Hardcore (Filth Book 3)

by Dakota Gray

Jesus. Christ. I can't fuck her. Not yet. I tease her clit just a bit harder, faster to get to the end. I can't sit there with her spooned against me. She's too soft, too vocal...too Kennedy.

  Control is all I have on my side. I never let it go. I move my mouth back to her ear. “I didn't even take off your panties and you're about to come for me. Just think if I used my mouth or my dick.”

  She rocks her hips into my hand. “Think of what you could have done if you’d taken them off.”

  I turn my face into her hair and smile. She’s not shy in bed when I tease her. I move my mouth down to her ear. “I don’t have to.”

  I can’t confess to her all the ways I replayed that night we were together. In my mind I’ve done everything that’s legal to do to another person. And a lot of things that probably aren’t. I’ve had one-thousand and ninety-five days of her crossing my mind. For the memory of that night to taunt me. For me to transform it into what it could have been...should have been.

  “What could I have done? Licked you until you dripped down my chin. Sat you on my dick and let you grind into me until I couldn’t breathe. But I’m going to swirl my fingers into your wet cunt then lick you off slowly to savor you.” I lower my voice to a growl. “That's how you can get inside me.”

  She gives me a soft, sharp gasp as a rebuttal. I don't have to slip two fingers into her pussy to know she's close, but she is, so I do. Oh, my fuck. I bite her neck again. I let my tongue follow to soothe the sting and to taste her.

  “What else?” she begs for more.

  “My cock stretching you, reaching so deep you don’t know where I end and you begin. You’ll tug me tight and wet.”

  And I will never want her to let me go.

  Kennedy squeezes a nipple through the lace material of her bra. She's fucking beautiful. With my fingers buried so deep she's an extension of me. Her hips follow the steady pump of my hand.

  She's not my puppet, but my fingers make her talk. Her words make my dick wet because they sound like promises. I add my thumb to finish her off. The more I play her like a guitar, the stickier, the slicker my hand gets. She balls her hand into the pillow, and her face follows. Her long moan is muffled by the cotton. I get front row seats to the sight of Kennedy coming. She’s not running but succumbing to the pleasure I’m giving her.

  It’s beautiful.

  She’s beautiful.

  A good man, a decent one would push her into the mattress, climb behind her and give her what she is begging for. But…

  I push her until she's on her stomach. I grind my dick into her ass and close my teeth on the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. She wiggles against me then gives in by pushing her ass into me. Kennedy is mine for the taking. I can have her any way my perverted mind can imagine. I'm so fucking tempted as her hair fans over her exposed back and tickles my face. I grab her wrists and spread them above her head.

  Instead of fucking her, I suck hard on the flesh until it purples. She's mine now, in a small, temporary way. She'll eat, work, but when she gets home, there the love bruise will be to remind her I had her squirming beneath me. That thought won't cure the ache in my dick, but it's enough for now.

  With all the strength I can muster, I edge back. “I've made you come, but I have to be at work soon. Shower, eat, do whatever you need to. I'll take you to your car.”

  She stills beneath me. My words aren't just a douse of cold water, they're a slap.

  Kennedy tilts her head and I don't need the full brunt of her glare to feel the burn of her anger. “If you do this...”

  The words are spaced out and I know she means every single one. The threat doesn’t need to be spoken for me to believe I deserve them. “Do what, Kennedy?”

  “I told you not to tease me.”

  I rub my mouth against the dark bruise I left on her neck. She melts into me again. My head spins at the way I, Duke Alexander, can make this woman lose the weight of gravity with my mouth. I’m not a teenage girl waiting on her crush to call. I’m the awkward boy amazed I made the pretty girl laugh. People have quaked at my very name. She doesn’t give a single fuck about it, and yet my mouth skimming her skin, me a looming heat at her back, makes her shiver and moan.

  This is power—the kind that makes men stupid and greedy.

  I slide my fingers back into her pussy, let myself sink into her soft wetness. She arches her back, seating me deeper. She's mine again, just that easy. I press my chest to her back and do my best to fuck her with my hand as though it’s my dick. Dexterity is on my side. Her soaking through her panties is another point in my favor. My need to make her bow into me the ultimate upper hand.

  The orgasm I give her is swift, hard and leaves her arms shaking. Every shudder strums through me our bodies are so close. Her gaze is too soft for a glare now, but she tries when I release her.

  I don’t care how I sound as I say, “I told you I wasn't going to tease you, but we don't have the time to do what I really want to do to you. If that's not good enough, then hate me.”

  “You—”

  I silence what I’m sure is a condemnation with my mouth. Then I let her go. She collapses onto the mattress as though I’ve taken the fight out of her. I climb out of the bed and stalk to the shower. I make it cold and long just to hold onto a semblance of control.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I stride into work an hour later, and I might as well be walking down the hall like one of those jackasses who mimics finger guns and says hey, there buddy! How's it going? Great. Fine. Wonderful.

  I'm in such a good mood I want to punch myself. I didn't even get laid. It was me and my hand in that shower getting intimate.

  Why am I still in a good mood?

  Here's the confession that I know logically is awful.

  Ready?

  Kennedy barely said a word to me as she put on her dress from the night before. I denied her a valid walk of shame and she despised me every second of the car ride. I offered her Starbucks. She begrudgingly took that and the warmed cookie I bought her. When we finally made it back to her car, I pushed her up against it and kissed her like that simple action could make or break my fucking world.

  And she hated me.

  Couldn't help but want me despite it.

  All I wanted to say to her was, Fucking sucks doesn’t it, sweetheart?

  Bear with me as I explain. A lot of shit hasn't gone my way. I'm not one of those dickhats who feels the world owes them or that I'm entitled to anything because I exist. I will work hard to get what I want.

  Ivy leagues were on the table before I graduated high school, but my father sat me down and told me what I would need to do for him to get that tuition paid outside of scholarships. It involved a lot of kissing ass and saying how high when he said jump.

  Every achievement in my life from that point on would be thanks to him, and I would never be allowed to forget it.

  So I built up a resume and went to several law firms, willing to do grunt work for pay instead of an internship. I would have happily made copies and stapled anything they needed. They couldn't let Duke Alexander do that. My last name was too much of a fucking institution.

  When they only offered me unpaid internships, I hit burger joints until someone took pity and hired me. I saved every penny and went to a state school. I worked full-time and went to school full-time even though I had a silver spoon in my mouth. I honestly can't remember my early twenties because of it. What I can recall is that I was either slopping grease or studying.

  I had loans just like everybody. I could have easily been senior partner at my father's firm. Yet I have worked for everything I've had, and I am damn proud of everything I managed to achieve. Those decisions made me the man I am, and I wouldn't take a single one back. I'm not looking for applause, either, not for any of it.

  And that's the thing. Three years ago Kennedy saw Duke Alexander, the Institution. The man with dark eyes, slicked back hair, and a cold heart. He was that man because he could be, not because the world had
carved him into that. Never once did she consider why I’m ‘too intense.’ Why I go cold. I should be trust-fund reckless. I should have considered her hopping on my dick inevitable. What woman wouldn't want to fuck me?

  But that's not my reality and has never been.

  Kennedy being pissed at the fact she can't just walk away without a backward glance feels like a win over every time someone has looked down their nose at me. Every time someone assumed I wouldn't, couldn't put in the hard work.

  She didn’t wonder how hard it would hit me if my dick was still wet from her mouth and she didn’t care, because of course I’d shrug my shoulders and move on.

  This morning, Kennedy left my house pissed off and disgruntled with my terms for our affair, but she's agreed to them in her own way.

  I can only recognize that's how Kennedy makes me feel—I'm winning. Finally.

  Not that she's a great woman. Though she is. There's something indefinable about us when we're together. Okay. There's that too.

  But the biggest draw, the reason I'm going to do this shit the hard way?

  I'm winning. Finally.

  Awful, right?

  I wish I could feel the depth of that.

  Awful is an irritating fly buzzing around my head. Pain cuts into me deep enough I can feel the ache of it.

  Yeah. Kennedy’s going to come back and hit me harder for how I left her hanging this morning. Does that make it right? Fuck if I know.

  I still can't wait for her to knock me off my stride.

  *****

  I slap the intercom and can hear the low murmur of voices. “Gwen, if you don't get your ass in here in the next thirty seconds...”

  In fifteen she's not at the door. I'll be in a position of weakness if I go see why. I glance at my desk. About five books are open, and three need to go back to the library. That's discounting the sixteen tabs I have open on Google. I need Gwen’s memory and for her to draft an appeal.

  Thirty seconds go by and no hurried paralegal rushes into my office. I snatch up the books and edge to the door to see what the fuck is going on. Only practice keeps me from laughing, sourly.

  There's an ass, handcrafted by Satan, in a beige pencil skirt. The woman attached has captured my paralegal’s full attention. Kennedy is also wearing stilettos. There is a richness to the red that doesn't seem to clash with her hair, or her shirt in the same shade. No dolly today, so she's here to fuck with me and catch me off guard.

  I take the books back to my desk, settle in and re-read for the one-thousandth time today about probable cause. It takes Kennedy another minute to mosey her way into my office.

  I look up when I hear the lock slide into place. She leans against the door and clasps her hands in front of her.

  I slip a paper between the pages like I need to dog-ear the section. “Good afternoon, Ms. Mclane.”

  She laughs. “I love your poker face.”

  I love the fact she can see through it. “What brings you by?”

  “You.”

  I hiss at the honesty of her answer. She's playing the game straight today. “Missed me already?”

  She pushes from the door and struts over to my desk in those goddamn stilettos and her pencil skirt. I should have spent more time worshiping her legs. They deserve it. I lean to the side in my chair to hold her gaze when she settles a few inches away from my left arm.

  Her tongue glosses over her top lip and she has to know that I'm enthralled by the pink-on-pink action. “I had some time to reflect on what happened this morning.”

  “And?” I rasp.

  “You're taking things slow. I can get that.”

  In case you didn't pick up on it, smart women make my dick hard. Kennedy falls under that umbrella. I want to fuck her on my desk because of it. Again. “And?”

  “Given what happened last time, we should have a bed. Now the question is: my house or yours? I vote for mine. My fridge is always packed with food so we won't starve during this sex marathon. And I don't want you to suffer from the vapors if we get lube on your sheets.”

  My laugh spills out before I can stop it. “I like big hearty meals after sex, and I have no doubt I'm the better cook.”

  “You can cook?”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Your mother didn't teach you.”

  “No.” I frown. “She didn't.” Her statement gives me pause. “How do you know that?”

  She tucks her hair behind her ears. “You have 'I grew up with a maid' written all over you.”

  And there it is. You’re entitled. I can overlook you. I nod at her observation and swallow down what feels like glass at her words. “The solution is simple. We'll cook for each other, tonight, and whoever makes the better meal...”

  “Deal.” She leans into me. “Today I dressed with you in mind. Couldn't get you off my mind, actually.”

  Her words—I don't think any exist for how I feel to hear her say that. I tilt my head and look up her skirt. The way she's sitting I can see polka dots decorate her thong. “I don't like the outfit.”

  Her brows slash down. “Excuse me?”

  “All you need is one simple fix though.” My mouth betrays me with a smile. “Take off your panties and it'll be perfect.”

  Her mouth crooks up. “That's it?”

  I shrug. “You can give them to me, and I'll keep them safe until tonight. Believe me when I say I know men who will steal your panties just to sniff them. Fucking perverts.”

  She faux gasps. “The deviant individuals out there in the world. You promise to keep my panties safe from harm?”

  “Promise.”

  She glances back at the door and stands up. I hold my breath as she unzips the skirt, lifts it about three inches. “If you want them you can have them.”

  I turn my chair, not wasting a moment to put my hands on her again. Her breath catches when my fingertips brush up her legs. I take my time catching the flimsy band. She watches me intently as I tug the thin straps down her hips, thighs, and knees. The middle is damp with her cream and I have to take a moment to appreciate my effect on her.

  She rests her hands on my shoulders, putting her tits close enough to bite. Tempting. I pull her panties off the rest of the way. Her hair brushes along my cheek. I breathe her in. I hate the way my heartbeat spikes. Shit, the way my palms get sweaty.

  But I tuck her underwear into my jacket's inside pocket and relax in my chair like my dick isn't trying to fight its way out of my slacks.

  “Better?” she asks.

  I go to answer and my intercom buzzes. I slap the speaker button. “Better be good, Gwen.”

  “Gabriel Lance is here. Mr. Lance will send him down from his office in fifteen minutes.”

  I sigh. “I'll be with him in a minute.” I double-check the intercom is off before I look at Kennedy again.

  She's adjusted her skirt and put some distance between us. I would swear on record there’s an extra, wonderful jiggle when she moves now.

  The fucking temptress asks, “Do you need me to give you directions to my house?”

  “I'll be at your place around seven.” Of course I’m not going to tell her I don’t know, but believe me I’m going to by the end of today. “I'm pretty sure Gwen has just cleared the rest of my schedule for my very special client. If anything comes up, I'll text you.”

  She glides to the door. “Well, bring an appetite.”

  Then she's gone. Seconds later Gwen comes into my office, and her gaze is roaming the room. There's no evidence of what transpired. Except for the bulge in my pocket and pants.

  I clear my throat. “Is that Gabriel's file or did you come in here to be nosy?”

  “Both.” She drops the folder on my desk. “I can take back those books if you're done with them.”

  “Do so, and the next time I call you, you come running to my office.”

  “Kennedy paid me not to, and to pretend that she didn't close your office door.”

  Smart goddamn woman. I'm going to fuck
her on every flat surface on earth. “You're really making me rethink your loyalty.”

  “Pfft.” She pauses and unease settles in her posture. “Your mother called again.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. My mother isn't this insistent. “Did she leave a message?”

  “Wanted to know if you were okay and how you were holding up.”

  I flinch at the words. I'm going to have to call her sooner rather than later if she's worried about me. Shit. “Send Gabriel in when he gets down from Lance's office.”

  Her mouth tightens. “Yes, sir.”

  “Gwen, wait. Did you hunt down the information on Trevor Winter yet?”

  “The Sec is on it.”

  Then she’s gone. I don't get time to debate if I should call my mother now or tomorrow morning, because Gabriel's in my office a minute later. Without looking up from my legal pad, I ask, “Did you break a rule and talk to Preston about your case?”

  “No. I’m listening to you.”

  I glance up and manage to keep my face free of a reaction.

  He gestures to himself. “What do you think?”

  “I think you look like a decent human now. Nice haircut.”

  And it is. He no longer looks like a boy band reject. The cut of the navy blue suit is decent enough I won't complain he's not wearing a tie. I make note to have an extra in my briefcase on his court days, but if I'm doing my job right he won't need it.

  I push out of the chair. “Have you eaten lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  I push the speaker button. “Gwen, what conference rooms are open?”

  “C on the third floor and A on the first.”

  “I'll be taking C. Order some Thai.” I grab his file and a legal pad. “Follow me.”

  “Uncle P said he believes I’m innocent.”

  “That’s good.”

  There’s no bangs to hide behind. I see the way his gaze shutters. “He said I could trust you.”

  “Are you going to?”

  He smiles. “I plead the fifth.”

  “Wise ass.”

  The smile dips and then fades. “I still don't get why we're doing all of this. They haven't arrested me. They might not. I don’t know why they are focusing on me when someone killed my friend.”