Riding the Heir

by Jasinda Wilder

  He pushed into me a few times, then rolled so I was on top of him and sat up with me, impaled deep, facing him, our eyes locked, arms tangled around each other, bodies moving in harmony. He rocked his hips up into mine, and I lifted up, using my arms around his neck for leverage, and sank down onto him. Sweat began to bead on our flesh and our breathing came in ever more ragged panting gasps, and then desperation set in. We clung to each other and moved with impassioned frenzy, mouths biting shoulders.

  "Oh god, Leo, I love this so much, don't ever stop," Shane whispered in my ear.

  "Never, never," I said.

  My breasts bounced against his chest, scraping against the light dusting of hair. His thighs bunched beneath my ass as he moved, the cords in his back and arms flexing with every thrust into me.

  He lay on his back again, taking me with him so I was collapsed on his chest, only our hips moving now, his cock barely pulling back before plunging in, filling me, stretching me, sending spasms of electric pleasure through me. I rested my head on his chest and arched my back up, sank down, pawed at his shoulders and face and hair, searching for purchase as my second orgasm rose within me, a lightning wash of intensity. His shaft grew harder and thicker within me as he neared release, but I wasn't ready for that yet, leaned back on him until he was stretched taut, as far as he could go, tightened so he couldn't release. I braced myself with my palms flat on his hipbones and rolled my pussy in small gyrations. I drew him higher, past climax without release, the chemical rush of orgasm blasting through him and I both but he couldn't spend his seed until I let him, until I let myself fall forward.

  Shane dug his fingers into my thighs, his thumbs in the crease of my hips, tugging me forward in a silent plea, his breathing labored, every muscle straining and tense. Still I fluttered, drawing him further into desperation.

  I was coming still, a slow wave of muscular contraction throughout my body. I held myself rigid through it, riding it out, whimpering past clenched teeth and squeezed-shut eyes.

  "Leo, please..." Shane whispered. His hands ran up my belly to my breasts, took their weight in his trembling hands, cupping them gently, then pinched my stiffened nipples in his fingers and pulled them, drawing me downward. I resisted his pull, tried to ignore the thrilling pulse of pleasure shooting through me from my nipples through the rest of my body, driving the slow roll of orgasm to new heights. He pulled, I resisted, and my nipples stretched, and then I couldn't hold back any longer. I fell forward, rode upward to slide his shaft almost out of me, waiting, waiting...

  "Oh god," Shane said, gasping and clutching me against himself, "I'm coming, right now, so hard!"

  I sank down on him and he growled, thrashing into me, suddenly frenzied and furious, and I was coming with him, hard, hot, a wildfire spreading through my body, every muscle quivering, my breath shrill whimpers in his ear, nails clawing at his shoulders.

  We moved together, then, unable to even breathe as our climax merged into a single rush of united ecstasy, clinging to each other, breathing matched, heartbeats matched, eyes locked.

  When the shudders faded and we were limp in each other's arms, Shane gazed at me with emotion wavering in his eyes. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but then he clutched me tighter and we both drifted to sleep.

  *

  "Ready?" Shane asked me.

  I took a breath, then nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  He twined our fingers together and pushed through the door, leading me out in front of dozens of reporters with flashing cameras and blinding lights from shoulder-held video cameras. As soon as Shane appeared with me next to him, questions came at us in a barrage, too many to comprehend. Henry and Virginia came in behind us, and the wave of flashing photographs and the inundation of questions redoubled.

  It was odd seeing Shane in a formal business suit. This one had obviously been tailored specifically for him, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his arms. It was conservative, solid charcoal gray, with a crisp, spotless white shirt with a lilac tie and matching handkerchief. I couldn't get over the business Shane, the no rings or earrings or leather cuffs, clean-shaven, tats-covered Shane. He was sexy as ever, but this Shane was intimidating in a whole different way than the hard-ass biker, or the cool-under-fire combat medic. This was a man capable of running a multi-billion-dollar media empire.

  I wondered yet again what I'd gotten into. Was I really ready be this woman? The wife of a business tycoon? Wife? I wasn't even sure I was officially his girlfriend yet.

  My head spun as we sat down at the long table facing the sea of eager reporters.

  I squeezed Shane's hand as hard as I could and ordered myself to breathe. This was a far different thing than I'd expected. Seeing a press conference like this on TV didn't prepare you for the experience of being the one photographed and interrogated. Every eye was on me. Virginia, Shane and Henry were known, their roles understood. Me? Not so much.

  "Shane! Who is she? Are you married?"

  "Shane! Are you taking over for your father?"

  "Shane! What will happen to Rescue Medic if you take over for Mr. Sorrenson? Will you merge your company and his?"

  Shane held up his hand for silence, and eventually got it. "Before we answer any questions, my father has a statement."

  "As many of you may know," Henry began, "I recently suffered a minor heart attack. It was minor, contrary to many of the rumors out there. I'm back on my feet, obviously, and feeling fine, but it was a serious wake up call. I've been running this company for over thirty years. I started in a little rented office space only a few blocks from here, and my wife was my first and only employee. Since then, we've built up a bit, and become fairly successful," there were polite titters of laughter at the gross understatement, "but the cost has been high. I've worked twelve-and sixteen-hour days every single day since then, and my health has suffered. Ginny has been after me to scale back my involvement for years now, but I've resisted. Sorrenson Enterprises is my company, after all, and it's hard to let others run what you started. But...with this heart attack, I've realized it's time."

  Henry turned to Shane and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

  "And there's no one better to take over for me than my son Shane. So, yes, to answer the biggest question, Shane will be assuming my role as CEO and President of Sorrenson Enterprises."

  Shane spoke up right on the end of his father's speech, cutting off the imminent deluge of questions. "My company and his will remain separate for the time being. I'm looking forward to immersing myself completely in the task of taking over where my father is leaving off. Sorrenson Enterprises is a family company, and it always will be. As for Rescue Medic, my brothers will carry on without me for the time being."

  "Who's the lovely lady to your left, Shane?" The question was shouted into a brief pause for breath by an older reporter with salt and pepper hair near the front of the crowd.

  "This is Leona Larkin," Shane answered.

  "Leona, how long have you known Shane?"

  "What's your relationship like? Have you been dating long?"

  "Do you have a prenuptial agreement?"

  I didn't know whether to answer the questions, or which one to start with, or whether I should stay quiet, or try to answer neutrally...I realized how much composure it really took to answer a direct, intensely personal question in such a way as to pacify the reporters without giving away too much information. All I could do was look to Shane and hope he'd rescue me. I didn't know what to say.

  "That's all for now, thank you," Shane said, standing up and nudging my elbow to move me off-stage. "No further questions. No comment. Thank you."

  The reporters continued to shout questions at us as we left, and then when we made our way to the limo outside the downtown Manhattan building, we were assaulted yet again with machine-gun-fire questions, flash-bulbs, walls of people closing in on me, begging me to answer, to "look this way, Miss Larkin, look this way!"

  Gerald and a couple other me
n in dark suits and sunglasses and earpieces kept them at bay while we entered the car and slid across the bench. Even as the car door closed in their faces, reporters knelt down to try to get one last shot of us together, Shane Sorrenson, the mysterious, reclusive billionaire heir to Henry James Sorrenson's media empire, and his new arm-candy girlfriend.

  "Since you didn't tell them anything about me, or us, what will they say?" I asked.

  Shane pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "They'll do some research about you and then mix that with conjecture. And by conjecture, I mean they'll fabricate a bunch of bullshit. Those magazines and papers have come out with stories saying I'm getting married, or cheating with someone on someone else. I think the last one said I was engaged to Katy Perry. The funny thing about that one is, I met her once, at a party about two years ago. We hugged and she kissed me on the cheek, and a photographer got a picture of us just as she was leaning in to kiss me, and they spun it into us getting married. I'd never seen her before, nor since. They even did a follow-up, cropped pics of me with some of her so it looked like we were yelling at each other, and then did an 'exclusive' about our 'tragic break-up'." Shane waved a hand in dismissal. "It's a bunch of bullshit. I have no intention of telling them anything, since they'll they'll make up their own fuckin' bullshit any-damn-how."

  Virginia glared at Shane's cursing, but held her silence.

  "They're going to research me? What does that mean?" I asked.

  "They'll dig into your past for sordid bits of gossip to spin." Shane shrugged. "Who knows. They'll try to talk to your parents, or find an ex, or something."

  The thought of some gossip reporter or blogger getting a hold of John scared me. If he was mad enough, he might talk to them, and god only knows what he'd tell them. I didn't have anything to hide, per se, but the idea of people reading lies about me had my stomach roiling. I still hadn't spoken to my parents since returning from Sudan. They didn't have any idea what was going on. If they watched the news, and saw me with Shane...

  On cue, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, sighed, and answered it.

  "Hi, Mom," I said.

  She was pissed. "When were you going to tell me you were back from your little adventure? Why did I have to find out about your relationship with him from TV? Is he really a billionaire? Tell me you didn't already get married, Leona--"

  "Mom!" I cut in. "You sound just like the reporters. One question at a time."

  "Well? When can I meet him? And does he have any single brothers?"

  "Mom! Seriously with the questions."

  "Well at least tell me why you haven't at least called me. Where are you?"

  "I'm in New York with Shane and his family. And I'm sorry I didn't call you. I know I should have, but things have been really crazy lately. I honestly haven't talked to anyone."

  "Except the press," Mom said, with a bit of petulance.

  "I didn't talk to them. I just appeared with Shane. There's a difference."

  There was a strange, awkward silence, then Mom said, "John called your father and I."

  "Shit. What did he want?" Virginia's eyes narrowed at my language, but she didn't interrupt.

  "He wanted to know where you were. He was heartbroken, Leo. You should talk to him, at least. He was worried. He said that boy you took off with was a bit of a rough character."

  I sighed. "Mom, my life is none of his business. I'm not going to talk to him. He can think what he wants. I don't care anymore. And Shane is a bit of rough character, but he's also a billionaire, and one of the most successful and famous businessmen in the country. So John can suck it."

  Everyone in the limo was stifling laughter. I did my best to ignore them.

  "Leo! Don't be so vulgar. And I think John deserves a bit more explanation and closure than he said you gave him. He said you jumped out of the car in the rain, in the middle of a conversation, and haven't spoken to him since. That's not exactly fair, dear."

  "I'll be vulgar if I want to be vulgar, Mom. And no, I don't owe John any kind of explanation. He's an asshat. Jumping out of the car in the middle of an argument into the pouring rain should have been a pretty damn good indicator that I don't want to talk to him. Ignoring his calls and texts should have been another." Mom tried to cut in and say something, but I spoke over her. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now, Mom. I'm just not. Yes, you'll meet Shane at some point. No, we're not married, and no, you can't play matchmaker. Laura and Lenora can find their own men. I'll call you later, okay? Bye, Mom. I'm hanging up now. I love you. Bye."

  She tried to cut in several more times as I hung up, but I knew my mom, and I knew if I let her get a head of steam up, she'd never stop with the questions. She should have been a reporter.

  I stared at the phone rather than face the inquisitive stares of Shane, Henry, and Virginia.

  "So, John would be...?" Virginia prompted.

  "My ex-fiance," I said.

  At the same time, Shane said, "An asshat."

  Virginia lifted an eyebrow. "This is the fellow whose car you jumped out of? Remind me, why is he 'an ass...hat'?' She spoke the phrase with a wry contempt for such low vulgarity.

  I looked at Shane and back to his mother. "It's a long story."

  "I know this may be none of my business, but it sounds like you have some loose ends to take care of." Virginia looked at me with firm but understanding eyes, so much like Shane's. "My advice, which I realize you haven't asked for, is to go home for a few days. Introduce Shane to your parents, see your friends, and yes, have one last conversation with your ex."

  I nodded. I knew she was right, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I was afraid that if I went home, this crazy dream I was having would end, and I would be stuck back in my old life.

  We got back to the house and everyone scattered to different places, leaving me and Shane alone in the kitchen.

  "Wanna go for a ride?" Shane asked, shucking his suit coat and tie.

  "A ride?"

  "Yeah, on one of my motorcycles. I'm all keyed up and need to blow off some steam. A nice long cruise on one of my choppers always calms me down."

  "Oh, yeah. Sure. That actually sounds really nice. Let me go change."

  I'd been wearing a calf-length brown skirt and a matching suit coat, which was perfect for a press conference, but so not much for a motorcycle ride. I quickly changed into a pair of jeans, a halter top, and a jacket. Shane was already waiting out in the driveway, back in a pair of ripped jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather jacket. He plopped a helmet on my head and adjusted the straps, and I swung onto the classic motorcycle behind Shane, wrapping my arms around his waist.

  I hadn't been on motorcycle with Shane since we left Detroit, I realized, as we glided down a narrow, winding, two-lane road. The engine roared and buzzed between my legs, and Shane's solid bulk in front of me anchored me into the moment, pushing away worries and fears, until all that remained was the lush, upstate New York scenery. There was no talking, not with the roar of the engine, and for once I felt no need to talk, just a deep peace rooted firmly in Shane, in simply being with him.

  I lost track of time, lost track of the miles, and eventually Shane pulled off the main road onto a hard-packed dirt road cutting away into a rolling field bordered on one side by a wall of trees. This was a rougher ride than the highway had been, and I clung tighter to Shane. The dirt road took us even farther from civilization than we already were, away from the blacktop, away from people. Now we were truly in the middle of nowhere, and still Shane drove, mile after mile.

  A massive, spreading oak tree rose into view, topping a hill in the distance, dominating the horizon. Shane pulled the bike off the dirt road into the grass beneath the tree, and then swung around to face me so our legs were nestled together, his outside mine, his boots resting on the footrests next to my feet.

  From top of the hill we had an open view of the land surrounding us for miles, trees off to our left,
an endless bank of wind-blown green. Rolling hills spread away in every other direction, covered in rippling grass lit by the afternoon sun.

  "Leo, I'm gonna ask you one last time." Shane took both my hands in his. "You want this? With me, with my family?"

  "I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry about whether I really fit into your family's lifestyle, all the fancy airplanes and limos and reproductions of eighteenth-century British noblemen's houses. But I like your family. Your mom gave it to me straight, told me what she expected of me, and that helped, as much as it made me even more nervous."

  "Oh god. Mom got to you?"

  "Well, yeah. She told me that your family had...how did she put it? A certain moral standard to uphold, or something like that. I can't be caught up in scandal, and my decisions affect you and the whole company. Stuff like that. Logical enough."

  Shane groaned. "Figures she'd hit you with that shit." He eyed me carefully, assessing my reaction. "She could have waited a bit before laying that on you."

  I shook my head. "No, I needed to hear it. It made all this more real, I guess. I mean, you're real, but...the CEO thing, being with you as you take over for your dad...all that. I can't just do whatever I want. I mean, I'd never be 'caught in a scandal' anyway, whatever that means."

  "It means cheat on me and have it publicized by the papers."

  "Oh. Well even more duh." I scooted forward and Shane slid down so that he was reclining on the bike and I was lying on top of him. It felt precarious, but he didn't seem to mind, and I felt secure, held in his arms.

  "It's not a duh, though," Shane said. "I mean, I trust you, but...gossip rags are one thing. Real, presentable facts are another."