I closed the door behind me, wanting to run towards the limo. I forced myself to walk, because I knew John was watching.
I'd never been happier to see Shane. I slid into the car and moved as close to him as I could without actually sitting on his lap. He sensed my mood and kept silent till we got back to his condo.
When we were finally behind a closed door, alone together, I let go. I didn't cry. I screamed into a pillow and then threw it across the room.
"Went that well, huh?" Shane said.
"Yeah. That well. It was pathetic. He thought I was coming back, like...to get back together. But he didn't do anything to try to make that happen—" I took Shane's hands in mine and stared up into his eyes to make my point clear. "Not that it would have worked, mind you. It was pathetic. I don't know how I didn't see it all the time I was with him. He actually begged."
Shane, to his credit, didn't show any sign of gloating. "Well, some guys just aren't..."
"Aren't you."
"Well that's not what I was going to say, but sure. I'll take that."
"What you would you do if we had a fight and I walked out?"
Shane thought for a while before answering. "I guess it depends. Sometimes a woman needs time to cool off, and sometimes she needs to be chased after and convinced. Knowing which is the right choice in any given situation is the tricky part. I wouldn't let you go, though. I'd fight to get you back. I wouldn't stop for anything. I'd give you time to cool off if that's what you needed, but I'd be back in your face as soon as I felt it was safe." He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around my waist. "But I'd do my damndest to make sure the fight didn't happen in the first place."
I laughed. "Good luck. Making me mad isn't all that hard."
Shane smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, but there's a difference between making you mad and making you so angry you're ready to walk away. The one I can handle. The other, I couldn't."
I leaned into him, hearing what he wasn't quite saying. "No? Then I guess you'll have to make sure I don't go anywhere, huh?"
"I guess I will." Shane pinioned my wrists behind my back in one of his powerful hands, pushed me tighter against his body so my curves were crushed against his angles.
I resisted, my eyes locked on his, wiggling my wrists to try and free them, but his grip was implacably, gently unbreakable. He smirked at me, took my chin in his index finger and thumb, lifted my face to his. I thrashed my arms and hands still, eyes shining my amusement with this new game, this new struggle for power. I kissed him, still struggling against his fingers around my wrists.
He pushed me backward into his room, maneuvered me against the edge of the bed and then reached into his closet, yanked a tie from a hanger and tied my wrists behind my back. I sat down on the bed and waited, watched. He picked up a small black remote from the nightstand and clicked a button, turning on a stereo. A popular club dance song was playing, and Shane used the beat to start a dance, a sensual writhing of his hips and torso in front of me.
I let a smile curl my lips as he danced in front of me, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, moving up against me, rubbing his stomach in my face. I leaned forward and kissed his torso, bit him gently on the side. He moved away again, and unzipped his jeans, pushed them slowly down and then pushed his cotton-clad cock against me. I took the elastic waistband of his boxers in my teeth and tried to work his erection free, getting a taste of his skin as I pulled the cotton down with my teeth. He helped, pushing them away to pool at his ankles. He stood rooted to the spot as I licked his cock, tracing the groove beneath the head, then drew him into my mouth. He let me bob a few times, then hissed and moved away.
"Not yet," he said.
He tugged me to my feet and knelt in front of me, untied my shoes and slipped them off, then my socks, and then reached up to unbutton my pants, unzipped them and tugged them down, kissing my thighs as they were revealed. My thong came next, tugged free in one smooth motion. It was odd being naked from the waist down; usually I undressed and dressed the other way, starting with my panties and putting my shirt on last. He ran his palms up my legs to cup my ass and pull me closer to him. He traced his middle finger along my wet, pink folds, dipped in, drew out, dipped in again. A third time he moved his fingers into me, and then he curled up and in to find my G-spot and stroked it in small circles.
I focused on the build-up of sensation coming from his finger, and so found myself shocked when his tongue darted into me, spearing my clit and drawing a moan from me. I wanted to put my hands on his shoulders for support as he manipulated me with his tongue and finger, but I couldn't, all I could do was stand and hope I didn't collapse when I came, and I was so close, so close...
He licked me with a hungry, nimble tongue, stirred me into a fervor, and then explosions rocked through me and left me stumbling and buckling. He caught me, held me till I regained my equilibrium.
He unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, and let it fall down my arms to dangle from my tied wrists. My bra was front clasp, and he unsnapped it so it too fell away, and then I was naked in front of him, with him, his lips on my neck and then my breasts, and I wanted to hold him, to feel him, to touch him.
He moved away, taking his warmth with him, and I mewled in protest. He got on his back on the bed and gestured to me. I crawled awkwardly onto the bed, was caught by him again and set upright. He helped me crawl on top of him, his hands settling me onto his hips. One of his hands clutched his cock, the other delved into my pussy and guided him in. Then I was full with him, stretched wide as he pushed slowly into me, me with my wrists tied behind my back, unbalanced on him, held in place solely by his hands on my waist. I was forced to trust him, to rely on his strength to hold me in place.
I moved slowly at first, a tentative exploration of my range of balanced movement. Shane held my hips, lifted me, drew me back down. The total dependency on him was exhilarating, intoxicating. I found my rhythm, lift and sink, lift and sink, back arched, filling with him and then pulling away to plunge back down again. I forgot he was all that held me balanced, lost myself in the tidal wave of pleasure rocking through me, pulsing in me. I moved with abandon, trusting him now to hold me steady.
I felt the climax rise in him, felt it in his belly, felt it in his hands squeezing as he thrust with ever more wild power. He came, and the feel of his release, the groan of my name, "Leo, god, Leo," drove me into paroxysms of delight. I burst apart, went limp as wave after wave hove through me, Shane's hands holding me upright and pulling me onto him, drawing every drop of ecstasy from me and from himself.
He whispered my name once more, and then untied me, but his warm, strong arms pinioned me just as close, just as implacably unbreakable.
I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
* * *
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable and impatient. Hands pulled at my hair, hands dabbed and brushed and penciled makeup on my face, hands taped my breasts into a dress far more revealing than anything I'd ever worn before. None of the hands doing these things were mine. My hands were clasped on my lap. The hands attending me belonged to a team of stylists and makeup artists, flamboyant, perfectly dressed men, and elegant, perfectly dressed women, all instructed to make me beautiful.
When Virginia had swept into my room with these stylists in tow as I finished a shower, I'd protested and clutched my towel around me. There was a charity event tonight, and we were attending. It was a black-tie party, with a shocking number of A-list attendees. My knees were shaking, and I wasn't even at the party yet.
I'd insisted to Virginia that I could get myself ready, but she just arched an eyebrow and gestured, rather imperiously, at the waiting vanity chair.
"Darling, this is how we do things," Virginia said, gently but firmly sitting me down in the chair. "Yes, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of applying your makeup yourself, and doing your hair yourself. You're an adult after all, and a very lovely woman. But, you are about to attend a charity gala with some of the most
famous people in the world, my dear. And for that, you must be looking your best. Javier is the best makeup artist in New York, and the others are equally as qualified. Once you have an artist do your makeup for you, trust me, you'll never want to do it yourself again."
I shrugged and settled back for what I expected to be a torturous experience. It wasn't. It was fun being pampered, and I knew Virginia was right.
A dozen gowns of varying styles were paraded in front of me, and Virginia vetoed them all. Each one was lovelier than the last, and each one probably cost a small fortune. Or not so small. I was sure I'd seen similar dresses on celebrities on the red carpet at various events.
Then it occurred to me that very shortly I would be the one on the red carpet, being photographed. Of course, my photograph wouldn't appear in OK or People, but still. Not that I wanted to be in magazines. Right?
Eventually Virginia and the stylist decided on a knee-length dress that scooped down to the small of my back and cut in around the sides, revealing a lot of waistline, navel, and ribcage. This was one of the dresses I'd seen in more than one "who wore it better?" feature. I was pretty sure they'd all worn it better, but then, they were famous for a reason.
I felt naked wearing it, but at the same time, it was exhilarating and sexy. I felt like a seductress, with the fabric wrapped across my hips and stretched over my breasts. While the hair and makeup people fiddled with me, Virginia scurried away, saying she had to get something. She came back after a few minutes with a string of age-polished pearls.
"These are a family heirloom," Virginia said, draping them around my neck. "They were my great-, great-, great-grandmother's. I wore them to my first black-tie gala with Henry. We like to think they bring us good luck. Plus, antique pearls are always in fashion."
They were beautiful, complimenting the jade-green dress perfectly. "They're amazing, thank you so much," I said, running my fingers over the pearls.
The stylists finished with me, and I strapped on a pair of four-inch heels and left the room to find Shane. I found him in front of a mirror in another bedroom, tying a necktie. I felt Shane's eyes on me in the mirror, devouring my barely-concealed curves.
He slid the tie up against his collar and then turned to pull me against him in a fierce, possessive hold. "I'm not sure I want anyone else to see you looking so sexy," he growled. "I don't want to have to fight anyone off. You might leave me for some famous actor."
I rolled my eyes at him. "Not likely, Mr. Sorrenson."
"You don't know how those guys are, Miss Larkin. They can be very persistent."
I ran my hands up his Armani-clad chest. "Then you'll have to make sure you don't leave me alone for too long."
He rumbled again, and slid his palms along the exposed flesh of my sides, and then kissed me. "Don't even joke," he said. "You're mine."
I widened my eyes at the blatant possessiveness. "Yours?" I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
Part of me wanted to protest, and the other part felt desire moisten the folds of my sex. The fire in his eyes, the barely-controlled lust fanned the flames of desire within me, and the need to protest being claimed evaporated.
"Yes," he said, crushing me against his chest. "Mine."
"Well then," I said, batting my eyelashes at him, "If I'm yours, what are you going to do with me?"
"With the way you're looking in that dress...we'll never get to the party."
Virginia spoke up behind us. "We don't have time for nonsense, children. Gerald is waiting with the Bentley."
She shooed us out of the room and bustled away to find Henry.
Shane threaded his fingers through mine, bent and whispered in my ear, "Later, my sexy little lion. Just you wait."
I faked a breathy moan and nuzzled my face into his shoulder. "Promise?"
He just rumbled in laughter, amused and threatening. My belly roiled in anticipation.
Champagne was waiting in the limo, and it helped settle my nerves as we approached the drop-off line, but it didn't help the fluttering in my belly. Minutes passed in mostly-comfortable silence, interspersed with business talk between Shane and Henry. Then the door to the limo was being opened and cameras were flashing and a hand was lifting me from the car, questions were shouted at me, my name called from a dozen different directions. I kept a calm smile on my face and tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights. Shane was last to get out of the car, and then he was clutching my hand and leading me up the red carpet to that odd black-and-white half-wall where we stood and posed for photographs, turning this way and that.
All the while, Shane murmured encouragement to me without breaking his smile. "Turn and smile, good...now the other way...ignore the questions and smile...now we walk again..."
The questions were endless, some absurdly personal. They wanted to know who I was, how long we'd been together, if we were getting married, if we had kids, how we'd met...Shane ignored them all, not even offering a "no comment," acting as if he didn't even hear them. I followed along, smiling, standing close against Shane's side and trying to convince myself that this was all actually happening, especially when a well-known actress a few years younger than me appeared at my side, flirting with Shane as she posed casually for her own pictures. She then turned her charm on me and had me laughing at a joke about paparazzi. I'd just watched a movie she was in a few weeks ago, and now here I was, laughing with her. I resisted the urge to pinch myself.
Flutes of white wine appeared in our hands, and Shane dragged me through the crowd, smiling, nodding at people he knew, which seemed to be just about everyone. Everywhere I looked there was a familiar, famous face, impossibly real. I shook hands with producers and actors, composers and rock stars, and they all seemed to know Shane.
At one point, when we found ourselves in a fairly secluded corner, I turned to Shane. "I thought you didn't like publicity?"
He shrugged. "I don't, really. It's part of the job, at this point, though."
"Then how do all these people know you?"
He laughed. "They know me, doesn't mean I know them. I mean, yeah, I know who they are, in that they're household names, but I don't personally know many of them. Me taking over Dad's position is a big deal in the media world. I'll be funding a lot of the movies these people will be a part of, so it's their business to know who I am."
That made sense. I glanced up at him, watching him scan the crowd. For a moment, despite the bright lights and the wine and the Armani suit he was wearing, I saw the ex-Marine, the man who'd shielded me from gunfire in a bombed-out Sudanese building. He eyed the crowd as if assessing potential threats, identifying exit routes, cover locations. Even his stance spoke of readiness, muscles loose and coiled like wound springs.
An actor came over, looking older than I'd imagined him to be, a certain blond also named Leo. We chatted, and he flirted with me, eyeing me openly and glancing at Shane as if wondering how he could get me alone. Shane managed to glare while smiling and tightened his hold on my hand. I found myself realizing that this actor Leo was as breathtaking in person as he was on screen, and twice as charming, but somehow, despite his fame and beauty, he didn't make my stomach flutter like Shane did.
When we were alone again, Shane looked down at me. "So, what do you think?"
"About what?"
He gestured at the sea of icons. "All this. Them."
I shrugged, as nonchalant as I could manage. I was suitably star-stuck, of course, but he didn't need to know that. "It's funny you ask. I was just thinking that none of these men make me feel how you do."
"Really? How's that?"
"Beautiful," I said. "Sexy. Desired."
"I'm sure half the guys in this room—the straight half—would like nothing more than to get you alone for five minutes."
"That may well be, but there's only one man here who will get me alone."
Shane's eyes narrowed and his eyes flashed. "Keep talking like that and I'll drag you into a bathroom right now."
I felt a famil
iar heat wash through me, followed by the recklessness that Shane seemed to inspire. "I dare you."
Shane lifted an eyebrow. "Dare me to what?"
"Drag me to a bathroom."
Shane laughed, a little too loudly, then pitched his voice low so only I could hear. "You're daring me? Seriously?" He glanced around, looking for an exit. "Leo, the auction's going to start any minute."
I shrugged, a lazy roll of my shoulder. "Well...if you're not up for it, then I guess I can wait." I leaned up to whisper in his ear. "But Shane...I'm so horny. I don't want to wait."
Shane's eyes darkened dangerously. "You know everyone in this room is watching us, right? And you want me to take you into a bathroom and...what? Pin you up against a wall?"
I met his gaze steadily. "It doesn't have to be a bathroom."
"Goddamn it, Leo," Shane growled. "You're going to get us in trouble."
He tugged me into a walk, weaving our way through the crowd toward a red-lit exit sign, stopping to chat here and there, snagging wine for us along the way. I sipped my drink and followed meekly, pretending my thighs weren't trembling, pretending I wasn't feeling nerves and desire flame through me. The exit led to a hallway, and we drifted to a bank of elevators and took an elevator all the way to the top. We exited and he led me to a wide glass door, beyond which was a darkened office. Shane produced a key card from a pocket, then unlocked the door in front of us.
He glanced down at me. "Dad owns this entire building." He pulled me down a shadowed hallway and past doorway after doorway, looking into each one. "I remember seeing a nice corner office with a couch somewhere around here...ah, here it is."
The office was mammoth, overlooking Manhattan with its endless lights like topaz jewels and the lines of traffic coiling in red-and-white lines. It was dark, lit only by the open window. There was a desk with a monitor in one corner and a phone opposite, a pair of chairs in front of the desk, a potted plant dominating one corner of the room, and a deep, dark leather couch along one wall. Shane closed the door and locked it, then turned to me, pinning me with hungry eyes.
Biker Billionaire Boxed Set Page 14
