His mouth returned to hers, and their breathing became frantic. She lifted her arms up and began to wrap them around his head, but he was pushing away from her.
She felt the warmth leave her as he moved back to his seat, but before a feeling of loss could be registered, she realized they were pulling up to his building.
She followed him up in a daze, and when they entered the penthouse, she didn’t have a moment to adjust or to think. As the elevator doors whished closed, he swept her up in his arms and carried her through to his bedroom.
Dropping her to her feet, his hands landed on her dress and lifted it over her head and tossed it away, leaving her in nothing but her satin briefs and high-heels. She experienced a jolt to her head like a shot of whiskey and when he stepped back and began ripping off his jacket and tie, all the while staring down at her, she desperately tried not to cover her naked breasts. She slid her hands down her thighs and gripped the tops of her legs, searching for support as she watched him strip from his shoes, pants and boxer briefs.
He removed his cufflinks and began unbuttoning his shirt, his last piece of clothing, while flecks of red highlighted his cheekbones as he continued to watch her. “How experienced are you?” he asked in a throaty rasp.
She licked her lips and through her nervousness, attempted a sultry, playful smile to lighten the extremely tense atmosphere. “Extremely, you?”
His hand shot out and landed on her back, at her waist, and brought her torso against his with such speed and force that she gasped out loud and stumbled against him. With his other hand, he caressed her from nape to butt cheek and up again. She began shaking violently and all thoughts of playful and sultry fled her brain.
The trembling didn’t get past him. “Extremely, huh?” His voice was hard, rough, without a trace of humor in it.
Her feet wobbled on her heels and in a bid for stability, her hands landed on his naked chest. His shirt was open, hanging down his sides, and his erection jutted out between them in a violent testament to the need echoed in the lines of sexual tension bracketing his mouth. She quivered and took a deep, sustaining breath. “What do you want me to say, Marco? I’m not a virgin.”
“I want you to tell me if you’re on contraceptives—or if I should use a condom?”
“Yes—please. A condom.” Her hands slid up from his chest to his neck.
“Okay, I’ll take care of it—and I’m going to go ahead and apologize in advance—there will be plenty of times in the future when I’ll go slow—take proper care the way I should—but right now—it’s not going to happen. I’ve been aching for you since the moment we met.”
His hand lifted and smoothed the hair away from her forehead and held her eyes with his while he pushed his fingers through her hair and clenched his hand in her scalp. His mouth tightened and his words hardened, “Right now—I’m going to fuck you hard and fast and you’re going to stay still and let me do it.”
Her heart stopped beating completely before it began pumping blood again in a cadence so violent that it almost scared her. Her legs trembled and she was completely speechless, hanging in the circle of his arms, waiting for his next move. All she could manage were rough breaths and not passing out entirely as desire, hard and swift, enveloped her entire being from head to toe.
His next move came quickly.
He began walking her backwards toward the bed, one sure foot at a time, and when she stumbled, his hands landed on her hips and he bodily picked her up, her legs dangling as he propelled her backwards. When the back of her knees hit the bed, he dropped her to the edge into a sitting position and pushed her legs apart as far as they would go. He stood between her legs and studied her, looking down at her. With one hand on her chin, he lifted her face and began kissing her, hard and relentlessly, his mouth opening wide and brutally over hers as he began stroking her with his tongue.
Her neck was bent back at an awkward angle to accommodate his height, and she whimpered her discomfort in the back of her throat.
He heard it, changed his tactic, and pushed her down on the bed to a supine position as he followed her down, his hand finding the softness between her thighs covered only by the remaining scrap of silk.
The barrier was too much for him, and he backed up and ripped her silk briefs off her legs, pushing them down first one leg, and then the other. Natalie immediately felt the loss of the small degree of protection her panties had afforded, and suddenly, with her legs spread wide open to him, the difference in their sexual experience was glaringly obvious to her. With a need for modesty that she couldn’t control, her hand slid down to cover herself between her legs as she felt the heat of a blush steal over her cheeks.
He stood between her legs and steadily watched her. His dark eyes narrowed and impaled her, but there was no way that Natalie could read the thoughts in his head. His gaze was hard, moving from her hot cheeks, down to her breasts that she feared were inadequate, and then to her hand where it trembled as it covered her mound.
His stare was bold—as if it contained ownership—and as he assessed her, Natalie felt he could see everything on the inside of her as well as the outside.
He allowed her hand to remain covering herself, but she knew it wasn’t going to last.
She was right.
The moment of slow inspection over, he turned away from her, reached for a condom from the bedside table and sheathed himself with it in seconds. Pushing back between her thighs, he brushed her hand away from her body and lifted her legs and hooked them around his back in a move that was both forceful and precise. He brought himself to the entrance of her soft, wet opening and pushed the broad head of his penis to the quivering heat that awaited him.
He paused as a bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face and reached for her wrists. Manacling them in his hands, he fastened them over her head to the bed and stared down into her eyes. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.” He circled his hips, rotated them against her and slipped an inch inside of her.
Her eyes flared both from the stretching sensation and the shock of his words and she began to pant in response as she waited for his further intrusion. His hands bit into her wrists with a heavy, forceful clasp that was all-consuming, all-powerful. Her heart beat a vicious tattoo at his display of strength and control, and a wild spiral of desire mixed with trepidation spread through her veins. She took a deep, sustaining breath and pushed against him slightly, testing the strength he was using.
His nostrils flared and he sank another threatening inch inside while he held her eyes. “You trying to get away from me?” he growled through bared teeth in a voice thickened with lust.
“No,” she said on an exhaled breath, relaxing her arms back against the bed where he held them in his unyielding grip.
He surged all the way inside with a clean, forceful thrust that made her gasp. Shock reverberated through her as she tried to adjust. His eyes held hers while he stayed still, and a look lit his features that resembled a cross between pure satisfaction and unadulterated relief. “You’re never getting away from me.”
Natalie was drowning in a mixture of emotions and sexual heat unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She felt completely stretched, and the pleasure it induced was beyond anything she’d ever experienced in her life. She pushed her pelvis against him, dying for his thrusts—yet daring to defy him at the same time, feeling a need for some small measure of self-preservation, to show her independence. “I don’t belong to you.”
He pulled out of her body and slammed back in with a dagger-like pump of his hips that reverberated through her. “You think now’s a good time to antagonize me?” he punched out in a menacing hiss.
She lifted her hips and begged for another stroke. “I’m not trying to antagonize you,” she lied on a pant.
He began pumping at her steadily, sliding in and out with repeated thrusts of his hips, and his mouth fell to hers, silencing her with his tongue. He began stroking her in tandem with the kisses he wa
s giving her, long, deep and forceful.
Natalie felt herself slipping down the tunnel toward orgasm. Her body began to tighten and she became almost frantic, her head turning from him and breaking free from his mouth as she gasped for air.
One sinewy hand released her wrist and gripped her by the chin, moving her face so she was looking directly at him. They breathed together raggedly while his strokes became more rigid. Her lids began to slide down, but his fingers bit into her chin. “Open them.”
She tried to focus on him as the sensations became too strong to fight against. His eyes were mesmerizing, full of tortured impatience and incendiary heat. She began sinking, her body tightening, as his strokes became deeper, stronger, as he watched her and wouldn’t let her out from under his spell.
She began to tip over the edge as a kaleidoscope of colors rushed through her brain and ecstasy held her in its grip. She just felt her eyes close as he pushed against her roughly, one pump, two pumps, three pumps—and then he was groaning, deep from his diaphragm and she knew he was following her over the edge.
He held still inside her as they both slowly began to come down, their bodies relaxing from the grip that their combined orgasms had induced. His head fell to her shoulder, and slowly, their breathing evened out.
They stayed that way for only a matter of minutes until he lifted his head and looked at her.
His dark eyes impaled hers and his voice when he spoke was a menacing threat that intoxicated her with its smoldering heat. “You’re mine—all mine. Nobody else gets to touch you. This tight little pussy,” he pushed against her, “is mine.” His hand left her chin and moved to grip a breast where he squeezed it, just short of pain. “These perfect little tits—they’re mine.” His callused fingers pinched her nipple. “These nipples—mine.” His thumb began stroking back and forth and her nipple pebbled under his touch as his words and manner brought out an exquisite need to submit yet again.
“You understand, Natalie? There are two rules in our—” He hesitated. “Agreement. I take care of you—total care—and you belong to me, body and soul. Outside of bed—you want something—you’ll have it. Inside this bedroom—or anywhere else sex is involved—I say ‘jump’ and your pretty little lips need to beg me to tell you ‘how high.’ Got that?”
She swallowed deeply, his demands bringing a barrage of emotions to the surface that enticed her to acquiesce. “Do I—do I have a choice?”
“Do you want a choice?”
The memory of her so recent orgasm washed over her as she looked back into his beautiful, compelling eyes. “Will you always make me feel the way you just did?”
His gaze was direct. Determined. “Yes.”
“Then, no,” she whispered, “I don’t think I do.”
* * *
A week later, Natalie sat across from Marco in an upscale, though subdued, restaurant in an old brownstone building on the west end of town. Her finger made a circular motion over the rim of her wineglass as she looked around the room and tried to take her mind off the heat radiating directly at her from across the table. “It’s beautiful in here.” She cleared her throat softly and bit her bottom lip, turning back to face him. “Really beautiful.”
He watched her from across the table as if they were the only two people in the world. She had his sole attention and it was unnerving. “What do you like so much about it?” he questioned as he glanced around the room and then back to her.
“Oh—everything. I love the aged wood—the stone hearth,” her eyes slid around the room and she continued, “the textures—the brocade of these chairs, the bronze fixtures—just the whole warmth of the room. It’s so—so peaceful.” Her eyes landed back on him and her lips curved into a tiny smile. “Yes. Peaceful.”
Marco watched Natalie from across the table and the thought that she was peaceful came to his mind. He’d never really thought of her as such—other descriptive words came to mind when he was with her—and when he was not. Sexy, beautiful—totally fuckable. But peaceful? But that’s what she was. When he was with her, or when he thought about her waiting for him in his penthouse, he admitted to himself that he usually felt only a few things. Extreme horniness, extreme satisfaction, or extreme peace.
He lifted her fingers from her wineglass before her fidgeting caused a mess. He entwined them with his and looked around the room again before coming back to study her as realization hit him. “You don’t like the penthouse.” It was a statement—not a question.
A blush stole over cheeks and she averted her eyes from his. “It’s fine,” she said softly.
“Holy shit. You actually hate it. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s your home, Marco, not mine. And I don’t like to be rude—or hurt your feelings.”
His mouth flattened. “It’s your home, Natalie. And why would it hurt my feelings? I didn’t have anything to do with the—” He paused as if searching for an unknown term and she broke in.
“Decor?”
“Right. Decor. All I did was ask Joy to call a company. The penthouse is just some place I sleep—” He frowned and then continued, “or it used to be.”
“It’s fine, Marco,” she soothed.
His teeth gritted and he was about to begin arguing when he looked over her head and saw Mathew Kennedy approaching the table. Mathew fucking Kennedy. The only place where his business world crossed his debauched past, goddamn Mathew Kennedy and his slut of a wife. His evening was about to go to shit.
Natalie saw the expression that came across Marco’s face and almost felt sorry for whoever or whatever had put that look in his eyes. She watched as his gaze became pointed, his jaw clenched, and ropes of tension bracketed his mouth.
His reaction fled her mind when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and a large body loomed up next to hers. She jerked her head around to face the newcomer just as she saw Marco rise from his seat and throw his napkin on the table.
Mathew Kennedy stood beside her, squeezing her shoulder. Panic assailed her—not from the hand on her shoulder, but from Marco—standing to his feet and looking as if he was preparing to go in for the kill.
Whatever Marco was about to do or say was abbreviated when a middle-aged woman, dressed to kill, strolled past Mathew Kennedy and rested her hand on Marco’s lapel.
“Marco, sweetie—why the glum look? Aren’t you glad to see us?”
Natalie felt bile rise up in her throat, both from the sickening caressing touch still on her shoulder and from the familiarity of the woman’s hand on Marco. Confusion and nausea filled her senses and she sat in her chair, unable to move as paralysis seemed to take over her body.
“Nora.” Marco’s tone was short—totally pissed as he reached down and took the woman’s hand from his person and let it drop. “Since you’re here with your husband and because I like to think I’m a reasonable man, I’m going to give you the opportunity for this encounter to end—verbally, if you will. You’ve got three seconds to convince him to release her or you’ll be taking him out of here in an ambulance—or a hearse.”
Natalie sucked in a breath and stiffened even more when a waiter appeared at their side just as the woman, who she now knew to be Nora Kennedy, put a restraining arm on her husband. “Mathew, darling, let go, sweetheart, we won’t be playing tonight.”
“Is there a problem?” The waiter, approximately six feet tall and athletically built, interjected.
Natalie held herself completely still and waited to see how this would play out. She was feeling physically sick. And about to faint, when finally, the hand was lifted from her shoulder.
Mathew Kennedy’s voice boomed out. “No problem, no problem. We were just about to get a table, weren’t we, hon? Good to see you, Marco.” Natalie felt his chilling eyes turn to her. “Natalie.”
They both turned to go, Marco pulled a bill off a wad of cash and handed it the waiter. “That should cover it. Not your fault.”
With that, he turned and pulled her from her seat, locked h
is arm around her waist and led her from the restaurant.
He pulled her into the dark of the night, opened the passenger door of his car, and pushed her down into the seat. She swung her legs in, as if her body were on automatic, and lifted her eyes to his.
Marco looked down into Natalie’s wounded blue eyes and a river of guilt and shame hit him in the guts so hard he bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. She was beautiful, sweet, and as near to innocent as anything or anyone he’d ever met. And he was tainting her. Exposing her to deviant people and fucked-up, sick things that she should never even know about, let alone get close to. He hated himself in that moment. She was beyond good and kind—and he was fucked-up—totally beyond redemption—totally unfit for someone like her.
He thought about the day the doorman and the concierge had thanked him for the cookies his housekeeper had baked for them. His mind supplied him with the accolades that Joy had reaped over Natalie. Was that only because his assistant had hated having to deal with Tanya and her pure bitchiness? He didn’t think so. At the time it had seemed more of a warning to him; she had told him how nice and innocent Natalie seemed. She didn’t dare try to warn him off her; she had only casually praised the girl while giving him a pointed look.
And Joy was right. Natalie was nice and innocent.
He should let her go.
There was no fucking way. He wouldn’t let her go. He would try his damndest to keep her away from the people who colored his past—but he couldn’t let her go.
She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He clicked her door closed, his mind on getting her back to his penthouse and locking her inside the bedroom with him as he walked around and sat down behind the wheel of the car.
Her cell phone was ringing and she answered it as he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
