by Nicole Snow
He's growling when I go over the edge. The raw, throaty groan adds one more sensation to the wild melee his mouth and hands bring. I try to gag myself, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth hard, but I'm sure a few loud moans slip out while orgasm tsunamis through my body.
Coming! Here in his office. Here on his face. Here in sweet surrender.
I'm letting him use me on demand, and I'm loving it. This isn't just a lewd chore or an obligation. It's a gift to the man who's done so much for me, the man I'm falling harder to my knees for every day, if I'm honest.
“Moscato.” He speaks my pet name like a command. I open my eyes. He's just as gorgeous naked as he is in his suit. Turning my body, he pushes me into a sitting position on his desk.
He guides my legs over his shoulders very gently. Then his forehead hits mine, and we kiss as he undoes his zipper, bringing out his pierced wonder.
I gasp when he pushes inside me. It's the first of many breathless slips to leave my mouth as his thrusts come like a storm, filling my body like rain conquering earth, his thunder booming a little louder in his throat when he strokes to the hilt.
“Fuck, Bekah. So tight. So warm. So goddamned perfect.” He says the last word with total conviction.
I still can't believe it. Can't comprehend how a screwed up, technically homeless girl who's only rich on someone else's dime seems so wonderful. I don't understand how his bright eyes are always full of patience, admiration, maybe a love I'm still afraid to probe, but they are.
They just are.
That thing he said about how it would be if I could see myself in his eyes? Maybe he's right. Maybe this wouldn't seem like the craziest thing in the world, biting his hand as he brings it over my mouth, all I can do to stifle the shrill scream ripping out of me as his cock slams in and my already frenzied heartbeat doubles.
But because I can't, because I'm infected with too much pessimism at heart, there's a split second before pleasure obliterates my darkest thoughts where I wonder how long this amazing wildfire will last.
How long before life's sobering hand puts us back in our places? How long before dad and Ethan catch up to us, and use whatever strings they're bound to have to bring me back in line? How long before Grant gets sick of my crap, and walks out, leaving me mourning the greatest romance – yes, dear God, romance – of my life.
I don't know.
When I'm pinching his ass like a vice with my legs, losing one of my heels, I don't have a clue, nor do I care. For now, the present is enough. Every beautiful moment we have to ourselves.
And we have one more as he smothers my lips and takes my tongue, slamming his hips into me one more time as he lets go. I ride out every thick, screaming rope of his come. His cock roots itself deep, throbbing and twitching in time to his grunts, so intense I feel his pulse in every domineering kiss and flex of muscle.
I love you, I love you, I love you. It's on my mind like a mantra, and it's almost as hard to hold in as the ecstasy blooming on my lips.
Whether we're meant to last weeks or years, I have to say it soon.
I have to tell him, even if it makes what's happening ten times crazier. Because if I don't, I'll never forgive myself.
Fridays never meant much before. Now, they're a happy time.
I show up to the hot new Italian restaurant we've picked for our date. I'm almost late, spending more time than I really should picking out my dress, something I never cared about before. I choose a smooth white cream colored cocktail dress with matching heels. Too virginal white not to be fitting for my handsome date. Possibly a hint too much like a wedding gown not to inspire thoughts about our future.
It's a chic, well lit place. I'm greeted warmly at the door by the valet and the maitre d', both dressed in exquisite vests. The million dollar view of downtown Manhattan shines through the windows as soon as I'm at the table.
Grant is right on time, five minutes later. “For me, moscato? Sweet Jesus.” Excitement crackles in his sky blue eyes, taking in my outfit. He has a gift for making me blush, no matter how much time we spend together.
“I'm glad you approve,” I say, pulling my foot from my heel to rub his calve under the table as soon as he's seated. Yes, we do those things. The secretive puppy love affection I've been denied my whole life because there wasn't anyone worth doing this with until now.
“Approve?” He cocks his head, lowering the menu in his hands. “I want to skip dinner, take you in the back, and drag you out of that thing with my teeth.”
He takes my hand. I slap his knuckles playfully, laughing, knowing full well he's crazy enough to try.
“We came here for a night out! Be good, and I'll be very good to you later, sir. Promise.” I say the last two words under my breath.
He sits up straight. If I brought my foot to his lap, I'm almost certain I'd find him rock hard, and ready to go.
Fortunately, our waiter comes by to fetch our drink order and start our apps, saving my modest plan to do dinner, and then sex, like a normal couple.
Jesus, a couple. That's what we're rapidly becoming, isn't it?
The idea knocks around my head while we make small talk, sipping our wine, and tucking into the escargot and fancy cheese plate between us. I want to freshen up and also make sure the happy buzz in my head doesn't make me float away. So, I excuse myself before our entrees come out, heading for the ladies' room.
I'm washing up when I hear the door open. The figure who steps inside slams the door shut, throws something metal into the handle, and closes in fast.
There isn't even time to scream. Ethan surrounds me, backing us into the corner, a sick fury written on his face. “You're a hard one to track down these days, cheri, but I have my ways. Thank God, yes? Your father's worried sick about you, and so am I.”
A low whimper escapes my mouth as he shoves his arms around both sides of my face, against the wall, boxing me in. “Don't do this,” I say, wondering why I'm wasting my words.
There's no reasoning with this psycho.
“Do what?” he snarls, grabbing my face with one hand, forcing me to look at him. “Apologize? Because I've tried to for what happened over dinner about fifty fucking times, Rebekah. I tried my utmost to set things right with you and Jeremiah. Would've said it to your face a hundred times over, except no one knows where you went. What's happened?”
His voice is a low, monstrous sigh. I tilt my head as far as I can, refusing to answer, refusing to even look at him.
“You're with him tonight, aren't you? The man who's supposed to be your boss? The man you lied to me about?” His tongue flicks over his lips. His clammy hand trembles on my face, just above the temple. “What does Shaw have that I don't? Tell me!”
A soul, I think to myself, letting the hate flow when I'm able to look him in the eyes, “Manners,” I try, worried what will happen if I enrage him more.
Looking over his shoulder, it looks like there's a crowbar lodged in the door. It keeps anyone else from entering, but it could easily be used against me another way if he decides to get violent. Please don't let him be that crazy.
“Manners?” he snaps, throwing it back at me. “Perhaps you suit each other, then, cheri. You, all too willing to run from the people who love you, into the arms of a stranger who's using you like a common whore. You know there's no future, yes?”
“No future with you? Yeah, obviously.” My voice shakes, but I won't go down quietly. I'll let him hurt me before I ever buckle to this sinister, disturbed freak again.
His lips twist. “I mean with him, fool. You can't be blind and dumb, Rebekah. Your father won't simply nod his approval when he finds out. I won't let Shaw use you. He doesn't appreciate you like a real man should. He's got you confused, corrupted with his lies, twined around his finger like the other meaningless whores he's kicked to the curb.”
“Let me go, Ethan. Last warning. I'm going to scream bloody murder if you don't. I'll go to the police and –“
I realize my mistake as soon as he slams
me into the wall, shoving his hand over my mouth. “You'll come home with me tonight, cheri. I'm taking you back to your parents. They'll get the help you need, set you straight, sue your idiot boss into the ground for thinking he could get away with kidnapping you.”
You're the kidnapper, you fucking lunatic! It's the last thought I have before my bones shake.
It happens so fast. One minute, I'm digging my heels into the ceramic floor as hard as I can, twisting with all my might, trying to knock him off balance, or at least get his hand off my mouth so I'm able to call for help.
The next, there's a whirlwind bowling us both over. Grant.
I've never seen him so furious, so determined, his face creased in a brutal mess of hate. He pins down Monsieur Creep-o with his weight, straddling his chest, slamming his fist into the asshole's brittle face again and again.
“Grant, no! We have to call the cops.” I'm on him, shaking him by the shoulders, trying to get through before he murders the Fabius CEO in front of me.
It's a small miracle the commotion hasn't brought anyone else here yet.
When Grant pulls his fist away, it's covered in blood. Ethan wobbles, scurries back against the wall for support as I tug my man away. We walk backwards toward the sinks. Standing straight again, Ethan cradles what looks like a broken nose.
My phone is out. I'm about to dial 9-1-1 when a manager storms in, an older, balding man. His eyes bug out when he sees the drama. “Christ, everybody okay in here?”
I hold my breath. If the law gets involved, this doesn't look good. Sure, I can tell them what Ethan tried to do to me, but it won't wipe the blood off Grant's knuckles. We've just given a madman a perfect excuse to do his worst legally.
“On my way out,” Ethan rasps, blood slurring his speech. “Took a fall. They helped me up.”
It's an obvious lie. But we're quiet as he slinks past us. He takes his sweet time, waiting until the manager ducks back into the restaurant to lean in, and whisper. “Wait when papa finds out, cheri. I'll be sure he shows you the hard truth about Shaw, too.”
“Come one step closer, and I'll fucking kill you,” Grant says.
For once in his miserable life, Ethan listens. He keeps his distance as he staggers away, and by the time we remember to bring Grant's hand to the sink to wash the blood away, he's gone.
I've officially lost my appetite, but we need to sit down again and decompress from this insanity. I watch Grant dry his hands before I follow him out.
“You heard what he said, didn't you?” I ask, later, when we're seated again, trying and failing to enjoy Manhattan's tinsel lights. “He's going to tell my father about us. God, what then?”
“I tell him you're mine, and I'm not giving you up. If he doesn't like it, I'll remind him it's none of his damned business.” Grant pauses, stabbing into his steak frites, swallowing a mouthful of wine. How he's able to drink after our savage encounter, I don't know. “He doesn't scare me, Bekah. Even what he's threatened to do with my company...”
“What threat?” My fork falls, clattering against the plate. “He's after you? Jesus, why didn't you tell me? Is that what Ethan meant when he said that thing about the hard truth?”
He doesn't look at me. “It doesn't matter. I'm dealing with it, moscato. I'll need my experts in law and finance. Nothing you can do.”
“Like hell there isn't!” I'm shouting, and a dirty look from an old woman several tables over reminds me to lower the volume. “I'll tell him I'm going to the police anyway. The cops, the FBI, whoever I need to talk to about this weird business he's in with Ethan. Blood doesn't matter. Not after the way he treated me.”
I stop, stuffing a bite of glazed venison into my mouth, chewing so hard it hurts my teeth. I'm able to pick at my food better than I thought when it's in front of me. Must be the stress.
“Let me handle this my own way. Please, moscato,” he says, leaning back, folding his hands. The soft blue energy seems a lot lower in his eyes, like he used it all up defending me. “I know how to deal with this. I'll make sure neither of them bother us again. Notice I didn't say you. Us.”
I don't have the heart to put up a fight, even if I'm itching to help. If he hadn't shown up in the bathroom when he did, who knows what Ethan might've done. I still feel like a fool for not rushing out after him, holding him on the street while we brought in the cops to deal with his warped hostility disguised as compassion.
“Fine, we'll try it your way. But what do we do in the meantime? If Ethan comes back?”
“I meant what I said,” Grant says, ice in his voice. “I will kill him if he ever lays a hand on you again. If he's wise, he'll back the fuck off, and let me deal with your old man instead.”
I already know he isn't. He's too insane. But it doesn't stop me from smiling at the force Grant wields in every word, the power he's devoted to me.
As horrible as the run-in was, I won't let it ruin our night. We finish dinner, one more round of drinks, and then head home to start our weekend.
He leads me by the hand up his big black staircase, straight to the new home I've made in his bed.
I melt into his kisses, and they become so much more.
I'm worried, of course, but it's dampened by desire. Nothing will ruin this, damn it. We're too good for each other.
Far too good to be brought down by anything.
A seasonal flu bug hits hard about a week later, giving me something new to worry about. It's worst in the mornings, leaving me feeling like I've been run over after a marathon.
There hasn't been any more ugliness from dad or Ethan, at least, an uneasy truce I doubt will last. Even mom's weekly please come home calls have stopped.
Probably because she's given up and decided to stop worrying about me while she's in Dubai.
I try to keep going. But by mid-week, I have to take a real sick day, lounging at the condo under a blanket while I watch the city go on about its day without me through walls of glass.
I'm contemplating an online appointment with the doctor over my phone, but before I do anything, I decide to self-diagnose. Browsing the lists of symptoms online leaves me scrunching my nose, wondering what new punishment I'm in for.
None of them seem to fit until I casually tap my way into the parenting part of the site.
Oh. Oh, shit.
This can't be happening, but if it is, I need to know.
“Hello, is this Bruce?” I ask, as soon as I hear someone pick up on the line Grant gave me for his personal driver and concierge.
“At your service, madam.”
“Listen, I'm feeling a little under the weather and I have a weird request.” I pause, rolling my tongue, searching for the right words. “But before I ask, I have to know something...are you guys under any confidentiality rules? Or will you blab everything to your boss?”
9
Welcome Distraction (Grant)
It's hell at the office. The merger goes on through our underlings, a lot of moving pieces tasked with forming one whole, blissfully ignorant about the ongoing hostility at the top of the pyramid.
I haven't heard from Corbin since the not-so-subtle threat on his yacht. What's weird is it's been almost two weeks since our run in with that prick sniffing around Bekah at the restaurant, but I haven't received so much as a text from daddy dearest.
He has to know I'm with Bekah. Has to know it's more than business. Has to know damned well I'm not giving her back without a fight.
Maybe he's reeling because he thought he'd gotten my balls on a silver platter, only to find out I'm spending my nights in bed with his own flesh and blood. The leverage would bring me wicked satisfaction under other circumstances, but this isn't like that.
This isn't chess, and she isn't some cold collateral.
She's the beginning and the end of me. An obsession when I wake, and when I close my eyes, even when she's tucked safely in my arms.
I haven't made much progress unraveling his ties to Fabius. Picking at it with legal and my VPs only does
so much. Nothing definitive turns up.
My managers are starting to sense the nerves, the second guessing.
It's too late to go back, they remind me. Technically, they're right. But they're also dead wrong.
I remind them I built this company and our fortunes with my bare hands. I'm no one's fool. If we're getting fucked, even after I've signed over the keys to the castle, the Bastard Axe will swing.
Jake and Crowley flinch when I bring my fist down on my desk. It's more emotional than I want to let on, exposing how much this shit bothers me. Still, I don't mind reminding them they serve under a mad dog who won't be chained.
Not by Corbin.
Not by Fabius.
Not by my own mistakes.
Not by fucking anyone.
Having Bekah back, one wall away, helps sooth the restless beast inside me. I missed not having her around while she was out with the flu. Miracle I didn't catch it myself, sharing the same bed, bringing her whatever I could. This office makes me even more stir crazy when I can't step up to the glass with my coffee, look through it, and see her at my side.
Mine, even when she doesn't know I'm looking.
And sometimes, ever since our first fuck on my desk, she looks back, staring through my one-way window with a warm, nervous smile hanging on her little lips.
It's equal parts beautiful and unbearable. There's nothing I'd like better than to step out, grab her face with both hands, and bite down on her luscious lips in front of the whole office. It'd shut up the gossip mill pretty fast, dropping such a big piece of red meat down their gullets, they choke.
Work isn't my sole obligation either. Hayden and Luke are coming to town. It's for a massive charity fundraiser put on by Hayds, and it looks like he's decided to use it as an excuse for a family get together.
Not that I mind. Haven't seen them or their kids since the family barbecue months ago, shortly after I found out I'd unknowingly slept with my new intern.
