Slay One: Rivalry

by Paige, Laurelin

  Perfect timing.

  The suite was laid out so that each of us could get to our rooms from the hallway, but there was also a door that connected us. I’d examined it earlier and discovered it wasn’t locked, which meant I, of course, stuck my head in to check the space out. The design was more contemporary than the rest of the house, the colors all in shades of gold and brown, warmer than I’d expected from the man who slept there. The furniture was distinct and substantial without being too heavy. The chocolate brocade cloth headboard ran to the ceiling behind the bed, which was high off the floor, the centerpiece of the space, with two dark wood side tables on either side. In the far corner, a leather loveseat and high-back wing chair curved around a fireplace. I’d considered intruding further—poking around through his dresser, checking out the sturdiness of the mattress, leafing through the stack of books on the nightstand—but I’d already been behind schedule and couldn’t spare the time.

  Now I paused with my grip on the handle, knowing I should knock first. Knowing Edward would want me to knock first.

  But I didn’t want to knock.

  I didn’t want to ask permission to enter. I wanted to stride in boldly with confidence and cool composure. I wanted to command the situation.

  So fuck knocking. Enough kowtowing to the man. I’d seduced plenty of men in my lifetime. I was good at it even. I was going to walk in there and slay.

  I threw my shoulders back and then charged into his room. He was standing next to the upholstered bench at the bottom of the bed, where he’d lain his jacket, and, without it, I could see how well his dress shirt hugged his biceps and the way the waistcoat emphasized his trim torso. His profile was toward me, and, when I entered, he only swiveled his head to glance in my direction before returning to his task of unbuttoning his vest.

  “Now you wear white,” he said, his tone half bored.

  He was being cheeky, and I almost laughed out loud at his attempt at impertinence. He’d loved the red dress, and, even if he wanted to verbally deny it, I knew the truth, and I was sure he knew I knew it.

  Undeterred, I stepped further into the room, moving into his sightlines. “I don’t expect to be wearing it for long,” I purred.

  His jaw ticked, but his face remained otherwise stoic, his gaze refusing to truly look at me. “We’ve discussed this.”

  “We never came to a resolution.”

  “It seemed resolved to me.”

  I resisted rolling my eyes. “Give a little, Edward.” I sat seductively on the bench, my legs stretched out in front of me. “Give a little, and you’ll be happy with how much I give in return. You want the picture-perfect wife? Make me a picture-perfect wife.”

  He finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and threw it on the bench beside me, still unwilling to give me his full attention. “I transferred your monthly allowance to your account this morning. Make yourself a picture-perfect wife.”

  “Money can’t buy satisfaction,” I replied tightly.

  “Can’t it?” He raised one brow in question and looked directly at me.

  Once he did, he couldn’t help but look at all of me. His eyes scanned down the length of me, and not only did I watch as he did, I could feel them as they took in each square inch of my body. Could feel them as they passed down my throat, as they slid over the curve of my breasts, as they lingered on the dusky peaks of my nipples, as they continued lower. By the time he’d made it down my legs to the stiletto heel of my studded Alexander Wang’s, his pupils were dark and large.

  He was interested. He was so interested.

  And despite being interested, he strolled away from me, removing his watch as he did, and then placing it on his bedside table.

  God, he was so difficult.

  Seduction alone obviously wasn’t going to work with him. I’d have to try another one of my best tactics—manipulation.

  I stood up and followed behind him. “Listen, this makes sense. If you want this to look like a real marriage, then we should consummate it. At this point, I could walk away with an annulment. I could say whatever I wanted to about my reasons. Publicly. ‘He couldn’t get it up.’ ‘He wasn’t able to satisfy me in the bedroom.’ You’re seen as an alpha in the businessworld. I’m sure a little impotence wouldn’t be that concerning to your reputation. It might be harder to woo your mistresses, though, if they’re worrying about your need for a Viagra prescription.”

  He turned then to look at me, amusement on his face.

  I’d seen that expression before. Usually, I liked amusing him. Right now I wasn’t sure that it was exactly what I was going for, but at least I had his focus. Maybe this approach was working.

  I pushed further. “Or maybe your problem isn’t getting hard, but…” I wiggled my pinky finger, suggesting he had a little dick.

  He didn’t have a little dick. I’d seen the outline of that big boy from across the room at The Open Door. I’d felt it against my belly when he’d kissed me in the bathroom at the Mandarin Oriental. It was a cock he should be proud of.

  It was a cock I was dying to feel in the flesh.

  “That’s very funny,” he said. “A clever way to try to get what you want. Someone ought to do something about your stubborn relentlessness.”

  “Maybe that someone should be you.”

  Again, his gaze traveled down to the tips of my breasts, which had tightened into hard nubs. “I don’t respond well to being challenged, Celia,” he said firmly, even though his eyes said differently.

  If I could have breathed fire, I would have. “Forgive me for not having yet had a chance to read the Edward Fasbender handbook,” I growled. “Have you read mine yet? If you had, you’d know that I like sex.” I enunciated the last words to drive home the point.

  He began to work on the knot of his tie, his forehead furrowed. “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that I don’t expect faithfulness. Discreet indiscretions are completely permissible. Do you need help arranging a boy toy?”

  This time I did roll my eyes. “I can get my own fuck boy, thank you very much. I don’t want one. I want the convenience of fucking my husband!”

  “The convenience is what brought you here tonight, then?”

  I threw up my hands, exasperated. “Goddammit, Edward, you brought me here, okay? Is that what you want me to say? Well, there it is. I admit it. I’m attracted to you. I’m going out of my mind with how much I want you. I’m dizzy and aching and restless, and I swear if you don’t touch me soon, I’m going to burn up out of need, and you’ll have to explain to everyone that your new wife has left you widowed because she expired from a fatal case of lust. And maybe you think that’s stupid and lame or desperate that I can be so into you when you’re such an insane asshole, and maybe I am all of those things, but at least I’m owning it. I’m stupid and I need you to kiss me. I’m desperate and I need you inside me. So please quit being an obstinate jerk and give me something, I’m begging you. Please, please, please!”

  I hadn’t planned the outburst. The words just fell out, honest and raw, and, now having said it, I felt more exposed than if I were standing in front of him completely naked. There was wisdom to telling lies that lay next to the truth, but there was also prudence in sticking to a strategy that kept the cards close to the vest. This confession was the opposite of that. This confession was weakness and vulnerability and a big fat fucking risk.

  It was also the first thing I’d said since I’d walked in the room—no, since I’d agreed to this plan, since I’d met him, even—that had earned me the gleam of pride I saw now in his features. And, though he hadn’t said a single word in response yet, I could feel a change in the energy around him. An aura of invitation rather than rejection.

  What had I just learned? Did he simply want to hear me say I wanted him? Was honesty one of his kinks? Or was it the begging that turned him on?

  Or was I reading too much into nothing?

  Each breath passed in shallow hopeful bursts as I waited apprehensively for him to say something.
Say anything.

  He finished with his tie and threw it onto the nightstand, his eyes locked on mine. Then he turned his wrist up to undo the cufflink. “I’m the boss when I fuck,” he said resolutely. “You should know that before we start.”

  I almost got down on my knees in relief. In gratitude.

  Me. On my knees. Because a subject had told me he was going to boss me around while he fucked me. I was always the boss when I fucked. I never gave up that control. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  Whatever it was, I didn’t want to fix it. I wanted this, wanted what he was giving. My pulse was racing with the wanting, but I played it cool. “And that’s different from all the rest of the time...how?”

  He tossed the cufflink on the table and began on the next one. “I haven’t given you enough credit. It seems you do learn.”

  “Such an asshole,” I mumbled, biting back a grin.

  Before I even blinked, he’d pulled me to him, his hand wrapped tightly in my hair. “What was that?”

  I swallowed, sure he could feel my heart beating through my chest. “You heard me.”

  He yanked on my hair, and I gasped at the bite of pain. “And that’s why you want me. Because I’m an asshole.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I’d said, and I didn’t know if it was a question or if he thought he was simply repeating what I’d already said, reminding me. I was too busy staring at his mouth to think too long about it. I licked my lips in anticipation for the kiss I hoped was coming.

  He jerked again, harder this time, pulling my gaze up to his. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer.”

  “Yes, Edward,” I said, automatically, wanting to make him happy. “And yes. That’s why I want you. Because you’re an asshole.” The stupid, lame, desperate thing was that I meant this too. I’d said before that I wanted him even though he was the shithead jerk that he was, but it was also because.

  Admitting it made my already hot skin go up another half a degree. And then another half when the admission earned me his drop dead sexy smirk.

  Oh, God that smirk.

  And would he just fucking kiss me already? I was convinced he was testing me to see if I could really handle letting him have the control. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could. His lips were hovering above mine, taunting me with their nearness. It would be so easy to press up on my tiptoes and close the distance between us.

  But I didn’t. I held back and waited for him to call the shots, even though it was killing me.

  After another beat, he released his grip on my hair. “Take off your knickers. Lay down on the bed, bend your knees, and spread your legs.”

  Eager to comply, I scooted out of my panties. I considered taking off my robe and shoes as well, but he hadn’t asked me to, and I wanted to show him I could follow directions since that seemed important to him. So I got up on the bed, letting the flimsy material of my robe drape around me, and I scooted back just far enough for my heels to perch on the edge. Then I spread my legs, like he’d asked, and felt a sudden rush of warmth from the scorching heat of his gaze.

  “Now, play with yourself. Get yourself ready,” he said, dropping his second cufflink on the table. “I won’t be happy if you’re dry when I go in.” His tone was indifferent despite the look in his eyes. Despite the thick bulge of contrary evidence pressing at the crotch of his trousers.

  I didn’t tell him I was already wet. I’d given him enough honesty. He didn’t need to see any more of my cards, though I was pretty sure the truth was obvious because, when my fingers worked their way down to my pussy in compliance, my lips were drenched.

  Taking some of the moistness with my tips, I dragged my fingers up my slit to the swollen bud of heat above. With only a couple of swirls, my orgasm began to build, which was good since I needed the release, and I had a pretty strong feeling that he wasn’t concerned about helping out. His expectation that I take care of all the foreplay by myself was a good indicator.

  Or, maybe it wasn’t all by myself, because, while it was my hand doing all the physical work, the way he looked at me while I played with myself was pretty damn hot. It was intense and appreciative, even as he meticulously rolled up first one sleeve and then the other to the elbow.

  It also made me feel vulnerable, as vulnerable as when I’d confessed to wanting him as badly as I did, and, strangely, instead of shutting down my desire, the vulnerability only racheted it up a notch.

  Fuck, I was going to come. Just from this. Just from his gaze.

  “That’s what you call getting ready for me? That pathetic attempt to get off? How disappointing.” Edward’s voice was harsh and taunting, and, as much as I liked pleasing him, it seemed I really did enjoy his cruelty as well, because those words were all the nudge I needed to send me over the edge.

  It was a gentle climax, rolling quietly through my body. A soft whimper escaped my throat and my back arched, bending with the pleasure. It definitely felt good, but, after the weeks and weeks of tension, I wished it had been more. Though I’d faked several on more than one occasion, I wasn’t a multiple O kind of girl. So this subtle serene orgasm was going to have to do.

  But then Edward was there, still dressed, leaning over my torso, a hand braced at the base of my throat, the other pushing two long fingers inside me while his thumb rubbed roughly at my clit.

  “I suppose I have to do this myself, don’t I? Since you can’t seem to get it right on your own.” He hovered just above me, his breath hot on my skin while he expertly massaged my G-spot with each stroke of his fingers.

  And somehow—impossibly—another orgasm racked through me with surprising speed and intensity.

  “Yes, yes,” I panted as my body shook with the release.

  “Pitiable,” Edward said, increasing the pressure on my clit. “You can do better than that. I thought you wanted this. I thought you wanted my cock.”

  “I do, I do!”

  “Prove it, then. Show me how good your cunt will treat my cock. As of now, you don’t deserve it.” He added a third finger, and now he was truly fucking me with his hand, each thrust penetrating deep.

  It was more than I could take, another orgasm already brewing low in my belly like a tumultuous storm, and I felt the impulse to push him away. Yet at the same time, my hips bucked up to meet each piercing stab, and the breathy words escaping from my lips were, “More! Please! More!”

  Then it was upon me, a hurricane of a climax, whirling through me with violent fury. Black holes spread across my vision while tears leaked from my eyes.

  “Ah, fuuuucccck!” I barely recognized the gutteral moan coming from my mouth as mine. My fingers curled desperately into the bedspread at my sides. Sweat poured down my face, and my entire body went stiff, shaking uncontrollably while my pussy pulsed and clenched.

  In the back of my head, I was vaguely aware of Edward still there, talking to me with urging words that I was too brainless to understand. One hand still sat heavily across my nape like a collar, but his other hand disappeared and a second later I heard the familiar unzipping sound of a zipper.

  I was still vibrating when the head of his cock brushed across my entrance. “I’m not stopping to look for a condom, and I don’t trust you with my cum, even if you say you’re on birth control, so I’ll be pulling out.”

  Without any other warning, he shoved inside of me on a low grunt.

  And, holy shit, he was big.

  I’d known he was big, but the visual evidence was much different than the tactile evidence. His girth filled me completely, pressed firmly against my walls. Each stroke in and out massaged places inside of me that had never been touched, and oh my God, I was definitely going to come again.

  My heels flew off as my legs and arms went instinctively around him, both to bring him closer and to keep him from going anywhere. Oh, and also to hold on for my own dear life, because he rode me rough with deep, rapid jabs.

  Even at his ferocious tempo, he barely broke a sweat. I was breathless and wild und
erneath him while he seemed almost unaffected.

  His eyes, though. His eyes gave him away. I’d closed mine briefly first, and then I’d opened them to find him studying me intently with his heavily lidded blues. I had no idea what he saw in me, but what I saw made my stomach fly into my chest. There was a softness there I’d never seen in him before. A tenderness completely out of character.

  Had that look always been there? Hidden by a grave exterior, did that look live beneath in the same way a nuclear core of emotion dwelt concealed inside of me?

  I didn’t know, but I hoped so. I liked that look. I wanted to hold onto it. I clung to it with my gaze, and brought my hands from his shoulders up to cradle his face.

  He flinched at the touch, and growled. His hand moved to my tangle in my hair, and he pulled viciously, as he had earlier. The message was clear—he’d fuck me, but he didn’t want it to be intimate.

  But he’d started it first, with that softness in his eyes, and I wasn’t going to be outdone. I refused to remove my hands, even as his thrusts grew more brutal, and he shifted his pelvis to torment and brush against my sensitive clit.

  It was a battle, his resolve against mine. His determination to stay cruel and hard versus my insistence to see more of the kindness peeking out from underneath.

  And when his mouth crashed down against mine, and his lips kissed hungrily at mine, I claimed victory as mine. Because that kiss—that kiss, with its persistent strokes of his tongue and greedy nips of his teeth—that kiss was generous and warm and affectionate. That kiss was kindling, and, as I clutched my fingers in his hair and devoured what he gave, another powerful orgasm surged through me.

  “No, you don’t push me out,” he said, as I clamped down around his cock, a ruthless smile on the lips that had just been locked with mine. “You let me in when I want in.” He pushed harder, forcing his way through the clenching walls of my pussy.

  When he was deeply seated, his cock buried inside me to the root, he leaned his forehead against mine, and in my hazy post-orgasm state, I may have heard wrong, but I swear he whispered, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this.”