by Nikki Sloane
I arched into his hands, stretching and writhing and needing his touch to survive. The cup of my bra was pulled down and my pebbled nipple exposed to him. First to his gaze, then his fingers to pinch, and lastly his hot mouth.
“Oh,” I sighed.
It felt good, and even better when he hummed his satisfaction. I’d had fantasies about this on nights when I was tired and weak, and just wanted to get myself off quickly. That was the only time I’d allowed myself to think about Royce over the last year. But those fantasies weren’t nearly as good as this.
I stared in fascination as his tongue explored my flesh. It flicked my nipple, and I felt the snap of pleasure everywhere. His fingers pressed to me, deep in the cleft between my legs, and the steady slide back and forth caused goosebumps to lift on my thighs. Heat built and swelled from his touch.
“Jesus, you’re sexy,” he murmured when I swiveled my hips, wanting more friction, and his statement went straight to my head. He’d said his words would be lies when other people were around, so did that mean I’d always get the truth when we were alone together?
He jerked the crotch of my panties to the side and plunged a finger deep inside me in one swift move. The shocking invasion made me ball his shirt into my fists, pulling so hard I was lucky I didn’t rip the buttons. The stretch of his thick finger was uncomfortable but followed immediately by warmth and satisfaction. “Oh, oh, oh!”
His lips curled in a victorious smile as he sat back on his heels, focusing on his task. He used one hand to hold my panties out of his way and thumb my clit, while he turned the other palm up to the ceiling and eased his middle finger in and out of me.
“So smooth,” he commented.
Because he was looking at the most intimate part of me, all bare and exposed. He sounded appreciative, and that made sense, didn’t it? Wasn’t my forced makeover today partially for him?
He worked his finger in and out of me, moving faster with each thrust, until my whimpers and gasps weren’t the only sound in the room. Wet skin slid through wet skin, and the slick noise heated my cheeks. I was so turned on. Was that normal? I threaded my hands into my newly-dark hair and closed my eyes, unable to watch for a moment. I needed a break from the sight that was so erotic, I was going to tip over.
And I wasn’t ready to lose control.
I wanted this to last. To be able to commit it to memory, because every moment with Royce was full of peril. If Macalister found me lacking in any way, all this would be over. He’d take Royce from me and give him someone else to play with.
That thought made my eyes pop open. I didn’t want that. I shook on the deal and had promised myself to Royce, but that meant he belonged to me too. I reeled until I found his gaze, which was locked on to me. He was enjoying watching the pleasure wring through my body and twist on my face.
As if it weren’t enough, he bent and brushed his lips on the inside of my thigh, close to my knee. It was a chaste, sweet kiss, and the juxtaposition with what his hands were doing made me spiral. Up I went, climbing toward the end I wasn’t ready for.
Tremors bubbled up my legs, and he knew he was the cause. A deep smile widened on his lips. “You like this?”
I didn’t answer his rhetorical question. I simply hung on to his shoulders, my fingers twisting the dress shirt fabric as I hopelessly chased my breath. My pulse roared in my ears and my vision narrowed.
His finger pushed deeper, reaching somewhere new, and coupled with his insistent thumb rolling on my clit, I was doomed. When I gave a sharp gasp, he sank his teeth into the spot he’d just kissed on my thigh, and this soft, playful bite pushed me over the edge. My toes curled inside my sandals as my body jerked, overwhelmed with sensations.
I came—and left no doubt about it—because I shuddered wildly and let loose a bliss-soaked cry. It was a half-sob wrenched from my chest like part of me was dying and being reborn.
He stilled as the orgasm rocked through me in waves and slowly subsided.
When I returned to reality, he was waiting patiently on his knees, and my heart thudded faster, skipping a beat.
“That wasn’t very good,” I whispered. “Try again.”
He laughed, and the deep, warm sound was addictive. “You’re so full of shit.” His eyes were alight with humor, but sex simmered as well.
I pulled my top back into place but was interrupted when he yanked me into a surprising kiss. It was blistering. Mind-numbing. I could do nothing but tilt my head and receive it. I’d expected lust from Royce, but not passion. I thought he’d be the hurried and inconsiderate prince of Cape Hill, but as he’d admitted—that wasn’t him. I’d only met the real version of Royce a handful of times.
This version was . . . easier to imagine marrying.
Kissing, along with most things involving boys, wasn’t something I was practiced in, and he seemed content to let me find my way. I strayed from his lips, moving over his cheek, and enjoyed the sensation of his whisker-dotted skin.
I had a flash of him standing at a bathroom sink, shirtless with a jaw covered in shaving cream and a razor gleaming in his hand. He’d probably done it right before our date because his skin was soft and smooth until I went against the grain. Someday soon, perhaps I’d see that domestic, everyday image for real. That thought should have scared the hell out of me.
But it didn’t.
I used the tip of my tongue to trace the edge of his ear, mimicking the techniques he’d used on me. Satisfaction swelled as he let out a soft sigh. His hands tightened on my waist and pressed me into him . . .
So I could feel every inch of my effect.
It was powerful and intoxicating, and the courage that had waned after my orgasm started anew. I pushed a hand down his chest, tracing the line of buttons on his shirt as I headed for his belt, and appreciated the hardened form of his muscles beneath my palm.
He smelled like pine trees and something else. Like I imagined sex and desire would if they had a fragrance.
“You smell so good,” I whispered into the crook of his neck. I hadn’t intended to say that out loud, but my brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t operating at full capacity. I’d given exactly one hand job in my life, and I was pretty sure it hadn’t been good. I wanted to be better.
When I eased my hand between our bodies and traced the outline of him with my fingertips, his heavy breath filled my ear. He held perfectly still as I cupped him through his jeans and brushed my palm over the bulge.
Was my touch too timid? He reached down and placed his hand on top of mine, making me hesitate. Alarm shot up my back. Was he stopping me because I’d done something wrong?
No. He held on to my hand as he stood and then used it to help pull me up to my feet as well. He’d grown tired of kneeling, I realized, as he led me to the couch.
“Get lost, cat,” he said.
Lucifer lifted his head, eyed his master, and begrudgingly jumped down from the couch when Royce gave him a gentle nudge. Once the cockblocking cat was gone, Royce sat and tugged me down beside him. He guided my hand back to where it had been, encouraging me to use more pressure.
As I leaned over, he slipped a hand behind my head and resumed kissing my neck. It was seductive. He used his tongue and the edge of his teeth, and bliss buzzed through me as a fast-acting drug.
He undid his belt with one hand and unzipped his fly, giving me better access while also making it clear what he wanted. I was happy he was taking the lead. Would he mind giving me more direction if I asked?
“So, um . . .” I whispered as I slipped my hand inside his undone jeans, caressing him through the soft, black underwear he wore. “You might have to tell me what to do. This will be the second hand job I’ve ever given, and the first one was subpar.”
A laugh cut off in his throat as he froze. “Subpar,” he repeated in disbelief. But then Royce was there, cupping my hand and guiding me again to stroke him. “Not fucking possible, unless you tried to squeeze his dick off.” His lips against the side of my neck curved into a
smile. “Did you?”
My eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t think so.”
“Show me how hard your grip was.”
I did.
“Oh, you’re adorable.” He licked a line up to my ear, drawing a shudder from me. His voice was encouraging and persuasive. “Do it like you mean it.”
He jerked down the waistband of his underwear, and his dick popped free. I palmed it and was surprised at the soft skin, yet how rigid he was beneath. Stone sheathed in velvet. I closed my fingers around him.
“Harder,” he encouraged in a hush.
His palm moved to my wrist and urged me to slide up and down. The thick head of his dick pushed through my fist as I pumped back and forth on long strokes. I sat up so I could do it better.
His chest moved rapidly on his quickening breath, and the muscle along his jaw ticked. Royce’s eyes hazed. This was more reaction than I’d gotten last time, so I was doing something right.
“Who was it?” he asked between two heavy breaths. “The guy you were with?”
Was I supposed to talk about someone else when I had a guy’s dick in my hand? “Uh . . . Richard Shaunessy.”
“Liam’s son?”
I’d forgotten Richard’s father was a board member. I bit my lip. “Yeah. It was one time, and he wasn’t—”
“Nope.” Royce’s tone was clipped. “I don’t need to know. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Richard had been my prom date my senior year. We’d gone as friends, but when I’d made a move that night in the back of the limo, he hadn’t refused. Halfway into it, he’d explained we couldn’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret, he’d said. His embarrassment of me had been such a turn-off, I’d told him I’d changed my mind, and that his micropenis would be our little secret.
Surprisingly, Richard and I hadn’t spoken since that night.
Royce wasn’t nervous or shy. In fact, I’d been the one last time to demand we couldn’t tell anyone. It didn’t seem to bother him.
It was hard to move my hand inside his jeans. I grabbed the undone sides of his pants and tugged hesitantly. “Is it okay if I—”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “Yeah.”
He slipped his hands under the waistbands, lifted his hips, and down everything went. As I gazed at his nakedness, I sensed his gaze burning right back into me. He was curious what my reaction would be, and I was . . . just curious. Tan legs gave way to lighter thighs in an ombre effect.
He was beautiful like this.
“Hmm, okay,” he said, grinning widely as I moved off the couch and onto my knees before him.
“It seems like it’ll be easier this way.”
His eyes were electric. “Please know I’m not complaining.”
I smiled as I used both hands to grip him. “Are two hands okay? Or too much?”
He sucked in an enormous breath, but his words were still tight with satisfaction. “No, that’s good.”
Since his pants were down around his ankles, it made it difficult to kneel right between his legs, but it was better than leaning awkwardly over him. I stroked both hands together from tip to base, and back up again.
“Tighter, if you can,” he said softly. I clamped my hands and dragged my fists down. He groaned and tipped his head back. “Fuck. Atta-girl.”
Oh, my God. I snickered. I was on my knees with a guy I didn’t really know, his dick was in my hands, and I wasn’t sure what I was doing. This was supposed to be awkward. Or hot and heavy. It wasn’t supposed to be intimate like this or enjoyable in this way. His easy, supportive attitude gave me the confidence to keep going.
His hips moved subtly with the tempo of my hands, but his chest? That moved much faster. He sighed and shuddered as I twisted my hands. I wrung a moan from his lips when I let one hand drift lower and explore, cupping him. His hands were splayed on the couch cushions, but they curled into fists as I worked him over.
I’d thought the sight of his finger sliding inside me was hot, but this? Him throbbing in my hands as I stroked him, all while he struggled to hold in his moans, was lightyears beyond that sexy scene. It forced me to squeeze my knees together, and an aftershock of pleasure shot through my center.
“Faster.” The word from him danced the line between an order and a desperate plea.
I picked up my rhythm. Dark satisfaction sped through me as he lost the battle and a loud, deep groan slipped past his restraint. He seemed to like it went I paid attention to the tip, so I brushed my thumb over the head, swirling around the drops of moisture there.
He said it as a warning. “Keep that up and you’re gonna make me come.”
I stared up at him. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”
He jerked in my grasp. “Fuck, Marist.” His smile was brilliant. “Did I create a monster when I asked you to wait?”
I slowed to a stop, letting him pulse in my grip. “I thought I already was. You said I was Medusa.”
“Wait.” His face went blank and his body tense.
I was stunned he was being indecisive about my offer, but I was even more shocked when he abruptly stood and yanked at his pants. The action knocked me backward, and I fell on my ass with a hard thud. I glared up at him, but he ignored me. Instead, he hurried to do up his zipper and refasten his belt.
I hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps, but the abrupt knock on Royce’s door was loud and short.
It was the only warning we got. I had just enough time to turn and see the door swing open, revealing Macalister Hale standing in the hall.
NINE
ROYCE WAS TWENTY-FIVE, but age didn’t seem to matter when he was being caught by a parent. He sank onto the couch, snatched up a throw pillow, and set it in his lap to cover his erection.
Abandoned on the floor, I scrambled to my feet, and my face flamed to a million degrees. So much for protecting me. Yes, I had all my clothes on, but it was obvious what we’d been doing the moment before his father appeared.
Macalister surveyed the room the same way I assumed he’d search for a redundant employee to fire. His gaze missed nothing as he stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob. He had on slacks and a button-down shirt, and it was the closest to a relaxed outfit I’d seen him in.
“I came to ask how your dinner went,” he said, “but I see it’s still going.”
The sharp edge of his words gave me a thousand invisible cuts. I dropped my gaze to the floor, wanting to find a throw pillow like Royce had, only one big enough so I could hide behind it completely.
“Yeah,” Royce said, acting disinterested. He threw his arm over the back of the couch with the same ease he’d had with me earlier. “We were just talking.”
I traced the pattern on the rug, but the tense, heavy silence said Macalister wasn’t buying his son’s bullshit. A blast of cold wafted over me, and I knew his focus had shifted my direction.
“Alice showed me pictures, but since you’re here, Marist, let’s have a look at you.”
My gaze crept hesitantly back up. I was frayed and raw but did my best to stand straight and meet Macalister in the eye, whether I was ready for his evaluation or not. I had no idea what making out with Royce had done to my hair or makeup, or if his father would notice my flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth.
I’d bet money he did—if I had any money to my name.
Macalister’s eyes were blue like his sons’, but much darker. They were the color of the Atlantic in January, and just like the ocean, they were volatile. They could be calm one minute and ferocious the next. They were intriguing and haunting. His gaze tore down from my dark hair to my newly pedicured toes, and then worked its way back up at a measured pace.
“Turn,” he said.
I was a purchase being assessed, and it was humiliating, but Royce’s advice played on a constant loop in my mind.
Be the girl he wants you to be.
I forced out a smile and turned slowly in place, an expensive toy on display, spun so he could see t
he details from all angles. When I came back around, I felt just as hollow as the smile on his face.
I was the girl who didn’t care what anyone thought, and with a cruel twist of fate, now this man’s opinion meant everything. So much rode on it.
“Very nice,” he said. “Alice worked a miracle.”
Tension snapped through me, but I didn’t react. It was like my spine had broken but as long as I stood perfectly still, no one else would know. I could hold myself together with the strength of the shell of my body.
As the quiet stretched in the room, it became evident he was waiting for a response from me.
“Thank you,” I bit out.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your evening.”
“It’s fine.” Royce sounded bored. “She was just leaving.”
What, I almost demanded, but caught myself in time. He’d switched so fast into the other version of himself I had whiplash, but he’d had years of practice. He was an expert at it by now.
I straightened and tried not to look uncomfortable. “Yes. Thank you for dinner.”
He rose reluctantly from the couch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Macalister followed us down the hall until we reached the landing at the top of the staircase. “Good night, Marist,” he said.
I held in the shiver at my name in his voice. “Good night, Mr. Hale.”
“You may call me Macalister. We might be family one day, after all.” It sounded like a threat.
I nodded since my throat had closed up, preventing me from speaking. I turned and controlled my descent down the stairs when I wanted to run. His calculating gaze bore into my back as I took every step, and I felt it in the marrow of my bones all the way home.
The headquarters of the HBHC was a rather plain-looking tower of steel and glass, but it had a strange greenish tint to it, like it had been stained with the same ink that was used to print money. The building didn’t stand out from the other skyscrapers in downtown Boston, but it was easy to identify by the glowing red and black logo at the top.
