Anonymous Desires_Isai and Ryker_Part Two

by A. D. Herrick

  Anonymous Desires

  Isai and Ryker

  Part 2

  A.D. herrick

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, place or theory is in no way intended or to be inferred as fact or reference.

  The work is the singular property of the Author, and may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission, unless as part of a Review, Interview or Public push of the work and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Contains adult situations. 17+ only

  Cover Design by A. D. Herrick

  Copyright ©2018 Herrick

  All rights reserved

  Indeed, this life is a test. It is a test of many things - of our convictions and priorities, our faith and our faithfulness, our patience and our resilience, and in the end, our ultimate desires.

  -Sheri L. Dew

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’d come to the bar with Meghan to unwind. I needed the time and space away from my own miserable thoughts to process what had happened a week ago. I thought my deliriously happy, pregnant best friend would be the perfect balm for my fractured and delicate emotional state.

  I had never been more wrong in my life.

  Not only had Meghan pushed me to pursue a relationship with the man who had swiftly morphed from the object of my desire into the villain of my nightmares, but she called him over to our table and then she left me.

  What kind of friend does that?

  What kind of friend just throws you to the wolves?

  Of course, she only knows the vanilla version of my night alone with my boss, CEO of Kane Holdings, and Midtown's most eligible bachelor, Ryker Kane.

  And I was guilty of telling her I lost my virginity to the once object of my desire. Even worse, having to tell her that he gave me more pleasure in one night than I had ever experienced within the confines of my bedroom with my trusty friend Buzz the bullet.

  What? I couldn’t help it. Despite the way the night ended, I couldn’t help but confide in my friend all the ways he made my body hum. It wasn’t about bragging rights, no, I needed confirmation that I wasn’t dreaming. I needed confirmation that what I had experienced had indeed been the most delicious reality I could ever dream up.

  But wasn’t there some kind of girl code? Some magical tell that would let her know that inviting him over was the last thing she should be doing?

  Did she not see the way my eyes nearly bulged out of the sockets at the mention of his presence? Did she not see the beading of sweat gathered on my brow as my nerves began to fray?

  Shouldn’t her maternal instincts have kicked in flashing in bright red neon telling her that Ryker was the last person I wanted to see?

  The answer was a resounding NO. Negative, Ghost Rider. Because if she had seen the signs, be it in neon or smoke signals, or the buckets of sweat pouring down my body, I was projecting in her direction then she wouldn’t have called him over. She wouldn’t have left me alone to “talk” to him.

  She would have seen the distress on my face a mile away or smelled my fear over the beer and peanut aroma of the bar had she not been so obsessed with the idea of me finding love and living out the happily ever after fairy tale.

  A week ago would have been a different story. A week ago I would have egged Meghan into calling him over. A week ago I would have stood on my head for the man if asked.

  But that was a week ago, not today.

  I could feel the perspiration gathering along my skin forming a slick barrier between the cool breeze blowing from the bars overhead ventilation system and the stifling feel of my clothing clinging to my damp flesh, the slight twinge of fear biting at the tip of my tongue.

  I still needed the additional few days left of the weekend to help me get over the man in front of me. I needed the extra hours to mend my battered heart and fractured pride. The week of vacation hadn’t been enough and I was banking on the weekend to finally pull me over the hump.

  I just needed more time.

  After seeing him tonight I knew it would take more than an additional weekend away. It would take weeks, months, and possibly years to get over the way his eyes made me feel as they slowly skimmed across my flushed chest, or the way they lingered a bit too long on the slender column of my neck.

  If I was being honest, a small portion of my brain had been toying with the idea of using my sick days to buy just a smidgen more time away. I wasn’t so sure my wounded pride and tender emotions could handle the incoming confrontation. The emotional scarring was still too fresh in my mind. But now, I was considering finding a new job entirely.

  All of this could have been avoided if I hadn’t fallen victim to the Valentine’s Day cult, believing in the hype of Red hearts, roses, and boxes of chocolates accompanied by over the top declarations of undying love.

  Okay, that was a lie too. The lull of the overly scandalized commercial holiday had nothing to do with my actions. It was all because of that app, Anonymous Desires, promising to fulfill all of my deepest, darkest desires. Which it did.

  It was also the very same app that still sits on my phone, taunting me with its black lace Victorian masked logo. I hadn’t opened it since my night with Ryker, but the glowing icon was never far from my mind. I can’t count the number of times I found my finger hovering over the button, my finger itching to press down. The need between my legs coursing with untamed desires that have yet to be fulfilled as my mind conjured up new scenes as though it were a competition to see how quickly my resolve would break.

  Anonymous Desires brought me face to face with the object of my desire, my personal nightmare, with the simple click of a button. True to word, I was able to have all of my fantasies fulfilled, my body worshiped beyond measure, my soul shattered into a million pieces as my body soared to new heights that were out of this world.

  A week ago today I met the man sitting beside me on the BDSM dating app. A week ago my entire world changed. And a week ago my heart was broken, my ego shattered, and my faith in men obliterated.

  A week ago Ryker Kane threw me out of his house like discarded trash after giving me the most mind-blowing orgasms I had ever experienced. A week ago that same man fulfilled my every fantasy and some I never imagined existed.

  Now here I sit beside that very man with my best friend urging me to leave with him. I feel my hackles rise as I sit beside him, Meghan completely oblivious to my inner turmoil as she fawns all over him like a lovesick hound.

  The wide toothy smile that spears across her ruby red lips is like a knife to the heart as she pushes me toward the man who broke me.

  Only she doesn’t know it.

  No one does.

  Because I keep that pain buried deeply, sheltering it along with the shame and embarrassment of that night.

  I hold it all in hoping no one can see how truly broken I am. How crushed my soul had become because of the man beside me. The man with his hand on my knee smiling at me as though nothing has changed, as though he didn’t toss me out of his house with my clothing clutched in my hands, shielding me from cold of the night.

  The man who made me dress in his yard and hail a cab home after he ravaged my body, leaving my bones the consistency of jelly. The man whose very presence still sends licks of arousal up my spine. Who makes my breath hitch with just one look. Who makes my panties wet with the simplest of touches. The man w
ho controls me no matter how hard I fight it.

  I want to hate him.

  I do hate him.

  And at the same time, my body craves him. It craves his touch, his taste, and the very essence of him.

  The emotions swirling around in my mind confuse me leaving me teetering in my seat.

  Hate. Lust. Both emotions war within me battling for dominance. My head swims with uncertainty. Do I? Don’t I? I don’t know anymore. But it doesn’t matter because the choice is stolen from me.

  Like a prisoner sent to the electric chair, I find myself sentenced to another night alone with him, Ryker Kane, because my best friend thinks she’s playing matchmaker. The bane of my existence thinks I want to be in his presence, and I’m too much of a lady to scream and cry my protest in a crowded bar, my voice stolen by misplaced propriety.

  “Meghan, you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed your date for the evening, would you?” The smug look on his face has me begging to wipe it off.

  “Of course not, you go right on ahead.” The satisfied smirk on Meghan’s face pulled a sneer from my own. Meghan misses it; too engrossed in her victory to realize the position she had put me in.

  “Come with me.” I don’t miss the thinly veiled threat in his voice. Though he has a smile on his lips, the hunger that flashes through his eyes is unmistakable.

  Gathering my bag I rose, allowing him to pull me through the crowded bar.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fear, panic, and arousal course through my veins fighting for dominance with an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. My mangled emotions battle for supremacy but one emotion stands true against them all, striking out from the blur of indecision - anger. The red-hot blaze of my fury burns through my veins, consuming me. Who the hell does he think he is bossing me around and telling me what to do?

  Ryker rests his hand on the small of my back, the touch, though casual, is so much more. The gentle pressure of his hand against the soft curve of my back feels more like a lead weight, the delicate touch of his hand is akin to an iron grip as he ushers me toward the exit of the crowded bar.

  With shoulders drawn back and head held high, I lure him into a false sense of security, allowing him to guide me calmly toward the large heavy wooden doors. His arrogance blinds him, leaving him oblivious to the war waging within me.

  With false poised confidence, I allow him to lead me, like an obedient slave. I allow him the false assurance of my submission.

  I don’t miss the fawning eye of Meghan as we pass her or the dreamy smile that plays across her lips. I swear you can see the bubbly hearts in her eyes pulsing like a heartbeat. The saccharine smile on her face churns my stomach. If it wasn’t for the deep-seated love I felt for her and the unborn child in her womb I wouldn’t have left without strangling her at least once.

  It’s hard to stay mad at her. It’s hard to hold a grudge against a woman who has only known love and affection since she found her “soul mate”. With one child toddling around and a second in the womb, I can’t begrudge her hope for me to follow behind. But I don’t have to like the position she has placed me in.

  It takes every ounce of my self-control not to turn on Ryker right there in the middle of the bar, giving him a piece of my mind. With every fiber of my being, I try to remain cool, calm, and aloof, anything to keep the raging venom at the tip of my tongue from spewing out in front of the unsuspecting crowd.

  I felt as though a grave injustice has occurred allowing him to remain unaffected by our night together.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I take him in, unwilling to give him my full attention. Even at half a glance, he is astoundingly beautiful, if a man can be called that.

  The scruff on his jaw teases me, day old and just long enough to tease the inside of my thighs. The sinful thought brings a flush of heat to my cheeks, making me hate him even more.

  His black Armani suit hangs off his frame like it was made for him. The pale ice blue of his tie brings out the depths of the cerulean blue of his eyes. He is the image of wet dreams, filthy fantasies, and deadly desires.

  His long lean legs eat up the ground beneath him forcing me to double step just to keep pace. Walking beside him I’m reminded of his body towering over mine while strapped to the lacquered wooden cross in his basement. The slickness between my thighs makes itself known as the creamy flesh brushes against one another as I struggle to keep up. I hate him.

  I hate him for the way he makes me feel. I hate him for the effect he has on my body with a simple innocent touch.

  With every aroused response he pulls from my body a stab of pain slashes against my chest, reminding me that with great pleasure comes even greater agony.

  The way his hand caresses the small of my back like an adoring lover one wouldn’t imagine he was the same man who threw me out the moment after we copulated. No one would suspect that Midtown's most eligible bachelor was capable of being a cruel and merciless maniac who doled out orgasms like they were M&M only to discard you once he had his fill. No one would believe a slanderous notion about the man women, both single and attached, drooled over mercilessly as they vied for his attention.

  No, Ryker Kane was completely untouchable with an impeccable reputation backing him.

  As soon as we are out the door I whirl on him, no longer able to hold my emotions in check. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I don’t fight the sneer the curls up my lip or the fisting of my hands as they threaten to launch in his direction. Rage, like I’ve never felt before, boils over. How dare he treat me this way?

  I didn’t care that I was acting like a crazed woman or that my outburst caught the attention of a couple exiting the bar behind us. I didn’t care about the crowd of men who passed us by as they staggered drunkenly toward the yellow cab parked just a few short feet away.

  I didn’t care about anything other getting the hell away from the man in front of me. The very man who stood just inches from me, looking down at me with a bored expression affixed to his face, his eyes boring into me like lasers, leaving me squirming like an insolent child despite the rage vibrating through my body.

  “Well?” I demand, nostrils flaring, lips curled back. My fists clenched so tightly at my sides I can feel the burn from the lack of oxygen to the joints adding to my fury.

  The energy around us crackles like a thunderstorm in the dead of the night. Every brush of his skin against my body scorches, sending a pulsing need to my very center, fueling my anger. It’s a battle of wills as we stare one another down, neither of us willing to back away.

  A snort of air leaves his nostrils, sounding much like a bull preparing to charge, his nostrils flare with the movement. It’s the only sign he gives that he hears me. The only flicker of emotion he allows me to glimpse. His face otherwise is a blank mask, emotionless. But I know he is just as affected as I am. He’s angry. Pissed. Enraged. I don’t care because so am I.

  My theatrics do nothing to break his veneer. He stands tall against me, his towering frame loaded with authority. Ignoring my tantrum, Ryker’s eyes shift, dropping down to the ground before slowly walking their way back up. I can feel his gaze as it works its way up my body, taking a long leisurely perusal as though he has all the time in the world.

  I can feel his eyes on me, the sensation palpable. With his eyes, he caresses me, the softest touch, much like the soft stroke of his thumb as he rubs circles into the small of my back.

  I squirm beneath his watchful gaze afraid of what he might see as his eyes wander from the tip of my taupe animal print leather heels up the taut muscles of my legs.

  His eyes widen slightly before narrowing as they sweep past the short hem of my leopard print pencil skirt, on up to the bold Kelly green high-low cut of my top.

  My body comes alive under his careful examination. With every intake of breath, I feel the ebb of anger washing away. Like a flower coming alive, its petals unfurrowing under the morning’s early rays, my body responds in kind. Fireworks go off in my mind, clouding m
y thoughts. My anger begins to recede like the tide.

  My breath hitches in my chest. My thighs rub together to calm the tingling sensation that’s started in my core. His eyes linger momentarily on my expanding chest, our breathing falling into sync as his eyes follow the rise and fall of my chest.

  Like a switch being flipped it only takes one look from him to steal my breath and turn me into a quivering mess.

  His tongue sweeps across his lower lip in a long languid swipe, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame. The hunger in his eyes is undeniable.

  As his eyes meet mine I forget why it was I was even angry, to begin with. It’s like the last week never happened. The memory of him tossing me out of his house never existed. The anger and horror in his eyes never occurred. The cold hard words never left his lips.

  The one look has the memories of our night together fresh in my mind. Memories of the way his skillful hands manipulated my body into multiple orgasms, the way his soft breath brought me to completion sending my body into a spiral of need.

  If I close my eyes I can still feel the bite of leather as it crests along the curvature of my bare ass. It’s a memory I strum myself to nightly, a memory that is forever ingrained in my mind.

  Like a Jello mold left out in the hot July sun, my legs grew weak. At any moment I fear I will fall to my knees before him. I’m powerless against the man before me. Every hard cut plane of his body calls to me, begging for my attention, begging to please him. The submissive in me crawls forward from her slumber, stretching out like a cat slowly wakening. A soft purr pours from my lips. My body alert, begging, needing his touch.

  His hand rests lightly on my waist, a gesture I don’t miss. Though his face is blank his eyes give it all away. Flames dance behind his gorgeous azure blues, threatening danger and so much more. I could get lost in the depth of his deep blue orbs, already I can feel his gaze pulling me in. Like a line cast out at sea, I feel myself being tugged in by the lapping waves. My body leans forward of its own volition. Teetering on my heels I feel the lazy sway of my resolve weakening.