by Nikki Sloane
“Yes, Daddy,” I said.
He moved so abruptly, it didn’t register until he was standing, his hand clenched on my arm and squeezing so hard it drained the insolence right out of me.
“No,” he seethed. “I do not care for that. Say it again, and I’ll make you regret it.”
My mouth dropped open. He liked to push, but he didn’t like to be pushed . . . not on someone else’s terms.
To reinforce his point, his hand came off my arm and latched on to the bun at the back of my head, twisting the pins painfully as he tilted my head back and his mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss was ruthless and cruel, his teeth sharp and merciless.
I moaned my approval, drinking up his aggression.
He released me with a shove, his eyes furious and hot, and then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Oh, fuck me, it was so erotic, my hands dug under my skirt and clawed the scrap of fabric down, pushing it past my knees.
Macalister raked a hand through his hair, and as the strands fell back in place, so did his calm, collected demeanor. He lowered back into his chair and curled his lip to speak the order. “On the desk. Show me your cunt.”
The word was the same as a hard slap against my ass. I didn’t hate it . . . but it got my attention.
As I sat on the edge of the desk, my thong fell past my ankles and onto the floor. It was forgotten as I pinned my gaze to his, and I was anxious to watch his reaction as I spread my legs. Except my skirt was down, teasing him with shadows, and his expression filled with impatience.
“I’m waiting.”
I grabbed the front of my skirt and pulled it up to my waist, leaving nothing to the imagination. He’d seen it before, anyway.
His nostrils flared as he stared at me, and lust descended on the room. It filled every inch and crevice, made it so it was all I could taste, became all I could think about. The desk was no longer cold against my bare skin or uncomfortable as the edge dug into the back of my thighs. All I desired was his touch, and it felt like I’d burst if I didn’t get it right this instant.
But Macalister didn’t touch me.
His hot gaze slid over the most intimate, secret part of my body, caressing my pink jeweled piercing, before moving up to peer into my face. His eyes were lidded, and his chest moved quickly, but otherwise he maintained his cool exterior.
“Do whatever you need to,” he commanded, “to make yourself comfortable, and when you’re ready, pick my gift up, turn it on, and make yourself come.”
I exhaled loudly, disappointment snaking across my exposed skin. “You’re just going to watch?”
His smug smile was irritatingly sexy. “Show me how you follow my commands, and I’ll give you more.” The desire in his office was so thick, I was drowning in it, and even he seemed to struggle now against the current. “I’ll give you so much more, Sophia.”
He’d told me on Saturday that I had disrupted him, but did he know he did the same to me? Everything blurred and spun around him. Down was up. I couldn’t get the rest of the world to notice me, but Macalister didn’t miss a detail now.
I lay back on the desktop and propped myself up on my elbows, wanting to keep looking at him as he stared back at me. His cheekbones were so high and sharp, and his pale blue eyes intense. God, he was gorgeous. There were brand guidelines out there somewhere for “Cutthroat Billionaire Executive” and he adhered to them flawlessly.
He was a classic man with discerning tastes, and I was happy to be a flavor he currently enjoyed.
I picked up the vibrator beside me and pressed the button on its handle, making it spring to life. It was quiet but powerful, and I hesitantly set the head of it between my legs.
Just the whisper of contact against my clit, and I collapsed onto my back, banging loudly onto the desk. “Fuck.”
I’d wanted to watch him as I did it, but I’d spent the whole goddamn day turned on. It’d take next to nothing to make me come, and seeing him shift in his chair was already too much. He’d leaned an elbow on the armrest and rested his chin against his hand, one finger crooked over his lips like he was considering a tempting offer.
The sensation of the vibrations was so good, it felt like agony. I kept having to pull it off for a few seconds to catch my breath, before starting again. Sparks danced down my legs, making me flinch with pleasure as I stared at the ceiling.
Part of me wanted someone to walk in on us right now. They’d discover the chief shareholder and owner of Hale Banking and Holding sitting at his desk, supervising his young assistant while she got herself off with a vibrator.
The scandal would be decadent.
“Are you close already?” He asked it like he already knew the answer.
I whimpered. “It feels so good.” The wand was easy to hold, like it had been designed with self-use in mind, unlike my generic one at home. Sometimes I got a cramp holding it. “Whatever you paid for this—it was worth it.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I am too.” His voice wasn’t cold or strict anymore; now it was filled with smoke and heat. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
“Language,” I whispered with shock, pretending to scold him. But I drew the pulsing head of the wand away from my clit to stop the orgasm his words nearly brought on.
“Did you think about this all day?” he asked.
“Yes.” The buzzing toy was truth serum. He could ask me anything, and I’d tell it to him, no matter how embarrassing or dark the secret was.
“I did too. I wondered if you’ll make the same sounds as you did last time. Or will your moans be different than when I had my fingers inside you?”
“Fuck,” I gasped again, squirming away from the wand. I both did and didn’t want to come. Last time I hadn’t believed it was possible, and it’d been dark in the room. There was nowhere to hide this time. He’d see everything.
Macalister stood and stepped between my parted legs, looming over me, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt beneath his suit jacket sleeves. The way he moved was practiced and graceful and deliberate.
“Why do you keep doing that,” he asked, “pulling it away?” He leaned over, using his body to pin the vibrator back against me. “I’ve already shown you this is a battle you can’t win.”
I groaned with pleasure as the vibrator crushed against me. I wanted to submit completely but was also afraid. What if he saw something he didn’t like? Or what if he got what he wanted then cast me aside?
Or . . . what if this was all just a game to him? He hadn’t gotten Marist. Was I her replacement, the consolation prize he was settling for?
His gaze was vicious in its pursuit, determined to see down into the depths of my mind and discover what I was thinking, and I turned my head away, unable to look.
“I don’t know if I can,” I panted for air, “with you watching me.”
“You can,” he said. “And you will. I’m going to make you do it a hundred different times if needed.”
Desire flashed through my center. I liked Macalister’s plan a lot.
“But right now?” His tone was firm, teeming with arrogance. “I’m going to bring you to orgasm with my tongue.”
I groaned and jerked at the idea, my entire body shuddering in acute pleasure. But instead of dropping to his knees as I expected, he clamped his hand down on top of mine, so we were gripping the vibrator together. And then he directed me to push it harder against my sensitive clit, making my piercing rattle.
I arched off the desk as the orgasm gathered like a storm, and Macalister shoved his free hand beneath my neck, scooped me up into his kiss. Lightning cracked across my chest, and flames licked at my legs. The swell of pleasure built, and built, and fucking built . . .
He forced my lips open, and the sliver of his tongue glancing against my own sealed my fate.
A panicked moan ripped from my throat and was gasped into his mouth as I came. Heat blasted up my spine, setting my nerve endings on tingling fire
, and I contracted with each pulse of ecstasy as the waves rolled through my body. I had to push the wand away, overly sensitive and overwhelmed, and he allowed it, taking the vibrator from me, turning it off, and setting it aside.
I was still shuddering as he lowered me back onto his desk, my head nearly off the back of it, and I slammed my eyes shut. It was too much, too sexy, the way he examined me in my vulnerable state of post-orgasm recovery. He’d said he was going to bring me to orgasm with his tongue . . . and he had. There’d obviously been some mechanical assistance, but when he’d licked into my mouth, that was what had sent me over the edge.
That connection was the last tumbler clicking into place and unlocked my pleasure.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay on his desk, but once my breathing slowed to a languishing pace, he helped me up onto my trembling legs, lowered my skirt, and folded his arms around me in a reassuring embrace. Or perhaps it was to trap me. Either was possible with him.
His heartbeat was steady, an insistent, reliable drum marching along, while mine was still erratic. There’d been heat in him, but it cooled slowly, layer by layer. I wanted to stay like this longer, but he searched my face, and his eyes went cautious. “I would like to continue, but . . . there is business I don’t believe we can put off any longer.”
Tomorrow might be Macalister’s only opportunity to speak with DuBois, which meant I was out of time. I nodded slowly and turned my gaze toward the couches. I was still weak, and no way was I standing through this conversation. “I need to—”
“Yes,” he said, releasing me and gesturing for us to sit. When I reached for my discarded underwear, he stopped me. “No. You can put that back on when we’re done here.”
My heart skipped and tumbled at his order, and I straightened slowly before moving toward the sitting area, my head still foggy and in the clouds. But reality was coming. I sensed it like I was falling and the ground swelled up to meet me.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
I wanted to smile at his offer because I’d spent the last month bringing him coffee, and I liked the idea of telling him to fetch me some—but my nerves were jagged fragments. I sat on the gray couch, and my voice went small. “Water would be nice.”
He retrieved a bottle from his mini fridge, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. With that done, his focus went to the couches, and I could see the consideration as it played out in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he should sit beside me like a friend, or a safe distance across from me like a colleague.
It was disappointing when he moved to the opposite couch after what we’d just done, but not surprising.
I took a sip of the water and replaced the cap, turning it slowly and stalling. I’d never told anyone what I was about to. Plus, I hadn’t a clue how he was going to react, other than he’d look at me differently after this was over, and that scared the hell out of me.
Macalister settled into his seat, subtly prompting me it was time for me to begin.
“You were close, but it’s not Duncan Lynch,” I said, pinning my reluctant gaze on him. “It’s his father.”
EIGHTEEN
MACALISTER
Sophia sat perfectly still on the edge of the couch in her white dress, her back straight, knees together, and ankles crossed like a lady should, but the water bottle in her hand was shaking. I didn’t care for seeing her in visible distress. I’d hoped the orgasm she’d just had would help relax her, and it was meant to strengthen the trust between us.
Damon Lynch.
I hesitated as the name rolled through my mind. Damon was no saint, but neither were any of the men who sat on HBHC’s board, myself included. In fact, the residents of Cape Hill each had their share of secrets and dark deeds. Money was power, and power corrupted, making the people here believe they were untouchable. I hadn’t realized how twisted and uncontrolled our little hamlet had become, but Sophia’s daily briefings had clarified it for me.
We lived in a den of lies, full of betrayal and debauchery and crimes.
“What has he done?” I asked.
“For starters, he’s a hypocrite.” Fire ringed her eyes. “He touts all that ‘family first’ bullshit, but you have to know he’ll fuck anything that moves if it looks at him twice.”
Her coarse language was, unfortunately, appropriate. Damon’s only requirement with a sexual partner seemed to be that she could fog a mirror. “Yes, I’m aware he often strays in his marriage.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re married, or in a relationship, or if the girl is too young for him. He flashes his smile, and the panties drop almost as fast as he abandons the woman the morning after.”
A chill swept along my frame, followed by a rush of possessive anger. Had he touched her? I steeled my voice. “You’ve slept with him?”
She looked like she was going to be ill. “What? No.” She shook her head, trying to cast off the horrible thought, but it did nothing to remove her frown. “Let me back up.” She drew in a deep breath. “My parents were tough on me. They had big expectations because I was their only child.”
I raised an eyebrow, both at her abrupt switch in topic and what she’d said. “I can certainly respect their desire to see their daughter achieve. I held both of my sons to a high standard.”
“Yeah. Do you know how jealous my dad is of you? Not just your money, but what you just said right there. Sons.” Bitterness smeared over her expression. “Imagine you only had daughters. No one to carry on the Hale name.”
I didn’t patronize her and pretend she was wrong. She knew how traditional my values were, and they echoed through our town. Plus, Hales were more than just their bloodlines—HBHC was our family namesake.
“I hoped for a girl when Julia was pregnant with Vance. I wanted one of each.” I scowled at myself. Why had I told her that? “Familial names carry a lot of weight, and yes, it’s rarely fair, but that is how it’s been for generations.”
“No, it’s not fair,” she agreed. “My dad didn’t keep his feelings about me hidden either. I was a constant disappointment.”
How was that possible? She went to an Ivy League school. She was the homecoming queen and prom queen. Everyone loved her, including countless strangers on Instagram. Also, “You went to the Olympics.”
She gave a joyless laugh. “Did I bring home a medal?”
I digested her statement, and it forced me to reflect on my actions. I’d pushed Royce and Vance relentlessly. Nothing was ever good enough to satisfy me. So, it applied to me as much as it did to Stephen and Colette Alby. “I was unaware your parents are fools. They have to be, if they’re not proud of you.”
Her shoulders snapped back in surprise, and her pretty face softened.
“Thank you.” She held my gaze for a long moment before it went unfocused and shifted away. “Things weren’t that bad until I was fourteen, when my mom got sick and almost died.”
“Cancer.” I remembered because, after her recovery, Colette became heavily involved with foundations and drives for research funding.
“Yeah. It started as pneumonia, but then she went into sepsis.” Her gaze drifted down, landing on her knees. “It looked like it was the end, and she didn’t want to take the secret to her grave.” Her face was sarcastic, yet grim. “A true deathbed confession.”
Cold realization leached from my bones. Puzzles intrigued me, and she’d given me more than enough pieces to solve it. “She had an affair with Damon.”
Her eyes turned dull and glassy. “If one time counts as an affair, then, yeah. But one time was all it took.”
Sophia wasn’t Stephen Alby’s daughter; she was Damon Lynch’s.
Jesus, how had I not seen it? His million-dollar smile was the exact same as hers.
A thousand questions vied for attention in my mind, but I was smart enough to know when to stay quiet. Silence often prompted the other person to fill it, and now wasn’t the time to push.
“My dad—St
ephen,” she clarified, “can’t have children.” Her voice filled with contempt. “Me not being able to carry the Alby name was hard enough. Imagine how thrilled he was to learn I didn’t have Alby blood in my veins.”
“And he didn’t know?”
“Maybe he suspected on some level, but he couldn’t accept it. He was just as shocked as I was that she’d been lying to us for the last fourteen years.”
I sat forward, ignoring my posture, and rested my elbows on my knees, wanting to be closer. It was irrational, this desire to somehow protect her from such an awful betrayal that was twelve years in the past. “But he stayed with her.”
“I’m sure he wanted to leave, but he didn’t have a choice. What kind of man leaves a wife in her final days with cancer? And if he walked out and she did die . . . Fuck, I’d have no one.” She unscrewed the water bottle and took a long drink then set it down on the table like she didn’t know what to do with it anymore. “He loves her too. That’s why he stayed when she got better. My dad may not want me, but he still wants her, even after she massively fucked up.”
Her offhanded comment made me uncomfortable, like my suit was suddenly constricting. How could anyone not want her, when I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her?
“After that,” she said, “I decided I’d never be in the dark again. I’d learn every secret I could.”
I respected that and directed my ire at a new target. “What about Damon? Does he know?”
She tilted her head up to the ceiling. Like an imbecile, I also glanced up, not sure what she was looking at, only to dimly realize she’d done it to blink back tears. My body went on alert. I never felt more powerless than when witnessing a woman cry.
“Yeah.” She sniffled, composed herself, and used her anger to burn away her tears. “He fucking knows.”
There was no scenario I could see that made this acceptable, and I sensed there wasn’t one either.
“My dad scheduled a meeting with him. I think Damon thought it was going to be a sales pitch from my dad’s firm. Instead, I ambushed him with, ‘Surprise! I’m your daughter.’” Her smile was pained and didn’t reach her eyes. “He told me I was fourteen years too late. I was Stephen’s daughter now, not his.”
