by Dani Wyatt
He rolls up his shirt sleeves and I see the dark hair covering his arms, along with the tattoo that starts on the top of his hand and extends up his wrist. I wonder if the same dark hair covers his chest. If there are more tattoos, and what they might mean.
How much hair is around his cock...
“That’s it? You were just thinking about me? What was I doing in these thoughts?” He pauses, looking at me with those piercing gray eyes that feel like the sweetest daggers in my heart.
“You were—” The words catch in my throat as I look at his forearms, the muscle under the skin shifting as his massive hands come to rest on my cheeks, guiding me down lower on the pillows. “Touching me. Kissing me,” I whisper, and I hear a rumble come from his chest.
“Where was I touching you and kissing you?” His fingers leave my cheeks, skimming down my neck to barely brush over my rock-hard nipples before he stands straight again, surveying me as I lie before him. “Show me.”
I feel a loss as he withdraws his touch, wondering if I will ever feel it again.
To my shock, I bring my hand down to brush over my bare sex, licking my lips as I watch his eyes follow my movements, my fingers pressing into my still soaking slit, running up and down to feel the wetness coat them.
“You were kissing me here,” I whisper, and he makes a pained grunting sound. I’m still not sure if he’s just toying with me or he’s as turned on as I am, but my stomach clenches as I run a fingertip over my clit. From the electricity I feel sizzling between us, I’m hoping this is mutual, but I’m frightened I could be wrong.
“I’d like that. Has anyone ever kissed you there before?” His words are hard, full of what sounds like anger and lust, and the darkness I feel coming from him has my pussy pulsing.
I shake my head, barely able to draw a breath. There’s so much tension in the air, I’m half thinking I’m going to have a heart attack.
“Good,” he grunts, and I hear relief in his voice. “Have you saved yourself for me? All of you?”
His words ripple through me, and I wonder again if this is some sick game he’s playing.
I nod, unable to lie. “I’ve never been touched anywhere,” I admit, then correct: “Except by me.”
His hands ball into fists, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or fighting some urge that has him in pain.
He leans down slightly as if something is hurting inside him, then extends his hand, bringing it to rest on mine where it sits on my heated sex.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I feel like I’m going to explode, the tension palpable in the space between us, his long fingers on top of mine.
I’m ready to burst when suddenly a loud alarm screams through the darkness, making us both jump, and he pulls his hand from mine.
He stands bolt upright. “What the fuck.”
“What is that?” My voice is shaking along with the rest of me.
He snaps his head toward the open bedroom door, then back to me. “It’s the gate alarm at the road. Someone is here.”
Visions of an angry girlfriend ignite in my mind as he half turns before looking back down at me with fire in his eyes.
“Just hold on. I’ll be right back.”
Five
Marshall
“WHAT THE FUCK,” I GRIT out as I race down the hall and stomp into my office, walking over to the screen monitoring the security cameras facing the entry and driveway.
Each breath I release feels torn from my lungs, Emmy’s scent already scored into my very soul. Like sex candy, sweet and sultry...and fuck, when she said no one had touched her before? I already knew she was mine, but when I heard that, all bets were off. She belongs to me.
There's no car on the monitors, so I click a few buttons and change the view, huffing as I put together what’s happening.
I spin and march to the entry, and as I’m approaching, the doorbell sounds, then there’s a loud knocking and a shrill voice.
“Okay. I know you’re here; your car is here. What the heck is going on, Marshall?”
My half-sister’s less-than-pleased voice comes through before I open the door. When I do, we both stand, glaring at each other. In another universe, we would have been friends, or even business partners—she’s as tough as me, and if anything more ruthless. But as things stand, we’re family and she manages the twenty-percent stake in my fund that I signed over to my mom ten years ago.
And gets on my ass about every fucking decision I make.
“What the fuck?” I bark. “It’s almost four in the morning, Dorothy.”
Her disgusted look tells me I’m about to get an earful. “Yes, it is four in the morning. I’ve been calling you for almost an hour, and it’s going straight to voicemail.”
I look over to where my phone sits turned off on the console, her gaze following mine.
“Since when do you turn your phone off?” She steps inside without an invitation, which is no surprise.
“Since whenever I want to.” I keep the door open, reaching to grab her arm and lead her back onto the front porch so she doesn’t get too comfortable because this is going to be short and sweet.
“Connor calls me in the middle of the night, telling me you ran out after the meeting, didn’t explain anything, said you said you were losing your mind, you haven’t returned his calls or texts. So, he starts on me, waking me up, and I start calling...”
“Well, I’m fine. Both of you just need to back off. I have a mother.”
“Yeah? I called her, too. She’s been calling, and now you’ve got her upset.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “What did you go and do that for? You know how much she worries about nothing.”
Dorothy nods and shrugs. “Sorry. You brought this on yourself. We are all crazy worried—”
Just then, there’s the sound of the garage door opening. It takes me a moment, but I realize what’s happening. I bolt past Dorothy, but I’m too late. A little white Honda screeches out of the garage and down the driveway, leaving me standing there with my dick still hard and steam coming out of my ears.
AN HOUR LATER, DOROTHY has gone home and I’m on the phone with my crying mother as I sit on the edge of the bed where I still feel Emmy’s presence.
“I was so worried.”
I take a deep breath. “Mom, it was a few hours. Turning my phone off isn’t the signal of Armageddon.”
“It’s not? You’ve never turned your phone off that I can remember. I worry. You work too hard. I’m scared one day I’ll get the call you’ve dropped dead from a heart attack. What was so important that you had to turn your phone off, anyway?”
I consider telling her about Emmy, about what’s going to happen between us just as soon as I get all this mess sorted out. But it’s too early. I haven’t even told Emmy what’s going on yet, so I lie, “Wasn’t feeling a hundred percent. I decided to go home early and get some sleep, that’s all. Take care of myself better, like you said.”
“All right. Well, if you’re not better when you wake up in the morning, I want you to go see your doctor, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sleep well, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight. Love you, Mom.”
A few minutes later, I’m back in my bedroom, slipping into the sheets where her scent is still turning me into some sort of monster.
I run my hand over the faint outline of her release on the white fabric, and my cock twitches, and drops of cum seep from the tip. I already ache for her, my balls tight, ready to empty into her soft warmth. Ready for my seed to find its home deep inside her.
I roll onto my stomach, connecting my hard cock with her now dried cum, and imagine that wetness soaking my cock and dripping from my balls as I fuck down into her with nothing between us. Nothing to stop my seed being planted.
That idea’s got me spinning. I’ve never even considered being a father. But since the first moment I saw Emmy, images of her round with my baby have tortured my mind.
She’s too young for me, I know that, but
Let people stare. Let them wonder if I’m her father or her husband.
Husband.
Fuck. That’s something else I’ve never thought of, and now it’s becoming my obsession.
To make her my wife.
To breed my babies into her so the world knows who she belongs to and that she’s never getting away.
I rub myself on the sheets, dry humping my mattress, imagining her under me. I want relief, but the only thing that will be good enough is her, so I’ll put up with the frustration until the time is right.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve become an out-of-control, obsessed beast, hell-bent on securing her in my life, not just for a moment but forever.
I can still hear her sugary-sweet voice saying my name. I’ve memorized every word she said to me, every intonation of every syllable, playing them over and over in my mind until I can’t stand it anymore.
I turn over, throw an arm over my eyes, and when I close them all I see is her sweet face looking at me from my bed, her lush body naked, from where I’m lying right now, knowing how close I came to claiming what is already mine in my eyes.
Finally, I let sleep take me for a few hours, determined that when tomorrow comes, I will track her down and finish what we started.
Six
Emmy
GOD, PLEASE DON’T LET me throw up.
I’m sitting outside Carver’s office, he’s on the phone but I can’t make out what he’s saying. There’s a harsh snip in his voice, and every part of me knows that whatever is upsetting him has something to do with me.
After I got home last night I barely slept. I knew Marshall would more than likely call the agency and give them an earful about coming home and finding me sleeping in his bed. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t seem too upset at the time; the moment his girlfriend got home, he would have told her it was all me and he was trying to get rid of me.
I drop my head into my hands, resting my elbows on my knees, and wonder how I got myself into such a mess.
When my phone rang at seven-thirty this morning, I knew it would be a call from my work, either telling me I was fired or calling me into the office. It was Carver himself, clearly displeased, and the tone of his voice made my stomach turn.
The gist of the conversation was that I needed to get to the office immediately, and I’m sure it’s just a formality to terminate me face to face.
I feel so alone. Ever since my grandparents passed away, my heart has been in a box.
They raised me after my own parents died, then in the last few years, when their health declined, I took care of them at home. I dropped out of high school, finishing online so I could provide their care not trusting anyone else or able to afford anything else. There was no way I was going to let them go to a nursing home on assistance and although the effort and energy it took to take care of them almost killed me, I sleep better knowing I did my best and kept them at home until the very end.
They left me a small inheritance, including their house, which my grandfather built himself on ten acres back in the woods.
With the money and no rent payment, I plan on going to school next year to study to be a vet. This job gives me just enough income to live on every month and excellent flexibility so I can use the inherited money for school, but if I get fired I won’t have any references and I’m back to square one.
Even with all of that on my mind, it’s not what bothers me the most.
My stomach is knotted, but it’s my heart that really hurts. Lying in Marshall’s bed last night, I heard the woman at the door and realized my fears had come true.
Of course, he has a girlfriend. I’m such an idiot. Whatever was happening between us was just a game for him. He comes home, finds a naked girl in his bed...
What else is a man like Marshall Rogers going to do? He probably has a woman for every night of the week. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever come across, then you add to that his wealth and success...there are probably women crawling on their knees, mouths open, ready, willing and able to service whatever his needs may be.
Besides, even if Marshall said he didn’t want to see me again and didn’t actually demand I get fired, Carver’s had it in for me since I turned him down for that date. This is going to be fun for him.
Still, a man I barely know has my heart already in shards, and I have no idea how to stop the feelings that have overtaken me so quickly.
When Carver's doorknob clicks, I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I jump at the slight sound. I look up to see him glaring down at me. We are the only ones in the office this early in the morning and being alone here with him is sending my anxiety into the stratosphere.
“Well. You’d better come in.” He jerks his head toward the office, and I push up out of the chair.
My legs are like jelly as I step by him, and he closes the door behind us. I take one more glance out of the glass window that separates the hallway from inside the office, hoping beyond hope another staff member comes in early. But no one usually comes in until at least nine a.m., and the clock on the wall reads eight-fifteen.
I wrap my arms around my midsection, trying to keep from flying apart against the beige walls as he steps behind his desk and plops down in his chair, smirking at me. There’s a Sports Illustrated bathing suit edition open and sitting next to it a Monster energy drink and an empty bag of beef jerky.
He intertwines his fingers and rests them on his belly, staring at me as my heartbeat thunders in my ears and my head begins to pound. The company polo he’s wearing is stretched tight across his belly, and there’s no sign of the belt buckle where his flesh is hanging over his waist. His khakis are pressed and too tight, showing off the outline of something under his zipper I never want to see.
His lips are cracked and dry even though he licks them almost constantly, and he has one eye that doesn’t seem to follow the other, making it difficult to know which to look at when he’s speaking. He reminds me of Al Bundy a hundred and fifty pound overweight without the lazy humor and simple manner.
“So. What happened at the Rogers house last night?” Carver sniffs and rubs his nose.
My throat closes, and I'm barely able to keep my legs under me. I open my mouth twice to answer, but no words come out, and he shakes his head at me, chuckling.
“Mr. Rogers called me this morning. He wouldn’t go into details, but from our conversation, I gather there was some sort of incident at his home last night? I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself.”
I bring my hands to my face, pressing my index fingers on each side of my nose and closing my eyes, trying to figure out how to explain things with the least amount of humiliation.
When no words are forthcoming, Carver gets up from his seat and comes around the front of the desk to stand in front of me, staring down into my face. I cast my eyes at the floor, trying desperately to find words that will spare me the humiliation that's spinning my gut into nausea already.
He smacks his tongue across the front of his teeth, and I can smell the scent of cigarettes, beef jerky and coffee on his breath as he leans in, one of his hands coming to the back of my neck, pulling my ear to his mouth.
I don’t know what to do. I’m not the bold, strong girl that was in that bed last night. I don’t know what came over me, but I know it was wrong, and I’m about to pay the price. One moment imagining I’m the beautiful, desirable girl I know I’m not is about to derail my future.
“You want to keep your job?” His words are thick, and bile tickles the back of my tongue. “It’s not too late.”
When I feel the warm wetness of his tongue flick at my ear, I gag and jerk my head to the side, stepping back as I see a smile spread over his face.
“Is that a no?”
“I can explain...” My voice shakes, and I’m not sure I can explain, but I want to keep my job and not do whatever this is that is happening right now. “What did Mr. Rogers say?”
There’s a black hole where my heart should be as I imagine Marshall telling Carver about the stupid girl he found naked in his bed last night. Or about how I was debasing myself in his house. Or at the least how unprofessional I was to invade his privacy. Any one of those things would be cause for termination.
Carver’s thick tongue swipes around his lips again, reminding me of Buddha after his meal last night. “What he told me isn’t important. Your inability to tell me your side of the story is enough. But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. You can keep your job. I’m not a bad guy; I want to help you. You just need to help me. Quid. Pro. Quo...” He traces the backs of his fingers down my arm, and I’m dizzy. I will my legs to move, to run, but my feet are stuck to the floor.
“What do you want?” I manage each word catching in my throat.
“Just some time. Lunch. Today. Simple. You keep your job, and we can discuss how I can further your career.”
I gulp. It’s just lunch. I keep my job and I can handle him. I can figure this out.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, even though every cell in my body is screaming no.
“Great.” His smug look only intensifies my trepidation. “I’ll bring us something to your place. Go home and get dressed. I’d like to see you in something lacy. Put your hair in two pigtails. Heels, too.”
What was apprehension turns to abject fear, and I stare at him, unsure what to do next. “I don’t—” I start, and he steps forward, his hand once again at the back of my neck, only harder and more insistent this time.
“You will.” He spits the words only an inch from my face. “Trust me, you’ll enjoy yourself. I know girls like you. Know what you like, even if you don’t. Yet.”
His lips meet mine, and as he shoves his tongue inside, I wince at the sick warmth and sour taste.
I scream into the invading kiss, my hands battering his chest, and on pure instinct, I drive my knee into his crotch.
He pushes me away on a pained groan, at the same time there’s a slamming sound from behind me. I jerk my head around, my eyes already blurry and burning, and I see the door wide open and Marshall standing there looking homicidal.
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