvious way she demanded punishment. Her eyes begged. Her body hummed.

  “All right, sweetheart. Have it your way.” He encroached, leaning into her. His gaze never wavered as he placed his hand on her upper arm, gliding it over the exposed skin of her shoulder, toward her neck.

  He latched onto her throat, her body heat burning his palm. She sucked in a breath, fast and deep, her acquiescence coming in harsh exhalations. Those brilliant eyes sparked before him with flames of annoyance as he held her at his mercy. And still, she didn’t back away, didn’t even flinch when he tightened his grip.

  Any other man might’ve been put off by her lack of verbal consent. But he didn’t care. Not one little bit. He received her permission from the unwavering stare, the lick of her tempting lips, the thrust of her chest.

  Her bravado had begun to fracture. It wasn’t a large break, merely a fissure to expose how well he’d worked his way under her skin. He wasn’t immune either. The increased beat of her carotid against his fingers and the delicate swallow of her throat had his cock twitching against his zipper.

  “Drop. It.” The words grated from his drying mouth.

  She lifted the strap from her shoulder and dropped the weight beside her feet with the clink of loose change.

  “Good.” He caressed her neck with his thumb and stared into those beseeching eyes. She told him everything he needed to know with that look. She was laid bare. Transparent. “You want this to happen. Want to know how I know?”

  Her throat expanded under his palm, her heavy swallow like nirvana through his veins.

  He leaned closer, his mouth less than an inch from her ear. “Because I’m listening, Ella. I can hear you. I can read you like a book.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not my name.”

  He growled at the reminder. “It is tonight.”

  Chapter Three

  Pamela closed her eyes, sinking into the thrill of the tight grip around her throat. She hadn’t had this—the commanding presence, the compelling dominance—in a long time. It filled her with relief, along with other sensations she was truly thankful for. Even if this man did fail to bring her to climax, he’d do it with the slightest achievement.

  “Tell me what you like,” he whispered.

  She stiffened, the hard punch of disappointment hitting her without warning. So much for slight achievements. With the opening of her eyes she was back to square one, not willing to draw a road map.

  “Forget it.” She shoved at his chest, her hands colliding with unyielding muscle.

  He laughed, the humor brightening his harsh features. She didn’t care if he could pull off his tailored suit like a GQ model, or that his chin-length hair made her itch to run her fingers through it. Hell, she even craved the rough grate of his close-cropped beard against her breasts… But he was a jerk.

  A goddamn asshole.

  “Move.”

  He continued to chuckle, the sound fraying her sensitive nerves as she shoved him again. His hands fell, his palms snatching her wrists tight and yanking her into his chest.

  “You’re touchy,” he growled. “All this spite over a
rhetorical question.”

  “It wasn’t rhetorical.” She tugged in vain to free her wrists.

  “Wasn’t it? Didn’t I just tell you I can read you like a book?” He flashed his teeth.

  It wasn’t a nice smile. It was vicious. Nasty. And God help her, it made her chest constrict for all the right reasons. Or maybe they were the wrong reasons.

  So very, very wrong.

  She didn’t want to swoon over a guy who could laugh in her face with undiluted smugness. She shouldn’t swoon over a guy like that. Should she?

  “If I were a smart man, I’d pose opportunities for you to show me exactly what you want without asking. Wouldn’t I?”

  She shook her head in denial. “You’re messing with me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’re looking for a fight.” His fingers pressed into her wrists, his power holding her captive in more ways than one. “That’s what you like, isn’t it?” His gaze searched hers, back and forth, back and forth, each swipe reading things she didn’t want to admit. “Don’t tell me other men failed to get such an easy reaction out of you. You’re practically shoving what you want in my face.”

  “Stop it.” He was right. So right it hurt. She wasn’t usually like this. The need to spar was an anomaly he’d picked up on with flawless precision.

  His strong hands turned her around to hitch one arm behind her back, the other forward between her breasts. He pinned her against him, his heated breath brushing her neck.

  “I’m only going to say this once,” he spoke harshly in her ear. “I don’t do safe words. If you want to stop, all you have to do is repeat what you just said and I’m gone. I won’t stand here while you kid yourself about your dirty little perversions. If you want me to make you come, you need to own it.”

  She whimpered. Lucas never made her admit the naughty things running through her mind. He never demanded that of her. To him it was roleplay, a fantasy, while this man made it reality. Being forced to vocalize her desire was torture—punishment of the most delicious kind.

  “Tell me you want this.” He nuzzled her neck. “Admit you’re deliberately pushing because you want me to fight back.”

  Her heart pounded in her throat. Breathing became an arduous challenge. Her body reacted to him like paper to a flame. She was scorched. Burning. Her edges singed from his affects.

  She fought against him, ashamed and achingly aroused as she tried to wrestle her wrists from his grip.

  “Good girl.” The arrogance tainting his voice made her pussy clench. “I love being right. It makes my dick hard.” He proved his point by grinding his cock against her ass.

  His large, erect cock.

  Damn him. The last thing this accomplished man needed was the asset to back up his ego.

  “You’re an asshole.” She bucked her hips, and his grip tightened to the point of heavenly pain.

  “I’m also better than you. At this, I’ll always be better than you.” He nudged her forward, leading her to the lockers. “Put your palms on the metal.”

  He released her, trapping her between two immovable objects, one devilishly warm, the other chillingly cold. He kept her on her toes. Where had this man come from, and how did he get a cheat sheet on her body?

  No. It wasn’t her body. It was her mind. He was fucking her from the inside out, his words entrancing her with arousal, his confidence inspiring arrhythmia-inducing hope.

  “Put them on the locker, Ella.”

  She bit her lip and raised her hands, freezing them in place against the metal. There was a heartbeat of silence, the quiet almost deafening when mixed with the rush of blood in her ears.

  He lifted her skirt, the hem scratching sensitive skin like sandpaper instead of elegant fabric. Every inch of her responded in erotic fascination—her nipples tightened, her breasts ached, even the hair on the back of her neck rose, eager and greedy for more.

  The sensations were foreign. Years had passed since her body had reacted this way. A lifetime.

  The smooth graze of his fingers cut across the curve of her bottom, then lower, between her thighs. Slow and torturous.

  “You’re soaked.” His teeth grazed along her shoulder, inspiring a shudder. “But how can that be, sweetheart? I thought you were an ice princess.” He nudged aside the crotch of her panties, the slightest brush of her sex sending a wave of pleasure from her core outward. “Turns out you’re just as eager for my dick as everyone else.”

  A hiss of breath escaped her lips. She wanted to hate him. To despise his skill.

  The exact opposite happened.

  She was indebted to him, her orgasm so frighteningly close she was actually fighting it.

  “On second thought, you don’t even need my dick, do you?” His derisive chuckle peppered her skin. “I bet I could get you off with one finger.”

  She closed her eyes, unwilling to admit it would take a lot less.

  “Should I prove it?”

  A lone fingertip parted her folds, sliding with ease through her arousal. He learned her, trailing inside and out. Back and forth. Around and around. Never penetrating. Only teasing her to the point of silenced hysteria.

  He didn’t rush, didn’t falter in his blissful assault. He was too good, too skilled, and not merely with his touch. His precision came from strategy—a game plan she appreciated whole-heartedly if the lust and adrenaline flooding her veins was anything to go by.

  “Enough with the questions.” She bucked against him, fighting the mental connection and focusing on the physical. Instantly, she was pushed against the lockers with a responding jerk of his hips. She needed him to do it again, this time with his cock inside her. Over and over. “You talk too much.”

  “Then I’ll stop.”

  Panic flooded her veins. Shit. She wanted his voice. Needed it. The threatening drawl was the cause of her bliss, and she knew he was arrogant enough to withhold it from her. “I take that back. Keep talking… I-I need you to keep talking.”

  “No, you don’t,” he whispered into her hair, each word softer than the last.

  “I do.” She waited long moments, her hips circling to follow the trail of his fingertip. “Please.”

  Christ, she was begging for sound. Pleading for him.

  He didn’t respond. Not with words. Only movements. His finger continued to glide around her sex, outlining her pussy lips, then straight down to her core. He circled her opening, painfully slow, deliciously teasing.

  She whimpered. Mentally begged.

  He felt so good, but she needed the mental stimulation. The dirty words were necessary to get her off.

  “Talk to me.” She shoved back against his chest. And again, when he didn’t answer. “You won’t make me come like this.”

  That finger kept circling, turning her into a liar with the efficient way her orgasm hovered. She shot a pleading glance over her shoulder and their gazes connected in an instant. His confidence washed through her. There was no denying she was in skilled hands. Everything about him hit the right mark.

  His touch.

  His focus.

  His understanding.

  He was listening.

  Finally, someone was listening. Not to her words, but to her.

  Pressure slid over her clit, his thumb, the tight press holding the bundle of nerves hostage. A gasp escaped her, and he raised a checkmate brow in response.

  Damn him. She turned away, closed her eyes, and rested her forehead against the locker.

  His other hand trailed a path around her body, starting at her hip. He drifted over her stomach, through her cleavage, along her sternum to the base of her throat.

  Her skin erupted in goose bumps; her lungs tightened. She tilted her head back, offering herself to his mercy. But he didn’t take it. He didn’t encase her throat in his grip as she wished. Instead, he wove his hand around her neck and fisted her ponytail, pulling tight.

  She whimpered.

  This man wasn’t merely reading her cues and responding,
he was taking them a step further. Pushing her. Giving her something she didn’t expect.

  “Talk to me.”

  He refused. The only sound came from the upstairs door opening, the blast of dance music filtering in, before an abrupt disconnect. Footfalls and light chatter echoed forth as he pleasured her. People were approaching, and he showed no intent to stop.

  “Whoa.” A man’s voice carried from the door. “Now this is what I call a proper greeting.”

  A woman laughed, friendly and light.

  Bryan didn’t falter. Didn’t even pause. He kept her hair in his grip, his finger still teasing her pussy. “Evening,” he drawled in greeting. “Look, honey, we’ve got visitors.”

  She groaned at the gift of his voice.

  Could he tell she enjoyed an audience? She didn’t know how or why, but this man had already learned so much about her.

  “I said look.”

  Her nipples tingled at his command, and she sucked in a breath to counteract the shock. His words made her sizzle. No. She had to keep reminding herself it wasn’t the words, it was the conviction in his tone. The pure authority. He spoke with no fear of her rejection. He issued directives he knew she wanted to follow.

  “Come on now,” he purred. “Play nice.”

  She whimpered and opened her eyes to see the couple standing a few feet away. The middle-aged woman bit her lip as she nestled close to her companion with a mammoth-sized erection tenting his pants.

  Oh, sweet heavens.

  Her pussy fluttered, her core clamped down. She panted, no longer capable of speech. The man stared at her, his gaze intent, his appreciation clear while Bryan’s lone finger continued to torment her pussy entrance.

  “Say hello.” There was another tug to her hair, the slight pinch only increasing her pleasure. “Don’t be shy.”

  She moaned and refused with a shake of her head.

  Bryan’s breathy snicker caused a shudder to flow down her spine. He was loving this, thriving on her defiance.

  “Now you’re just being rude.” His beard grazed the skin of her shoulder, and he tilted her head higher.