Bound to Steele

by Coco Miller

“And you’ve tricked her into marrying you.”

  “No, it’s just beneficial for both of us, and it just so happens that it gives me a chance to have her fall in love with me.”

  “You little devil.”

  “Funny, she called me that too, but in a less flattering way,” I say on a contemplative hum.

  “You kind of sound like it,” he tosses his head back and laughs, bringing attention to the table. “Well—” his laugh settles. “I guess this calls for a toast?”

  “It does.” I pick my glass up and clink it to his.

  “I look forward to meeting the future Mrs. Steele.”

  Hell, I can’t wait either. I start thinking about when the wedding can happen. Do I want to whisk her away to a private island? It sounds better than having my controlling family there scrutinizing our every move.

  “There you go again, drifting off into space. This girl must really have you in knots.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble with a slight grin. “What’s new with you? What brings you back to Silver Springs on such short notice? I’d love to say it’s just to visit me, but I know it isn’t.”

  The laughter and amusement fall from his face and his brown eyes swirl with sadness.

  “Hey, what’s going on? You can talk to me, you know.” I bring my voice down to a whisper. “I feel like an ass. If I had known something was up, I would have come to you.”

  He exhales, and it’s the heavy kind of breath, the kind that weighs the soul down in hopes that if it’s released, you’ll feel lighter. He places his elbows on the table and scrubs his hands over his face. That’s when I finally notice how exhausted my friend is. He has dark circles around his eyes and his blonde hair is unkempt, not styled like it usually is.

  “I’m home for good, Easton. It’s my mom. She isn’t doing well. It’s cancer.”

  I fall back in my seat. “Duncan, I’m so sorry. Can they treat it? Chemo, radiation? Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  I know the one thing he doesn’t need is money. He is a self−made billionaire, and he took his company to the West Coast to expand.

  “What’s going to happen with the company?” I ask.

  “You and I both know that I never need to work again. I hired a management team to run the business. I can work from here if they need me and no. No chemo. No radiation. It’s cervical cancer, stage four. She only has a few months at best. They call it the silent killer. She just went in for a check−up, you know? She was healthy and now—” his throat bobs as he swallows his emotions. “Well, now I have to arrange a funeral.”

  I’m not close with my mother, not like Duncan is with his, but I’d still be devastated if anything like this happened to her.

  “I’ll help any way I can, Duncan. Really.”

  He leans forward and his brows pinch together. He plays with the edge of the napkin between his fingers, debating whether he wants to talk to me or not. “Your wedding has to be soon, right?”

  “Duncan, we don’t have to talk about that—”

  “No, just listen. My mom is a sucker for romance and true love. She doesn’t need to know it’s an arrangement. I’d like for her to be there. She loves weddings. Ever since my dad left all those years ago, she still loves love, and I want to give that to her. Hell, if you let me I’ll get ordained online and marry the two of you.”

  “Absolutely. It’s going to be small. My parents aren’t going to be there. I’m not even going to tell them until after.”

  “Thanks, Easton. I appreciate it.”

  “I don’t want you to think you’re in this alone because you aren’t. I’m here and Zola is too. You haven’t met her and she has barely been in my life but she’s kind and warm. Just the thing needed for this situation.”

  “Thank you. I look forward to meeting her.” His phone rings, interrupting our conversation. “It’s my mom. I have to run a few errands for her. I’ll catch you later, okay? I’ll get you back for brunch.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It’s on me.”

  He nods and answers the phone as he walks out the door, leaving me sitting alone in the small café. I went on and on about my plan that was most definitely paved with selfish intentions while he had something much more important going on. My mood turns solemn and the hustle and bustle of Park Avenue fades into the background.

  “Another mimosa, sir?” the Monsieur asks, a hand folded over his belly and one placed behind his back.

  “No, thank you, just the check. I’ll be leaving soon.” My mind wanders to Zola and what she is doing. I’m hoping when I get back to work, she will be there. When I left, I strolled by the desk she would be sitting at. By chance, it is the closest to my office, and it was still empty. I can’t help but wonder if she has backed out on our plan.

  The clattering of silverware against plates interrupts my thoughts and real life comes catapulting back. The café gets busier, and the once lower murmur of conversation turns into a loud mixture of incomprehensible noise. The sun reflects off the crystal of my mimosa glass through the window, projecting a mirage on the table. It reminds me of water reflecting, dancing to the light.

  It’s calming.

  “Sir?” the Monsieur’s tone implies that he has tried to get my attention.

  I place two−hundred−dollars in the man’s hands and button my blazer as I walk out.

  “Oh, thank you, Sir. Please, come back.”

  “Always do,” I reply with a small tilt of my head.

  If I turn left, I go back to work. If I turn right, I’ll be heading to Zola’s. My feet take charge, pounding on the sidewalk as I stride with purpose. If Duncan just taught me one thing, it’s that life is too short not to have what you want.

  And I want Zola.

  So I’m going to fucking have her.

  7

  Zola

  I decided not to work for Easton Steele. I decided not to go through with the plan, and I just had no way of telling him. I tossed and turned all night, touched myself to the memory of him and his scent, his breath on my lips, the bulge in his pants, and his wicked words dancing in my ear.

  I came—literally and otherwise—to the conclusion that if I married him, I knew I couldn’t keep things strictly business. My heart would be taken and then destroyed. I can’t put myself in that situation. I’m too much of a burden for someone like him. I’m no princess. I don’t know how to adapt to his sort of social circle. I’m no one’s fairy tale. My happy ending does not exist. It’s a cliffhanger.

  He’s a knight on a white horse, and he is running to a woman trapped in a tower that can never be found.

  A tear rolls down my cheek and I brusquely wipe it away. No sense of dwelling on something that can never be. I roll out of bed, finally, and rub my eyes with my fist. If I’m not going to work for him, then I still need to look for a job. Yawning, I shut my eyes for a second as I try to wake up. Walking to the kitchen is something I can do in my sleep, so there is no need to look.

  Until I hit a wall.

  A rock solid, warm, divine−smelling wall.

  Wait a minute…

  Oh, no.

  I open one eye, keeping the other shut and see Mr. Steele. Dark blue suit, no tie per usual, and the first button around his neck is undone. He looks delicious. So distractingly delicious that I forgot why he is in my apartment.

  “Zola.”

  My name on his lips reminds me of the dream I had of him last night. But this isn’t a dream. He is literally in my home unannounced.

  “What are you doing breaking into my apartment? You can’t just saunter into people’s homes!”

  “You didn’t show up for your first day.” He starts prowling toward me like a known predator corning his prey.

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I ask. “You can’t tell me—” but he silences me.

  With his lips.

  The kiss takes me by total surprise.

  Am I still dreaming? I have to be. No way he is in
my apartment kissing me. I get my question answered when his hands slide up my thighs and around my ass, picks me up and holds me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist as I give in.

  Kissing him is like drowning and then fighting to come up for air when your lungs burn. That one moment when you break the surface, and you gasp for breath, and you’re relieved that you can finally breathe again—that’s what kissing him is like. With every soft glide of his mouth against mine, he sucks in all the pain that has built up over the years.

  He makes me breathe again and it’s addicting.

  I drag my fingers through the gel in his hair and whimper into his mouth. He squeezes each cheek and yanks me against him. I gasp when I feel the long hard length of his dick. He thrusts his shaft between my legs, rubbing against my full clit, sensitive and hot.

  Easton pulls his lips away and rubs his forehead against mine. I reach for him again, wanting his kiss again when he shakes his head.

  “I’ve wanted to do that to you since the moment I saw you.”

  “Your trembling,” I whisper,

  “Yeah, you do that to me.”

  I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to beat faster, but it does at this moment. “Why?”

  He steals another kiss, and one quick peck turns to two, then three, then his tongue is dancing with mine. Easton pushes us off the wall and squeezes my cheeks a little tighter. “Where’s your bedroom?” he mumbles between kisses.

  “There,” I point to my left, but he doesn’t look, and I don’t bother yanking myself away from his embrace to show him. Easton thrusts his tongue between my lips as he walks over to the couch, laying me down until the soft cushion cradles my body.

  “This isn’t the bed,” I moan when his rough palms caress my calves. He takes his time touching my legs, his fingers leaving a hot blaze as he swirls the path around my knee.

  “The couch was closer.” His finger trails higher, teasing the flesh right under my shorts.

  I’m shaking, and I’m afraid if he trails his fingers any further, he will discover how wet I am. I close my eyes and try to convince myself that this can’t happen. A million reasons fly through my mind, but each fade into nothing the more he touches me.

  “I’ve imagined you every which way,” Easton’s voice deepens, giving it a slight rasp. It’s dark and sensual. I can almost feel the baritone reverberating my core. “You fought me.”

  I keep my eyes shut as he pinches my nipple through my shirt. “I should still fight you.”

  “You’ve never really wanted to.” His palms slide under my shirt, warming my abdomen has he skims his large hands up my ribcage. “Open your eyes.”

  I shake my head. The longer I keep my eyes shut, the more I can try and convince myself—poorly convince myself—that he and I can’t happen.

  “Open. Your. Eyes. Zola.” Easton yanks the shirt off my head until the cold air wraps around my nipples. “Now,” he growls.

  My eyes snap open and he is staring at my breasts. His green eyes appear nearly black because of how dilated his pupils are. His hands roam along the bottom curve of my small mounds, and I can tell it is taking every inch of his will power not to lose complete control. The fact that I am responsible for that makes me feel sexy, wanted and powerful.

  I swallow when I notice his bare chest. When did he get undressed? I don’t remember that, and Lord knows that is something I would never forget. Not when he is so beautiful. I willfully reach for his chest; it’s muscular with a splattering of dark brown hair all over. His nipples feel just as hard as mine, and his abs clench when my nails scrape down the defined ridges.

  I stop at his expensive Gucci belt, noticing the differences between us physically and more. What would people think? He isn’t a man that is used to cold hard stares and judgment. If he got photographed next to me in the press, which a man of his stature inevitably would, he wouldn’t get applauded how he normally does. Instead there would be raised eyebrows. It’s the cold hard truth. The world we live in.

  But this isn’t forever. It’s for right now, and I can do that.

  I slip the leather end of the belt under the loop in his pants, then pull back to arrow the gold needle to free itself from the small hole. Next, the zipper falls, and the release of the metal teeth echoes loud, and Easton groans from the sound while my pussy gets soaked from his reaction.

  I have only been with one man, and that was all the way back in high school. After the accident, I haven’t been well enough or brave enough, but Easton makes me feel brave again. The way he looks at me, it’s like he can see past all walls, pain, and loneliness I use as a shield. And without effort, the chips he made in my armor are now dents, and if my heart beats madly now, I’ll be a goner when he finally breaks through, shattering all my defenses.

  Because it isn’t if, but when. No woman stands a chance against a man like Easton Steele. His hands cupping my jaw bring me out of my thoughts, and I decide not to meet his eyes, but keep them focused on the trimmed brown bush showing from the lapels of his jeans folding to each side.

  Easton isn’t wearing underwear.

  I pull his pants down his hips and get the perfect view of his long, lean torso. His cock falls free and my eyes widen with surprise for a second. Easton is long, thick, and cut. The ruby tip glistens with a clear drop of precum and the large vein pulses causing the large shaft to flex.

  Of course, even his cock is perfect.

  It’s unfair for a man to be this beautiful. I almost want to cover up now, seeing his flawless skin and toned body. All mine has is scars.

  “Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” his finger lifts my chin, yanking my eyes from his cock to his face. “I could sit here and kiss you all night.”

  I reach for my Yankees shirt and cover myself up with it.

  “I think, I think you should go. This was a mistake. We can still do our plan, but this can’t happen again.”

  I turn around so he can’t see my breasts anymore, so he can’t see how vulnerable he makes me and pull my shirt over my head.

  Easton grips the material from behind and spins me around, wrapping his arm around my waist in a firm, yet gentle hold. His intense gaze softens and he tugs at one of my curls.

  “Will you talk to me? Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

  “I just—we need to stick to the plan. This isn’t a part of it.”

  “I know, but that’s okay. Plans can change, right?”

  “No, Easton.” I dislodge myself from his grasp and want to cry. I want to be in his arms again. “Let’s just get married. Do what we need to do. And in a year we can get divorced or until the company is securely in your name. You don’t have to do this. We—”

  “What are you so afraid of, Zola?” He takes a step forward and snags my arm before I can take a step away like I usually do.

  “Nothing.”

  “Lies.”

  “Nothing, Easton.”

  “Lies are the only words coming from your mouth right now.” He slams his lips back on mine, and I push against his chest to get him away but it’s a poor attempt. He silences me with his tongue, muting the lies that I never believed myself.

  8

  Easton

  I decide to slow things down a bit. I can tell she is scared and the last thing I want to do is push her. She just feels so good in my arms and it’s a feeling I’m not used to. Our agreement, at least in my head, has changed. Yes, the marriage is still for convenience, obviously. We don’t know each other that well yet to marry for real, but this overwhelming sensation I’m feeling, I know it’s special. It’s different from anything I’ve felt for all of the other women I’ve ever been with.

  It was sex with them. Brief and satisfying relationships. Purely physical. But I will kiss Zola goodbye today knowing that I’ll want to see her again for more than anything physical. I want to be near her, and that type of feeling is totally new to me.

  I pull her shirt gently off again and marve
l at her beautiful body. Her nipples are dark, hard, and pointing straight out toward me– begging to be touched. I cup the mounds, kneading the soft tissue of her breasts gently. They fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. Damn, she’s beautiful.

  Scars and all. They don’t bother me. Things like that are superficial for me, but I know these scars have left a heavy impact on her. That accident is something she is going to carry around for the rest of her life. I have to remember that and be gentle with her.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say, skimming my knuckles down her sternum, watching her breath hitch the lower I go. “I need you to trust me, can you do that?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.”

  The truth stings but she isn’t the kind of girl that gives it over in a day.

  That’s all right. I can trust enough for the both of us.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. I understand,” I play with the strings that hold her shorts up. “If you want me to go, tell me. I walk away right now.” I’d hate it, but I’ll do whatever she wants.

  She steps closer, stares her amber colored eyes into mine and with worried brows, but a set jaw, she pushes my pants down.

  “I don’t want you to stay.”

  I tilt my head in confusion, wondering why she’s undressing me if that’s the case.

  “But I don’t want you to go.”

  With a smirk, I untie her shorts, watching them fall to the ground around her feet. She’s wearing pink lace underwear and they look neon against her skin. I have to swallow a growl that threatens my throat. She’s fucking stunning.

  “Baby, that means you want me to stay.”

  I wrap my hand around her delicate wrist and pull her to me, aligning our bodies from head to toe. Her breasts and pushed against my chest and my cock in nestled between the tight space of her thighs.

  Her heat scorches the sensitive flesh of my cock. I can almost feel hot wet she is. We don’t say a word as we look into each other’s eyes. Her hands explore my back while mine rub down hers. Soft ridges press against my fingertips as I explore. I do my best to keep the sadness out of my eyes, but it’s only natural with the amount of scars littering her back. I can’t imagine the pain she must have endured from the accident.