by Kane, Jessa
Brow furrowed, she tests me with another constriction of her inner walls, her hips moving subtly beneath mine, her fingers flexing on my shoulders. “Yes,” she murmurs, the insides of her knees riding up my ribcage. “I’m okay, Jack. You feel…you f-feel so good, too.”
A shudder goes through me, my cock stretching, growing inside of her moist channel, instinct screaming at me to thrust. “I’ve waited for this. Jesus, you have no idea…”
Awareness dances into her gaze and I realize what I’ve said. What I’ve revealed.
I open my mouth to explain, though I have no idea how, when the shouting starts.
“Fuck that little brat.”
“Make her scream for us.”
“Take what you paid for.”
The voices are so close, I know they’re standing now. At the edge of the bed looking down, dicks in their hands. Maisy jolts underneath me, the passion beginning to clear from her eyes, but I shake my head and recapture her attention with a hard kiss before she can look right or left. The kiss is meant to soothe, to reassure, but the lust is skyrocketing inside of me. I’m not a good man. I knew it. I’m not good. Because I start to fuck her, rearing back and planting myself inside of her deeply, turned on by her gasp, her widening eyes. By the fact that I’ve made her a woman and I’m the only man in this room who will ever have that honor.
But then…
“Just you and me,” she whispers, her fingertips skating down the side of my face.
And the barbed wire around my heart is clipped.
It falls away, leaving me exposed.
That sick, competitive part of me is subdued by affection, by love for this girl and everything around us vanishes. It’s just me and Maisy, her body accepting every desperate thrust of mine, my hands holding her thighs open wide while I work, work, work hard flesh into soft, my jaw bunched, spine crackling with hunger.
And then she starts to moan.
It’s quiet at first, but as it grows louder, the sound becomes this husky, irresistible siren song that quiets the shouting in the room. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, the soundtrack to an innocent girl in heat, and it does the impossible. It makes her even more of a temptation. Even more of a prize.
My body pounds into her harder, as if being compelled, my balls slapping up against her taut backside, then grinding, grinding. Can’t get deep enough. Can’t go fast enough. Christ, she’s so tiny and wet and the harder I fuck her, the louder she moans that addicting sound.
“Stop,” I bark hoarsely into her neck. “They’ll try and drag you away from me. And I’ll have to fucking kill them, won’t I, baby? Because no one touches you but me. Ever.”
“I can’t stop. I can’t,” she chants, her moan turning breathier. “Oh, faster, please!”
With a snarl, I throw myself back into a kneel and haul her up with me. With her butt cheeks clutched in my hands, I fire her up and down my cock, smacking her down roughly when I reach the hilt. “This what you want from Daddy, angel?” I lean back even further and pump up toward the ceiling, bouncing her on my lap like a fucking doll, dress rucked up around her waist, thighs spread like an eager girl. “You want to be a hot little toy?”
Enticement flares in her gorgeous eyes and she nods shyly. Shyly. As if she’s not smacking up and down on my cock, tits quivering with every impact. As if she’s not every man’s jack off fantasy in the flesh with her virgin pink pussy straining to take the rigid inches jutting from my lap. And Jesus, she’s back to moaning again, that perfect, husky, bewildered yet eager to learn moan. Fuck!
And as much as she’s capturing my attention, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that she’s inciting the other men with that sound. Their fingers claw at the fitted sheet, their groans almost loud enough to drown out the music.
“I just want a little touch…”
“Listen to that voice…”
“Goddamn. What a horny girl she is…”
With her left ass cheek squeezed tight in my right hand, I continue to urge her to ride me. With my right, I wrap her hair in my fist, hauling her head back, needing her to understand that she’s fast becoming a temptation beyond male control. “You shut that beautiful mouth or I won’t pull out, Maisy. I’ll hold you down and pump myself dry. Turn this tight dream pussy into a messy little creampie.”
She isn’t hearing me.
She’s lost in the rhythm of our bodies.
And I’m finding it impossible not to do the same.
Her hips are jerking up and back in my lap, eyes blind, matching me drive for drive. I look down to where our bodies join and growl at the sight of her swollen clit rubbing on the base of my shaft. And I have no choice but to reach down and use my thumb on it, making her scream and struggle closer, rolling her hips furiously, mouth open on my shoulder. “So big. So big, Daddy.” She heaves a shallow breath. “I’m c-coming…”
Those words tripping over her lips are the end of me. If I’m going to keep my promise and pull out, it has to be now. I want to be the kind of man who makes promises to her and keeps them, so I throw her back down on the mattress and start to ease out, wincing and growling at having to leave her tight perfection, but oh God, then she orgasms.
She climaxes, her cunt ripping around me and she screams, bucking and wrapping her legs around my hips at the same time—and I pop. I bear down, pinning her with my hips and empty my ball sac deep, deep in her clenching channel, my hoarse curses filling the room. I’m cold and hot at the same time, my molars grinding together, seed ripping from my body like it has waited centuries.
“You did this,” I choke out against her ear. “Ride me for broke, tight and sweet as you are, and expect me not to leave it all in this pussy?” I rear back and slam deep, hips bouncing, trying to get out those crucial final drops, deliver them where they belong. And all the while, I’m caught between hating myself for breaking my promise to her and fucking exultant, triumphant over claiming her in this primal way.
Sick. An undeserving bastard.
“Naïve little girl,” I growl, putting the nail in my own coffin. On purpose. She’s going to end up hating me someday, might as well be now.
Yet when the best orgasm of my life finally ebbs, I find myself wrapping Maisy in my arms, pulling her struggling body tight to my chest, panic searing the insides of my throat.
You fucked up. You are fucked up.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry, angel.”
Her palms cracks across my face. Hard. Making my cheek sting. I welcome the sensation, though, because I deserve it. I deserve worse.
I’ve been completely unaware of the other men for the last few minutes, but when Maisy scrambles off the bed and pulls on her panties, I immediately scan for threats. Instead, I find most of the men are now engaged with the women they purchased for the night. Apparently we were the warm-up show, igniting the desire that is now being quenched. It’s being quenched very quickly, too, most of them guests already in the throes.
Meaning Maisy’s friends will be free to drive her home soon.
Away from me.
No. No no no.
“Maisy,” I say, climbing off the bed and zipping my pants, snatching my shirt off the floor and stuffing it into my back pocket. Watching as she slides her feet back into her delicate white shoes. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
She turns on a heel and glides toward the exit. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I follow her. Of course I do. What just happened between us was not the end of something, it was the beginning. My attempts to stay away, watch her from a safe distance didn’t work and now I can’t. Now I’ll never, ever fucking be able to stay away. “When I made you that promise, I swear to God, I meant to keep it.”
“But you didn’t,” she tosses over her shoulder.
“I couldn’t.” I grip her elbow and spin her around, gather her face, her hair in my hands, trying to touch all of her at once. “You were there, angel. You felt what
I did. Do you think you could have climbed off my cock right before you came?”
Her lips pop open, eyes turning glassy with renewed desire. “If you couldn’t keep the promise, you shouldn’t have made it.”
“You’re right.” She tries to stomp off again, but I yank her back up against me, growing hard over the soft valleys that lock to my muscles. I slide my hand up the back of her dress and wedge it inside her panties, petting her bottom, refusing to let the argument diffuse the intimacy between us for even a second. “Agree to be mine, Maisy,” I say against her lips. “Say you’re mine, let me keep you, and I won’t come again until you allow it. Not even by my own hand. Not even if you make me wait years. Torture me for breaking my promise, just don’t leave like everyone els—”
I break off before I can say too much.
Before I can reveal how truly pathetic and unlovable I am.
A kid abandoned at a fire station at birth and lost in the system, never to be claimed.
A man double-crossed by his business partner and best friend.
The purest asshole she’ll ever meet, just as I claimed.
“Please, Maisy.” She’s looking at me with budding sympathy, which I never wanted, so I distract her by sliding my hand further into her panties, cupping her sex from behind. “You’re already mine, just say the words.”
She wets her lips, swaying toward me.
I have her.
I’m going to take her home, worship her forever, convince her somehow that I’m worth a damn—
“Maisy,” a female voice calls. Followed by another one.
I turn and glance over my shoulder to find the girls who brought her here—thus putting them firmly in the enemy category—hustling toward us.
“Are you okay?” they ask in unison, splitting curious glances between us.
I bare my teeth when Maisy rips out of my hold, shaking herself as if she’s coming to her senses. “Yeah, I’m fine. I-I’m fine.” She pushes back the long, dark hair that came loose from her bun while we made love. “Can we go home now?”
“No,” I growl.
“Yes,” she fires back. “You got what you paid for. Now it’s over.”
“This will never be over,” I vow, holding her eyes.
“How does she get her money?” one of the girls asks, both of them flanking Maisy.
I pride myself on my ability to read a situation and it’s obvious that—as much as I’d like to—unless I carry Maisy out over my shoulder, she’s not coming home with me. And it’s my own goddamn fault for breaking my promise. Earning her trust back has to be my next step and it’s something that can’t be forced.
“Don’t worry, she’ll get it. Along with anything she ever dreamed of.” I make a new promise to Maisy with my eyes. “You’ll hear from me first thing Monday morning.”
I mean everything I say, to the T.
I’ll have the girl who’s captured my heart.
And I’ll play dirty to get her, because it’s the only way I know how.
5
Maisy
I splash my face with cold water, remaining leaned over the sink to watch the droplets fall. Plop. Plop. After my second sleepless night in a row, it’s now Monday morning. Of course I’ve been restless in bed—I have no idea what this new week will bring. Furthermore, my feelings have become a tangled quagmire I have no idea how to straighten out.
For one, I should not have an excited hamster running on a wheel in my stomach over seeing Jack Lincoln again. He’s a bad man. A terrible employer, according to my mother and our pathetically empty bank account. A man who buys women. A man who breaks his promises. So I shouldn’t be mentally selecting my outfit for the day, wondering what would melt the glaciers of his sharp blue eyes. I shouldn’t be short of breath wondering if he’ll touch me again with total possession, total control.
My body still carries the memory of last time. His tongue learning the secrets between my thighs—secrets even I didn’t know. His two fingers roughing in and out of me. The words he said, the way his neck and jaw strained, eyes intense. Riveted on me. How sinful it felt to wrap my legs around him and surrender to the friction between us, even with an audience watching.
How at the end…I slowly stopped minding the men watching at all.
I’m not the reserved girl I thought I was apparently. When I select books to read, I usually tend to avoid the more explicit ones, but since Friday, they’re all I’ve been craving. I’m reluctantly anxious to find out more about who I am around Jack. I’m also on edge because I have no idea what’s coming. Or even how I’ll respond.
Something happened between us Friday night and now I’m left with a serious thirst for the man while also wanting to give him another couple of smacks across the face.
It’s all very confusing.
After patting my skin dry, I put on some mascara and colored lip gloss, brush out my hair and go get dressed. Again, I surprise myself. When I normally would have put on a sensible pair of pants and a sweater, I opt for a short, clingy dress with a daisy pattern, buttons running up the center and stopping right between my breasts. Looking in the mirror, I turn to the side and smooth my hands down the slopes of my cleavage, over my hardening nipples. I continue moving south, scrubbing my palms low, across my hips, lower into the V of my thighs.
I’m gathering the hem of my dress in one hand, sliding the fingers of my opposite hand into my panties when I hear footsteps approaching. Familiar ones. They belong to my mother.
Quickly, I try to appear normal. And not like I was about to touch myself.
“Maisy?” She opens my door without knocking and leans her head in, her expression weary as usual. “I’m leaving for the day. You can fix yourself dinner later before your shift?”
“Yes, Mom.”
She turns to leave.
I chew my lip for a moment, then follow her.
There is something that has been bothering me since Friday night. In addition to this whole awakened hormones business, it’s another reason I’ve been staring up at my ceiling all night when I should be sleeping.
My mother has been cleaning the Lincoln estate for over a year. She’s been complaining about her salary equally as long. But try as I might, I can’t seem to imagine Lincoln being stingy. And I really want to believe he’s a miserly employer, because it will give me more reasons to be angry with him, but somehow penny pinching just doesn’t fit with his personality. Throw in the fact that he dropped ten million dollars for my company and something doesn’t seem right.
Right before my mother can walk out the door, I stop her. “Mom?”
She pauses with one foot over the threshold. “Yes?”
“Um…” I pick imaginary lint off my dress. “I’m just curious. How much did you say Jack Lincoln pays you?”
A corner of her mouth ticks down. “Why?”
“No reason. Just…” I think fast. “Wondering if it would be more profitable if I cleaned residences, instead of the school and offices.”
“Oh.” She relaxes a little, but still hedges when it comes to giving me a figure. “Let’s just say he pays me a lot less than I’m worth.”
With a quick smile, she’s out the door. But my sixth sense continues to buzz.
I hesitate only a moment before sitting down at the kitchen table and firing up my mother’s laptop. It takes me three guesses to come up with the password to her online bank accounts…
…and the numbers in front of my eyes, the amount of the deposits, namely, make my head spin. No, this can’t be true. This can’t—
There’s a knock on the door.
Thinking it’s my mother, I almost hit the ceiling, but of course it’s not her. She wouldn’t be knocking. After a deep breath to calm my nerves, I log out of her online bank accounts, erase the browsing history and get up to go answer the door. Halfway there, though, I start to wonder if it could be Lincoln on the other side. I’m still not sure how he plans on finding me, since I never told him my last name, thus he never
made the connection between me and his cleaning lady. But he seemed so confident he’d locate me.
Slowly, I rise up on my toes and look through the peephole.
It’s not Lincoln. It’s an older man in a smart, navy suit, wearing an earpiece.
I drop back down to flat feet and try to convince myself I’m not disappointed.
“Who is it?”
“Your driver, Miss Whitaker,” he responds, tone official. “I’m here to bring you to Lincoln Management for your appointment with Mr. Lincoln.”
A fluttering kicks up in my belly. “Right.” Why am I shaking? I knew this was coming. “I’ll just grab my purse and be right out.”
“Excellent, miss.”
I jog to my room and throw my small, heart-shaped satchel across my body, preparing to slide my feet into sandals. At the last second, I switch them for a pair of naughty red heels instead, wondering for the hundredth time this morning who I am anymore. And a minute later, I’m speeding down the parkway toward the city in the back of a sleek black limousine.
* * *
When I follow my driver—and apparent bodyguard—into the black marble elevator and see that Lincoln Management takes up the top five floors of the skyscraper, I start to get nervous. Suddenly I feel naked in my daisy-patterned dress and cheap red heels. Naked and defenseless. Once the silver doors slide open, however, I realize there is nothing in my closet that would have prepared me for this place. It’s a palace of glass and chrome and white.
I’m a garish splash of red paint across the pristine canvas of Lincoln Headquarters, but I hold tight to my heart satchel and follow the driver across the floor, my chin up. After all, the man who owns this company owes me two million dollars, not the other way around.
We reach the back of the buzzing, expansive floor full of men in suits and the driver stops in front of a glass door. I’m trying to figure out how the door is made of glass if I can’t see through it, when the driver opens it, gesturing for me to go inside.