Taken by the CEO (The Scandalous Wentworths)

by Stefanie London

  There was a lot in his life that made him proud. Being the youngest CEO in any major retail company in Australia, completing his business degree with near perfect marks, sticking to his morals despite pressure from his family. But the knowledge that he was the first man to make her come satisfied some deeply primal part of him.

  How far is this caveman shit going to go?

  Too far, possibly. Because he felt limitless around Emmaline. He felt unbound and uninhibited and unrestricted.

  “That’s pathetic, isn’t it?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “What? No. Why would that be pathetic?”

  She snorted. “Because I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman, and I had no idea how my body worked. I’ve done it on my own, but the second there’s anyone else involved…I could never seem to relax enough for it to happen.”

  Holy hell. The thought of Emmaline touching herself was enough to short-circuit his brain. “It’s not pathetic at all. Sometimes it takes the right experience to open up the possibility of how good something can feel. I just nudged you in the right direction.”

  “You did more than nudge.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and once more he was granted access to her expression.

  “I’m glad I make you feel good, Emmaline.”

  “Me, too.”

  His apartment building loomed up ahead, a glass tower pointing upward to a sky lit by the city. The lights had always calmed him, they made him feel connected. Confirmed that he wasn’t alone on earth despite it feeling that way sometimes. But tonight, he had her, and that would be better than all the lights in the world.

  The car’s premium engine rumbled as they pulled into the apartment building garage. By the time they made it up to his apartment, Emmaline had tucked herself up against him. Silky strands of her hair brushed his cheek as she clung to him, even while he opened the front door.

  “Do you want a drink?” He took her coat and hung it up.

  “That would be great.”

  A moment later they had a glass of champagne each and had taken a seat on his leather sofa, facing the view of Melbourne’s skyline. She sipped her drink, her delicate fingers toying with the slender stem.

  “I saw you arguing with your brother today,” she said.

  Great. Talk about a mood-killing conversation. “Oh yeah?”

  “Were you arguing about your dad?” Her eyes appeared to study him.

  He’d much rather be looking into them as he pleasured her than talking about his dysfunctional family. “There’s a family dinner, and my brother and sister are trying to get me to attend.” He took a long gulp of champagne. “But it’s not going to happen.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I don’t want to disrespect my mother by pretending that Arthur never cheated on her. Especially since he’s now married to that woman.”

  “I take it you didn’t go to the wedding,” she said.

  “Hell no. I was in Boston when it happened, and I said I couldn’t get time off work to come home, but truthfully I didn’t want anything to do with it. Or them.”

  “Fair enough.” She nodded and sipped her drink. The silence hung between them, and he could feel that she wanted to ask something else but she was holding back.

  “Spit it out.”

  “What?” She blinked at him, the picture of innocence.

  “You want to be nosy, I can tell.”

  “That obvious, huh?” Her shoulders gave a little lift as if to say what can you do? “I wondered if that’s why you don’t want to be in a relationship. Because of your father.”

  “It’s not the only reason. I never understood the upside.” He watched the curiosity in her face, the way her eyes tracked his every movement and her head tilted as she listened. “Two people enter into an agreement that’s statistically bound to fail, they waste a ton of money doing it, and then they cast unrealistic expectations on one another. One of them will inevitably disappoint the other. What’s the point?”

  “I think that’s part of the problem. People don’t know what they want going in.”

  “Or they want a fantasy.”

  She nodded. “I always wanted to be married. My parents were so in love with one another, and I was going to be just like them. I thought I picked the right guy—he was smart, hardworking, came from a good family. My mother was over the moon when he proposed…”

  “Then he cheated on you?”

  “Yeah, but that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” She leaned forward to place her champagne flute onto the coffee table, giving him a slight glimpse of her cleavage. He sucked in a breath. How was it possible to want her so much while they were talking about something so…unappealing?

  “He didn’t know how to keep you satisfied?”

  “He never tried. Sex was something that we did only when he wanted it. He only liked certain positions, and he thought that…” She let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “He told me that oral sex was dirty, and that as a lady of society I shouldn’t expect him to perform such a filthy act.”

  A lady of society. What the actual fuck? No wonder Emmaline didn’t have much confidence when it came to her body. “Your ex is a moron.”

  “The worst thing was that he threw it all back in my face when I caught him cheating. He said that I was a wet fish, and that if I’d kept him more satisfied he wouldn’t have had to go elsewhere.” Her lips tightened and fire lit in her eyes. “How was I supposed to get excited doing the same thing over and over and over?”

  “You weren’t.” He placed his glass next to hers and slid an arm along the back of the couch in invitation. She took it immediately.

  “So, we’re in agreement? Marriage is stupid.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand curving over his thigh. “And relationships are a waste of time.”

  His cock jumped as she rubbed his leg, the warm touch firing arrows of need through him. “I can tell you one thing for sure, you’re not a wet fish.”

  “What am I, then?”

  “You’re a kitten.” He stopped himself from adding, my kitten. Because she wasn’t his, as much as his body was determined to claim her as his own. “A feisty, playful, naughty kitten.”

  “Naughty?” She twisted in his grip, pressing up and swinging a slender thigh over him so that she sat in his lap, her face inches from his.

  Heat flowed between them as she rocked gently back and forth, rubbing herself against his erection. The front of his pants was so tight he felt like the fabric would split any minute, but the gentle motion of her hips transfixed him, and he found himself unable—and unwilling—to do anything but watch.

  “Yes, naughty.”

  His admission caused a smile to tug at her lips—one that had a distinct edge of wickedness to it. “No one has ever called me that before. I’ve always been the ‘good girl,’ the sensible one…the boring one.”

  When her hand came to the delicate gold buttons that kept her dress together at the front, he stared. Blood pounded in his ears; more, more, more.

  “I always hated that,” she said, her fingers deftly popping the first button.

  “They obviously didn’t know you well,” he ground the words out, his eyes riveted to the sliver of skin slowly being revealed.

  “Maybe not.” She popped another button. “Or maybe you bring out the best in me.”

  He stifled a moan as he pressed up against her. “I’m talented like that.”

  “That’s why you’re a good boss.” One more button opened, and the sliver of skin widened. Then another…and another.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  “I’m not your boss tonight.”

  The last button gave way, and she pulled the fabric apart. A black bra with cups that were mere scraps of lace barely contained her breasts. Her perfect, pink nipples pressed against the fabric, hard and begging for his lips. The dress hit the ground with a soft whomp.

  “I don’t mind if you boss me around here,” she said, dropping her arms over his should
ers. “I…do like it when you take charge when we’re doing this.”

  Satisfaction coursed through him. Yes!

  Unable to stop himself any longer, he slid his hands over her hips, around the curve of her ass and down the back of her thighs until his fingers brushed against suede. Those fucking shoes undid him. He wrapped his hands around the heels and yanked her feet up so that she had to lean harder against him to keep her balance.

  “You want me to tell you what to do?”

  She nodded, her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. “Yes.”

  After a pause that felt like it spanned all of eternity, he said, “I want you to take me in your mouth.”

  Her eyes widened and pink spilled across her cheeks. They hadn’t done this on their first night—he’d been so frenzied by her that they’d bypassed this particular pleasure.

  “I…” Her eyes darted. “I don’t know…”

  “Do you want to?”

  Her features softened then, her lips parting as if she were imagining it. The blacks of her pupils widened, her eyes glazing over. A gentle shift of her hips meant she was rubbing against him. His little kitten, indeed.

  “I do.”

  He cupped the back of her head and brought her forehead to his. “Say it.”

  “I want to take you in my mouth.”

  A tremor ran through him. This was a dangerous game because right now his arousal was strung as tight as a rubber band pulled to extremes. Ready to snap. Ready to sting and to leave a mark.

  He released his grip on her heels, and she shimmied down his body, dropping her feet to the ground so she could kneel between his legs. The sight of all that long, cascading blond hair made him ache. He wanted to wrap it around his fist while she sucked him.

  “Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong,” she said, her fingers taking hold of the buckle at his waist.

  “Emmaline, I doubt you’re capable of doing anything wrong.”

  As she dragged the zipper down on his suit pants, he held his breath. She moved with such care, such purpose. As though she plotted out each step in her mind. Lifting his hips from the couch, he allowed her to drag down his pants and his boxer briefs.

  Lord, help him. The way her eyes drank him in—hungry and curious—was fuel to his fire. He tore at the buttons of his shirt until it hung open. He was so eager to be ready for her, so eager to watch her beautiful face as he slid his cock along her tongue.

  A pearled bead of precum clung to the tip. Emmaline looked at it for a moment as if unsure what to do, but then she stuck her tongue out and caught it.

  “Christ,” he moaned. “Is this…”

  His words dissolved when she pressed a kiss to his swollen head. “What?”

  “The first time?”

  “The first time I’ve…” She looked up and nodded. “Yeah.”

  He had to force himself not to blow right on the spot. It was too much—the brush of her silky hair against his thigh, the sight of her pink tongue circling him, the gentle touch of her fingers so tentative and exploratory—knowing that he was the first. Too. Fucking. Much.

  Warm heat enveloped him as she wrapped her lips around his cock, and he thrust his fingers into her hair, guiding her farther down. His hips wanted to buck, wanted to press himself as deep as he could go…but he couldn’t. She had to set the limits.

  Drawing her tongue up the underside of him, a husky little sound escaped her lips. “You taste good. Now I know why people compare sex and chocolate cake.”

  “I’m so glad this isn’t kale sex for you.” It was getting harder to talk as his body refused to pump blood back up to his brain.

  “Nope, not kale. This is triple layer chocolate cake all the way…with ice cream.” She took a moment to suck on him like he was a piece of candy. “Minus the calories.”

  She bobbed her head back down slowly and didn’t stop until he felt his head nudge the back of her throat. Without thinking, he tightened his grip on her hair, feeling himself swell on her tongue.

  “Emmaline!” he growled her name. “Get up here.”

  She released him with a soft pop, and he yanked her into his lap. Like a wild animal, he tore at her bra and took a pebbled nipple between his lips. His fingers bit into her skin, pulling her closer, dragging aside her panties until his cock nudged at her soft, wet folds.

  “Condom,” she gasped as he scraped his teeth along her breast.

  “Fuck.”

  He stood, hoisting her over one shoulder as he stormed toward the bedroom. Her surprised shriek rang out through the quiet apartment, but he couldn’t care less if the neighbors heard them. Let them listen.

  Tossing her down on the bed, he ordered her to take off everything except her heels. “Leave them on,” he growled as he rifled through his top drawer and grasped a foil packet in his hands.

  Within seconds he’d sheathed himself. The mattress sank under his weight as he kneeled between her legs, taking a moment to watch the moonlight dance across her porcelain skin. Gold hair fanned out beneath her.

  “You’re like a goddess,” he said, bracing his hands on either side of her. “A total fucking fantasy.”

  “I’m real, Parker,” she said, pushing her hips up to meet him. She was so wet he slid straight in, seating himself to her deepest point. “This is real.”

  He knew what she meant, but as he drove into her—wrapping his arms around her so that he could melt them into one—a little voice of disquiet agreed with her. She was real. A real danger.

  “You feel so good,” he moaned into her ear. She wrapped her legs around him, locking those sexy heels behind his ass and urging him on. Harder. Faster.

  “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Take me.”

  With a groan, he thrust deep, his whole body tensing as she shook around him. Her muscles clenched, squeezing every last drop of pleasure from him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, trying not to think about how his world had been flipped upside down.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emmaline hurried along the footpath, her handbag tucked under one arm, as she tried to come up with an excuse as to why she was half an hour late for brunch. It was highly suspicious, of course, since she was never ever late to anything.

  But she couldn’t exactly cite shower orgasms as a reason for her tardiness.

  Damn Parker and his talented tongue. She couldn’t say no to him. Despite her protests about running late, he’d dropped to his knees beneath the spray of an expensive chrome showerhead and licked her until time had become a foreign concept.

  Emmaline pushed open the door to the Wooden Llama café, immediately spotting Gracie and her sister-in-law, Libby, sitting in one corner. Gracie caught her eye and looked at her watch.

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” she said, her dark curls bouncing as she shook her head. “Little Miss Perfect is thirty minutes late to brunch.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Emmaline tugged off the lightweight trench coat and slung it over the back of the empty chair. “I totally lost track of time.”

  “You never lose track of time.” Gracie’s deep brown eyes narrowed. “What could possibly have distracted you?”

  Libby cradled a large floral mug and sipped, her lips leaving a rim of hot pink lipstick on the porcelain. “Stop it, she already feels bad. No need to give her a hard time.”

  Twisting in her seat, Emmaline tried to flag down a waiter in the hope that she could avoid her sister’s scrutiny. One thing she’d never been good at was keeping secrets from Gracie. There had always been a special bond between them. Through fights, through teenage tantrums, through phases and failures, they were best friends. And they could hide nothing from one another.

  “Let’s get mimosas,” Emmaline said as the waiter appeared at their table.

  “Since when do you drink at breakfast?” Gracie raised a brow.

  “This is brunch, totally different. And since now I don’t have to worry about my dickhead ex telling me it’s unladylike, I can do what I like.” She turned to the
waiter. “Three mimosas.”

  “Two,” Gracie corrected.

  It wasn’t at all like her little sister to opt out of a drink. Conrad might have thought alcohol before noon was distasteful, but Gracie was the kind of girl who relished bubbles at any time of the day. The only reason she’d say no to a drink was…

  “You’re pregnant,” Emmaline blurted out.

  Gracie jumped, her thick-lashed eyes blinking rapidly. “Huh?”

  “When did you know?”

  Libby gasped and they both waited in silence while Gracie squirmed in her seat. Eventually she wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee in front of her and relented, “A few days ago. I went to the doctor. But we’re not supposed to tell anyone until twelve weeks.”

  There was no denying the sparkle in Gracie’s eyes. The pride and excitement and fear.

  The bottom had fallen out of Emmaline’s world—she didn’t know how to feel. Of course she was thrilled for Gracie and Des. Of course she would be the best damn aunt that ever existed. Of course she wanted the baby to be healthy and perfect with ten little fingers and ten little toes. With Gracie and Des’s shared dark eyes and beaming smiles, with her sister’s sparkling grin and her brother-in-law’s strong sense of family.

  But what about me?

  Hell, she must be the most selfish person on the face of the earth. How shitty was she to think about herself first?

  “Oh my God,” she said, the words barely a whisper. “Congratulations.”

  “You do not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not to Mother,” Gracie said, her head swinging between Emmaline and Libby. “Not to Paul. No one.”

  “Cross my heart,” Libby said with a barely contained squeal. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Gracie’s hand came to her belly, though there wasn’t a bump yet to speak of. “There will be another addition to the Chapman family in about eight months.”

  The air was sucked out of Emmaline’s lungs, and the floor tilted sharply beneath her feet. Her baby sister was getting ready to have a baby of her own. A year and a half ago, that could have been her. She’d been happily married—or so she’d thought—and desperate to have a child. Desperate to be a mother, to be important to someone.