by Angel Payne
The second the entrance is clear, Reece punches the gas again and directs the car into the third of his three private spots. The first holds his Long Beach blue M4; the second, his space gray Gran Coupe.
But after setting the vehicle in park and turning off the engine, he falls into an odd stillness. If he were a car, I’d think he was idling in the checkered square part of a raceway, anticipating the very second the countdown bar turns green so he can open up the throttle and smoke the tires.
“Hey,” I finally say, after he keeps it up for the better part of a minute. “You okay?” Though I must admit, the rugged energy he radiates is doing crazy things to my system. His aura of bottled danger, emphasized by the firm set of his lips and the razor’s edge of his jaw, makes my heart skip every third beat, my lungs pumping hard to keep up. And I don’t dare acknowledge how those staccato pulses start to affect my intimate places, plumped to greater awareness from the second I pivot in my seat and tuck one leg beneath me. “Reece?”
At last, he works the tip of his tongue between his lips. But doesn’t return my scrutiny. Instead, with his hands still on the wheel and his gaze fixed straight at the wall, he quietly asks, “Do you need to change for your shift?”
I look down. Technically, I’m fine in the cobalt sheath dress and tapestry-textured ankle boots that I wore to Renata’s shower, but since the hotel night shift on a weekend is usually more chaotic, especially with the summer weather kicking in a few weeks early, I’ll be ready to jump faster in a pantsuit and flats.
“Y-Yeah.” I stop, stunned to hear myself stammering. What the hell? Am I nervous? And why?
The answer comes in the two seconds it takes to look back up at him. Five minutes ago he was daring to butcher an Adele song in front of local rowdies. Now he’s as opposite of rowdy as they come. He’s more like the enigma I first met last month. Back in his shell—if that’s what it can be called.
His dark shell.
His scary shell.
And damn it…it’s kind of a turn-on.
But there’s no time for letting him turn me to mush right now. I promised Neeta I’d be there for her, meaning—
“I should have just enough time to get into a new suit and freshen up.” I express it as much for my benefit as his, if only for affirmation that his new, sexually charged strangeness hasn’t stripped me of the ability to speak clearly. As soon as I know that for sure, and he recognizes my statement with a brief but tight nod, I plunge on. “Reece, what the hell? What’s going on?” I twist my hands against my bent thigh. “Did I say something? Do something?”
He jerks his sights over as if I’ve just pinched him awake from a dream. “What?” He reaches out and cups a hand around my nape. “Jesus, Emma. No.”
“So how come you look ready to belt out more angst, without the screaming groupies this time?”
At least that grabs at the corners of his lips, producing a pair of entrancing dimples as willing companions. “You,” he utters. “This. Us. It just…makes me happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long damn time.” A sheepish shrug. “Perhaps ever.”
Take one flustered girlfriend.
Add one part beautiful boyfriend confession.
Stir for less than three seconds for heart-halting swoon.
“Reece.” Now I’m the one with the angsty tears.
“So like the selfish prick I am, I don’t want to give you up tonight.”
He tacks on another shrug, though it’s a gruffer action. This time he’s some kind of a baller, bluffing his way through a shoulder displacement. His face returns to that pained tenacity too—and though it brings a lot more arousal to the girl parts, my caretaking side takes over, spurring me to kiss along the ridge of his brow.
“I’ll be right here, mister. In the same building.”
“Hmmmph.” He pulls away and rolls out of the car, adding as he arrives at my side to pull my door open, “Not exactly my idea of ‘right here,’ Velvet.”
Though I let him help me out, I straighten with a rigid spine—and a matching expression. “I like my job, Reece. It’s important for me to help people. To feel like I’m making their lives a little easier. Like—”
“You matter.” He busses the tip of my nose. “And you do, Emmalina. Not just to me.” With a small tug, he lifts my face. “And for the record, I never want you to stop helping anyone. Not your friends, not the guests…” Tiny gold sparks dance against the silver of his eyes. “And definitely not the three cats you’re all but boarding off the back door of your office.”
I tug my teeth on my bottom lip. “Well, shit.”
He chuckles. “Busted you, woman.”
I curl four fingers into the V of his Henley. “But they take care of the mice in the gardens!”
“Which we have staff members to do as well.”
“I named them Rey, Finn, and Poe!”
He opens his mouth but is speechless. I pump my free hand, victorious. The Galactic Resistance for the win.
Without another word, he scoops one hand into mine. Then pivots and starts a Poe Dameron-worthy stomp toward the penthouse’s express elevator, not seeming to care that I’m all but sprinting to keep up with him. I don’t mind the effort, knowing whatever’s going through his mind must be squeezed into the next twenty minutes so I can be back down in the lobby to take over for Neeta. The ticking clock only feeds my excitement as we rush into the elevator and the doors slam shut, readying the car for its bullet ride to the seventieth floor.
But before the car even starts its launch, Reece swings me around until my back hits the wall. I have the chance for half a breath before his body follows, a slam of sinew and force along with the domination of his mouth and tongue. He rakes his hands under my dress, filling the car with the brutal bursts of him ripping the side seams to get his hands on my thighs. As soon as he’s yanked my legs around his waist, parking my softening center against the erect ridge of his, the air is thick with our primal moans and lusty pants.
We go at each other like that for at least twenty floors, kissing and sucking and grinding and grabbing, until the physical need for air has us parted but not broken. My stare is consumed with the resplendence of him, sweaty and lusty. My body is a mass of violent shivers from the feel of his sex, bulging and demanding. My senses soar as the elevator does, getting dizzier and brighter and wilder, as if I’ve been swept up into a perfect erotic dream. Funny thing is, that just might be the case. In the universe according to Reece Richards, absolutely anything and everything is possible.
And right now, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Even as he plunges his hands into the mess of my hair and pulls hard enough to jerk my face back, making me feel utterly exposed and vulnerable to his ruthless stare. He presses closer…
And then just hovers there.
And watches me. Takes over me…
And yeah, he gets scary again.
Just a little. Just enough. Right to the edge that spikes my anxiety and my arousal. Where once again, I’m not quite sure what he’s up to…
“Fuck,” he finally rasps. “Fuck me, Emmalina Crist. You take my goddamned breath away.”
I wet my lips. Swallow hard. And somehow manage, in a tone that won’t give him instant diabetes, “That’s a damn good thing, Reece Andrew, because you take away more than my breath.”
Finally, finally, he swoops his mouth down, though his possession is carnal and thorough instead of a boldface demand. Despite the speed of our climb, he takes his damn time about this kiss, lapping at every crevice of my mouth in time to the sexy, savoring rolls of his hips. He doesn’t stop even when the elevator does, reaching out to lock the open doors as I quiver against him, desperate mewls clawing my throat. Holy God. He’s going to dry hump me into a climax right here and now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Nothing I want to do to stop him.
Yes.
Yessssss.
“No.” The protest is a whisper as he pulls away just before my most shattering shudders.
I grip at the elevator’s railing to stay upright, my legs a pair of useless ribbons after he all but unwrapped my darkest desire.
Except that his gaze tells me differently.
Those eyes of his, transformed to the color of sharpened scissors, already bearing promises that he’s only begun to tear me open.
Holy shit.
At this rate, I’m really, really going to be late for my shift. Already, I start floundering for what I’m going to say to Neeta.
“Velvet.”
“H-Huh?”
“You’ll be on time for work. I promise.”
Damn him. Bless him. No, definitely damn him. Will there be a time when I’m not stunned with his ability to scan every syllable of my thoughts? “Oh. Okay.” Or a time I’ll be able to reply like something other than a turned-on clod?
He threads his fingers through mine, restoring a modicum of balance to our exchange by revealing his neon-blue fingertips, and tugs me out of the elevator. As I follow him—miracle of miracles, my legs really do work—I plant a frown on my lips.
“You wrecked my dress.”
Dark smirk. “And Christ, was it fun.”
“Just helping me get to my shift in time?” I quip.
“Helping you is what I’m all about, Velvet.”
I jerk my brows. “Tell that to my girl parts.”
“Oh, I still have a few things to say to your girl parts.”
I step back, turning my expression into a glower worthy of Mary Freaking Poppins. “Not before my shift, you don’t.”
He barely flinches. Instead, adopts a stance with his feet firmly braced and his fingers curled in halfway toward completed fists. “Get your gorgeous ass into the bedroom. Change into your clothes for the shift. Then meet me in the kitchen.”
“The kitch—”
But before I can get it all out, he’s about-faced and gone, his steps strangely ominous against the hallway tiles.
And again, I’m a little scared.
And a whole hell of a lot aroused.
* * *
Ten minutes later, feeling a little more composed thanks to the clean lines of Ann Klein charcoal and gray pinstripes plus a pair of take-no-prisoners flats, I stride into the kitchen and break into an instant grin.
Reece is, as he promised, waiting.
With only the overhead can lights on.
And his shirt off.
I give myself a reward for the fast-change job by taking a long moment to drink in his glory. And I do mean glory. The man’s body is crafted so exquisitely, it’s like the angels dropped him into the wrong time frame. He should be commanding a chariot. Wielding a saber. Riding bareback across a windswept moor. He’s too perfect to be concealed by three-piece suits or even skin-hugging leathers.
And he’s mine.
All mine.
A fact I barely refrain from screaming about now as I approach him with slow, purposeful steps. “Well. There are nice perks to your bossy side.”
He lifts one side of his mouth. Yeah, the mouth that belongs on some wicked clan laird in nothing but a kilt. “Oh, this isn’t bossy, beautiful,” he murmurs as I rub a hand down the valley between his pecs. “This is part of the plan.”
“The…plan.” I lilt it with slight curiosity, hoping to garner more hints about all this from his expression. No dice. He still stares at me like I’m prey. A hapless lass wandering into his sinful lair. “Well, I do like the plan so far…” Though I narrow my eyes while glancing at the counter and the tray of round, red designer ice cubes resting there. The balls have special meaning to us, as the man learned early on how sensitive my nipples are to extreme temperatures. If those red plastic spheres could talk… “Though you know we can’t exactly play like that right now, R—”
He cuts me short by claiming my lips with a short but sharp bite of his. “I said you’d be on time,” he softly reprimands. “And I meant it.” That part is a hot blast against my neck as he whips me around to face the counter. “Only tonight, you’re going to take me to work with you.” He spreads an even steamier breath along the bottom of my back while pulling my shirt out of my slacks.
“All…all right.”
He grazes a hand up my spine with undeniable pressure, commanding me to flatten my torso atop the counter. Only then do I swivel my head and see a cocktail tumbler on the other side of the counter. There’s nothing inside the glass but three of the round ice cubes. But they’re not red anymore. They’re purple.
Because red plastic containing an infusion of blue electricity makes purple.
“Holy…shit!”
But my second syllable emerges more as a helpless gasp, as Reece unzips my pants and whips them down to my knees. He doesn’t skip my panties either—meaning the cool wind from the air conditioner blows at once across my naked ass and pussy.
His breath hitches along with mine.
I wish I could be heartened by that again, but this time, I’m not. I shiver as he rubs both his palms across the planes of my backside, angling his pulsing fingers inward until he’s scraping the sensitive lips of my sex with his buzzing tips. “Oh…God,” I manage to stammer as telltale sizzles fill the air between my thighs.
“That’s it, Velvet,” Reece coaxes in a husk that revs me as thoroughly as his touch. “Fuck, yes. That’s it. You’re dripping for me.” He circles one middle finger in a little deeper, making me scream and squirm. Damn it, how the man knows how to touch me…and tease me…and tantalize me… “Say it, Emmalina,” he dictates in a low snarl. “Tell me exactly what I’m doing to you.”
“I— Mmmm”—he fingers me with more force, temporarily taking my ability to think, let alone speak—“I’m…I’m wet,” I finally spill. “My pussy is soaked for you. Oh. Ohhhh!”
“And do you want me inside you?”
“Fuck.” I slam the counter. Down for the count. “Reece!”
“Answer me.” With his other hand, he spreads my backside a little wider. I know what he’s planning now, his filthy intentions blatantly clear.
“Oh…shit.”
“That wasn’t an answer, Emmalina.”
“Yes, damn it. Yes, I want you inside me.” At the last minute, I add a pleading moan. Maybe if I beg prettily enough, he’ll oblige with his beautiful cock instead of his clever little solution to our separation tonight.
I’m not going to get that lucky.
It’s obvious as soon as he stretches over and scoots the glass closer. I watch the container pass, with its pulsing purple orbs reflecting off the countertop in time to the flashing light inside his long, determined fingers.
“And I will be inside you, beautiful. All night long.”
His voice is like melted butter on my skin…with a chaser of flaming tequila. I want more, but in the end, I know there will be hell to pay.
Especially as he parts my pussy lips a little more.
Removes the tingling pressure of his fingertips.
Replaces them with the throbbing invasion of the first ball.
It’s…incredible.
Unbelievable.
Impossible.
He expects me to get through the next eight hours with this happening deep inside me? With these pulses, constant and incessant, a never-ending reminder of the parts of me that are made most perfectly for him? Basically taking his sensual invasion but unable to do a damn thing about it?
“Oh, no.” I jolt and push back, then writhe and slide. Anything to get away from the ruthless hold he has on my lower back, keeping me in place as he presses the second ball against my trembling nether lips. “No, no, no, no.”
“Yes.” He’s murmuring like I simply don’t want to try a bite of his brussels sprouts. Right now, I’d even succumb to that if it meant not having to go down to the damn lobby in this condition. “Yes, Velvet. Goddamn, you look so good like this. Your cunt… Dear Christ. You’re so gorgeous and pink and wet.” He nudges the ball in deeper. “I’m going to be in agony all night, wishing my cock could be doing this to you instead.�
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“Then just make it your cock,” I snarl. “Damn it, Reece. I’m not going to be able to— Ohhhh!”
And I’m pummeling the counter as he adds the third ball.
And I’m moaning like a banshee as he gives it all a final push, ensuring it’s firmly seated.
And I’m already an exhausted puddle, as he draws my slacks and underwear back up.
Sealing the torment inside me. Locking me down and loading me up with his electricity as his special “bullets.”
Yippee ki-yay, lightning chucker.
I’m still flat against the counter, longing to throw him off but unable to, as he slides from behind and molds his body on top of mine. His breath is labored and lusty in my ear. His stubble is a masculine abrasion against my neck—sending new vibrations through my body. Freaking great. Now all my limbs are colored the same shade of horny-and-helpless as my pussy.
He rustles his mouth along the shell of my ear while running a reassuring hand along the top of my arm. “You’re my strong, incredible woman. You can do this, Velvet.”
I flick his hand away, beyond mad. Which—no shit—just spikes my libido higher. “Do what? Reece, I can barely move.”
He kisses the flat of my cheek. “You’ll adjust.”
“Says the guy not getting a nonstop vibe job from the inside out?”
“Says the guy who’ll deal with this all night long.”
Well, damn it. The ridge of flesh he uses as his underscore is the texture of an industrial flame thrower and all but sears both layers of our clothes with matching intent. “Fine,” I bite out as he steps back, yanking me upright at the same time. “Point made, Mr. Richards.”
And yes, it’s a concession to my complete dearth of ideas for resistance—meaning I’m going to have to learn how to live with this. How to concentrate harder on shit like taking fuller breaths. On even taking steps.
To my relief, it’s all actually an aid toward minimizing the misery from the balls—leading to my next firm decision. I can’t allow myself any downtime during tonight’s shift. Downtime means thinking time, and thinking time means I’ll refocus on every teasing vibration the man has just ensured I’ll spend the next eight hours enduring.
