by Starr, Tara
On one hand, I just want him to devour me, to ravage me as if he had no control over himself...but on the other, I just want this moment to last forever, even if that means I have to endure his endless teasing.
“Please, Austin,” I find myself saying, the need to feel his mouth on me overpowering everything else. I don’t know if it’s because I’m begging him to, or if he was already moving to attack, but he finally reaches for my clit with the tip of his tongue. He laps it gently, his tongue moving in steady circles around it, and then he finally presses his open mouth against my pussy.
“Oh, God,” I breathe out as he sucks my folds into his mouth. Holding my hips down, he keeps me in place as he gets to work, devouring me as if my pussy was the most delicious thing he had ever come across. And, sometimes, that’s the most important thing. It’s not about the technique—which Austin certainly has—but about tasting the desire in your man.
When someone looks at you with that fire in his eyes, and you know that his cock is rock hard just because of you...well, then the rest almost takes care of itself, doesn’t it? Sure, every once in a while what really matters is satisfying the craving of your body, but real sex nourishes the soul. Yeah, I know, I sound like a goddamn hippie right now. But screw it. I’m having the time of my life in here.
Now focused on my clit, both his lips and tongue working on it hungrily, he pushes one finger against my inner lips and pushes it in. He drives it straight home before sliding one more, and I arch my back again as flames of desire start dancing inside my mind.
I don’t even know how or when it happens, but when I come to my senses I’m gritting my teeth so hard I might shatter them. My muscles feel as heavy as concrete, a violent pressure building up inside of me, and when I finally come it feels as if even my soul has left my body.
I let out a scream, one loud enough to ruin my vocal cords, and then I prop myself up with my elbows. With my muscles still twitching from the orgasm, my whole body on fire from the inside out, I reach for Austin and pull him up toward me.
“I want you inside of me right now,” I tell him, my hands desperately pushing his boxer briefs down. I sneak a glance at his hard cock, anticipation raging inside me as I see the length of his hardness. Christ, I don’t want him inside of me—I need him inside me.
Smiling, he presses his naked body on top of mine. Our mouths crash then, and I close my eyes as I flavor myself in his lips. And, God, it feels so damn erotic to do it with him. There’s no judgement, no limits, no nothing. There’s only desire, and the frantic need to act on it.
“Fuck me, Austin,” I plead, biting at his earlobe.
Then, it’s all thunder and fire.
One single thrust and he eases himself me, his cock straining against my inner walls as he drives it home. I lace my legs around his waist, pulling him into me as I grind against him. He starts to thrust, picking up the pace slowly, and I surrender to the moment.
My eyes remain closed as his slow movements turn into a frenzied rush of passion, my mind burning with pleasure. “So good, Austin…” I moan, my eyes rolling in their orbits as I come undone. “So...fucking...GOOD!”
I explode, all tension exploding in my body as I come.
“We’re only getting started,” he growls, sliding his cock off pussy and kneeling.
Turning me around so that I’m laying down on my stomach, he hooks his fingers on my hips and then pulls me back. I raise my ass from the bed and, pushing my elbows against the soft mattress, to go on all fours in front of him. Just to know that I’m offering him the most vulnerable view that I can is enough to make my pussy ache with desire again. I know women can have multiple orgasms—in case you haven’t noticed by now, it happens every time I’m with Austin—but to actually want to come over and over again as I do with him...it’s almost surreal.
Austin makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, and somehow I can’t shake the feeling that we’re just getting started. To have sex with him—to surrender, to fuck, and to make love—is always going to feel like the first time. I know that’s not something anyone would want to put on their curriculum, but let me tell you...if someone could have it there, it’d have to be Austin.
I can already imagine it—Austin Randall, CEO and billionaire, perfect lover.
Sounds tacky? Probably. But it doesn’t make it any less true, does it? Perfect might be too strong of a word, I know that, but that’s exactly what he is—perfect. And judging by the way he just grabbed my hips again, pulling my ass toward him, I dare say things are about to become even more perfect.
I tremble in place as he places one hand between my thighs, brushing his long fingers over the length of my pussy, and then he grabs his cock with his free hand and places it at my entrance. Holding my breath, I wait for him to thrust, but he takes his time.
He starts pushing his cock inside of me inch by slow inch, and then holds his position when all of his length his finally inside of me. He reaches for both my breasts then, my nipples becoming even harder than before, and squeezes them in his hands as he finally starts to trust, his thighs slapping my ass hard.
Moan after moan cascades from my mouth, and I feel my eyes rolling in their orbits once more as my nerve-endings reach their breaking point. I feel as tense as I’ve ever felt, like a dam about to burst, and he still keeps on driving his cock into me relentlessly.
“Harder,” I beg of him, not even knowing if I can take it. I grab at the sheets hard, bunching them up in my fingers as he does exactly what I asked of him, pistoning into me so hard that even though my eyes are open I can’t see anything. Seems like my brain has directed all of its processing power to decoding the surge of pleasure washing over me. God, if this keeps going soon enough I’m gonna pass out.
And that would be a first, that much I can tell you.
“I want you to...come...for me,” I ask him between thrusts, and I start thrusting back against him, my ass cheeks slapping his thighs loudly. I hear his groans of pleasure and that just makes me work harder at it, my body moving rhythmically as he dictates the pace.
When my pussy finally starts tightening around his cock, beads of sweat are already trickling down my face, my muscles complaining from the effort. But I push through all the same, holding it in until he finally drives his cock so hard into me that I see stars behind my eyes.
“Fuck, Tess,” he groans as he gushes his cum inside of me, and that’s it for me. I collapse on top of the bed, completely exhausted as one final orgasm washes over me, consuming me whole and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
He follows after me, his chest pressed against my back as he keeps coming, giving me everything he’s got. We remain like that for a long while, both of us breathing as hard as if we had run a marathon. When he finally rolls to the side, sprawling himself next to me, I reach for his hand and lace my fingers on his.
He looks at me, smiles, and then kisses the tip of my nose.
“I love you, Tess Armstrong,” he says quietly.
And right then and there, I know it.
“I love you too, Austin Randall,” I say back to him.
Austin’s the one.
Chapter Thirty-One
Austin
“Damn. This is fucking perfect.” My eyes scan over Giovanni’s headboard.
Personally, I wouldn’t have chosen the decorative ornaments to line the trim, but it’s not my decision, it was Giovanni’s. And, that’s why I hired him—for his expertise, not mine.
I admit, sometimes I am a helicopter CEO. I struggle when I don’t have my hands on every design that leaves my factory doors. But again, I have to remind myself that he knows what he’s doing, and most specifically, he knows headboards. I should trust and value his vision, like everyone else in the industry.
I do hate being a follower, though.
My fingers trace over one of the ornaments and a sense of satisfaction washes over me. I revel in the feel of its touch, knowing that this elegant bastard is going to win me the $2
billion Clarendon Tower contract.
It feels fucking good.
Mostly.
“Mr. Randall, the set is complete,” Miranda announces, taking a few steps back to view the whole display.
It’s still several hours before the competition, but my whole team is in the conference room setting up early. Today is too big to just stroll up in here right on time, I needed to ensure that everything will go smoothly with no bumps or hiccups along the way.
I can’t afford any of that shit at this stage in the competition. I mean, it’s the fucking final round, there’s no coming back from this.
And, honestly, I couldn’t wait to set everything up and see how it fit together. A little part of me was anxious about Giovanni’s design so as soon as his people dropped off the headboard this morning, I had my team rush to the Clarendon conference room to put it together. I wanted to see this masterpiece in all its glory and to display it next to my pieces.
It’s a surreal moment to see one of Giovanni Giannoni’s headboards standing next to your own. And if you know anything by now, baby, you know that I’m not one to get star-struck or tongue-tied, but right now, I am. I’m just so fucking proud of myself.
I meet Miranda a few feet away, taking in her view of the whole set.
It’s fucking perfect. The elegance and sophistication of the headboard perfectly complements the simplicity of the dresser and night stands beside it. The contrast between the soft fabric and the natural, exposed wood highlights each piece’s beauty in both an understated yet overt way. The pieces together suit a wide range of tastes, from elegant to rustic and modern to vintage.
Giovanni has done it again. And, so have I.
I shake my head as my eyes scroll over the completed set one more time. Why did I even question that guy for a second?
Fuck… I know, don’t remind me. I’m trying hard to distract myself. I don’t have time or the patience to think about Tess today.
Even though she is my sole competitor. And the only person I should be thinking about.
Fuck me, right?
I swear, every time I’m reminded of her, the guilt I’ve been carrying since the moment I signed the contract with Giovanni grows stronger. It’s excruciatingly painful. And, it’s gotten to the point where I’ve contemplated forfeiting the competition altogether.
Hell, thinking about it right now makes me question why I’m doing this.
I really don’t need this contract. I have more than enough clients and I make a ridiculous amount of money, more than 10 times Domina Designs makes in a year. She should have this win, not Oakmont.
No, no…what the hell am I saying?
Jesus, see what this woman is doing to me? She’s making me second guess everything, even my own natural instincts. I am a born competitor. I’m the one who thrives off first place trophies, MVP awards and every kind of cash prize. I win, and I always will win.
She never had a chance against me. And, today is no different. This headboard is my piece de resistance. It’s a finisher—It will end this competition.
“I’m about to win this,” I declare, crossing my arms assuredly, glancing over at Miranda. She smiles back with a smug and comforting expression.
“I think you are. How does it feel?” She asks, sliding her clipboard under her arm.
“Good,” I say, faking my calm tone. “I think…” I mumble under my breath.
“You deserve this, Mr. Randall,” she assures me. “No one works harder than you do. And Giovanni Giannoni was a great choice.”
I do deserve this.
Right?
Jesus Christ.
“Miranda, get me a whisky.”
“Uh…sure.” She side-eyes me, narrowing them into a questionable glare as she walks away.
Don’t be judge me, baby. I know it’s not in good form to have a drink before the competition, or to have a drink this early, but I need something to keep my head in the game.
Apparently, my competitive streak isn’t doing the job well enough, so I need reinforcement.
She leaves the conference room, and I stand there, arms crossed, observing my set over again. My eyes fixed on the headboard, examining the smooth lines and soft edges.
It is the clear winner. There’s no fucking doubt in my mind. The board would be out of their mind to choose anything else. Seriously, if they didn’t pick me, I’d assume the whole thing was rigged. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past the board, considering its history.
But, this headboard—no, this whole damn set, is too perfect not to pick. It screams Clarendon Tower.
It is Clarendon Tower.
However, as much as I love this fucking piece, I know it’s going to destroy Tess. It kills me knowing that, it really does. It’s so fucking frustrating to love and hate something so much.
She did sign up for this, though. She knows what’s coming and she’s been able to hold her own the whole time. If I were to throw the contest, she’d probably be pissed at me. I’m sure she’d think of it as me handing her the contract and not fighting fair.
And, trust me, that wouldn’t be the case. I want what’s best for her, almost as much as I want to win this competition—that’s saying a fuck ton.
“Here you go. Whisky to drown your nerves,” Miranda reappears behind me, handing me the shot glass. I throw it back, feeling the warmth spread through my muscles.
I turn to Miranda, handing her the glass.
“Miranda, I have to tell you something. This competition…what if I—” I stop mid-sentence when Tess enters the conference room.
She looks radiant, wearing a dress made for a Queen.
But, a Queen with her ass and legs…I’m not sure any exist.
Well, other than her.
I’m enamored by her, like always. But today, there’s an aura around her and it creates almost a halo effect and I blink twice, thinking there’s something wrong with my eyes.
Or, I don’t know, it’s my fucking head. I am thinking all sorts of ridiculous thoughts lately. One of them being giving up and letting her win.
But, as I look closer at the headboard she’s grasping, I notice something vaguely familiar.
Are those ornaments?
The same fucking decorative ornaments?
“What if you…what?” Miranda asks, looking between my bedroom set, me and Tess.
“Is that…?” I ask, ignoring her question. My initial assumption ignites a flash of anger in me, but I steady myself, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “Is that what I think it is?”
My head shots back to my headboard and then to hers, and then, I do another double-take.
No. No.
No.
“That’s my fucking headboard,” I shout.
Looking at Miranda, I repeat the words I never thought I’d say again. “She stole my fucking design.” I clench my fist. “My fucking headboard.”
And now, I only see red.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tess
Alright, this is it—Judgement Day.
The wait was long, and I was pretty scared that Giovanni wouldn’t be able to complete the headboard design in time for us to manufacture it but...I just got a phone call an hour ago, and my assistant told me that the headboard was ready. So I just told her to get the damn thing here as fast possible.
I’m feeling so excited about it that I didn’t even go to the conference room. Most of the other executives are already there, as well as Taylor and the board, but I still got some time before the final challenge starts. And I want to be here, on the ground floor, when my masterpiece arrives. I want to be the one carrying it up, just to make sure no one bumps it against the wall or scuffs it. The moment I show it to the board, I want it to look as perfect as I imagine it is.
As I see the white van entering the street, I climb down the stairs that lead into the sidewalk. I squint my eyes and, the moment I see my logo plastered on the side of the van, my heart starts jumping up and down.
“And here it is,
ma’am,” the driver greets me, going around the van to open the backdoors. He climbs inside with his helper, and they offload it quickly. They’re about to lay it on the floor when I just wave one hand at them.
“No way,” I say, taking it from their hands. Surprisingly, it’s lighter than I had expected. Delicate ornaments run the whole length of the piece, and the lines are so smooth and perfect that I have no doubt in my mind—no one else would be able to come up with a piece like this but Giovanni himself. He truly is the best bedroom furniture designer the world has ever seen.
As I head back inside the lobby, clutching the headboard against my, I see Austin.
In his hands, a headboard.
My blood runs cold.
Austin’s headboard looks exactly like mine! Even the ornaments are the same, the little details I was so excited about plastered all over his damn headboard. How in the hell is that possible? Did he steal the design? My design?
I can’t believe this shit.
No.
Not this.
Not now.
I will not be stolen from.
Not after 18-hour days for weeks straight. Not after everything I’ve done to get here. Every deal I’ve made. Every asshole I’ve had to put up with. Every man who thought they could grab my ass because I wore a skirt. Every fake smile. Every fake laugh. Every single fucking time I’ve held my tongue so I could advance my business.
Every single dollar that I’ve ever made to get me to this point.
I will not let it end like this.
I will rather fucking die. Right here. Right now.
This ends here.
“Austin Randall,” I say, my words loaded with rage as I walk toward him. “You stole from me! How dare you, you asshole?”
“Have you lost your goddamn mind? As far as I can tell, you’re the only thief in here.” He eyes my headboard as he purses his lips, looking as pissed as I am.
Well, that’s his problem.