Her Claim: Legally Bound Book 2

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  She exhaled heavily around him. The words hit her just right. Her stomach churned in an angry, white heat as she fought with herself, wanting to claw and fight back, and to have him call her that again. She liked it and didn’t. She hated it and loved it. It shouldn’t have felt this good to feel so damn bad.

  Patrick gazed at her. “What is it? That word?”

  She nodded—as best she could with her head and body trapped this way—amazed and relieved that he’d figured it out.

  Bracing himself against the wall, he moved in closer, filling her mouth to the point of near gagging. “You goddamn fucking tease. Every time I saw you, every night we argued in that bar, I hated you. Because I wanted you, wanted this. But you got off on fighting me, didn’t you? It turned you on, my bitchy little princess.”

  Cassie moaned her assent, unable to say anything more around his unyielding plunges.

  “Well you’re not gonna fight me now, are you?” he asked, breathless. “No, you’re gonna take my fucking come in your mouth.”

  His hands clasped her wrists with a merciless force, and he hit the back of her throat. Cassie’s eyes watered and she couldn’t catch her breath, but she didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want him to do anything to break this spell. His thighs tensed, his strokes becoming erratic until he gasped and his body caved in.

  “Cassie, Jesus—fuck.”

  Swallowing down his release, she glanced up to watch. Mouth open, chin tilted back, his eyes shut and chest heaving, he was beautiful in the throes of orgasm. When the last spurts of his release filled her mouth, Patrick pulled back and let go of her hands.

  “Holy shit.” He was still out of breath as one sweaty palm found her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Very okay. That was seriously hot.”

  Patrick laughed. “It sure as hell was.”

  He tucked himself back into his pants, helped her to her feet and walked her to the couch. They sat, their heads touching as he drew her legs up and over his. He caressed the back of her neck with his fingers, gentle and soothing. A deep sense of contentment flowed through her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For fulfilling that fantasy.”

  “You’re welcome. But I don’t believe I’ve fulfilled anything yet.”

  Cue another round of shivers. Cassie lifted her head as he made a tentative stroke with his finger over her knee.

  “Am I allowed to touch your clit this time?” he asked.

  She smiled. “You are.”

  Patrick slid his hand up her thigh and smiled when his fingertips nudged the top edge of her thigh-highs. “Good. ’Cause I’m gonna make you come now, whether you like it or not.”

  15

  A week later, Patrick couldn’t decide which day had been his favorite. Or which night, really. He and Cassie had spent every one together. He was fucking exhausted, but goddamn was it worth it.

  He kept waiting to get bored, but his interest only kept growing. Every time she told him something new she wanted to try, he became even more intrigued. Wrestling her until she was flat out beneath him? Sign him up. Making her so wet she cried real tears in embarrassment? He was on board. And he couldn’t wait to tap that sweet virgin rear of hers, with his fingers or whatever else she wanted to try. He had no reservations with any of her requests, and if literal push came to shove, he had to admit he liked what she wanted.

  He’d had rough sex before, but not like this, not in a way that was so aggressive and mean.

  He hadn’t thought it would come naturally, but as it turned out, he and Cassie were the same in bed as they were out of it. Just as nasty, but…naked. It was fun, and oddly freeing too—not needing to have any filter, taking his pleasure as he liked, objectifying and being cruel to her in ways he’d never imagined. The look she’d gotten when he’d called her a bitch and fucked her mouth against the wall in his apartment had brought on one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

  He had a moment’s hesitation wondering why he enjoyed debasing her, but who cared? What he’d wanted was to get inside Cassie’s head—to know what lurked behind those bright eyes of hers—and now he was there. He wasn’t sure where her desires came from, but it wasn’t his job to psychoanalyze. It was to bring her as much pleasure as possible. To satisfy all her depraved little cravings.

  And he was doing that. Repeatedly.

  God, he loved this arrangement. It was so pristine. So cut and dry. Just sex, smiles, and a see-you-next-time. All escape, no hassle. Why hadn’t he done this with anyone else?

  Because not all women were like Cassie.

  She was ballsy and sexy, intelligent and beautiful. And she had no problem having incredible sex and then walking out the door.

  Damn it, he was starting to like her. Not in the romantic department—having feelings for Cassie wasn’t possible because Patrick didn’t have feelings to feel. But he enjoyed the fire in her, enjoyed being able to tame that flame and bring it to its knees. They were straying into BDSM play, however. He’d wondered if he should talk to Jack about it, but Patrick could always fake it ’til he made it.

  He sure as hell had been doing that with his job for the last twenty years.

  With a sigh, he returned his attention to the sales forecast he was working on. The information on the screen in front of him was his biggest responsibility at Dunham and Strauss, right after maintaining the budget and developing new business. The house was doing better this quarter than he’d thought, thanks to a few new partnerships he’d made over the summer. That was what made the Global V.P. of Sales important—their knack for building revenue. Not that he’d ever had any natural skill with that.

  He’d been taught by Leroy Strauss and the board. They’d started him off easy, assisting him with developing pricing strategies, sitting in on conference calls while he made deals, and looking over action plans with him afterward to evaluate what market to move into next.

  He’d spent so much of his life staring at numbers, he’d gone numb from it.

  The spreadsheet he’d been working on was swimming in front of his eyes. That was the way it was in publishing though, something even veteran industry professionals felt—you spend too much time looking at it and it starts to blur. The business was changing at near light speed, and the harder he stared at it, the harder it was to tell what was going on. But this report was due Friday whether he was losing focus or not, and he’d had to cancel his tennis match with Jack today because of it. At least he had a good team to fall back on. Patrick took a hands-off management approach with the people who worked under him. It made them think he trusted them, had faith in them. Which he did, but it also avoided having them see how much he hated this place sometimes.

  Feeling that familiar tingling in his limbs, Patrick stood and went to the window. Dunham and Strauss was in the heart of Boston’s financial district, a giant of a building with a view of the harbor. A red haze hugged Logan’s tarmac in the distance, and beyond the glittering skyline of the ocean, the dark blue of night was setting in.

  The view spoke of freedom, beautiful and distracting, and was the only part of his office that dazzled.

  His space was a stark contrast to the gilded chambers of the main lobby. Reid had decorated the massive atrium in gold paint, marble floors and decked it out with a large portrait of himself. If his father loved ornate opulence, Patrick had become the opposite in resistance, from the classic cut of his clothes to the decorations in his executive corner office. His father could look up from beyond the grave and sulk all he wanted. Patrick’s salary might’ve been a consolation prize for being so damn miserable, but he wasn’t going to spend it here. All he had was a few seats across from his simple, polished wood desk, his father’s old nickel banker’s lamp sitting atop it.

  He hadn’t known why he’d kept the thing—there was nothing sentimental about it. Every time he shut it off, it was his way of saying fuck you, you fucking prick. I’m here, but you mean nothing to me. Same for the wall of books behind him.

&n
bsp; Always behind him, so he didn’t have to look at them.

  He didn’t read anymore. Funny, for someone at the rudder of a publishing dynasty, but he wasn’t valued here for his opinion on content. Besides, the last book he’d read had been El Viejo y el Mar. The Spanish edition of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea had been on Gustavo’s desk, and he’d loaned it to Patrick, telling him there was a lot he could learn from it.

  He’d been almost finished when he’d met Sofía.

  He hadn’t read a single work of fiction since.

  His cell phone rang, the name Brady Archer reading out on the screen. Patrick accepted the call, relieved for the distraction.

  “Hey, kid. How’s things?”

  “Dude. I’m almost forty. When are you going to stop calling me kid?”

  “Never.”

  Brady snorted, and Patrick laughed at the sound. It was a nice change from the last time he’d seen him this past Friday night. Samantha had joined Brady at the pub, present even though things between them were noticeably strained.

  Patrick’s focus, however, had been on Cassie.

  She’d been playing pool with Lilly, sauntering around the table and throwing out wiseass comments between shots, and he’d sat there with a mildly amused grin, enthralled with the way she moved. With her ass as she bent over the table. With the sly grin she’d thrown his way when no one was looking.

  He’d enjoyed watching her. Bantering with her. Enjoyed knowing he was going home with her.

  He’d been so entranced, he hadn’t noticed Red Sox Girl until she was standing next to him. She’d placed a hand seductively on his shoulder, and Patrick had immediately glanced at Cassie. The lighthearted, easy smile she’d had disappeared, her features drawn tight as if a portcullis had rolled shut over it.

  He had two options: entertain his former conquest and make a promise to call her that he’d never follow through on, or do something to ensure Cassie’s trust.

  He’d disentangled Red Sox Girl with a gentle but firm, “Not tonight. Sorry.”

  When she’d left with a shrug, Patrick had managed to catch Cassie’s eye. A bit of her smile had returned, and the look on her face was one of almost non-belief.

  Her doubt wasn’t necessary. Patrick was many things, but a liar he wasn’t. Brady, however, felt the need to point out the obvious.

  “Did you turn away fresh blood?” he’d asked, incredulous and uncomfortably loud.

  Patrick shrugged. “She wasn’t fresh blood. She’s old news. And you know my rule about dating the same woman twice.”

  That same look had momentarily darkened Cassie’s face, but she didn’t say anything. Not then, not on the cab ride to her apartment, and not when he’d spread her across her bed and buried his head between her thighs in a silent apology.

  She tasted like candy. If getting drunk was an option for him, he’d have done it on Cassie. He’d gorge himself on her until he’d had his fill and relished in the hangover.

  “So,” Brady said, snapping Patrick back into the here and now. “About that festival this weekend.”

  “Right. You guys want to go?”

  Bringing up the Lit Crawl had been his diversionary tactic after Brady’s comment. The yearly event was a full weekend of readings, performances and literary games. Dunham and Strauss was a sponsor, which meant Patrick had free passes to spare.

  “Definitely. Sam seems super into it, and I think Allegra and Hope would love it too.”

  Samantha hadn’t seemed that into it, but maybe her point of view had changed, especially if her daughters were involved. Either way, Patrick could hear the desperation in Brady’s voice.

  Thank God it would never get that way with him and Cassie. When it was time for things to end, they’d be adults about it, stopping in as businesslike a matter as they’d started.

  “Then it looks like I’ll be seeing you all on Saturday morning.”

  When they hung up, Patrick kept his phone out. He hadn’t asked Cassie specifically if she wanted to go as well, and wanted to remedy that now.

  He pulled up his last text to her and sent her a new one.

  “You interested in going to that Lit Crawl on Saturday?”

  He should’ve put his phone down, but found himself waiting, staring at the screen until those little dots bounced at the bottom of it. “It’s like a pub crawl, right?”

  “Yup. Except with books instead of booze.”

  “Hmmm…” More waiting. More watching little bouncing dots. “What’s in it for me?”

  A wink emoticon followed her question. Patrick typed back quickly.

  “My dazzling company, of course.”

  There was a pause before her next reply came through. “Just you?”

  His stomach sank. It shouldn’t have, because time alone together outside the bedroom wasn’t part of their agreement.

  “No—I think it’s gonna be me and the whole Scooby gang.”

  “LOL. Okay, so Lit crawl during the day…and maybe crawling of another type back at your place after it’s over?”

  Now Patrick’s stomach tightened with excitement. As did his pants.

  “That’s definitely a possibility. See you Saturday at ten.”

  The promise of another intense night with her both revved him up and settled his nerves. Patrick sat at his desk, and returned to the sales forecast with a smile.

  * * *

  Saturday morning arrived with the kind of brilliant freshness you could only find during the peak of foliage season in New England. Columbus Day weekend brought what F. Scott Fitzgerald would’ve called football weather—crisp air, clouds dappling the sky, the ground littered with leaves the color of fire. And at ten a.m., Copely Square was bustling with people.

  Patrick stood by the fountain and waited for the remainder of the group to arrive. Brady and family had already collected their tickets. He’d looked tired as he mumbled a thank-you, his eyes on Sam like she was going to disappear as Allegra and Hope dragged them toward the children’s pavilion.

  Lilly and Jack turned up with Nick and Gabe next. They collected their tickets and programs, then walked off in different directions as Patrick continued to hang around. After fifteen minutes, however, he began checking his phone and gazing through the crowd.

  Where was she?

  A hollow feeling sat in his belly. Maybe Cassie wasn’t coming, which was fine. Things came up. Work. Life. It was an inconvenience, that was all. But she could’ve at least told him.

  “Waiting for someone?”

  Patrick turned around and was nearly knocked over by the sight of her standing behind him in jeans, a black sweater, scarf and sneakers.

  How the hell did she look so sexy in sneakers?

  “I am, for someone who was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, as a matter of fact.”

  She snapped her ticket from his hand. “The T was running behind, dumbass.”

  Patrick laughed. It wasn’t quite relief filling the well in his stomach. Just reassurance that the day was going to go as planned. He gestured toward her shoes. “I thought everything you owned came with a three-inch spike.”

  “Almost everything,” she said with a wink. “I knew I’d be walking around all day, so I went with these instead.”

  As much as he loved what a pair of heels did for her figure, the faded blue Chucks were completely adorable. Patrick waved a hand toward the green. “Shall we?”

  They moved out, looking at the vendors’ tables as they walked. A band was sound-checking on the center stage, and carts of books stretched from one corner of the lawn to the other.

  “Does your company sponsor all this?” Cassie asked.

  “Not everything. The musicians and the food trucks pay to be here, and a lot of the poets and playwrights contribute. We put a chunk in every year as part of our angel patronage.”

  “How philanthropic of you.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing benevolent in supporting the arts. If people aren’t reading, we go out of business.” />
  “Good point.”

  He followed Cassie toward a reading in a tent. They stood in the back, and she listened attentively, her lips slightly pursed, her tiny upturned nose dusted with sunlight.

  Yeah, he was kidding himself over pretending he wasn’t relieved she was here. She was fucking beautiful, and he wanted to find a quiet corner to drag her into.

  She glanced up and caught him staring. Patrick grinned. Guilty as charged.

  He made sure none of their crew was around before he moved in close and whispered, “You’re killing me today, by the way.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  Cute sneakers aside, and the jeans that did amazing things for her already amazing ass, she was standing differently—one hand casually tucked into a pocket, her movements unhurried, her breathing even and calm.

  “You seem relaxed. It’s nice.”

  “I am. It’s nice to be away from the office for a half a second.”

  He tried not to be pleased that she’d taken that break to be with him. “I read somewhere that the more successful you are, the more your life is hell.”

  “Then I’m heading straight there. My newest client might be my big break, but he’s driving me bat-shit crazy.”

  She had to be talking about Hudson. “Why could he be your big break?”

  “Because if I successfully restructure his company, I’ll finally make partner at my firm.”

  Whoa. That was a bigger deal than he’d thought, and not at all what he’d imagined when he’d sent Hudson her way. He considered telling her he’d been their matchmaker, but it didn’t seem like the time. The reading ended, and they applauded with the rest of the crowd before stepping back into the square.

  “How’d you get into law, anyway?” he asked.

  “Simple. It’s a job where I get to argue.”

  “You? Argue?” he replied dryly.

  “Shut up.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s my line.”

  Cassie grunted, her cheeks heating with an obvious rush of desire. Yeah, it got him there too. He kept talking to distract himself. “Aside from the arguing, what do you like about it? Would you say it’s your passion?”