Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance

by Laurelin Paige

  You look at me all bright-eyed and trusting like that, and all I can think about is how far I could get my cock down your throat before you couldn’t breathe.

  Her eyes widen, and I realize I didn’t just think those dirty, dirty thoughts. I actually said them. Out loud.

  Oh, shit.

  She made it clear that she’s not interested. So is that considered…? Did I just, like, sexually assault Genevieve Fasbender in my brother’s closet? With her father right outside?

  There are a thousand ways that this could not be cool. At all.

  And yet I haven’t let go of her. My hand still covers her mouth. I’m still pressed up close to her. So close that I don’t miss that she’s not bothered by what I said in the least. Her breath quickens and she peers up at me, her stare intense, wanting, and I swear, I can smell arousal mingling with the scent of her perfume.

  “What more can we do to prove good faith?” Edward asks, and I know my brother well enough to guess that he’s going to spell it all out for him.

  Which means we have some time.

  So…should I?

  I move my hand off Genevieve’s mouth and trail a single finger over her chin, down the slope of her neck. Her pulse trips as my touch grazes across her skin. In response, she arches her neck, swallows, then runs her tongue over her bottom lip, and maybe this is how bad people convince themselves they’re not doing anything wrong, but I’m as sure as the hard-on below my belt that she wants this.

  Whatever this is. Whatever it’s turning into.

  Right now I’m just…exploring. Going by instinct. Figuring out what she will and won’t let me get away with.

  Watching carefully for any sign of rejection, I continue the pathway down her body. She leans into my palm as I slide over the curve of her breast, and it’s tempting to stop and spend some time here.

  But I’m still a little pissed at her.

  I feasted on her tits the last time we were together, and she compared my moves to bad pizza. Like hell she’s getting that kind of attention this time.

  Instead, I capture the bud of her stiff nipple between my thumb and forefinger and pinch.

  Her mouth drops open in a silent gasp. Not the kind of gasp that says, No or Stop. The kind of gasp that says, More.

  If I had any doubt, it’s erased when a single whisper of a word spills from her lips. “Please.”

  Permission granted. Score!

  Without further hesitation, my hand slides under the waistband of her pants and inside the silky material of her panties. She’s soaked.

  Jesus, I thought I couldn’t get any harder. I was so goddamn wrong. I’m tempted to pull out my cock and make her play with it. I’m eager for her hands to wrap around the length of my shaft, dying for her to tug and stroke—

  But there’s not enough room in here to do it the way I’d like her to, the way I need it—with her mouth on me. She’d be on her knees, and I wouldn’t be able to see her face. The slats in the door don’t go that far down. When she sucks me, I’m going to need to watch every detail.

  Notice I said when, not if. Considering the current turn of events—i.e., my fingers fondling her pussy—I’m optimistic that a blowjob could be brought to the table for negotiation.

  Not right now. Later.

  Right now, I’m much more wrapped up in what else I can do to her. Wrapped up in what it will feel like when I do it.

  She spreads her legs, granting me better access. It’s a total green light. I quit my hesitating and press the pad of my thumb to her clit. She’s so swollen—I can imagine how sensitive it must be. How hard it must be not to cry out as I touch her.

  Suddenly I’m greedy to have her do just that. Never mind that we’re trying not to get caught. That fact just makes me all the more intent.

  I rub against her again, increasing my pressure ever so slightly. When her eyes glaze and she bites her lip, I double my efforts, stretching my hand so that I can slide a finger inside her without breaking the contact I have with her nub.

  This does the trick. She lets out the softest whimper, barely audible, but it’s enough.

  With my free hand, I press her mouth into the curve of my shoulder and whisper gruffly into her ear. “If you make another sound, I’ll stop.”

  She quiets instantly.

  It’s fucking hot how quickly she responds. She believes me. Believes that I will stop and is desperate not to let that happen.

  She’s such a good, good girl.

  But now I have to torture her even more because she’s so trusting. Curving my finger, I stroke in and out of her, rubbing against her velvety walls, all the while massaging her clit. Her breath hitches. Her wetness thickens and her hips buck into my hand. Still I keep on, caressing and coaxing until she’s sweating and squirming and nipping at the fabric of my jacket.

  She’s nearly there. Another nudge against her sweet spot, and I’m sure she’ll climax. I can’t decide if it’s crueler to pull away now or force her to try to come silently.

  She wasn’t quiet at all that night in her hotel. I’m not sure she can even do it. I should slowly ease out of her and finish her off when our main priority is not to remain unnoticed. That would be the nice guy move.

  But I don’t want to be the nice guy. Not anymore.

  Wrapping her hair in my fist, I yank her head up so I can see her eyes. Then, sinking my fingers deeper inside her, I hit her where she wants it—where she needs it—and send her over the edge.

  “Shh,” I mouth in warning as her face crumples into the most beautifully tormented expression I’ve ever seen. She trembles against me, her entire body shuddering with the wave of her release. It’s awesome. Not awesome like the word that’s thrown around in everyday generic vocabulary but in the true definition. Awe-some. As in, inspiring awe. As in, damn, I’m awed.

  Distracted as I am watching her, I keep up the job. I’m merciless, even, stroking and coaxing her until she’s completely drained, until she’s given me every last drop of her orgasm. Until she’s limp in my arms, her breathing ragged, her skin glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. She’s spent.

  And me?

  Shit, I’m only getting started.

  5

  Genevieve clings to me, even after she can stand on her own. She keeps her gaze averted, but I can’t stop staring, can’t stop taking in every single observable detail in the thin streams of sunlight. Her mascara is slightly smudged, her hair tousled, her breathing shallow.

  And she suddenly seems so slight and small.

  When I first noticed her at the gala, I was drawn to her strength and confident detachment. In this moment, her beauty is in how she’s fallen, how she’s folded into my arms, how her fingers dig into the sleeve of my jacket, like it’s a lifeline. She’s not a fragile woman in the least, but there’s a delicacy about her right now. An elegance that she likes to keep private. I wonder how many people she’s let see her like this.

  After a minute, she remembers herself, and her head pops up, her eyes fluttering to meet mine. Now that I have her attention, I bring my finger to my mouth and suck her wetness from my skin. I tasted her the other night, but this simple gesture is so sensual and erotic that I swear she tastes better today.

  Her eyes spark, and my dick jumps as though it’s connected to her gaze with jumper cables.

  Not that it needed the extra jolt. I’ve been hard as steel the whole time we’ve been in the closet, and when she cups her hand around my bulge, silently asking for my permission, I practically burn from the contact.

  “Don’t,” I hiss, and her expression says she’s confused.

  Honestly, I am a little too. Because I fucking need her.

  But not yet. Not on these terms, and thank Christ it’s only a few seconds later when I hear Hudson say, “My chief financial advisor can show you the projections she’s put together. Her office is just down the hall. Let me walk you over.”

  I put my hand on the knob, and the instant I’m sure that Hudson and Edward have left, I f
ling the door open. With Genevieve’s hand tucked in mine, I pull her to the elevator, push the button, and tug her inside after me when it opens.

  “Where are we—”

  I cut her off. “Don’t talk.”

  Her jaw closes, drawing her mouth into a tight line. I’m not sure I can quite articulate why I want her to be silent. Because I’m near sensory overload. Because I don’t want her to break the mood. Because I’m too focused on my agenda at the moment to be disrupted. Maybe it’s all of that or something else all together. I don’t know.

  What I do know is that I love the way she’s obeyed me. Without question. Without comment.

  It does good things to the buzz in my veins. Good, good things.

  At the elevator, I insert the access key, and after a short ride the doors open to my loft. Genevieve walks out beside me, and before she’s taken two steps, I have her pressed against the wall. I kiss her thoroughly, roughly. My tongue swipes across her teeth. My hands wander up. Soon, I’m helping slip off her jacket.

  Again, she reaches for my crotch, and damn, I want her to touch me, but I want it with her mouth. I want it so badly I can barely speak, can barely think straight. I step back and start working on my buckle. “Shirt and bra off,” I say gruffly, and it sounds like an order.

  Hell, I guess I mean it to be one, too.

  And god bless Captain America, she complies.

  By the time I’ve gotten my pants undone, she’s naked from the waist up. My eyes eat her up, greedily, as I lower my boxer briefs just enough to draw out my rock-hard cock. With one hand on her shoulder, I nudge her down to her knees.

  “This ends the minute you say stop. If you can’t talk, pinch me.” Because in about two seconds, I don’t expect her to be able to say a thing.

  In fact, I’m so impatient, such an asshole in my lust, I don’t wait for her to respond before saying, “Open your mouth,” and the instant her jaw drops open, I step forward and thrust inside.

  I mean, thrust. Completely. As far as I can go. No hesitation. No going slow. None of this foreplay-take-your-time bullshit. I am that shithead who sees a hole and shoves all the way in.

  Jesus.

  And all that is holy.

  There are no words for how good it feels to have her lips around me. My head is practically touching the back of her throat, her tongue flat against the bottom of my cock. It’s everything I’d imagined and more.

  I draw out, slowly so I can feel everything. I pause to let her catch her breath.

  Then I drive in again.

  Her cheeks hollow as she presses them in against my length. She swirls her tongue, and it feels like she’s licking me everywhere at once. Like she’s a whirlpool around my dick. Goddamn, it’s so good. So hot.

  Especially the way her tits bounce as she moves her mouth up and down my length. My eyes are glued on her breasts. I alternate between imagining that my cock is sliding between them and imagining my fingers tweaking her nipples, so hard she cries out. Mostly I just like staring at them, fully ogling her. It’s so dirty and filthy and me-centric. She’s getting no pleasure from this. It’s all about me.

  God, I’m a douche.

  But then I catch her gaze. Her eyes water as she looks up, adoring me. Idolizing me. Wanting to please me. It’s almost spiritual, and all I can think is no wonder man decided god wanted to be prayed to, because being prayed to is fucking awesome.

  So awesome that I lose control.

  Or rather I go into hyper-control. The kind of control I’ve seen in other people in business and boardrooms—not ever in me. The kind of control I’ve only ever aspired to. Hyper-control like my brother who micromanages and supervises every transaction. That’s what I do to Genevieve. I cradle her face and hold it exactly where I want it and then I just…let go. I pound into her. I take advantage. I use her. She’s not doing it to me; I’m doing it to her. She’s not sucking my cock; I’m fucking her mouth.

  Her hands curl around my calves, steadying herself, and I try to pay attention to the way she grips me. Try to notice whether or not she means to stop me.

  But I’ve got to be honest—I’m so into how good this feels that she’ll probably have to pinch me hard enough to break skin to get me to notice anything else. If she does, I’ll stop. I don’t know how, but I will. That promise is the only way I can live with myself as I push in again and again and again. Mercilessly. With total abandon.

  “I’m going to come down your throat now, Genny. That’s all the warning I’m going to give.” Because that’s as long as I can manage to hold out, and almost as soon as I’ve said the words, I’m there, exploding, shooting down her throat in long thick spurts. My hands are still clamped so tightly on either side of her face she has no choice but to take it.

  And she does, she takes every drop, every bit of what I give her.

  It’s the best blowjob anyone’s ever given me.

  Except, it was more taken than given. And the second I’ve finished spilling inside her, the realization fully rushes over me.

  Oh, god. What have I done?

  Flooded in guilt, I can barely look at her.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say and make a dash for the bathroom. I clean up quickly, tucking myself away when I’m done. Then I scrub a hand over my face and brace my other on the countertop.

  Leaning over the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. “You’re an asshole,” I tell my reflection. “Whatever she accuses you of, you deserve it because you just raped that woman’s mouth. She didn’t say yes. You just took what you wanted. Happy?”

  Worst thing is I am happy. Even tainted with regret and shame, I still really enjoyed it.

  Asshole is too nice of a reference for what I am.

  I heave a sigh as I wet a washcloth. I need to clean her up. Need to apologize, even though assault isn’t something you can just say sorry for. I need to try to make amends even as I’m certain that I’m going to hate myself for this for a long, long time.

  And what if she presses charges?

  I can’t even think about that. I’d deserve it, but I can’t think about that shit.

  After several deep breaths to psych myself up, I venture back out of the bathroom. I keep my head down, staring at my shoes, unable to look at her.

  “Genevieve…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say next.

  I brave a glance in her direction. She’s on the floor, her back against the wall, her legs splayed in front of her as though she were a ragdoll that was thrown across the room and this was how she happened to land.

  I did this to her.

  Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? After violating her downstairs, I follow it up with this?

  But then I study her face—really study it. And the expression she’s wearing doesn’t say traumatized. It’s a much more familiar look, one I’ve seen on plenty of women in the past.

  Holy shit!

  “You liked it.” It’s not a question because I’m sure of the answer.

  Still, she confirms. “I liked it.”

  A roller coaster of emotions rumbles through me. I’m overwhelmingly relieved. And surprised. And delighted. And a little confused.

  Also, I’m cautious. “Are you going to make a pizza comparison now?”

  Her lips creep into a smile. “Better than any pizza I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Good. Good.” I mean, pizza is still a lame correlation, but it was good sex, and I’m just glad she knows it this time.

  Which begs the question…

  I cross to her and squat so I can wipe at her mouth with the washcloth. “What changed?”

  I’m desperate to know the answer. Because I’m pretty sure a lot of what I just did to her would have been considered rapey if whatever it was that has obviously changed hadn’t changed.

  Though, as much as I want to know, I have to confess—it’s difficult to concentrate when her breasts are so near and so naked. A fantasy forms in my head of her tits covered in my jizz. It’s mind-blowing to think about. S
ure I’ve given a pearl necklace or two in my time, but I’ve never wanted to see a woman bathed in my cum like I want to see Genny.

  I’m so distracted by the image that I almost forget what I’d asked when she responds. “Are you going to make me talk about it?”

  I pull my eyes up from her naked breasts to answer. “I think you’d like it if I did. You like to be bossed.” Somehow I make it sound like a statement, but it’s most definitely a question. I’m still feeling out this thing that happened between us, trying to come to grips with what exactly we both liked about it.

  Seeming to understand my need, she answers, “Yes.”

  Which is awesome, because I liked bossing her. I liked it a lot.

  I boss her again now. “What else?”

  She looks away before answering. “I guess I liked it when you pinched me. And maybe when you pushed me to my knees. I really liked the way you held my head while you…” She blushes and her skin goes pink from her cheeks to the tips of her nipples.

  “You like it rough.”

  The tentative way she nods tells me she’s just working this out herself.

  Well, that makes two of us. Because I had no idea how thrilling it could be to dominate a woman. Like driving on a clear night down the highway in my Bugatti. It’s a rush like no other—handling something as it moves that fast. Feeling it respond.

  I brush my hand across her face, tracing the crimson in her cheeks. “I liked when you opened your legs for me, and I didn’t even have to tell you.”

  “I liked how you didn’t let me speak.”

  “Which time?”

  “All of them.”

  God, she’s perfect.

  I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Come here.”

  She lets me help her, and as soon as she’s on her feet, I capture her wrists and bring them above her head, pushing her back against the wall. After shifting my grip to one hand, I use my other hand to trace my thumb across her bottom lip. It’s plump and swollen from the way I made her take me. It’s such a fucking turn-on, I’m already getting hard again.

  “I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” I say, sticking my thumb between her lips.