London Dynasty (The Dynasties Book 1)

by Geneva Lee

  He loosed a groan of frustration against my mouth. Nipping my lower lip, he glared at me with mock annoyance. “I have a love-hate relationship with your dress.”

  “Oh?” I murmured, wondering how his presence could be more intoxicating than wine. I felt drunk or stoned or some blissed-out combination of the two. Spencer was a heady combination when he wasn’t touching me. Add his lips and his hands and I was done for.

  “I love how it looks on you,” he muttered. His hand slipped around and fingered my zipper. “How it shows off every one of your delicious curves. How it draws attention to every place I want to kiss.” He brushed his lips over mine, painting a tingling thrill across them. “But I hate that I can’t touch you.”

  “You’re touching me now,” I said softly, pushing my chest against his, savoring the increased contact. There was no part of Spencer that wasn’t hard it seemed. His chest was like a brick wall, solid and strong. His arms held me in place. I was a lark, captive in his cage. By choice. My unclipped wings didn’t flutter, only my heart did. It was the wild thing trapped. My body was a willing prisoner. I wanted to be kept and petted.

  Spencer’s head bent and captured my earlobe, sucking it between his teeth before he whispered, “I can’t touch you where I want to touch you.”

  That cleared things up while sending more blood rushing from my head to the swollen ache between my legs. I clutched his broad shoulders, surrendering to his possession.

  I was only dimly aware of the flat as we entered. Spencer didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Instead, he guided me down a hallway and into a room. The only thing I could process was the presence of a king-sized bed. Spencer turned to me, gently taking my shoulders, and waited until I was looking at him.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  I licked my lower lip, my mouth going dry. I appreciated him asking, but each time he did it marred my desire with doubt. I met his questioning gaze. “Yes.”

  He kissed me, his shoulders relaxing as if my answer had finally freed him of some pent-up tension. His index finger tipped up my chin and he spoke softly, “I’m going to undress you now.”

  In the lift, he’d torn at my clothes with a frenzy, but he didn’t rush now. Spencer circled around and stopped behind me. His lips brushed my shoulder as I felt my dress’s zipper slowly descend. His mouth followed, claiming each inch of skin as it was revealed. I locked my knees, afraid I might give in to the dizzying effect of his touch and fall over. Spencer paused when he reached the small of my back before tugging the zipper the last few inches, revealing his first glimpse of my thong.

  “Fuck, never wear anything else,” he muttered, running one finger along its white waistband.

  I giggled nervously as his hands moved to slide up my arms. I’d never been undressed by a man before. It wasn’t what I expected. Spencer’s fingers hooked the straps of my dress and he peeled it down with a deliberation that made me hold my breath.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said. “It’s like you’re a gift meant just for me.” When the dress was past my hips, he released it to puddle on the floor.

  I closed my eyes, feeling vulnerable and powerful at once, as I stood before him in nothing more than a pair of lacy knickers and bra that did nothing to hide my body.

  “As much as I like this,” he murmured as his hands skillfully unfastened my bra, “and I do, I spent the entire evening wishing your breasts were in my mouth. I don’t think I tasted a thing.”

  “That’s a pity.” I swallowed as his arm reached around, grabbed the front of my bra and drew it off me. It joined my dress on the floor.

  “I don’t think so. It only made me want you more.” His arms wrapped around me and he covered my breasts with his hands, massaging them tenderly. “I don’t think I can wait any longer to taste you, Kerrigan. Come to the bed.”

  Spencer stopped the sensual massage and took my hand, leading me toward the bed. He nodded to it.

  I dropped on all fours, instinctively, and crawled toward the pillows. I paused, uncertain what to do next. He reached out, rubbing circles on my bare backside.

  “The things I’m going to do to your ass,” he said in a strained voice that made me bite my lip. “But not tonight. Lay down on your back.”

  I did as he commanded and Spencer dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. He crept slowly up my body, stopping when his face reached my breasts.

  “Finally,” he said darkly, his eyes glinting up at me before he bent to take a nipple in his mouth.

  I gasped at the new sensation. Hot. Wet. Circling. Circling. His mouth sucked greedily until I was writhing beneath him. By the time he’d done the same to the other, my hips were bucking against him, seeking relief from the throb I felt at my core. Spencer smirked wickedly at me as he moved down, dropping kisses across the flat plane of my stomach along the crease of my hip.

  “Now for dessert,” he growled, rearing up to his knees. His hands gripped the waistband of my thong and yanked it down. He lifted my leg and slipped them off.

  My pulse quickened, my heart pounding, as I lay spread bare before him. Spencer pushed my thighs apart, studying me for what felt like an eternity, with a smugness that made me catch my breath.

  “Perfect,” he announced like he’d been grading me silently.

  Then he dove forward and before I could process what was happening, the wet suction of his mouth had found the bundle of nerves pulsing between my legs.

  Stars exploded in my vision.

  There was a cry.

  My cry.

  And shaking.

  I shook and shook and shook.

  But Spencer continued, unsatisfied by my swift climax. My legs pressed against his head, my body rebelling against the assault on the tender spot. That didn’t stop him. My hand tangled in his hair. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yank him away or hold him in place. He decided for me, burying his face as I rode out another wave of pleasure. When I finally collapsed, boneless, he sat up with a look of purely masculine satisfaction on his face. His tongue ran along his lower lip.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he rasped.

  I threw my arms over my face, overwhelmed and panting.

  “Is that the first time a man has pleasured you?” he asked slowly.

  I swallowed before answering with a meek “yes.”

  “Fuck, I get off knowing that. I love knowing I’m the only mouth that’s been on you.”

  I peeked out from my arms to see him prop himself on his elbow. He was still between my legs, but now he was simply looking at me.

  “You’re wet,” he said, “but I want to do everything I can to make this good for you.”

  I nodded. Spencer’s hand covered my sex, stroking it with feather-light touches that still sent tremors through my body.

  “Relax,” he said soothingly as he coaxed a finger between my folds. I felt it slip inside me. It felt foreign but not unpleasant. He worked it deeper until I found my thighs falling open, welcoming the touch. Then I felt the tip of another finger push in as well. This time it felt as though he was lighting a fire. It didn’t hurt exactly, but I found myself biting down on my arm.

  “You’re tense,” he said in a low voice. “I want you to take a deep breath and let go.”

  I did as he said, inhaling deeply, and then exhaling. It felt as if I was melting into the bed. The pressure between my legs eased and his fingers began to move more easily.

  “That’s it.” His fingers slipped all the way out and back in, each time he thrust them inside me I felt a slight strain as he loosened me with patient strokes. I became lost to the sensation, until he said, “I’ve got three fingers in you now. How do you feel?”

  There were no words. I could only moan. Something was building inside me and when it burst it would take all my defenses with it. I would be at Spencer’s mercy, and there was nothing I wanted more. Then without warning, the sensation vanished and I was left empty.

  “Please,” I cried out, finally lifting
my arms from my face to find he’d stood up and begun to remove his clothes. Each piece he removed revealed more of his strong, athletic body.

  “Are you ready?” he asked as he shrugged off his shirt.

  My mouth fell open at the sight of his muscular chest and I whimpered, pressing my legs together to fight the ache consuming me. He turned away as he took off his pants. Then he reached into a drawer in the nightstand and produced a foil wrapper. “Are you on birth control?”

  I shook my head.

  “Get on it,” he demanded. I heard the foil rip and I craned my neck curious to watch him roll it on. My eyes widened when I saw the size of his cock. It jutted out from a thatch of dark, neatly trimmed hair. I gulped, realizing that no amount of preparation would be enough to make it easy for that to slide inside me.

  Spencer followed my gaze and offered a smile. “It might hurt a little.”

  “A little?” I croaked. His dick had to be seven inches long. There was no way it would fit.

  “At first, and then”—he climbed on top of me—“you’ll want every inch of it.” He positioned himself between my legs, stroking its broad crown along my warm, wet seam. “It’s not too late to…”

  “I want you,” I stopped him with a breathless whisper.

  “Put your arms around my shoulders,” he directed me as he lowered himself against my body. His hand was pinned between us, guiding him toward my virginity. Fire ignited as he pushed the tip of his cock inside me.

  I hung on to him, burying my face against his shoulder as my body burned.

  “The next bit is the worst,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Ready?”

  I nodded without lifting my head. I felt safe tucked against him.

  Spencer pushed farther in. This time more forcefully, and I felt a slight pop as my body gave way to his invasion. He slid in until I was sure no more of him could fit and then stilled, giving my body time to acclimate to this intrusion. I felt full of him. My skin stretched taut by his length and girth until I felt like I might snap. I took another deep breath and exhaled. It helped a little, but not as much as last time.

  “God, you’re tight,” he said, sounding as strained as I felt. He withdrew slightly before thrusting slowly back inside. With each movement he seemed to bore deeper.

  A curious thing had happened in the process. The pain lingered along with a smoldering ring of fire, but with each deliberate thrust, the pain mingled with the sensitivity lingering in my nerves. Spencer must have known that the more I orgasmed, the more likely he would be able to stoke my arousal back to life. I gave myself to him, trusting him entirely, as he took me to someplace I never travelled.

  Deeper.

  Farther.

  The journey carried me up a summit. When at last his hand knitted through mine and his body stiffened with impending release, we leapt together. It wasn’t the explosion of pleasure he’d given me earlier. It was a freshly lit fire that warmed me. I lingered in it as we collapsed together.

  Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. We just laid there, our hands clasped together as we stared at the ceiling.

  Spencer was the one to finally break the silence.

  “Was it terrible?” he asked gently.

  “It was wonderful.” I’d taken the first step into his world, and I knew, without a doubt, there was no turning back now.

  Chapter Twenty

  The sun woke me the following day. Spencer was asleep. He’d kicked one leg free from the sheets, which seemed to be caught on something. I tilted my head, blinking sleepy eyes, and then I realized what the unusual tent pole was. I swallowed back a giggle at discovering yet another new thing about sex.

  Slithering down the bed, I climbed carefully between his legs, doing my best not to wake him.

  Although my sexual experiences were limited, I’d given more than a few blow jobs in my life. No one had bothered to return the favor. Spencer had shown me last night what I’d been missing. I suspected there would be no selfishness like that on his part. He’d gone down on me again after our lovemaking as though to soothe any pain he’d caused.

  I owed him—big time.

  I gathered my hair loosely and pushed it behind one shoulder before lowering my mouth to take him into my mouth. He was already rock hard, which meant I didn’t need to linger, but I found myself wanting to anyway. I ran my tongue along his length to his balls and back up. I licked the tip, catching a creamy bead of pre-ejaculate in the process. Spencer groaned in his sleep and shifted, giving me a better angle.

  I seized the opportunity and lowered my mouth over him. Remembering his advice yesterday, I relaxed, allowing him to slide deeper into my throat before I closed my lips and sucked lightly.

  “Am I dreaming?” he asked groggily. He propped an eye open and found me looking up at him, his cock down my throat and my lips planted at its root. “Fuck. How are you doing that?”

  I lifted my mouth slowly and brought it back down until I’d swallowed him again entirely, keeping a steady pressure with my tongue the whole time.

  “Don’t stop,” he grunted as I continued to bob up and down over him. His hand fumbled for my hair, got a handful, and urged me faster. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  He erupted in my throat, his cock still buried so deeply inside it that I felt only a hint of the hot lashing of his climax. When he finally stopped twitching and grew soft, I released him and crawled back up next to him.

  “How does a virgin do that?” he asked me, suddenly alert and staring at me with pride and curiosity.

  “I’m not a virgin,” I reminded him.

  “You were yesterday.”

  I nuzzled against him, wondering how much he would ask about my past. It was full of moments I’d rather not relive. “When you don’t put out, you learn to get good at blow jobs. I had to keep my boyfriends happy.”

  “You learned to do that because some wanker was upset you wouldn’t sleep with him?” Spencer shook his head in disgust.

  “It kept them happy for a while.” But never for long.

  “I can’t believe any idiot ever let you get away.” He kissed my forehead, then sighed. “I suppose we can’t stay in bed all day.”

  “Probably not,” I agreed, feeling as sad as he sounded.

  “I need a shower. Join me?”

  “I need coffee before I can be trusted to do anything,” I told him.

  “There’s a bag in the cupboard.” Spencer sat up, and I missed his body immediately. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, threw one more impressed look my way, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

  I laid in bed, covers pulled to my chin, and studied the room for the first time. Last night, I’d only had eyes for the bed and Spencer. This morning, I noted how spartan the room was. There was a large television mounted opposite the bed, but otherwise, nothing hung on the walls. No artwork or mirrors or anything that conveyed a sense of Spencer’s private life. The bedside tables held nothing but a lamp on each, and a remote on his side for the tv. I opened the drawer next to mine and found it empty. Between the hollowness of the space and the neutral grey decor, it felt more like a hotel than a bedroom. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that it was also empty, owing in no small part to last night’s activities. Getting out of bed, I found Spencer’s shirt, abandoned to the floor the night before. I slipped it on, buttoned it up, and continued my exploration.

  The rest of the flat, which I’d only glimpsed in passing, was equally bare. The whole place was the definition of a bachelor pad down to the pristine, and obviously unused kitchen with its stainless steel appliances and white quartz countertops. It opened into a large sitting room. A U-shaped couch sat in front of a fireplace. Alcove shelves held a few volumes of leather-bound books that seemed more for show than reading. I opened cabinets looking for dishes. I found the glasses and mugs along with a coffee maker and a bag of beans. A quick check of the fridge revealed nothing more than a few bottles of champagne and some leftover containers. I moved them around, crossing m
y fingers that I might find some eggs—anything to tide me over until Spencer was out of the shower—but it was no use. I’d given up and turned to make coffee when I heard his footsteps behind me.

  “Is your fridge always a wasteland? I’m starving. Aren’t you?” I called as I measured the beans into the grinder.

  “It’s always like that,” a high voice that was both too feminine and too curious to be Spencer answered.

  I spun around, spilling some beans on the floor. They skittered across the tile floor in every direction as I stared at the pretty blonde watching me from the end of the kitchen island. A short silk robe was tied around her waist and her hair was piled on top of her head. It was clear she’d also just gotten up. A hundred questions occurred to me at the same time, but only one seemed important enough to lead with.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, too shocked to care about sounding like a bitch.

  “Rose,” she said like this meant something before sauntering into the kitchen. She bent to pick up the beans, displaying a perfect, and totally bare, backside to me. Straightening she pulled open a drawer to reveal a hidden rubbish bin and dumped the ruined beans into it. “You must be Kerrigan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “I can’t say the same,” I said slowly.

  She turned and leaned against the counter, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Spencer never brags about his conquests.”

  “You’re with Spencer?” I asked in a strangled voice. The room started to spin as I tried to process Rose and who she was. Had he brought me back to a flat he lived in with another woman?

  “No, I’m here with Holden. Spencer and I are ancient history.” She waved me off like I should know better. “I don’t think Holden knew Spencer would be here or we would have gone to my place instead of his.”

  Things were beginning to make sense. “This is their apartment then?”

  “I see Spencer failed to mention that, too,” she said dryly.

  “We were in a bit of a…” I searched for the right word. One that conveyed my intimacy with Spencer without making me sound cheap. I finally landed on “rush.”