by Christa Wick
“Just relax, love.”
I whimpered, the rest of my body warring with my heart. “Could you stop calling me that? Please?”
“No, Pippa. For as long as you agree to be mine, I won’t stop.”
I knew he was talking about the timeline of our marriage arrangement—however many months it’d take before the lawsuit was done and beyond appeal. But for the moment, I wanted to pretend it was otherwise, to stop worrying about how quickly things were progressing and go, just once in my life, with the moment.
“Blake…” I started to writhe against him, my indecision gnawing at me, right alongside the newfound hunger I couldn’t seem to contain for more of his touch.
He peeled one thick fold of flesh to the side and smoothed the pad of his thumb slowly down my clit. “I told you before the night began. I told you what you are to me now. Repeat it back to me, baby. What are you to me?”
“Yours,” I whispered, my hips started to pump small circles as his thumb took another stroke along my length.
“Mine,” he growled in near feral agreement.
The next stroke had my hips thrusting high, a harsh moan leaving me in a shudder.
“Mine to love, to touch…”
Touch me, he did. His fingers slid down my wet slit, their tips taking a shallow dip inside to find more moisture. With fingers curling, he pushed three of them into my clenching depths before they re-emerged to rub against the hypersensitive spine of my sex. They danced against my clit, stroking, pulling, gliding wet with my juices.
His lips caressed my neck, coaxed small sounds of pleasure from my throat as my hips began to move in time with his hand. I felt myself cresting, my stomach muscles and thighs tightening as my mound lifted higher.
I whimpered, begged him for the first time that night not to stop what he was doing.
He slowed, teasing for a second before he buried three fingers in me again, the heel of his hand manipulating my clit. His free hand took hold of the hair at the nape of my neck, drawing my head back until I was looking up at him.
“Blake…Blake… Please don’t stop.”
“Baby, nothing in this world could make me stop right now.” His gaze jumped from my face to my pussy, his head dipping occasionally to kiss me, roughly, reverently, his tongue an invading force not to be denied. More rhythmic squeezes followed, extending my pleasure, leaving me gasping for air between his kisses.
He squeezed my mound, his mouth claiming mine again. “So damn sexy.”
I froze, my butt hovering half a foot above the seat cushion as my orgasm crashed over me, my legs and torso vibrating with the strength of my release.
He watched me come apart in his arms and even through the blood rushing in my ears the entire time, I heard him. And a part of me was starting to believe him.
“So beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful.”
SIX
- Pippa -
Still lost in the aftermath of the single most powerful orgasm I’d ever experienced, I failed to notice it was not my home we were driving to but his Manhattan penthouse when I finally came out of my post-bliss haze.
Tucked against his shoulder, I realized the limo was pulling into an underground garage.
I lifted my head to look at him, certain my gaze was wide-eyed and a blink away from being mortified—mostly by my body's reaction to him. “Why are we here?”
“Really, Pippa?” Lowering the hem of my dress and smoothing the fabric, Blake hesitated. “Am I supposed to be the kind of man who would propose to his fiancée and then not immediately spend the night with her?”
“What do you mean, spend the night?” Sure, I’d fallen asleep at his place a few times in the past when we’d pulled an all-nighter working. But this was completely different.
He laughed, brushed his cheek against mine and whispered, “Relax, P.J. I promise I won’t ravish you all night long. I know how you need your sleep.”
He sounded like he was teasing, and also not. Though his words were casual, almost innocuous, the vibration running through his throat sounded anything but. He sounded famished. When he looked at me again, his gaze just grew hungrier.
I didn’t know what to believe.
Still, I couldn't deny his argument was sound, nor could I escape the fact that leaving his place now that he'd brought me here would be disastrous if anyone noticed. Private and public—it was a necessary part of the deal. So I nodded and let him lead me from the limousine to the private elevator. The doors opened onto a small foyer with two chairs, a side table and a heavy oak door with a deadbolt.
Blake fished a key from his pocket, reached inside and punched a code into the security system. I took a step forward, but he halted me with a light touch on my shoulder.
“Let's do this right.” He bent down, one arm braced against my lower back while the other gently knocked my legs out from under me, impressing me once again with his strength. He lifted me, then stepped inside and thumbed the lock on the deadbolt.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I tried to swing my legs down, but he only lifted me higher, throwing me off balance so that I had to wrap my arms around his neck to keep from landing us both on the floor.
“Taking you to my—our—bed.”
Definitely reaching full-scale mortification, I buried my face against his chest.
Blake chuckled. “Aren't you tired, baby?”
Not even a little bit.
Sleep was the last thing Cross had on his mind. He placed me center of the mattress and stripped the strappy silver sandals from my feet. Gray eyes flashing like polished gun metal, he climbed up the bed, pushing the bottom of the tube dress up.
Exposing my soaked panties, he brushed his lips over the fabric. “God, I wanted to taste you back in that limo. Took everything I had to stop myself.”
My stomach clenched—this time with nerves. The limo had been dark, just the faint glow of the back seat electronics and two small floor lights illuminating me. Here, the room’s light on, every last roll and dimple of flesh was exposed.
I tried to push the hem down.
He captured my hands and held them against the mattress as he nosed the fabric back up.
“Baby, you’re not hiding this from me.” He took a gentle bite of my thigh. “I want to see every last, luscious inch you have to offer before I taste you.”
Releasing my wrists, he untied the wrap and then he pressed down on the mattress to create a small pocket of space. He slid his hands under me, his agile fingers working to unzip the dress. He stripped it and the wrap off, tugging both up over my pliant arms to leave me trembling in just my panties.
I watched his face, knowing my gaze was anxious as hell but unable to pretend otherwise. He licked his lips, first the bottom and then the top, everything in slow motion as his gaze darted, then lingered, then darted again to take all of me in.
His attention settled at last on my breasts. His mouth descended, releasing a soft moan before he latched onto one straining nipple. The massage of his hands along my hips turned to tugs as he stripped the panties from me.
“Blake—” I choked down an excited groan as the suction on my nipple intensified. “Blake, you said we'd talk about this first...”
Releasing my breast with a wet pop, he looked up as he slid down my body. A famished grin broke across his face. Lifting a brow, he looked down at the wet parting of my thighs. His tongue snaked out to moisten his top, then bottom, lip again as he slowly shook his head.
“No, baby.” His face dipped lower, his nose brushing the line of my pussy before his hot gaze pinned me to the mattress. “I said we'd talk about 'that'—the thing you couldn’t bring yourself to ask me about.”
He took his first slow lick, groaning as his eyes fluttered shut. “I never said we'd talk about 'this.' This…this you just need to lay back and feel. No analyzing, no discussing. Just let me make you feel good, love.”
Pleasure whipped through me as his lips settled against my clit. He sucked the swollen dangle of fl
esh into his mouth. His tongue traced tight circles. I convulsed, my flesh already hypersensitive from the orgasm he'd delivered in the back seat of his limousine.
“Blake...” I brought my hands down to the black tangle of curls crowning his head, intent on pushing him away. Another exquisitely long lick of his tongue from the top of my clit down to my quivering hole changed my mind and left me knotting my fingers in his thick hair.
His hands followed his tongue, the tips of his fingers dragging inside me against the back of my clit in a little “come here” gesture that had me swooning and moaning his name. He repeated the motion, his tongue teasing the glans hiding under the hood of my clit at the same time.
He was going to make me come again, just as hard as the first time. It was an alien sensation—not the climax, but at the hands of a man. I had allowed few lovers into my bed and, apparently, Blake was right. They’d been amateurs. Selfish amateurs, their critical gazes comparing me to the women who had dumped them and finding me not worth their time to please. Dive in, pump a few times and get the hell out.
Not Blake. He took his time. All part of his brand—customer satisfaction and a famous, meticulous attention to detail. He nibbled, sucked, stroked, his gaze raking my flesh before locking on my face.
Holy hell—there was no way in the world I’d be getting through this without him effectively ruining all men for me, not when he was looking at me like that, his expression fierce as he devoured my sex, licking, sucking, driving me right up and over the edge.
I tightened around his fingers, tried to halt the onrush of my climax. Blake pushed deeper, three fingers wide as his shoulders wedged my thighs apart. My hips lifted from the mattress, my pussy cresting against his mouth as he delivered another deep stroke. My stomach rippled, the muscles of my pussy causing it to roll up and down as the rest of my body locked in place.
His hand took up a steady rhythm, his tongue and lips matching the pace as the first wave of my climax slammed through me. I cried out, my palms thrust open and pressing down on his skull.
“Yes, Blake…yes…right there...”
“Right. Fucking. There,” he growled in agreement.
Another wave slammed through me, faster and harder than the first. The undertow tugged at my hips, pulling me down for a second before the next wave buoyed me back up. His name ripped from my throat one last time before I collapsed in a shuddering, sticky mess of ecstasy.
Blake surged up the mattress. He rolled me onto my side, his chest pressed against my back. He was still clothed, only his shoes abandoned. I gripped the side of his pant leg, my nails threatening to shred the fabric as my ass bounced against his cock.
“Shhh, baby.” He reached around, cupping and squeezing my mound in an effort to control me. His teeth scraped along my neck before gently biting down. “You can't keep moving like that, Pippa.”
He squeezed again, his fingers dipping into the wet pulse of my hole to trace the ring of muscle as I groaned into the pillow. “You keep moving against me and I'm going to take you—right now.”
I wanted him to take me, could feel through the cloth how thick and hard he was. I wiggled my ass, pressed it tighter against him.
“No, baby.” His breath vibrated hot along my throat as a shudder rolled through him.
“Blake...please.” A whimper, a wiggle. I tried to reach between our bodies to find and palm his cock, to stroke the hard shaft until his will crumbled and he was buried to the hilt inside me.
He captured my wrists, brought my hands up to cross my breasts as he threw a leg over my lower body.
“I promised you, love, that you’d be in good hands. That you could trust me. Don't make me break my word.”
I tried to do just that, but, in the end, he wrestled me into submission.
Eventually, fatigue claimed me, and I was asleep soon afterwards.
It was the first time in a long while that I’d slept straight through to morning.
And the first time ever that I woke up to a single rose on the pillow beside me.
SEVEN
- Pippa -
I soon found that there was far more than just the rose waiting for me.
Once I sat up, cleared the sleep from my eyes and looked around, I spotted the door to Blake's walk-in closet open and a female "office ensemble” hanging from a door hook. Not that the outfit was inappropriate for work, but it was expensive, even by New York standards.
That the clothes, including several other outfits and accoutrements, were there and a perfect fit provided further evidence that Blake had shopped in advance of coming to my office with his crazy offer. The outfit he had set out consisted of a loose, flowing skirt of pale gray. He had paired it with an equally pale pink blouse with full sleeves and a plunging neckline. Pink lace bra, camisole, and panties, as well as a pair of gray suede flat-heeled pumps finished the outfit.
My first impulse was to ignore what he had laid out, but the other outfits were a variety of the same. Fancy, tastefully sexy if they were going on a body considerably slimmer than mine.
Not a pair of pants to be found.
The man never did like my pant suits.
Sighing, I grabbed the clothes and took them into the master bathroom. I expected to find whatever hygiene products Blake used. Instead, I found his stuff and more than a full stock of unopened female toiletries and cosmetics. The perfume was my usual, but the cosmetics were one each of the major brands. The thoughtfulness seemed excessive, but then I wondered if he used to do just this sort of thing for all the women he’d bedded in the past.
That thought made me give the cosmetics a wide berth.
I stepped into the shower, turning the water on cold and letting it stream over me until the stampede of emotions running through me passed. When my head was clear, I switched to hot and finished the rest of my shower quickly, ready finally to face the day.
Dried and dressed, I went in search of my clutch and Blake—or at least a note from him. He was as notorious for being in the office well before eight as he was for anything else.
“Good morning, Miss Jones.”
I froze, hands in the air like a thief being caught in a home they’d broken into. Slowly, I turned to find a woman in her mid-fifties pouring a cup of heavenly-smelling coffee. Blake often talked about his amazing house manager who was more like a mother-figure than an employee. Now I saw his description was spot-on; I wanted to hug the woman already.
“Mr. Cross said you take it black.” She smiled at me warmly. “I’ll get breakfast going in just a bit. I'm Abigail, by the way. We’ve never had a chance to meet before since you’ve only been over after I’m done for the day, and always gone before I get here, but I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Likewise,” I smiled back.
At her mention of the time, I looked at the clock and did a double take. It was almost ten. The latest I’d woken up in years, and the first full night of sleep I’d had since my IRS troubles began.
Truthfully, I was surprised by how well I’d slept. Falling into my post-climactic slumber last night, I had felt like I was floating in Blake’s arms as I drifted off to sleep, his strong, masculine scent surrounding me and making me feel safe the entire time.
And now it was taking more effort than expected to return to reality today. “Thank you Abigail, but there’s no need to cook for me, really. It’s so late, I only have a quick minute to stop by my office to check in before I go see the attorney. My staff probably think I've been kidnapped or something.”
“Oh, I think your employees will understand you taking some…personal time, given last night’s events.”
Her tone was innocent, almost teasing, but the context behind what she was saying quickly slammed into me.
The Post!
“Abigail, do you happen to have the morning paper?”
She hesitated a second then shook her head slowly.
“Was it that bad?” Stomach clenching, I looked around for my phone so I could pull up the digital e
dition and find out just what horrid things they’d printed about Blake and me on page six.
Blatantly not answering my question, she instead turned and led me by the scent of coffee she was carrying into the next room. She then handed me a big envelope, effectively diverting my attention from the search for my phone.
“This is for you.” She further distracted me by finally letting me have the steaming mug of caffeine goodness.
Thanking her, I took a sip. Sumatra Black Satin Roast—I kept fresh beans on hand at the firm for Blake's visits.
Opening the envelope, I shook out three keys. The first I recognized as my own. I assumed the second two were for the elevator and deadbolt to the penthouse. A sheet of paper held security codes and an address and time for the meeting with Blake's attorney to go over the prenuptial agreement.
This was all moving so fast.
As I mentally arranged my morning schedule around the appointment, Abigail handed me my missing purse. “I didn’t know what personal items you needed, so I got a little bit of everything yesterday. Whatever you don’t want I’ll take to the women’s shelter.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to go to the trouble.”
“It was no trouble at all, dear.” She handed me a small ivory card with her name printed above a cell phone number and email. “Anything else you want me to pick up for you, just send me a message.”
Still not used to having anyone buy me things or even take care of me like this, I simply nodded my appreciation politely and smoothly turned my attention to rows of books lining the walls. Business, finance, design, art, psychology, tactical warfare. Not a volume of fiction or biographies that I could see.
“I'm surprised he didn’t go digital.” I nodded at the books.
Abigail pulled a book down from the nearest shelf and let it fall open to a well-worn page. “He'd have to get someone to transpose his notes first.”
