Hardcore (Filth #3)

by Dakota Gray

  She shakes her head.

  “Say it,” I demand.

  “You didn't give me permission.”

  “Any other time I'd teach you a lesson. When you're in my bed, you're mine. You play by my rules.” I grasp her thighs and tug her to the edge of my desk. “Depending on my mood, I'd give your clit a spanking. Or tell you to close that pretty mouth of yours around my cock.”

  She tilts her head back as she flushes from head to toe. She's turned on by the picture I'm painting. Why did I have those two extra drinks? Why the fuck didn't I take her home to do this right?

  “But since you're halfway there,” I say, “pull your bra up. Let me see you.”

  “Do you always—are you always this bossy?”

  “Yes.” I swirl my thumb over her clit just to watch her lids lower. “But if there is anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

  She moans. I take note she scrapes her fingernails over her nipples as she tugs the material down. The lace pulls tight at the sides of her breasts, burning an image in my mind I will and can forever jack off to.

  “You're perfect, Kennedy. So fucking unbelievably sexy.” I can't wait anymore.

  My movements are swift and precise as I free my cock, slide on a condom, and then position the tip at her entrance. She’s hot, wet and so ready.

  “Pull back your knees.”

  “Hard. I want it hard.”

  The pulse in my head pounds while I try to hold onto my control. I rub my cock in her wetness, teasing us both as I glide the tip over and around her clit. Her pink darkens for me, at what I'm doing.

  Hard is the only thing I can give her, but I enter her slow. Her breath hitches. I stop to watch her face. She's looking at the way my dick stretches her. Her eyelids are low in that sex-drunk way. I edge back. Her pussy is beautiful around me. The tip of the condom glistens from her arousal. I see if she can take more this time. Again. Again. Until I'm pounding into her. Her titties bounce as I slam home.

  I grit my teeth because I can't come until she does. Fuck, it's going to kill me to hold back. Her pussy feels made for me. When all of me slides home—I'm home. Soft. Tight. Wet. The back of my fucking head is throbbing from how good she feels.

  I lean forward and nip her lobe. I need her to come and now. “Is this hard enough? Want more?”

  “Yes. More.”

  She's never sounded sexier. “Don't ask for what you can't take.”

  She moans. “More.”

  I pull out of her. Her gaze tracks down to my dick. “Duke,” she whispers.

  My dick twitches. “On your stomach. On my desk.”

  She bites her lip and smiles. I help her down, and she splays her hands over the wood. That move is followed with her arching her ass up. The smile is wide when she glances back at me and says, “Like this?”

  I laugh. There's no point in replying. She's going to learn, the rough way, to not tease me. I wait until she's relaxed before I push deep inside her. Slow, easy, delicious strokes. She moans for more cock. I push deeper, reaching forward for her hair. Because I'm nothing if not thoughtful, I'm gentle as I wrap the red strands around my fist. I pull until her head is tilted back.

  Then I fuck her. Hard.

  Nothing like having a point to prove to keep from coming prematurely. I also have to close my eyes. Her ass slapping against me is too fucking much. Women work out to have every inch toned. Nothing to jiggle when they move. Nothing is more beautiful than fucking a woman from behind, and her ass responding to every thrust. It's hypnotic.

  I can't watch something like that, not if I want her to come twice before I succumb.

  But...this fucking woman.

  Her pussy spasms around me and I'm going to die from my own orgasm if I let it take me now.

  She purrs in the husky voice of hers. “So big. So deep. I want to suck you so bad.”

  I lose my punishing rhythm. Her words have bypassed my focus and shot straight to my nuts. This hold she has on me, how easy I yield to it pisses me off. “Fucking Kennedy.”

  My short spurt of anger is drowned out with the pleasure squeezing me tight.

  “You'd taste so good in my mouth.”

  I want to hate her but my toes have curled in my loafers. Yes. Let that image linger. My shirt is unbuttoned. My pants hang around my ankles and my underwear is damn near cutting off my circulation as it rests across my upper thighs.

  Some people would call this passion and I'd normally cringe at the definition.

  Yet the tip of my cock throbs with every heartbeat. It's a good hurt. I love the pain. My hips yearn to jerk forward then I can come. I want that picture she's painted more.

  I pull out. “Then get on your knees. I'm so close.”

  I don't have to give her anymore directions for her to kneel in front of me. I slide the condom off. Her mouth goes on and I'm lost. Her tongue, her mouth works up and down my shaft. Her moan rattles my spine. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from shouting as I explode. Her suction intensifies around me like she’s trying to drag out every drop. I ball my hand in her hair to keep her right the fuck where she is. She feels too good. Looks too beautiful with her cheeks hollowed and her lids hooded.

  When I’m spent, she swirls her tongue around my head. I jerk back. I'm too sensitive for anything more. For a moment there's just our heavy breathing filling up the silence.

  I meet her gaze. She covers her mouth with her fingertips, a blush coloring her cheeks. It’s her eyes getting to me. I want to sink into her and the emotion filling up her gaze. It's happiness. Pure. I don't think I've ever experienced that emotion. Satisfaction, excitement, yeah—happy as though I'm light, I don't have a care in the world and contentment is my middle name...?

  Never, and definitely not after sex.

  “What?” I rasp. Fear sinks it claws into my chest.

  “I—” She drops her hand. “Duke, that was kind of dirty.” She sounds so scandalized.

  That's not what I expected for her to say and the laugh falls out before I can catch it. An edge of relief is probably only noticeable to me. “Not even close, Kennedy. That was pretty PG.”

  “PG?” She laughs now too.

  The sound slides into me and I’m...warm. I’m wanting to grab hold of her happy to see if it can sink into me too. That’s crazy. And I can’t help but feel it. I laugh again. I offer my hand to help her stand up. We're laughing after sex. This is odd, unsettling, and I can only think of one culprit.

  “I think maybe we had too much to drink.”

  She drops her gaze. “Maybe.”

  I trail my finger over her chin. “Let's get you dressed.”

  Her attention remains fixed to the floor. I do my best to not look like I just fucked someone on my desk. My desk can't do the same. Papers, folders and the like are shoved to the edge if not on the floor. In no time we, and my office, appear presentable and like...the sex never happened.

  This is around the time I realize she’s quiet. The kind of quiet that’s not good when it’s a woman. I pull her into me and force her to meet my gaze. “When are you—”

  “Duke,” she rests her hands along mine, “what did you mean by we had too much to drink?”

  I frown, unsure where this line of questioning is going. “I’m laughing like an idiot.”

  She blinks. “And you see that as a bad thing? Laughing with me?”

  I step into the space she’s put between us. “I just don’t do it.”

  She sighs as I brush my thumb along her bottom lip. “What do you do?”

  I tell her the truth. “I fuck until the woman is mindless. If she can do anything after I’m done with her, then I’ve failed.”

  Her breath catches. “And then what?”

  “What more is there?” I catch a handful of her hair and take another step so she can feel my cock along her stomach. I’m hard again and more than ready to take her back to my place. I’ve gotten a taste of her and I want more. I want...all of her in a way that makes my gut ache. I know the
craving of lust and whatever is digging at me goes deeper than that. I can’t...say that. Those are words...they’d make me weak.

  Instead I say, “But let’s be clear, I’m not some fuckboy. How about—”

  “I think maybe we should slow down,” she gets out in a rush.

  I drop my hand, trying to read the emotion flickering over her face. It’s not lust. That is gone. We just had sex, and her face is nothing but pale cheeks and wide eyes. “Slow down?”

  She edges away from me. It’s a moment too late to realize my words came out low, angry. What did she expect? I don’t just fuck anyone at work, in my office.

  “You’re...” She takes another step.

  “Say it.”

  “Duke...”

  It’s hard to breathe. I ball my hands at my sides and wait for her to finish telling me, after we just fucked, that she now has doubts. And all I can feel is the way my dick is still wet from her mouth. “If this is the part where you tell me we can be friends, skip it. We won’t be.”

  She crosses her arms. “Will you listen to me?”

  “Go right ahead.” I move back to the my desk and grab my briefcase.

  Now I won't bore anyone with the details. She calmly told me I was too intense and she hadn’t expected me to be me. One day we could what-the-fuck-ever. After a few minutes of her giving me the not-the-right-time speech, I kissed her and let her know fucking each other once was clearly more than enough. She left me. She walked away while I stood there with a hard dick and a foul temper. And aching.

  Those are the facts.

  A sloppy, ham-fisted fuck led to a speech. That’s how the shitshow started.

  Fast-forward three years. We have both put our heads down and have worked toward our goals. She has her legal courier business. I'm junior partner at Lance and Chase, and one fucking step away from senior partner. Everything I've worked for in my life is right there in my goddamn reach.

  We're not lovers. We're not friends. I can't even say we're friendly. We're something fucked up in between.

  My life was on the right track. Some asshole of a butterfly flapped its wing.

  All I know for sure is that my life is a fucking shitshow now. There's not a corner of it I recognize. The only common denominator is a redhead with an ass that Satan handcrafted.

  I'll find a way to fix my life.

  Before I do though, I just want it on the record she begged for hard, more than once.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Fucking pathetic,” I mutter and narrow my gaze on the phone.

  A phone I've pulled about six inches closer so I can answer faster. It's almost five at the law firm, and that's all I'm doing—glaring at the phone on my desk.

  I'm not enjoying the view my corner office lends me. I'm not strutting around it, either. Though my friends call my office the soulless cave, it's... sleek, modern. Black, white, glass, and metal makes up most of the room if you discount the bookshelves.

  Not the point.

  After the win I had today, I should be walking around like I own the place.

  I'm not.

  I'm a teenage girl waiting on her crush to ask her out to the prom, because the call from Preston Lance hasn't come.

  Should have known better than to get my hopes up. Hope is a heartless bitch. She makes me fall for her again and again. That bitch dug her hooks into me when Preston personally gave me Logan Merch's case. A senator's son literally got caught with his pants down in public and was slapped with a lewd conduct charge.

  This case wasn't just important to the firm, but I had got the distinct impression it was the case that would decide whether or not I became senior partner at Lance and Chase.

  Merch's case was an impossible win, but I came out of the courtroom victorious. Yet the likelihood of the call happening today is slim to none as the hour grows older. I have to let it go. If I keep sitting here waiting in hope...

  I stop fighting the frustration and let it dig at me. The emotion is wasteful. The energy I expend being annoyed I could be doing something productive. I have a preliminary hearing next week. I have witness statements to go over. I can nap.

  But it's better to indulge the wave of irritation than take the elevator to Preston's office. I count to ten while I curl and uncurl my fingers against my desk as the aggravation slides in deeper.

  Wallowing isn't going to help. I have to leave the office. I scoop up the stack of manila folders on my desk and push out from the chair. My paralegal is nothing short of a goddess. Gwen can cover for me for the next thirty minutes and deal with these files.

  I stalk down the short hallway to her. My office sits on the second floor. From wall to floor are modern lines that are both appealing and forgettable. Even the cubicles in the middle are nice. The associates and legal secretaries make up the bullpen. This time of day the office buzzes with edgy energy. I ignore it because I have an end goal—getting the fuck out of here.

  When I'm standing in front of Gwen’s desk, I smile.

  She frowns at me. “What do you want?”

  She can see my bullshit from a mile away. This is why we work well together. Still, I put a bit of gravel in my tone. “I can't greet you happily, Gwen?”

  Gwen stands at five-three, weighs nothing, is maybe around thirty-six, and she’s a natural blonde. She's sturdy, mentally, which is why she's survived working for me for so long. At the moment she's glaring at me like she's the Incredible Hulk.

  I don't let my smile waver. “Gwen.”

  “Don't use that voice on me.”

  She caught that. “What voice?” I'm still using it.

  “The one you use on all the female legal secretaries, especially when you're asking them for favors.”

  I think back to the last time I asked the Sec for anything. They’ve told me more than once I'm that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing and the Sec fawns over me because of it.

  That particular day I had on a three-piece suit. Some of the women played with the buttons on my vest and I let them. Fuck, I think I even used charm. Having sex the night before helped too. My mood had been upbeat and patient with the pointless flirting, because no matter how tempting, one does not fuck members of the Sec.

  The fresh-faced co-eds in calendaring? Go for it. Anyone in accounting? Have a goddamn field day. Other attorneys? Fuck until you're half dead. The Sec, and hell the paralegals, are off-limits. You never know when you'll need someone who can type one-hundred and twenty-five wpm or more. Women are less likely to do you a favor if you fucked them over.

  Now the favor at the time? I'd needed them to dig up some dirt on a sweet, little old school teacher. She'd ID'd my client as the armed robber at a Mom-and-Pop store. I needed her to have a dark past and cast some doubt on her character.

  I'll just say the eighties were interesting, and cocaine is a helluva drug.

  Beside the point. Gwen knows the real me, sort of. Charm and the voice is a wasted effort.

  I drop the manila folders on her desk. “I'm leaving. Deal with this.”

  “Now did that hurt?”

  I smile despite the shit mood brewing under the surface. “Yes. For a second I almost said 'please.'”

  She pushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Your mother called again.”

  Carefully, I say, “I'll reach out tomorrow.”

  “She sounded...urgent.”

  “I will call her when I can.” I stare at Gwen until her gaze skates away from mine.

  I let the quiet say everything. A moment passes, and then she sits up a little. I can practically hear her sigh of relief as interest lights in her brown eyes.

  “Kennedy,” she whispers low enough only I can hear.

  Fuck.

  Gwen pulls the files closer and does her best to appear uninterested with our unexpected guest. I brace myself.

  “Duke, you're going to hell.” Her husky, feminine voice slides into me, warms me and reminds me I haven't had sex in a while. “You know that, right?”

  “Get the Ander
son file for me,” I say to Gwen.

  I don't need to look at the Anderson case for at least a month. I just don't want her here for this conversation. She's nosy and she meddles. Gwen doesn't understand Kennedy is off-limits for so many goddamn reasons, and it takes all my concentration to keep it that way.

  Gwen’s mouth pinches, but she nods. “I'll get the file, boss.”

  I give her a four-second leeway before I reply to Kennedy. “Are you here to pick up something? Or have you missed giving me unsolicited life advice?”

  I finally face Kennedy.

  Two red spots paint her pale cheekbones and make the freckles that decorate the tip of her nose stand out. Today she's dragging a dolly and that means she's delivering on several floors. She's wrangled her hair into a bun for the hard work.

  She still prefers to wear jeans, novelty shirts and scruffy tennis shoes. She's more of a knockout, if that's even possible. I want to devour everything about her. You are what you eat, right? I'm curious to see what I'd be after.

  She rests her hand on the dolly's handle. “I came by to drop off some stuff.” She pauses. “And to let you know I'm your court runner for the next month or so.”

  Hell. “Why? Don't you have more than one employee?” I bite out.

  “I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Marlene is nine months pregnant.”

  I'd noticed, and even sent a sizable gift card from Babies R Us to her, but this is our game. She needs me to be the bad guy, and it's too easy for me to play him. “Which one is Marlene?”

  She shakes her head as though I've disappointed her. Again. “She's been your court runner for a year.”

  Fourteen months, if she wants to be technical. “Oh.”

  “Just when I think you can be a decent human being...”

  Kennedy keeps expecting me to be a better man, a kinder one. Then I'll be safe. Then she can fuck me to her heart's content.

  Yeah. That startling realization came to me five minutes after I stopped being irritated about the brush-off. Which took a few months and countless exchanges where she looked at me like I was something to be punched or fucked. Or both at the same time.