The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  His expression was corrupt. “I would like a great many things from you, Marist, but we will start here tonight.”

  “No, that’s touching.”

  He looked at me like I was being ridiculous, and his tone was sharp. “No, it isn’t. I have my clothes on, so there’s not skin contact.”

  Even though I’d made a deal with the devil, I hesitated when he came to collect.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I suspect there’s more you want to ask me, and this is what you agreed to.”

  I crossed an arm over my stomach, subtly brushing the side of my thumb over my Medusa tattoo. She wasn’t afraid of men. They feared her, and I drew from her strength.

  One foot in front of the other, I walked on unsteady legs toward him, and he watched the sway of my hips and the undulation of my bare breasts. When I’d made it to the chair, I turned and reached behind me for the now-empty armrests, and ever-so-slowly lowered myself.

  I wasn’t actually in his lap. He’d made room for me between his legs, and I sat perched on the edge of the chair. With the mirror in front of us, he could see both my nakedness in the reflection and his favorite part of me up close—the long line of my back.

  I’d kept my knees together, and once I had my balance, I rested my hands there. With the armrests no longer in use, he took them back, and the way his fingers curled around the edges, it made me wonder if he’d done it to remind himself he could look, but not touch.

  “Lean back.” His voice was a whispered sin. “Spread your legs and let me tell you a secret.”

  There was a thick taste of debauchery in the air, and no amount of dry swallowing could remove it from my mouth. My eyes fluttered closed. Maybe he’d think it was me falling under his spell, but the truth was I didn’t want to see the desire etching his expression while I made myself totally vulnerable. All I wanted to think about was Royce.

  Macalister’s chest was firm, his suit coat soft, and the silk of his tie was cool against my back. The worst part of this position was how it put his lips right beside my ear, and his steady, quick breathing filled it. The proximity made it so much easier for his commands to invade my mind, but hopefully his secrets too.

  “I didn’t stop pursuing Ascension,” his voice was low, “when I learned what I was truly buying, because I know what his next step will be.”

  My eyes burst open, and I was treated to the full, shocking image of us slumped back together on the green chair, my legs spread and his parted wider around mine. We were fitted together like puzzle pieces, and although I told myself this image was perverse, my body had a different reaction. A bolt of interest reverberated through me.

  That wasn’t allowed. I was only playing a part, following the advice Royce had given me the night of our first date. I was simply being the version Macalister wanted me to be.

  Win, no matter what.

  In ancient Greece, I was in my perfect form like this, unadorned of clothes. The pinnacle of strength and beauty, and in the mirror, Macalister viewed me this way. His heavy gaze swept along the tips of my breasts, down the curve of my waist, and skated over my legs.

  “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  Static played in my mind. “What?”

  He was irritated he had to repeat himself. “When you masturbate. Show me how you do it.”

  In one of the models I’d forecast, this was a variable. I’d weighed the pros and the cons and decided it was a viable action if he asked for it. My right hand slowly curled inward, and as I brushed my fingers across the insides of my thighs, my gaze slipped down to the bottom of the mirror.

  So, I didn’t watch his reaction when I set two fingers on my clit and rubbed a sluggish circle, but it didn’t matter. He inhaled with satisfaction, which was a sound I couldn’t block out, and with my back against him, I rode the swell of his chest.

  The way I was touching myself was devoid of pleasure, but it still made it hard to organize my thoughts. “What do you think his next step will be?”

  “Word will break about Ascension’s greed. Either he’ll leak it or someone else will at his direction.” His pause forced me to stir another circle, and only then did he continue. “It will shake the HBHC shareholders’ confidence, and they’ll be looking for someone to blame.”

  “Which would be you.”

  I jerked to a stop when his right hand grabbed mine. The words were on the tip of my tongue to tell him he wasn’t allowed to touch, but I caught myself just in time. He hadn’t violated the rules. My hands were fair game. He dragged it upward, and my gaze with it, until my fingers were in front of my mouth.

  “Open.”

  In this position, he felt the shudder rattle my body. Did he think it was with disgust? Anxiety? Or excitement? It was terrifying that, at least to some degree, I felt all three emotions. My lips parted, and he pushed my first two fingers deep into my mouth, damp with my own taste.

  He pulsed them in and out as he spoke. “The moment everything is at its worst, Royce will strike.” His lips were so close, they moved the air beside my ear. “He’ll call an emergency board meeting and demand a vote of no-confidence in my leadership.”

  Oh, my God.

  Macalister knew everything.

  SEVENTEEN

  IRONICALLY, I WAS GLAD MACALISTER had forced my fingers into my mouth because it muffled the gasp I made. I stared at my reflection, whose eyes were so wide they were practically white, and willed myself to remain calm.

  I wanted to ask how he’d figured it out, but he made that impossible. The image in the mirror was of a scared girl sucking on her fingers while her disapproving daddy loomed large behind her.

  His voice was villainous. “Are you wondering how I discovered his attempt to usurp me?”

  With no other way to communicate, I nodded.

  “It’s what I would do if I were him, and he learned everything he knows from me.” His grasp on my hand tightened, and he guided me to withdraw the wet fingers from my mouth. “My son is smart, but he’ll never rise to my level. He thinks he knows me well—and it’s likely he does—but as he studied me, I studied him.”

  Down my hand went under his direction. I swallowed a breath as he placed it between my legs and urged me to move. This time, it was harder to ignore the sensation, and a faint tendril of enjoyment curled its horrifying, beckoning finger, asking me to follow it.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured Royce.

  If Macalister knew about the no-confidence vote, why hadn’t he done anything to stop it? “I don’t understand.” As his hand encouraged mine, it swirled the thoughts in my head. “You’re going to allow it?”

  “Of course. I’ve already informed the board of what I suspect is coming. Royce stayed silent about the trap we were walking into with the takeover, and his deception did not sit well with the directors. I’ve secured assurances of their loyalty, and they won’t vote against me when the time comes.”

  My eyes cracked open. Now there wasn’t anything to hold back the sharp exhale from me. It burst from my lungs, taking all my hope with it. Macalister wasn’t just two moves ahead of Royce—he’d already won.

  “When he loses the vote,” Macalister said, “hopefully he learns a valuable lesson, and it should dissuade him from any further attempts.” His voice swelled with absolute power. This was Zeus speaking. “I am the chairman of the board, and chief executive officer of HBHC, and will remain so until I choose to step down.”

  His left hand closed on top of mine, and then he was forcing me to move that one too. His fingers threaded through mine, curling around my palm as if it were his now, and together he made me cup my breast.

  Because I was leaning back against him, I could feel him rapidly harden, and his erection dug into the small of my back. It was dangerous and made the air in the room evaporate.

  He issued his order in a warm and pleased voice. “Look.”

  I already was looking at us in the mirror, and on a basic level, I responded to it. The physical sensations paired wi
th the visual were too much to stay immune to. Uncomfortable heat bloomed inside me, pooling in my limbs and flickering in my center. He pushed my right wrist to stroke faster, bringing more pleasure into my body physically with my own hand, but really his.

  The look in his eyes was lecherous. “Look at us, Nyx.”

  When he referred to me as the most powerful goddess of them all, I detached from myself for a moment. We weren’t mortals, but two gods of Olympus, above reproach or consequences. My head fell back on his shoulder, my cheek grazing the faint stubble on his, and I sighed.

  Wait. I wasn’t Nyx.

  There were other questions to ask him, but his presence was gathered around me like smoke filling a room. It made me heavy, weighing me down. His grip on me was oppressive and dominating. As he slid my hand from one breast to the other, his warm breath cascaded down my neck and rolled over my chest. He was closing in, surrounding me, waging war on multiple fronts.

  I boiled the question down to its simplest form and said it between two enormous gulps of air. “Why do you hate him?”

  “Royce?” His hands slowed, and mine followed suit. Something like hurt filled his eyes, but it was fleeting. “I don’t. I’m only hard on him because he’s spoiled. You asked me once if I have a moral hazard, but it’s him you should worry about. He’s had anything he’s ever wanted, and it’s made him soft. He’ll need to be much stronger if he’s going to succeed me someday.”

  Except Macalister was wrong. What did it matter if you got everything you wanted . . . if you didn’t get to keep it?

  Like his mother.

  Or his father’s love.

  It was clear Macalister didn’t want me thinking about anyone other than him. His hands started up again, and determination painted his face in dark shadows.

  “I’m not soft,” he said, and for added effect, he pushed his pelvis forward, and the hard bulge ground against me. A noise of satisfaction rent from his lips. “I’m going to bring you to orgasm with my hands essentially tied behind my back. Imagine what I could do to you if you allowed me the full use of my body.”

  I wasn’t sure which was more terrifying. Him, or the reaction he provoked. My bottom lip quivered, and I bit down to stop it.

  He noticed, because of course he did. Nothing seemed to escape him, least of all me. “Don’t you want that?”

  “No,” I said.

  His smile was all-knowing. “You were right. You’re not very good at lying.”

  But I was tonight. At least, I hoped.

  His right hand made me go faster still, and my heartbeat banged in my chest. My ragged breathing rang out, masking a quiet moan that seeped from me, and I fought myself not to like it. Beneath his hands, I tried to stay at his direction and not adjust to the perfect spot that would maximize my pleasure.

  My body had other ideas.

  When my hips moved, it rubbed against his erection, and he hissed his pleasure through tight teeth. Both of his hands came off me, and I froze, my fingers still pressed to my needy clit.

  “Up. In my lap, so you can feel what you do to me.”

  Oh, God.

  Win at all costs.

  I reluctantly set my hands on the armrests, lifted myself up, and pushed back so my ass pressed against the hard length of him beneath his suit pants. He groaned under his breath, and before I could take my hands off the chair, he snatched them up. He shoved them right back where they’d been, one on my breast and one between my thighs.

  “Does the idea of me frighten or excite you, or both? That’s how I know when to pursue something—when the thought of having it is thrilling.”

  His controlling hand pushed mine down from my breast, making it glide over the flat of my stomach and down to my hip. He urged me to rock, to slide my ass back and forth over the fly of his pants.

  What the fuck was wrong with me? Every sigh and heavy breath from him seduced the terrible part of me that didn’t mind it so much. It had no problem being pulled deeper under his power. But the rest of my brain was screaming in protest, beyond angry.

  “You’re a dangerous creature, Nyx.” His words invaded. They destroyed like thunderbolts hurled from above. “And someday you will let me possess you completely.”

  No, this was too much. The defiance built inside me, but he guided my left hand down farther. His cold fingers were much longer as he curled them over mine, tucking them in—all except for our index fingers, his stacked on top of mine.

  And then he pushed them both inside my body.

  My mouth rounded into a silent cry, too stunned to find words. The sudden stretch was painful, but he kept advancing, sliding our fingers deeper. It made my brain fracture. Words like no, and wrong, and rules all tried to come out at the same instant, producing only a choked off noise of surprise.

  As Macalister crossed the hard line I’d drawn, the only thought in my head was Royce and what a mistake I’d made. I’d come into this room and done a terrible thing for us, but the cost was too high. I jerked and bucked, but that made me shift harder in Macalister’s lap, and his groan was louder and more satisfied this time.

  I finally found my voice as I tried to pull our hands away. “No.”

  “The only places I’m touching you are your hands and fingers. One of them just happens to be inside your body.”

  Was he insane? “You’re fucking touching me.”

  His right hand was still moving, making my fingers rub across my clit and right above where he’d slipped our fingers inside, but if it felt pleasurable, my mind refused to acknowledge it. It was blank with shock and rage.

  “Macalister,” I cried, “stop.”

  When he broke one rule, he broke them all. His damp lips grazed my neck. “Surrender, and I’ll set you free.”

  I panicked when the darkest part of me whispered to do it, just let him have me. He was never going to stop until he had what he wanted. Alice had said as soon as I gave in, he’d leave me alone.

  But a fire ignited in my belly and seared across my limbs, burning away the fog of unwanted desire and screamed at me to fight. I wasn’t Nyx.

  I was fucking Medusa.

  And I would brandish my full power. “Do you love me?”

  He solidified, turning into stone, and sensed the trap I’d laid for him, but there was no going back. He gazed at me in the mirror and how I was lying against him, his suit-covered arms circled around my nude body and our hands pressed between my spread legs. As the truth climbed across his face, it was the first time I ever saw him look tragically beautiful.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  I was unmoored, floating in the ocean at night, too far away to see the lighthouse, and I swallowed so hard, it was audible. “Then you’ll stop.”

  The strength went out of his muscles. His retreat was quick, and instantly I was up out of the chair, whirling to face him. He looked devastated, realizing he’d gone much too far, and I wasn’t prepared for the uneven words that came out of him.

  “I’m . . . sorry.”

  The force of his apology knocked me back a step.

  Macalister Hale didn’t apologize. He didn’t make mistakes or have a heart, but presented with all this evidence to the contrary, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. He looked as off-balance as I felt.

  “It’s not enough,” I said. I wasn’t just angry with what he’d done to me, but with what he’d done to Royce.

  My chest heaved breath into my lungs as he hesitantly came to his feet, and I stepped out of his path when he walked toward the mirror. No—wait. His destination wasn’t the mirror, it was my clothes heaped on the floor. He bent, scooped them up, and moved toward me with them in his hands like a peace offering.

  “But we’re not finished,” I snapped.

  He blinked, suspicion clouding his expression. What I’d said sounded too good to be true to him, but the truth was simpler. If I didn’t see this through, he’d twist it around. He’d find ways to use it to his advantage, and next time if I was dumb enough to be caug
ht in his trap, he might not stop when I told him to.

  I had all the power now, and we’d finish this on my terms.

  I marched to his bed and sat at the foot of it with my heart in my throat, and kept my gaze pinned on him while I moved backward. My naked body slid across the smooth, satiny cover, which felt luxurious and soft and nothing like the ruthless man I’d been pressed against moments ago.

  Macalister’s expression was fixed, but his body language gave him away. He shifted on his feet, unsure.

  “You come any closer,” I said in the firmest voice I possessed, “and I’ll stop.”

  He was still uncertain until I drew my knees up, set my heeled feet on the mattress, and lay my head down. I snaked my hand down my body, pressing my fingers to my clit, and began to stir. I stared up at the ceiling and heard his ragged breath, but otherwise he was quiet. He’d asked me to show him how I masturbated, and so I did, but this wasn’t a reward—it was punishment. I was showing him what he couldn’t have.

  “I’m thinking about Royce,” I declared. My eyes drifted closed, and I pictured my husband.

  It was like my pleasure was on a switch, and it took no effort to turn it on. I thought of the afternoon on our honeymoon when he’d pulled at the strings of my bikini bottom and pushed down his swim trunks, and we’d lain on our sides while he fucked me senseless from behind. Or months before that, when he’d picked me up and carried me into the shower with our clothes still on. How he’d torn my shirt and pushed me up against the glass, so desperate to have me he was incensed.

  I moaned, as low and deeply as I had then. The heat building inside me intensified.

  What about the memory of what I considered our first time? In the wine cellar, he’d pulled me down into his lap, and I’d ridden him to a blistering orgasm. I could still remember how he’d kissed me afterward on the couch, our sweaty, naked bodies still connected.

  Tingling pinpricks scurried over my skin as the orgasm approached, and I squirmed on top of Macalister’s bed, my left hand balling the bedcover into a fist.

  After all the times Royce and I had been together, still no memory compared to that first night in the library. When he’d pushed me against that bookcase, shoved his hand up my dress, and said I was his now.