Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  “That was before I realized that you needed my help to correct your character flaws. I’m here now.”

  “You’re like a missionary then, to save me from myself?” I’m only half joking.

  “That’s right and from all the other women in New York City. I’m sacrificing myself on the altar of Ian Kerr’s pleasure in order to prevent heartbreak and sorrow across the city.”

  “You deserve sainthood.” I pull her tight against me and kiss her in gratitude for driving away my moodiness.

  “In honor of my impending deification, will you make love to me again?”

  “Mmmm,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m sorry but no. You’re too swollen and tender.”

  She draws away from me, although the circle of my arms doesn’t allow her to get far. “Are you feeling sick? Because I swear I heard you turn me down.”

  “I’m not turning you down. I’m . . . delaying our gratification until later.”

  “Delayed gratification is for suckers. I want you now.” She looks determined, but I get my way. Always.

  I push her back and slide down her body until I’m kneeling between her legs. “I’ll take care of you, bunny.”

  Softly, tenderly, as if she were a virgin, I stroke her delicate lips. Her clit slowly emerges, as if jealous of the attention given to her other body parts. I lick my thumb and rub it lightly across the tip.

  “Ian,” she moans. My name on her lips in that breathy tone has the same effect as mainlining aphrodisiacs. My already-erect cock throbs in response. I’m starting to believe in soul mates and life in the hereafter, because one lifetime won’t be enough with Victoria Corielli.

  Sliding my palms under her ass, I lift her to my mouth. I’m too horny right now to lick her slowly. I need to feel her orgasm all over my face, to have her thighs clench my head in a viselike grip, like nothing is ever going to separate the two of us.

  I suck at her lips, separating the folds with my tongue. Placing my thumb—wet from her arousal—on her clit, I tease her with tongue and lips until her thighs are moving restlessly beside my head, bumping my ears.

  The taste of her is making me wild. My cock is thick and hard and even the expensive sheets are chafing my sensitive skin. Inside her, my mental caveman grunts. Need inside her. I thrust into the sheets as I devour her.

  “Oh shit, Ian.” The hand on my head tightens and my scalp begins to protest, but the pain brings a smile to my face. She’s getting there. It’s heaven down here. I could live here, her juices sustaining me for days. Opening my mouth wide, I engulf her. Every little crevice is explored and sucked until her whole body stiffens and arches in front of me. Her soft walls start to convulse, and her thighs tighten.

  “That’s it, bunny. Just let go.” I lap at her, maintaining the rhythm that brought her to the peak. She pulses her hips against my fingers and mouth. I torture her with my lips, tongue, and fingers until she’s crying out my name and pulling and pushing against me at the same time. And then I hold her with fierce pride as she comes down off her orgasmic high.

  “Have I told you that I love you?” she whispers and pulls me to her for a fierce kiss. Her teeth nip at mine and then our mouths are fused. For long moments, the only air that we breathe is through each other. Breaking away, she pants and presses soft kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

  “Only once today.” I smooth her hair back. We’ve made a mess of it. The long strands are tangled and matted, but she’s never looked sexier. My gut tightens at the thought that others have seen her in this just-fucked state.

  “What’s that look for?” she asks, smoothing a hand across my sweat-dampened skin.

  “I’m a jealous fucker.” No one but me will ever get to see her this disheveled again.

  “Are you just figuring that out, because it was pretty evident a few weeks ago when you dragged me out of the bar by my hair.”

  “It was by your hand, but if you’re okay with the hair dragging, I can pull that off the next time we’re out.”

  She pinches me lightly. “No, I’m not into the hair dragging thing. I’m not against a little hair pulling, though.”

  “Is that right?” My tone is light, but her words have made my cock harder than marble.

  “This can’t be comfortable.” Her hand dips down to stroke me and I shudder at the caress.

  Comfortable? No. “It’ll go away if you ignore it,” I lie.

  “I don’t want to ignore it. I want it inside me.”

  I shake my head. “You’re too sore, bunny.” I rub a finger over her lips, shiny and plump from our kisses. “I’ll hurt you.”

  “I’ll feel worse if you don’t,” she pleads.

  Her gentle begging makes me even harder, and I feel a twinge of guilt that her helpless desire turns me on even more. A decent man wouldn’t feel good about hearing his woman beg. Hell, a decent man probably never refers to his companion as his woman. But since I raised myself from the age of thirteen, I’ve developed my own rules and my own code.

  I want. I take. I keep.

  Tiny belongs to me now, and I’m not letting her go. She’s mine to love and to care for.

  CHAPTER 2

  When I wake up, my cock is rock hard again. Her hand is curled around it, stoking my fire. “No, bunny.” I worked her way too hard last night, trying to fuck some demons out of my head. This morning she’s probably still sore. It’s about as easy as walking into a fifty-mile-per-hour headwind and I’m sweating with the effort, but I manage to put about two inches of distance between us.

  “Don’t tempt me. You’re too sore, and I’d cut off my right nut before I’d hurt you.”

  “Your right nut? That’s some serious talk. Usually a guy only offers his left nut.” She erases the two inches and slips a leg over mine. My little head tells me that if I don’t impale her within the next five seconds, we’re all going to die. I take a few deep breaths to regain some self-control and inch backward.

  “You can’t talk about another guy’s nuts in our bed. It makes me want to mark my territory.”

  “Come on then, take me.” She rolls on her side and strokes a hand down my chest, trailing her fingers across my abdomen and the hard planes of my obliques. Each little kitten touch is making everything harder. Jackknifing out of bed and away from her clever fingers, I head to the bathroom, rubbing my hair in agitation. Soon I’ll be rubbing something else, because I won’t be able to step foot out of my house without being arrested for public indecency if I don’t do something about this goddamn erection.

  Behind me, I hear her footsteps.

  “Is your dick hard, Ian? Do you want me to lick it?” There’s glee in her voice as she mocks me.

  Fuck yes.

  “No, bunny. I want you to lie down and rest.” Inside the shower, I flick on the full array of sprays.

  “I’m not an invalid, and you’re sucking up at least half the Hudson with that thing,” she says.

  Turning back, I see her, completely nude, leaning against my black marble vanity. She looks like a goddess. I hit the temperature controls. I’m going to need it to be refrigerator cold inside the shower to get rid of my hard-on.

  “Good thing the ‘Bruce Wayne fuckpad’ has a direct drain back into the river.” I use her nickname for my Meatpacking District home.

  “How cold is it in there?” She’s crept closer to the shower, and I can still see her naked body through the water-spattered glass. I turn the water even colder. “Because I think I can see my breath out here.”

  She purses her lips and blows, her cheeks hollowed and her lips a perfect circle. I swear she’s doing this to purposely torment me. Taking my cock in hand, I lean against the glass with the other and stare at her while I pump my shaft. She drifts toward me until there’s nothing separating us but the sheet of glass. The water drives against my back like thin needles but my cock is on fire. Her gaze
never wavers from mine and even through the drops of water and the clear glass wall, I can see both her love and her lust.

  I don’t need her hand on me. I just need to see her. She reaches out her hand so that it mirrors mine, the action causing her body to elongate as she stretches. Her breasts press against the glass, the nipples hardening due to the cold, due to me. They’re so hard that they resist flattening, instead poking forward like darts and displacing the soft breast tissue surrounding them.

  My mouth waters. I’ve had those precious tits in my mouth a dozen times but I can’t wait for a dozen more. I want my tongue flicking against those hard tips. As if she can read my mind, she reaches down and cups one of her breasts. Her fingers roll one hardened nipple between them.

  Breathing choppily, I jerk faster until my thighs are shaking and my balls are ready to burst. “I’m going to come now,” I pant and she nods her head. In understanding? Agreement? I have no idea, but the orgasm rolls up from the base of my spine until I spurt against the glass and on the floor, my hips pumping into the air. I let loose a groan and Tiny’s mouth opens as if she’s swallowing the sound. The air is filled with the musky scent of my ejaculate. She licks her fingers and smiles, an evil temptress smile. God, I fucking love her.

  Without the adrenaline of arousal, the water is far too cold. I switch the hot on and soap up, lifting the handheld showerhead to wash away the evidence of my jacking off. Tiny has disappeared. I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved. Disappointed because I want her with me always, and relieved because I don’t think my heart can stand another round right now.

  As quickly as possible, I finish my shower, sticking my head face-forward into the stream and cleaning off. When I turn off the sprayers, a towel is shoved in my face. “Thanks. What’s on your agenda today?” I ask.

  “Work. And Sarah called the other day, so we’re trying to meet up for lunch. Maybe today.”

  I exert some self-control so she doesn’t see a frown of disappointment that I won’t be seeing her until the end of the day. “If I’d known that, I would have allowed you to take advantage of me this morning.”

  “I guess you’ll think twice about turning me down tomorrow morning.”

  “No doubt.”

  Tiny is currently working for Jake Tanner, a friend of mine who runs a security firm that provides everything from in-home alarm systems to personal protection services to investigative work. He does a lot of insurance company jobs, which he describes as dull but lucrative.

  After Tiny was fired from her bike messenger job for missing work, she took over as his receptionist and dispatcher. He’d recently been given a medical discharge from the Marines and decided to start a security firm instead of rolling around in his family money.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll have Steve drive you.”

  She fidgets slightly with the lapels of the robe. Tiny isn’t really that small, but she’s nearly a foot shorter than me and the robe makes her look young—too young to be out in the big, bad city without me. I’d like for her to stay here where it’s completely safe. Everything she could ever want can be delivered right to our doorstep. As a former bike courier, she should know that, but I know that if I suggested this plan she’d turn on her heels and walk out.

  “What am I doing here, Ian?” she asks finally. Her exhale is so heavy that her entire chest heaves.

  “Making sure I don’t have to jerk off every day?” I say lightly.

  “No, really.” She tightens her belt and shoves a hand through her hair. Because of the tangles, her hand gets caught and she jerks it away from her head with a small curse. “I feel like a complete freeloader. I’m working a job that you arranged. I live in your house. I’m driven to work by your driver-slash-bodyguard. You won’t let me pay for anything. If you really had your way, I’d be lying on the roof working on a tan.” She throws out her arms in exasperation.

  I’d known she’d been feeling discontent, but I hadn’t realized how deep it went. Worry creeps in and I have the urge to take her back to bed. Imprint myself on her. That’s healthy, I mock myself silently.

  I tip her head up so she looks me in the eyes. “Your mom just died. You were grieving. Still are. You aren’t freeloading. You’re allowing me to take care of you, which is a gift.” I press a kiss against her forehead but am deeply concerned by the tension in her frame. “Let’s take the day off. There are other zoos we haven’t visited yet.”

  “I’m going to work, so you might as well too,” she declares. “Besides didn’t you say that your guy isn’t happy with you? What’s his name? Louis?” She trails a hand down the rack of perfectly tailored suits.

  “Louis can suck an egg. I pay him a fortune. He should be happy I’m not in the office cracking the whip.” I hired Louis Durand out of B school. I had street smarts and good instincts but needed the expertise of someone who’d had an MBA. Louis was a good fit because he lacked the capital and the instincts. From him I was able to glean the necessary information to make sure we didn’t run afoul of the regulatory officials. We’d made a good team, constantly searching for the next acquisition to add to my holding company.

  My thirst for widening my monetary reach has been waning since I found Tiny. In some ways, I had been completely impoverished before I met her. These days, I wanted to spend my time with her rather than in an office going over endless analyst reports with Louis.

  “What are you going to wear today?”

  “Dress me,” I suggest. She likes looking at my clothes. Anything that makes her happy pleases me.

  “Hmmm.” Her fine fingers smooth down a light blue suit coat in a linen and wool blend. “Tell me about your stylist. Will I meet him?”

  “Personal shopper,” I correct her. “The word stylist makes me sound like I belong on Broadway. My suits are made by a Savile Row tailor whose family has been in business since the late 1800s. Twice a year, he brings a battered Louis Vuitton trunk to the city and all of us acolytes trek to The Plaza to be measured, try on muslin prototypes, and put in our orders for the next year. I was introduced to Bakers & Henry via Frank.”

  “How’d you get to know Frank?”

  “I met Frank while he was grifting, selling everything from stolen wallets to, ah, other things, in an effort to feed and clothe his two younger sisters.”

  Looking at Frank now, you’d never guess that he’d walked the boardwalk in Atlantic City lifting purses and wallets and servicing bored businessmen. He’d taught me how to dress, having an innate fashion sense. He knew that clothes made all the difference to the people with whom you did business. Wear a suit to a drug deal and you’d get shot. Wear jeans to a boardroom and they’d laugh you out. Frank taught me that a hand-stitched suit and French cuffs could get me into places that a gun could not.

  Wall Street isn’t much different than the boardwalk. The bills are larger and everyone smells better, but that’s about it. A hustle is a hustle.

  We’d both gotten out of the rat holes, but there was still sand in the crevices of our skin. Frank surmises that the amount of sand we’ve accumulated is directly responsible for all the pearls we’re shitting out—and that I must have taken on more sand than most, since my pearls are more frequent and bigger than everyone else’s.

  “Where’s Frank now?”

  “He lives in an apartment on Madison Avenue.”

  “And his sisters?”

  “One’s at NYU and the other just graduated from Columbia. She’s in grad school now, getting her MBA.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “It is.”

  “This is different.” She’s moved on from the light blue suit to land on a heather gray with a darker gray check. It’s definitely one of my bolder suits because of the strong contrasting lines.

  “Frank sold me on that fabric on the basis that only a man with giant balls could wear it and not be embarrassed. I was peer pressu
red into buying it,” I joke.

  I’m rewarded with a small laugh. “I like it, and I think your balls are big enough to carry it off.”

  “I’m glad. My balls like you too.”

  At her stare, my cock pulses and fills to a half-erect state. She tries to suppress a smile, but the mischievous glint in her eyes reveals how much she enjoys turning me on. It’s a mutual pleasure, though. I enjoy the ache because I know the sweet release that follows will be worth it. Plus, I’d rather see her smiling, because she thinks she’s torturing me, than sad and grieving. She pulls the dove-gray suit down off the hanger. “Then this one today.”

  “What else?” I ask, taking the suit from her and pulling off the pants. “Or should I go commando?”

  “I like the idea of commando,” she says perversely, her hand not so inadvertently brushing against my groin.

  My groan sounds overly loud in the dressing room. “Keep doing that and I’ll bend you over that bench over there.” I jerk my head toward the padded leather bench situated at the end of the island of drawers.

  She quirks her lips and this time places her hand on my chest, tracing a fingertip down the center and stopping just above my belly button. My cock surges upward under the loosely tied towel and bobs for her attention. Her fingers delve under the fabric and close gently around the tip. With a swift twist of her hand, my knees weaken. I’m forced to place a hand against one of the shelf supports so I don’t fall over.

  “Your threats have no power,” she mocks. “You already denied me.”

  “Sweet Jesus.” I can’t stop my hips from pumping in her tight grip. “I’m already loving my punishment, if that’s what this is.”

  Turning away she lets me go. “Not really, but it is nice to know that you do want me.”

  “Is there any doubt?” I bury my face in her hair and pull her ass flush against my thick arousal.