Illicit Desire

by Taylor Michaels

  Chapter 10

  Cora

  FEAR AND A FIGHT-OR-FLIGHT instinct has my heart racing. Raphael straightens from his slouch on the edge of my desk, and I take a step back, putting a bit of distance between us. I’ve avoided him for three days—since I got drunk in my shithole apartment and worked up the courage to look into who the hell he was.

  Now, he’s staring at me with those intent eyes, and I see a predator. One asking about the only thing in my life I would gladly erase—the one thing I’m running from with all my might.

  Dangerous. Dangerous. So fucking dangerous. I sit behind my desk and slip into the torturous heels that I bought two days ago. My feet ache in silent protest, but I look the fucking part.

  I wonder if I could disappear at this point. Raphael stares at me, hot hunger in his eyes, and I hate that I feel a tug of desire. I always feel it, when he’s around.

  “Let’s go,” I say, my voice husky. Something dark flares in his eyes, but he tamps down the emotion and nods, stepping aside as I lead the way out of my office, armed with my thin tablet and a thick file folder.

  The Delancy brothers—James and Jason—are sitting in the waiting room on the next floor, and come to their feet when they see Raphael. I follow him, silently, as he greets the brothers. They watch me with wary curiosity and—from James—a shade of interest.

  I duck my head to hide my smile, and say quietly, “The conference room?”

  Raphael nods, and I turn, leading the way to the second conference room. It’s a bit larger, with an extensive view of the Gulf. I hear the quiet inhale from one of the brothers as we enter, and smile—they’re already impressed and just a little off balance.

  “Do you want anything?” I ask, watching as they sit. A smile tugs Raphael’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything.

  The brothers exchange a quick look, and then James grins. “A coffee would be great, darling.”

  I flash a quick smile, and lean across the table, pressing a call button. Raphael shifts, and I smother a smile.

  I see the flash of interest, and the too-long look strays a little farther than is appropriate, and I file that away. Jason is sitting back, as content to observe as Raphael.

  “So,” I say brightly, leaning back, “I sent you each an attachment, but if you didn’t get them, I have printed everything. Including the agreement—our legal department has already been over it, but if you’d like yours to examine it, of course you are welcome to.”

  Both brothers are staring at me in shock, and I give them a thin smile. Raphael waves a hand at me, lazily. “Boys, meet Cora Milan—she’s our new chief executive of Investment and Growth. You’ll be working with her on this.”

  My smile is sharp and predatory when they swing their gazes back to me, shock and amusement on those two handsome and similar faces. “I’m so pleased to be working with you, gentlemen,” I say coolly. “Now. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

  When we finally wrap the meeting, my jaw hurts from smiling, and my head is spinning with details. The brothers leave, promising to be in touch about a walkthrough of the facility. I lean back in my chair with a groan and Raphael twists in his chair to stare at me.

  “That went well,” he murmurs.

  “It did—they agreed to our terms pretty easily.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he says, idly. He reaches down, picking up one foot and prying my heel off. I groan, a surprisingly loud noise, when he drops it and digs his fingers into my sore arches.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, my eyes slipping shut.

  “Why are you wearing those torture devices, if they hurt you?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

  “They’re hot,” I say, slightly defensive.

  His laugh rubs against my skin like silk, and I shiver. His fingers dig a little harder, then he releases me and pulls my second foot into his lap.

  “Rosa always complained about her feet—but she always wore ridiculous shoes, and then would beg for a foot rub.”

  A irrational flash of jealousy hits me—that another woman has felt his soothing hands, that he can speak of her with such fondness. I tug my foot and his grip goes tight and unbreakable. “Don’t,” he warns, soft and low. “You aren’t running from me.”

  “Raphael,” I start and he growls low, and presses my foot against him.

  He’s hard and long, a thick length against my bare foot and I forget why I’m arguing, why he’s dangerous—all I know is that he wants me, and I want him.

  I have since he picked me up off the stairs in front of this building. I’ve just been too fucking stubborn to admit it.

  “We have to talk,” I say quietly, desperately.

  “We will. Later. But first we’re going upstairs, and I’m going to fuck you. Because whatever you have to say—it doesn’t mean anything. I want you. You want me. Simple.” He’s staring at me, his eyes bright and hungry. Waiting. “Do you want me to fuck you, Cora?” he asks, and his voice is a caress that slides against me, rubbing in places that have me squirming in my seat.

  He’s staring at me, demanding, and I lick my lips. “Yes.”

  Raphael makes a low noise, and stands, jerking me to my feet. I yank on the grip he has on me, and he growls. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You aren’t dragging me through the fucking office like a cave man,” I hiss.

  “I don’t care what the fuck the office thinks.”

  He doesn’t. Because he doesn’t need to care. I do. Even if I’m about to disappear, I can’t afford to let them all think I’m the newest office slut.

  Some day, not that long from now, Graham will be here, with questions. I don’t want him to find those answers.

  I don’t want him to find anything. I want him out of my life for good—but that isn’t going to happen. I swallow hard and say, “Go up without me. I’ll follow you.”

  He stares at me, and I see a flicker of doubt, of raw vulnerability, and then he nods, leaning down and kissing me, hard and thorough. I’m panting softly when he pulls away.

  “Hurry, bonita.” He murmurs against my lips. Then he’s striding away, all business and cool control. I’m not business. Or control. I’m a trembly mess of want, and I have to talk about Graham. Something I’ve managed to avoid for two years.

  I shove that thought aside, and straighten. In my office, I drop everything on my desk. My phone chimes, alerting me to a new email, and I click on it. The Delancy brothers aren’t wasting time in reaching out to me.

  I close it without answering, tucking it into my purse, and step out of my office. Lacy is sitting at her desk and she glances up as I pause. “Have you set up a meeting with Theo Lewis?”

  “He’ll be in on Monday at ten.”

  I nod. “Great. I’ll be out of office for a while.”

  Her eyes go wide,then she clamps her lips shut and nods sharply. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I know what she’s thinking. I’m not being terribly subtle, and there is no getting around walking into Raphael’s office with her gaze on me like a hot brand.

  She can get used to the idea or I’ll replace her. I have no need for a judgmental, nosey bitch in my space all day. I step into Raphael’s office, looking around the dark room quickly.

  I stifle a scream as a tall man rises from the couch. The blinds are drawn and the room is painted in shadows, and he’s in dark jeans and a plain t-shirt. He blends with startling skill.

  “He’s waiting for you,” he says softly. I nod, and skirt toward the door. “Cora. I don’t know what you did to put Graham in jail, but if you threaten Raphael, he won’t deal with you. I will. And no one will ever find the body.”

  My stomach flips suddenly and I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering as fear dances goosebumps on my arms. He shifts, and I make a small, squeaking noise and bolt for the door. I’m shaking, and I can feel him watching me. Cool and assessing and completely detached.

  Everything I found about Raphael comes back, ricocheting around my head as I stumble up
the stairs.

  Bachelor. Elusive. Criminal. Cartel ties. Bloody hands. Killer.

  I gasp as I reach the door and jerk on it ineffectively. Because whatever the papers say and hint at, Raphael doesn’t terrify me. I let out a frustrated shriek when the door fails to open and then it does, and my shriek turns startled as I fall into the penthouse and Raphael’s arms.

  He’s kissing me before I can process it, and I’m still stuck on the threat in his office and how terrified I am—I can’t do this again.

  “Cora?” he says sharply, jerking away. Hs fingers come up, brushing against my cheeks. They come away wet—I didn’t even realize I was crying. “Jesus, you’re shaking. What happened?”

  I sob, my fear finally taking over. My knees go out, and I start to slide. Raphael makes a sharp noise and catches me, holding me up before I can hit the ground. He sweeps me into his arms and moves us to the couch.

  A gun is sitting on his table.

  “Cora, tell me what the hell happened,” he says, sharply.

  “Who was in your office?” I ask, dodging a little.

  He shifts, and frowns at me. “Lou?”

  I shudder, and drop my head. “I need a drink.”

  “It isn’t even two,” Raphael says dryly.

  “Well, maybe you’re used to them, but death threats rattle me,” I snap, pulling away from him and tucking my hands under my thighs.

  Raphael goes very still beside me, and then, “Start at the beginning, bonita.”

  I tell him quickly about the other man’s quiet statement, and Raphael listens, sitting quiet and unmoving. If any of the retelling shocks him, he doesn’t say. When I’m finished, I shiver and he stands, grabbing a throw from the chair and wrapping it around me.

  “What do you want to do?”

  I stare at him, and he wraps a strand of my hair around two fingers, back and forth in a figure eight until his fingers are pressed against my scalp. Then he releases my hair, and my gaze, and leans back.

  “I came here to be with you,” I say, quietly. “You aren’t threatening me.”

  “For now,” he says. He meets my gaze quickly, then looks away. “I can’t promise you anything. Not even honesty—there is a lot about me that you are safer not knowing.”

  I cock my head. All the articles dance through my mind, a parade of beautiful women and the elusive playboy bachelor.

  The articles, not on the social pages, about him that tie him to the grandfather who had been indicted for drug trafficking. The mysterious deaths of witnesses. It painted a deadly and alluring picture. I’ve never wanted a bad boy—but I want him.

  I lean forward, and kiss him. He’s passive, something I’ve never experienced with Raphael, and it is strange—not a good strange. I let my tongue flick over his lips, suck lightly on his lower lip until he relents and parts on a soft sigh. His hands are on me, in my hair, holding me still as he kisses me with slow precision, lazy strokes and lighting fast flicks of his tongue. Then he pulls away.

  “If you want to walk, now is the time, bonita. After this—when I have you naked in my bed, I won’t let you go.”

  I shift, straddling him. He hisses as I pull my skirt up and my legs settle on either side of him, and his cock hits my panties, ridiculously damp. I rock against him, and he groans, dragging my head down by my hair to fit my mouth to his.

  When he breaks away, I whimper, and he slaps me lightly on the ass. “You aren’t fucking me on the couch, bonita. I told you before—I want you naked in my bed.”

  I give a final wiggle against him and stand. He’s just behind me, his hands skating over my body as we shuffle-step to his room. Once there, he kisses the back of my neck, and steps away.

  “Will you let me do something?” he asks, his voice husky.

  I nod, because of course. I’ll let him do anything. Hell, at this point, I’m ready to beg for it.

  He smiles and leans back against the wall. “Take it off.”

  I’ve never stripped. Not like this, every move and revelation watched with a fierce intensity. When I’ve shimmed out of my skirt and pulled the loose silk tank top off, I stand there in his dim bedroom, my fingers hooked in the waist of my panties.

  I’m glad I had the brilliant forethought to wear my sexy lingerie. It’s not a perfect match—the bra is silk and lace and black. My panties are black lace boy shorts, with tiny white embellishments.

  “Leave them,” he murmurs, “and lie down on your stomach.”

  I glance at him, nerves flipping my belly in a not-pleasant way. But I’m not seeing danger, just hunger. I crawl on the bed, and hear a sharp hiss from Raphael. Then I stretch out, his sheets cool against my skin, and I can’t for the life of me figure out how the hell I got here. This wasn’t in the plan. It still isn’t. But I wouldn’t walk away now, not for anything.

  There’s soft noises behind me, and the rustle of clothes, before the bed dips slightly.

  “I want to see you,” I say hoarsely.

  He makes a soft hum of approval. “Later,” he says. And then he kisses me.

  It’s all tongue and soft lips, but I know the path he’s following, what he’s tracing with his mouth. I shudder under his touch, and he laughs, a dark noise. “What could make a girl like you lie still for a tattoo like this, bonita?” he muses, and I bite my lip on a moan as his lips continue their torturous path, tracing the fine lines of the angel wings arching over my skin. He doesn’t touch me as he slides lower, taking perfect care, leaving no inked skin uncaressed.

  I want to scream, my body tight and achy. Wet heat pools in my pussy, and I want something—anything—but the maddening pleasure brushing like moth wings against my back.

  “Raphael, please,” I cry, and he makes a soft shushing noise. I swallow my scream of frustration, and he shifts, hovering over me.

  “I’ve wanted that since I saw you on my steps, Cora.” He thrusts against me, his cock slipping along the crease of my ass, and I push back against him. He groans. “I need you naked now,” he pants.

  I nod frantically and he flips me, pulling my panties down almost in the same motion as I unclip my bra.

  Raphael freezes when I’m naked. His eyes are dark—almost black, and desperate.

  “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, and my brow furrows in question

  Before I can speak, demand why, he’s on me, his lips covering my clit and sucking. I scream, and it laps over his groan. I’m scrambling, shifting on the bed—closer, away, I don’t care. Anything. Then he slips his tongue over me, and I do care—closer. “More,” I choke out, and he makes a soft noise like a laugh. His tongue fucks into me as his thumb rubs perfect circles on my clit and I’m so close to the edge, I can taste it. Raphael retreats, fingers replacing his mouth as he returns to my clit. The thrust and retreat isn’t enough—but that, combined with the sight of his handsome head between my thighs, and the pressure—

  I shatter, my orgasm crashing through me. Whatever noise I make, it comes out choked and broken.

  Raphael moves, grabbing a condom and ripping it open.

  “I need you,” he says simply. Staring at me.

  My nod is all the permission he needs, and he settles himself between my legs, his cock nudging at my still sensitive clit, stroking over it a few times before he shifts.

  I’m watching him, as he slides into me. As good as it feels, I want to see this—his face. Surprise and hunger and pleasure, so intense it’s breath stealing. All of it fills his eyes, and then his head drops into the crook of my shoulder, and I can’t think. There is only the feel of him on top of me, and the thick length of him inside me.

  Raphael shudders when I roll my hips, and I feel his cock twitch inside me. “Don’t,” he says thickly. “Don’t move.”

  I go still, just absorbing the feel of him on top of me. His lips press into my neck, and he murmurs something in Spanish.

  Then he props himself up above me, and fucks me.

  It’s quiet, and intense—he stares at me as he fucks me wit
h perfect, even strokes. “You feel amazing, bonita,” he groans, “so tight and hot.”

  The feel of him, so controlled, isn’t enough, and I roll my hips as he thrusts home. Heat flares in his eyes and I see the moment he snaps. He shifts, lifting my legs over his shoulders, and slams into me, so hard and deep I scream. He fucks like a god, his eyes hot and burning into me as takes in every sound and move I make.

  When I slide a hand between us and rub my clit he hisses a curse. “That’s it, bonita. Take what you need.” I shudder at the dark purr in his voice, the thick heat of his cock stretching me, and my head falls to one side.

  “No,” he shouts, hoarsely, grabbing my hair and bringing my gaze back to his. “I want to see, Cora.”

  I shatter, the combination of everything and my name rolling off his lips sending me over the edge. I scream again, and any shred of control he has shatters. “Fuck,” he growls, thrusting hard and fast into me. He goes still, hovering over me, awe and surprise flicking across his face before pleasure crashes in like a wave.

  “Cora,” he murmurs, and hides his face in my neck as his climax takes him.

  I hold him as my heartbeat settles and his breathing slows.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asks, lips tickling my neck.

  “No.” I run my fingers through his hair, my nails scratching along his scalp, and he groans. Inside me, his cock twitches and I laugh. “Really?”

  “With you? Yes. Every fucking thing you do is a turn-on,” he mutters. He kisses me briefly, his tongue licking over my pulse point, before he pushes himself up and pulls out of me. He tosses the condom and gives me a quick glance. “Do you want to shower?”

  It’s a way to avoid what we need to talk about. But as the pleasure fades and my skin cools, I know that we can’t do that.

  He reads the answer in my eyes and his face closes. He leaves silently, and I release my pent-up breath. Raphael is mercurial—hot and cold with very little middle ground. I grab my underwear and shift to the edge of the bed, my feet hitting the floor as he comes back. His eyes go smokey and dark when he sees me, his erect cock jerking.