TYCOON_His Money. His Harley. His Control.

by Maggie Carpenter

  "You look like a deer in headlights," he softly remarked.

  "I feel like one."

  "Now do you understand why I wanted to keep this from you for a little while? I was hoping to ease you into everything, but you've ended up jumping in the deep end."

  "You were right. It is intimidating. This sure is a long way from a small farm."

  "A completely different life, but I still love it back home. My soul is nourished when I'm there, and I'm reminded how much I miss the animals. Come inside. I promise it's not so bad once you get used to it."

  "There's nothing bad about any of this, it's just a lot to take in."

  Taking her hand, he led her through a door into a massive chef's kitchen. It was gleaming stainless steel and white, and glancing out the window she spied a swimming pool, complete with several cabanas and a pool house.

  "Why do you need all this?"

  "I don't. This is all about business, though…"

  "Though…?"

  "I like to think there'll be a family of crazy kids racing around here one of these days."

  "They'll be lucky kids. I see the pool, but where's the yard you were talking about?"

  "On the other side of the hedge."

  "This kitchen is enormous."

  "I entertain a lot, and I host parties for families during the holidays."

  "I assume you have help with all that."

  "Nope, I do all the cooking and cleaning myself," he said with a poker face. "Come on, let me show the rest of the house."

  "You do not!" she retorted as he led her through a grand dining room.

  "I do."

  "You do not!"

  "I do—okay, I don't," he chuckled, entering the two-storied foyer. "I have a housekeeper who comes every day, and when I entertain I have—"

  A loud bark cut him off. Hearing Mason's voice, Pete had jumped from his bed and was racing down the stairs.

  "Hey, Pete," Mary beamed, crouching down to greet him. "Poor baby. Did Mason abandon you?"

  "He lives a really tough life," Mason quipped. "Ask him. He'll tell you he never gets treats, hardly ever goes for walks, and he has to sleep outside on the cold concrete around the pool."

  Laughing as she rose to her feet, she raised her eyes to the huge chandelier overhead, then across to the wide sweeping staircase.

  "I don't even know what to think," she said, her voice abruptly falling sober. "I've never seen anything like this."

  "You need to understand this is just window dressing. Do I love my home? Of course I do. I enjoy it, I'm proud of what I've been able to achieve, but most nights I'm lying on my bed with Pete, eating pizza and drinking a beer."

  "I might be unsure about all your trappings, but I'm not unsure about my feelings for you," she murmured, circling her arms around his neck. "Not even a little bit."

  He hugged her tightly, then drifted his lips over hers, but abruptly he was devouring her mouth with an urgent need. Their tongues danced, he gripped her hair, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her. Breaking apart, he wordlessly lifted her off her feet, carried her up the stairs and down a wide hallway, but she barely noticed her surroundings. Her eyes were focused on his sapphire eyes, and the way his hair curled up at the back of his collar. The scent of his masculine cologne mixed with the aroma of his leather jacket was tickling her nostrils, and she felt weightless in his powerful arms.

  He was approaching the door to his master suite, and could hear the sound of the television. As Pete ran in ahead of him, he paused, then moved inside and laid her on the bed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mason tuned his television to a station playing sultry saxophone music, then slowly, artfully, and teasingly, removed Mary's clothes. As each garment came off, he traced his fingertips over the newly revealed skin, then lovingly kissed where he'd touched. When she moaned and whimpered and wriggled impatiently, he slapped her thigh and ordered her to be still. By the time his finger slid into her pussy, she was slick with wetness and craving his cock.

  "Mason, you can take off the leathers if you want," she mumbled, wishing he was naked and lying next to her.

  He was leaning over, about to devour one of her nipples as she'd made the facetious remark. Raising his eyes, he studied her expression.

  "If I want? I can take them off if I want? Was that a provocation, or have you forgotten your place?"

  A slight smile curled the edges of her lips. He knew immediately she'd been testing him. Taking hold of her ankles, he pulled her to the edge of the bed and flipped her over. Her squeal of surprise was quickly replaced with one of protest as he slapped her bottom with rapid-fire smacks.

  "You want to rephrase that?"

  "I, uh, sorry," she panted. "I won't even try."

  "Smart choice."

  Sitting beside her, he smoothed his palm over the bright red spot, then slipped his fingers into her sex. She was sopping, and he heard a deep moan as he sought out her clit.

  "I'm not sure a naughty girl deserves my cock. I think she needs some discipline. What do you think, Mary?"

  "Whatever you say, uh, Sir."

  "That's more like it. Perhaps I won't spank you quite so hard, but maybe I should. Let's see how well you answer my questions. Crawl over my lap and present your lovely backside for punishment."

  Her thighs squeezed together. The involuntary response wasn't lost on him. His instruction had sent her butterflies into a new wave of flutters.

  "Keep your legs closed and down, and don't put your hands behind you. You wanted to know what would happen if you pushed your luck, and now you're about to find out."

  Raising his hand he let it fly with a solid slap on the untouched cheek, paused to watch his handprint bloom to life, then moved his attention to her opposite cheek and landed another on the bright red spot.

  "Ow! Ow!"

  "Yell if you must, but into a pillow. We don't want to upset Pete."

  As he fell into a quick rhythm, she grabbed one of the decorative throw cushions and buried her head. His hand was surprisingly hot, and there was little time between each smack. She wanted to obey him and keep still, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  "Sir" she gasped, "please, I'm sorry. I was impudent. It won't happen again."

  "Impudent. What an excellent word. Yes, you were impudent. Are you ready to answer some questions?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "What will happen if you attempt to manipulate me?"

  "I won't, Sir!"

  A hot slap landed on her sit spot, and throwing back her head, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  "Listen to the question! What will happen if you attempt to manipulate me?"

  "I'll be punished, Sir."

  "Correct."

  "Will you promise to always tell me the truth, even if it's something you think I don't want to hear?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  "When I give you an instruction will you follow it without hesitation?"

  "Uh, mostly, Sir."

  "Good. That was honest. If I ever tell you to do something, and it genuinely makes you uncomfortable, you must tell me. Politely of course, and with respect, but you must tell me. Do you like the feel of my leather pants against your naked body?"

  "I love it, Sir, I absolutely love it."

  "Your last question. Take a minute to think about this before you answer. Do you want me to bring your fantasies to life? The fantasies in your books?"

  Mary squeezed her eyes shut. She'd written countless salacious scenes, many she'd never experienced. Did she want to? It was a question she'd often asked herself.

  "I, uh, I do, but, uh, I'm scared about some of them."

  "Tomorrow you'll skim through The Biker Who Spanked Me, and make note of the sexy scenes you've already enjoyed, what you'd absolutely love to try but haven't, and what scares you."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Now a few more smacks before you'll have the pleasure of my cock."

  After landing his flattened palm across
her sit spot, and traveling upwards to the center of her backside, he ordered her off his lap.

  "Bend over the bed, spread your legs, close your eyes, and don't move. I'll be back in a moment."

  Leaving to fetch a condom, when he returned and gazed at her salacious pose, he felt a wave of energy gush through his cock. Moving quickly behind her, he unzipped, dropped his pants to his thighs, sheathed himself, and grabbing her hips he plunged himself home.

  Mary wailed her joy into the cushion. Her bottom was hot and stinging, he was pummeling her pussy, and being naked while he was still dressed was one of her unrealized fantasies. But he was wearing his motorcycle leathers, not just regular clothes, and she could feel his pants against her legs. As he leaned over to kiss her neck, his jacket fell across her back, and a fresh surge of erotic heat rippled through her body.

  "I think you need to see me," he growled, carefully withdrawing. "Roll on to your back and scoot your ass to the edge."

  Watching her nude body move around on his bed fueled his fever, and as she shimmied herself to the side of the bed, he moved forward and hastily pushed up her knees.

  "I told you I was going to fuck your brains out, and here it comes," he said huskily. "Climax when you want. I won't be stopping."

  "Mason, you're making m-me—"

  But her exclamation was cut short as he snaked his way into her succulent depths. His hands left her knees and grabbed her waist, holding her still as his rod rammed her with rapid force. In his motorcycle jacket with the zipper half open, his muscled torso showing and the silver buttons gleaming, he looked like a motorcycle God. His cock was a jackhammer, and he was fucking her into oblivion. Her orgasm began rising up, she squeezed her eyes shut, and moments later his deep euphoric groan sent her over the edge.

  Lying in his arms, her body tingling, she sank into the post-orgasmic afterglow. When she felt him move away, she half-opened her eyes and saw him disappear into his bathroom. She was about to close them back down when Pete jumped on the bed.

  "What do you want?"

  "Attention," Mason replied, ambling back to the bed.

  "He's almost as adorable as the man who owns him."

  "Adorable? I've been called many things in my life, but I don't recall ever being called adorable. If anyone's adorable in this house, it's you, Mary Austen. Do you need to nap, or can I show you my backyard?"

  "I think I can probably get myself up."

  "Pete needs to go out. Come on, fella."

  Leaping off the bed, Pete ran to the bedroom door.

  "Back in five," Mason said, hurrying after him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was a short time later, and as Mason led her to the upstairs sitting room that overlooked the backyard, he insisted she remain behind the French Doors.

  "When I let Pete out the wind was blowing like crazy, and it was cold. You can't be out in it."

  "I have no desire to be. The last thing I want is to get sick again."

  "I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen. Here we are," he exclaimed, gesturing at the paned glass. "What do you think? Can you replicate your Zen garden here, or is the space too big?"

  "It's not too big. It would be fabulous, maybe you could add a Japanese tea room, but I'm getting another idea. You said the farm nourishes your soul. Why don't you turn it into a virtual farm? If you think it's ridiculous just—"

  "Mary, I love it! Tell me more."

  "Put up a small barn, classic red and white, maybe with a hayloft and open stalls for kids to play in. During Christmas it would be the perfect place to set up a nativity scene. Bring in some life-sized animal sculptures, like cows and horses, whatever you want. You could also add a rustic log cabin."

  "This is genius. The kids will love it. I wonder how difficult it would be to bring in a petting zoo for short intervals. I'll have that researched. I could make the barn operational, not just decorative."

  "I suspect the city will have something to say about that, and your neighbors probably will too."

  "Not if I invite them, and I'm only thinking for a day or two, but I'm getting ahead of myself. The point is, I think it's a terrific idea. Will you oversee it?"

  "I'd be happy to, but Mason, I'm not a landscape architect, not even close."

  "But you have the vision, and besides, I don't have the time. I need you. Please say yes. I'll pay you."

  "No! And if you argue with me…"

  "What?" Mason grinned. "You'll what?"

  "I'm not sure, but I'll think of something. Pour ice-cream all over you in the middle of the night."

  "Mary, Mary…"

  "Why do you say that?" she asked, smiling up at him. "Repeat my name, I mean."

  "Don't you remember the nursery rhyme?"

  "Vaguely."

  "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockleshells, and pretty maids all in a row."

  "That reminds you of me?"

  "It's funny what sticks in your mind. My mother loves to garden, and when I was very young I would sit on a towel and watch her. Whenever I'd ask how the plants grew, she'd recite that rhyme to me. Her voice would take on a soft lilting tone, and I absolutely loved it. You're the first Mary I've ever met, and I immediately thought of those very happy years, not to mention you can be quite contrary sometimes."

  "Mason, that's so touching. I feel all funny."

  "You don't look all funny," he said, putting an arm around her, "you look beautiful. You always look beautiful."

  "Even first thing in the morning?"

  "Especially first thing in the morning."

  "It's so sweet that she put down a towel for you."

  "Uh, actually, that was me."

  "No!"

  "I didn't like sitting in the dirt and insisted on bringing it with me. I told you, farm life isn't in my blood. I like clean and shiny."

  "I can tell. Your house is scarily spotless. How do you deal with the mess a party makes?"

  "I have a lot of people running around cleaning things up as they happen."

  "That's hilarious."

  "Maybe, but it's true."

  "You're such an interesting person. I want to hear all about your life. How did you get here? How did you amass all this?"

  "That's a conversation for another time, and probably in dribs and drabs. Are you ready to see the rest of the house?"

  "Sure. I can't wait, but first I need to ask you something. Earlier, when you carried me up to your room, you hesitated at the door."

  "Yeah, I did."

  "Can you tell me why?"

  Placing his hand under her chin, he tilted up her head.

  "I've never taken a woman into my bedroom," he said softly. "You're the first. That room is my sanctuary, mine and Pete's."

  "Mason…"

  "The interesting thing is, it didn't cross my mind until l was right there. That's when I knew it was right, that you're right. I wanted you there. I wanted you in my bed. I still want you in my bed, and I can't wait to wake up and find you next to me in the morning. Will you stick around for the rest of the day, have dinner with me, and stay overnight?"

  "I didn't bring anything."

  "What do you need?"

  "A toothbrush."

  "I have a drawer full. What else, and don't say something to sleep in. You'll be naked."

  "Is that right?"

  "Yes, Mary, Mary, that's right. Will you stay?"

  "Of course I'll stay."

  "You just didn't want to say yes too quickly."

  "I plead the fifth. Now show me the rest of this place, or provide me with a map."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  George was very pleased with himself. It had been a busy but productive weekend. He had everything lined up for his great escape. It wasn't the first time he'd be changing his identity. In the high-tech age it was surprisingly easy. It was simply a matter of knowing the steps to take, the order in which to take them, and having the connections to supply
him with his new credentials. Being a rush job he'd had to pay extra for his driver's license, passport, social security card and credit cards, but that was fine by him.

  His real name was Jeremy Hatcher. He'd been in and out of detention centers as a kid, and was jailed as an adult for his participation in an armed robbery. He'd only been a driver, but he'd seen some rough stuff, and he discovered he was terrified of guns. Thus began his pursuit of white-collar crime and corporate espionage.

  Born with a boyish face and a disarming personality, his appearance belied his age. He used the God-given gift as circumstances dictated, even feigning youthful incompetence. He could convince gay workmates he was suffering in the closet, as easily as he could charm the panties off young women. Secretaries were a fountain of information. Often overworked and underpaid, they were happy to bitch about their bosses over drinks and dinner.

  He'd been an operative for Meeks for a couple of years and made some serious money. The man was tough and smart, and Jeremy wanted to be just like him. Legitimate to the outside world, a rattlesnake behind the scenes, and filthy rich, but when the Melville deal happened, Meeks had changed. The evil in the man had bubbled to the surface, and Jeremy had been living under a dark, threatening cloud.

  "If you blow this job you're a dead man," Meeks had warned. "I must have that property!"

  That was when Jeremy decided to move on after the deal closed, but the way things were developing, Meeks would soon be behind bars, and Jeremy wanted to be long gone when that happened.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Mary could feel herself slowly waking from a deep sleep. As the heaviness in her eyes began to lift a small smile crossed her lips. The evening before, after devouring delicious lasagna delivered from Giovanni's, and polishing off a velvety-smooth red wine, they'd curled up in front of a fire. What started with a simple question, turned into a conversation that lasted late into the night. Mason told her how he made his first few thousand dollars, thinking it a miracle, and never expected it would become tens of thousands, and continue way beyond that. He shared his stories about the ruthlessness of dealmaking, and the tough heavy-hitters in the upper echelons of the business world.