Rebellion (A Dangerous Man, #2)

by Serena Grey

  We’re still standing, and my legs are so weak that I have to lean back against him. He unbuttons my blouse and undoes my bra, pushing it up until my breasts spill naked into his hands.

  I sigh with pleasure when he grabs them, massaging them with a slow, rhythmic motion while playing with my aching nipples. I moan and press harder against him, wet and aching, desperate for him to give me what I need.

  Still standing, he pulls my panties down and spreads my legs, stroking me with his fingers. I am so wet, they slip into me very easily, I hear him groan, and the sound fires my blood. I reach back for his belt, but he’s faster than I am. He releases me for a moment while he undoes his pants, the next moment I can feel him, rock hard, pressing insistently against my thighs.

  I shimmy until my panties fall all the way down, and then step out of them, leaving them discarded on the floor. I spread my legs, aching for him to fill me. His fingers start to stroke me again, I hear myself panting as he rubs back and forth, in and out, pleasuring me. I groan loudly, moving my hips to his rhythm. He strokes me until my hips are jerking uncontrollably, then he pulls his fingers away and replaces them with his thick, hard length.

  I press backward, and he pushes into me, making me whimper uncontrollably as he fills me. I can’t stop myself from crying out again and again as he thrusts, still gripping my hips. I match his strokes, pushing him deeper into my core. I feel out of balance, like any moment I’ll fall, but I don’t care, the only thing that matters is each sure thrust, each sweet burst of pleasure. My whole body is heating up, and getting slick with sweat, but I don’t care, I only want more. He groans and grips my waist tighter, thrusting harder and faster. I can’t feel my fingers or my toes, I can’t feel anything, only him and the devastating pleasure he is giving me. I cry hoarsely as my brain reduces to nothing but sweetness. My body stiffens and I lose myself, falling against him with a moan, as he groans and comes in a hot rush inside me.

  I can’t catch my breath. I can feel his heart beating against my back, and his breath coming in deep gasps. He slips out of me and my body shivers with residual pleasure. My legs give way, and we both collapse on the soft rug.

  When I catch my breath, I turn to look at him, unable to suppress a giggle at how ridiculous we both look, half-undressed, and lying on the floor.

  David follows my gaze, and chuckles. He kicks off his pants, then gets up and, lifting me as easily as if I weigh nothing, he carries me over to the bed, collapsing on top of me on the soft mattress.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Preston.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Preston.”

  I am still giggling. He gets up and starts to take off the rest of his clothing. As I watch him undress, my body starts to throb again. He is so magnificent.

  I sit up and pull off my half-discarded blouse. My bra and skirt follow. He starts to watch me, and I revel in the pleasure of seeing him grow hard again. By the time I am completely undressed, I know we’re not leaving the bed anytime soon.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” He growls as he kneels on the bed, right between my spread legs.

  I can’t hide my pleasure. “Have I done something wrong? I ask, mock contrite.

  He chuckles, “No sweetheart,” he says, as he enters me slowly. “You’re doing everything right.”

  Chapter Three

  HOURS LATER, I FINALLY DRIFT OFF, EXHAUSTED. I can’t remember how many times David has brought me to a brain-shattering climax. I feel boneless and liquid, aching sweetly. He’s made love to me slowly, then fast, then slowly again, each time until I cry out his name in senseless surrender.

  When I wake up, the room is dimmer, telling me I’ve slept until evening. I’m alone on the bed. I stretch luxuriously. My body feels delicious.

  I’m completely naked underneath the covers, so I take them with me as I get off the bed. My clothes are no longer on the floor where I dropped them earlier. Baffled, I wonder if Mrs. Daniels has been in to tidy up while I was asleep.

  Apart from the door we came in, another door leads off the bedroom. I open it and step into a huge, brightly lit closet. On one side, rows upon rows of suits hang side by side, with shirts, pants, shoes and a vast array of all sorts of men’s clothing. On the opposite side from the suits, the racks are almost bare, sparsely populated with my few clothes, which Mrs. Daniels has unpacked. My underwear is neatly arranged in a drawer, my shoes tidily placed.

  On the far wall, there’s a full-length mirror. I walk forward, staring at my mussed hair and wide eyes. My skin is still flushed from all the lovemaking, with a smooth healthy glow. Making love suits me, I decide, giggling, I look far better than I remember.

  A frosted glass door leads off the dressing room into a luxurious bathroom. I step inside, admiring the gleaming cream tile walls and the clear marble floors. A deep sunken bath sits in the middle of the room, with solid looking gold taps. A marble-topped sink stands below a wide, mirrored wall cabinet, frosted glass hides a shower stall, and a door leads off to what must be the toilet.

  At the sink, I splash some water on my face. Opening the cabinet above, I notice that my toiletries have been arranged inside. I’m impressed. I make my way back to the dressing room to look for something to wear. My jeans and blouses feel like too much of a bother, and the few dresses I bought while shopping for my wedding seem too dressy. An impulse makes me put on one of David’s shirts. It’s soft, and feels heavenly on my skin. It’s probably insanely expensive, I think, walking out of the room to look for him.

  At first, the apartment seems remarkably silent, then I hear David’s voice coming from the direction of his study, I follow the sound, then pause at the door to eat him up with my eyes.

  He is standing with his back to me, looking towards the view of the city from the windows. He’s wearing only sweatpants, and his back is bare, showing me his defined muscles up to where they curve into his firm ass. As I watch him, I can’t help thinking of a colossus, bestriding the world. He looks magnificent, powerful, and potent.

  And he’s mine.

  I have to try very hard to resist the urge to go to him and run my hands all over his glorious body.

  He says something again and I realize that he is talking into a small earpiece attached to his ear.

  “How many percent total?” I hear him say, his voice is terse and commanding. He pauses and listens for a while, “Everything hinges on Carole,” He says finally, “Leave her to me, I know exactly how to deal with her.”

  Even though it’s not me he’s talking to, I’m hit by the steely hardness in his voice. There is something ruthless in the sound. Vaguely, I wonder who Carole is. The sound of another woman’s name on his lips is enough to make my heart constrict with jealousy.

  I stay where I am at the door, not sure whether to go in to him. I don’t want to interrupt if he’s busy. However, as if he can feel me standing there, he turns around. I step back at the coldness I see in his eyes, the blue is faded almost to grey, and his face seems almost cruel.

  “Sophie.” He smiles, his expression softening as he removes the earpiece and comes around the desk to meet me. I shiver slightly, the fear I felt only moments before, melting as he runs his hand over my arm, draped in the soft material of his shirt. “This looks very good on you.” He says, his eyes travelling down to my bare legs, then back to my face.

  “Thank you.” I say shyly. Outside the windows, it’s already dark. I must have slept for hours. “I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”

  David shrugs. “You were tired.” He raises his hand and runs a finger along my lower lip, making me shiver again. “I’m sure I had something to do with that.” He says tenderly.

  I blush, and he chuckles, pulling me to him, and running his hands over my body, which is naked under the shirt. “You should wear this all the time with nothing underneath.” He suggests, the teasing light in his eyes making him look his age, with none of the steeliness I saw in his face earlier.

  I laugh. “I would never be able to go out.” I po
int out.

  “Hmm...mm,” His eyes are on my lips, “you’d always be here, half naked and ready for me.” He growls softly and gives me a quick kiss on my lips. “I’d like to show you what that thought does to me,” He says, “But I’m sure you are hungry.”

  My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day. “I am.”

  “Good.” He is already pulling me out of the study, his hand gentle on my elbow. “Let’s eat.”

  Dinner is a home cooked feast Mrs. Daniels must have prepared before she left for the day. In the kitchen, David fills our plates from the silver chafing dishes, his fingers moving with superb grace. Is there anything he doesn’t do perfectly well? I help him load the plates unto a tray and follow him as he takes them to the living room.

  The food is delicious, as is the red wine David pours for me. We eat, seated on the rug, the couch at our backs, and the gleaming lights of the city laid out at our feet.

  There’s something about the intimacy of the moment. I feel close to him somehow. “Tell me about yourself.” I whisper.

  He leans back on the couch, watching me through hooded eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” I say hopefully.

  “My life isn’t half as interesting as yours,” he states coolly. “My father died when I was young, my mother remarried almost immediately and lived happily ever after till her husband died last year.” He shrugs, his voice sounding detached.

  Something in his tone gets to me. “Didn’t you get along with your step-father?” I ask, concerned. He doesn’t sound too happy about his mother’s marriage.

  “I have no idea.” He says cryptically. “I never saw either of them.”

  “How come?”

  He looks at me over the top of his glass. “He was very rich, and he liked to travel, my mother followed him everywhere because that was what he wanted.”

  My heart goes out to him as I imagine him growing up without the attention of his mother. At least my mother didn’t abandon me. She died.

  “They never took you with them?” I ask, a small frown on my face.

  He shakes his head. “No, they didn’t.” He says, looking a little bored. “My step-father had a house not very far from here. I lived there.”

  “Oh.” I watch as he leans back on the couch, his face relaxed, his eyes hooded by half closed lids. His lashes are incredibly long, I think, momentarily distracted. “Does your mother still live there?”

  “When she’s in town, yes.”

  He doesn’t seem eager to talk about his mother, so I decide to switch subjects.

  “Tell me about your work.” I say, leaning forward. I already know that his company is called Preston Corp and that it has something to do with software, but I’m curious to know more.

  “I invest in developing computer software.” He says. “There are a lot of products out there with the ability to provide enormous user satisfaction. Some of them never get to reach their target market. I make it possible for them to do so.”

  I’m impressed, and even more so by the confidence in his tone. “How did you get started?”

  “A videogame.” He grins boyishly, again looking his age. I have a sudden urge to wrap my arms around him and hold him close, to soothe the lonely little boy my imagination has conjured out of his words.

  “Did you miss her?” the question pops out of my mouth before I have the time to consider it. I’m thinking of my own mother, how I’ve spent my whole life with the faint ache of missing her, even though I never knew her.

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  He is silent for a moment, but only a single moment.

  “Never.” He states finally, his voice cool. He gets up and picks up the tray, and taking it to the kitchen. He loads the dishwasher while I dump the empty bottle of wine in the chrome bin with the ‘recycle’ icon. It seems our moment of intimacy has passed. We clean up in silence. He works quickly, efficiently, and self-sufficiently. I may as well not even be there. As soon as we’re done, he goes back to his study.

  I sit at the window seat in the living room, alternately admiring the view, and thumbing through a glossy magazine on interior design. I can’t really concentrate though. My thoughts are full of David as I piece the things I now know about him together. I know more than I did when I married him, but he is still a mystery in so many ways.

  After a while, I’m filled with a longing to recapture the feeling of intimacy I had earlier while we were talking, so I drift towards the study, hoping that David would be finished with whatever he is doing.

  I find him seated at the desk, his face lit by the glow from a desk lamp and his computer screen. He looks hard as he sits there alone, the planes and angles of his face made pronounced by the dim light. Watching him, I get the feeling that he is someone that’s used to being on his own. I imagine him as a solemn, dark haired little boy, left alone while his mother chose to spend her time with her new husband. It makes me sad.

  Reluctant to disturb him, I walk on to our room, and lie waiting in bed. I don’t sleep until much later, when he comes to join me and makes love to me until I fall asleep in his arms.

  ~§~§~§~§~

  The next morning when I wake up, my body is sweet and tender from another night of intense lovemaking. I move, wanting to snuggle close to David, but he’s not in bed with me. Disappointed, I get up. The bed feels incredibly empty with me as its sole occupant.

  On my way to the bathroom, I see the note propped upright on the dressing table. ‘Gone to the office.’ It says, in a firm elegant scrawl. I’m already missing him as I go into the bathroom and take a warm shower.

  Afterwards, I dress and find my way to the kitchen, following the unmistakable smell of breakfast cooking. I find Mrs. Daniels making pancakes. Still feeling let down that David has already left, I say a friendly hello to her, silently telling myself that it’s unrealistic to expect that David and I would spend all our time together, making love. Of course, he has to go to work, he has a business to run after all.

  Mrs. Daniels pours me some tea and places a large plate of pancakes dripping with maple syrup in front of me. I’m not particularly hungry, but the pancakes are light, fluffy, and delicious. As I eat, we talk about the apartment, and she tells me the things I need to know, like the names of some of the building staff and all the security codes and emergency numbers I might need. She seems to vibrate with warmth as she talks, and I soon relax in her company.

  After my breakfast, she has other work to do, and I’m left on my own again. I find myself missing Stacey and her constant concern. I imagine her sitting at her desk with a frown on her face, wondering if David has turned out to be Bluebeard. I don’t have a mobile, I’m sure that if I did she would be calling me every hour. I decide to put her mind at rest.

  “Sophie honey,” I can hear the relief in her voice that I’ve finally called, “How are you?” It’s so like her to keep fretting about me, even though I’ve assured her that I’m happy.

  “I’m fine.” I say, laughing.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I insist. “I’m perfectly happy.”

  “Okay.” I try not to hear the skepticism in her voice. Thankfully, she starts to tell me about the reactions to my sudden marriage. I listen silently, but I don’t really care. Ashford seems like a very long time ago.

  “Mrs. Newton seems to think you broke poor Eddie’s heart,” She says, catching my attention, “Apparently he was always sweet on you.”

  “He wasn’t.” I say defensively, trying to forget the look on Eddie’s face when he confronted David at my apartment. Good thing Stacey doesn’t know about that. I think, relieved.

  “Oh well,” She sighs. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.” She says finally.

  “I won’t,” I assure her, “but don’t worry about me Stacey, I promise I’ll be fine.”

  The rest of the day passes slowly. Mrs. Daniels clucks in disapproval when
I tell her not to bother about lunch. She disappears again, leaving me by myself. I swim laps in the pool, lie on the lounger in the terrace reading magazines, and watching the city from the height of the penthouse. I can’t help feeling as if I’m on a solo vacation instead of a honeymoon.

  I wander through the apartment, exploring on my own. In David’s study, I look through the numerous books on business, and philosophy. Thankfully, there are also some literary classics, Charles Dickens, Thackeray, and even Fitzgerald. They are all sturdy looking, leather bound volumes. Probably very expensive, I think, wondering if he reads them.

  I spend the rest of the day drawing. The sound of my pencil scratching the paper of my sketchbook is soothing and familiar. I draw until it gets a little dark outside. As I put my sketchpad away, I realize with a vague feeling of sadness that it’s the third day of my marriage, and I have been alone all day.

  I’m at the window seat reading a book when David returns. He steps into the living room, filling the space with his striking presence. I spring up from my seat, unable to contain how happy and relieved I am to see him. At the back of my mind, I berate myself for being so pathetically dependent on him, but I forget those thoughts when he drops his briefcase and claims my lips in a soul-searing kiss.

  I forget that I have been alone all day, I forget the gloominess of my feelings earlier. Surrounded by the taste and feel of him, I can’t think of anything besides how he makes me feel.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask when he finally releases me.

  The smile spreads slowly across his lips. “I am.” He says, his eyes devouring me.

  I take a deep breath. “Mrs. Daniels left something for dinner.”

  “Oh that.” He chuckles, his eyes telling me that his hunger was for something else. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He says, picking up his briefcase and going to our room to change out of his suit.