by LP Lovell
9. This agreement will be ongoing until one or both parties declares it void.
There at the bottom is Landon’s signature, with a space for mine and my name typed beneath the line.
“You want a contract to fuck?” I ask incredulously.
He leans forward, his eyes meeting mine. “I want to fuck you Georgia, but you’ve worked hard to get where you are. I can respect that. So here it is, in black and white with clear lines, just the way you like it.”
“You drew up a contract.” I repeat. “Just so you could fuck me.”
A wicked smile makes its way onto his face. “I promised you I’d fuck that sweet arse of yours.” He says, his voice barely above a growl. “I keep my promises.”
“And what if I want to fuck your sweet arse?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.
He huffs a laugh. “You can try.”
I take a deep breath, because all joking, lusting and fucking aside, this is serious. If I sign this, I agree to something that I’m not sure I can control. I already feel like I’m in way over my head with him, and that’s without the involvement of sex.
He watches me carefully. “We both know how this goes. Either I fuck you, or you quit.”
“Are you blackmailing me now?” I grate.
“I’m simply stating a fact. It will happen again because I can’t help myself and neither can you.” He’s right. He’s like crack and seeing him every day is torturous to my inner addict. My tightly regimented world is in peril because of this man, but if there’s a contract, then the act of fucking him becomes regimented, with its own set of rules. I can control this, and that control makes me feel safe, even if it is a false sense of security. Or maybe this is exactly what I need, to create a new set of rules to suit this particular situation.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask.
His expression remains stoic as he pulls a pen from his inside pocket, holding it out to me. I take it from him and place the paper on the table in front of me. I know this is all ridiculous and that this contract is in no way actually binding, but I feel like I’m signing my life away, whoring myself out to my boss. Maybe I want to be his whore? Shit, I don’t even know what the fuck I want.
I place the pen to the paper and scrawl my signature on it, the black seeming to taint the crisp white space. He takes the paper from me before the ink is even dry and folds it up, placing it back in his pocket.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now…” He slides out of the booth and stands, brushing his hands down the front of his jacket. “We’re going to Masque.”
I swallow hard as my heart leaps into a mad sprint, hammering through my veins like a freight train. “Now?” I stammer, standing on suddenly shaky legs. Fuck, I hate that he makes me nervous. I hate that he turns me into one of those women I despise.
I step into Masque, unnecessarily conscious of Landon at my side. I’m convinced everyone is looking at us like we’re one of those weird couples who’s into swinging. Of course, no one gives a shit. There is no normal here; everything is its own brand of anything goes. I glance around, but before I can take a step, I’m pulled into one of the little alcoves only three feet from the front door. It’s covered by a floor to ceiling black satin curtain which falls into place behind us. The club is full of these little nooks and crannies, private, but still offering the thrill that comes with the possibility of being caught.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but one minute I’m standing, the next Landon’s hands are wrapped around my waist, lifting me and forcing me up against the wall roughly. Any lingering doubts are completely extinguished under his touch, not gone, but certainly forgotten. I can think of nothing but him. My legs wrap around his hips and my hands around his neck, clinging to him for support. I feel his hot breath on my throat before his lips press against the soft skin, skating a line up the side of my neck. My lungs feel too small, incapable of drawing sufficient air. His lips have been on my skin for mere seconds, and I’m wet and desperate already. It’s not just the fact that he’s touching me, it’s the lack of guilt. I feel like my signature on that contract has somehow freed me, and as long as I’m inside these walls, I can lust after Landon all I want. He wants me, and I want him, and here, in this club, that’s all that matters.
I grab a handful of his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look up at me. The black mask cloaks his eyes in shadow making them look even darker than they already are. I tilt my face down, brushing my lips across his teasingly. His heavy breaths blow over my lips. I can taste the lingering scotch on his breath. His lips part as I move my mouth to his, and I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, biting down on it. He groans, his fingers digging into my thighs.
“I need to fuck you.” He growls against my throat.
God, and I need him to fuck me. His fingers slip away, allowing me to stand. He presses his lips against mine hard before he pulls away. I feel flushed and unsteady. I wish I could tell you why Landon affects me so much. God knows, he’s usually the type of guy I hate and believe me, I do hate him, but you can’t fight the animal attraction. And this level of attraction is its own kind of rush, a little adrenaline kick to the soul. In a world where professionalism and image are everything, I’m desperately in need of that adrenaline. Landon is my own personal rebellion.
He pushes through the thin curtain, and I follow him, allowing him to lead me up the stairs.
Once inside the room, he closes the door behind me and starts removing his cuff links, placing them on a little side table with a heavy clink. His calm manner has my heart beating so loudly I’m sure he must be able to hear me.
I watch as he removes his shirt and then sits on the edge of the bed, methodically removing his shoes, socks and trousers. Everything about him is controlled, almost unshakeable.
We’ll see. I lower the zip on my dress and slide it down my arms before I step out of the material. I remove my bra as I walk over to where he sits. His eyes slowly lift, playing over every line and curve of my body clad in red lace French knickers and high heels. Nothing else.
I smirk as I swing a leg over his thighs, and lower myself onto his lap, straddling him. I slide a hand up his chest, feeling it rise and fall under my palm. Landon is all man, his body a work of art, sculpted and honed to perfection, and I want to possess him.
I drag my hand down, allowing my fingertips to trace every bump and dip of his abs before slipping below the waistband of his boxers. I lift my eyes to his, watching his eyes darken as I grip his cock. His teeth clench and his eyes shutter as I work my hand over him, gripping tightly. I move lower, cupping his balls, rolling them in my hand as I rub my index finger against his taint. His breathing picks up, and he throws his head back on a low groan. Watching a man come apart is always satisfying, but watching a man like Landon come apart is a whole other level.
I scratch my nails over the stubble of his face and lean in, pressing my lips to his. He kisses me back, running his hands up my thighs before he grabs me and launches me sideways. I land on my back on the mattress, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. I’m still clinging to his rock hard dick as he crawls over me, shoving me further onto the bed as he goes. He pulls away and my hand leaves his boxers, snapping the elastic against his skin with a little crack as he sits up on his haunches. His fingers hook into my underwear, dragging them down my legs and tossing them to the side before he flips me over onto my front and wrenches my hips up until I’m braced on my elbows with my arse in the air. He seems to like me on my front. My breaths become erratic as I glance over my shoulder at him. Adrenaline floods my system, that little spark of excitement igniting in my chest.
Fingers trail up my spine, and I shiver, my skin breaking out in goosebumps. His lips follow the path of his fingers, and I moan when his tongue swipes across the back of my neck. Landon is an artist in anticipation. He has me desperate, hanging on by a thread, feeling as though I may scream if he doesn’t touch me, and just when I settle into his gentle touches, he snaps, his touch be
coming bruising and forceful. It turns me on so much I can barely see straight.
He nips at my earlobe, and I twist my head to the side, allowing him access to my neck. He grips my jaw, twisting my head back until he has access to my lips. His tongue traces the seam of my lips as his cock presses against me, slowly pushing inside me inch by torturous inch. I choke out a moan against his mouth as he slides deep inside me. I can taste his ragged breaths on my tongue as he pauses, the fingers around my jaw tightening. He starts to move, his hips rolling and eliciting a string of groans from him. I can’t move with the grip he has on my face; my head wrenched back, and my back bowed, allowing him to fuck me so deep that it just rides the pleasure-pain barrier.
“Fuck!” He spits, releasing my jaw and grabbing the back of my neck, forcing my cheek into the mattress as he rears up behind me, gripping my hip and hammering into me.
I’m clutching handfuls of the sheets and moaning his name as sweat coats my body. His hand leaves my neck and tracks down my spine, over the crack of my arse. His touch is gentle, teasing, even as he fucks me like he wants to climb inside me.
I hear him spit and feel warm liquid trailing down my crack. My breath hitches. Fuck, it shouldn’t be hot but my god it is. He’s so fucking dirty.
“I promised you I’d take this sweet arse, kitten.” He says through laboured breaths. I feel a finger pressing against me there, and I tense.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Relax.” His thrusts slow, and I take a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the mattress. Have I had a finger in my arse before? Well yeah, who hasn’t? But when he’s putting a finger in my arse while threatening me with the monster he keeps in his pants. Yeah, it’s not reassuring. He works his finger in my arse while continuing his rhythmic fucking of my pussy. Slowly he picks up the pace and damn; the man can work magic. It feels so good. When I’m groaning and biting down on my own arm, he slides another finger in. Shit.
And then he goes to town fucking me with everything he has, his dick buried in my pussy while his fingers work in and out of my arse. Everything builds, teetering on a precipice that feels like it may either kill me, or make me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life, and I do. I fall, tumbling through wave after wave of orgasm until I’m screaming his name like a fucking prayer. He keeps fucking me until I beg him to stop, and he pulls out. I collapse face down on the mattress shaking and twitching, my muscles completely limp. His hands never leave my hips, keeping me in position even as I struggle to catch a full breath.
He rubs his dick along my arse crack, but I’m too fucked to even move or really acknowledge it. His fingers dig into my arse cheeks, spreading them wide before he spits on me again, using his dick to spread the moisture that’s covering my pussy all over my arse. He’s going to fuck me there, and it’s not something I’ve ever done, but for some reason, I want to let him. I can’t even justify it to myself, but I want his brand of filth and dominance.
I push up onto my elbows and lock them, bracing for it. “Just relax, kitten.”
And I am relaxed, which was well played on his part. He presses against me, and it feels a damn site bigger than his fingers. “Relax.” He repeats.
He pushes past the ring of muscle, and it burns like a bitch. I bite my lip as he pushes on, sliding further and further inside me. I bite my lip, taking everything he gives me without making a single sound. Okay, now I feel a bit sorry for Apollo. I’ve never been this gentle with him.
There’s pressure and pain, but as soon as he’s inside me, he stops. I can feel his hands trembling on my hips. “Jesus, fuck!” He shouts, falling forward and pressing his lips into my back. “Your arse is so fucking tight.” He pants.
The longer he stays there, the more I relax, and when he starts to move, I’m biting my lip for entirely different reasons. His movements are slow and accompanied by a string of groans.
I glance over my shoulder watching the way his body pops with restraint, the way the corded muscles of his neck stand out as he throws his head back. I want him to break the same way he breaks me. I want him to cross the point of no return where an orgasm becomes so much more, so I make him.
“Come inside me, Landon. I want you to come in my arse.” His head snaps forward, his eyes meeting mine, black, bottomless, feral. His hips move faster, driving into me. It takes seconds for him to shatter, coming hard and shouting my name like a curse, over and over. When he’s done, he pulls out of me, falling on his back and closing his eyes as his sweat-slick chest heaves.
I just let Landon take something I never thought I’d be willing to give. I’ve fucked him twice, and I feel owned and branded in every possible way. We may have a contract to fuck, but right now it feels like I just signed away the deed to my body.
I was anxious to see how mine and Landon’s little agreement would actually pan out when we got back in the office, but it’s been fine, or rather he’s been fine. It’s been two weeks, and he’s been nothing but professional, dare I say it almost indifferent, just as he promised. That burning lust I felt for him, however, has only intensified, and it makes me hate him. I hate that he compromises me. I hate that I let him fuck me. I hate that I like him controlling me. I hate that I want him, even while hating him. I hate it! As a result, I do my utmost to ignore him in the office.
We’re sitting in another meeting with a new client. We’re in Oblix, on the thirty-second floor of the Shard, looking over London bridge. We did the sociable bullshit required with a new client, you know, make them feel as if we’re friends, genuinely invested in their future. Of course, we are, but it sure as shit isn’t because we’re just such nice people. We’re invested because his money makes us money and more importantly my bonus. I’m half listening to the guy talk about his current investments, and I should be listening, focusing, doing my job to the best of my ability, but I’m not. My eyes track the movement of Landon’s arm as he brings it up to rest his elbow on the table. His bicep strains against the material of his shirt as he drags his index finger over his bottom lip.
“Ms Roberts.” I snap out of my daze and look up at Mr Morris, his expression expectant. Shit. I can feel Landon’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, and I try to stop the blush from creeping into my cheeks, of course that just makes it worse. Thank god for Double Wear foundation.
Landon clears his throat. “Georgia works very closely with all our major companies. She can recommend the most dependable ones to you. I’m sure she can draw up a proposal…”
“Yes, of course. I’ll draw up a detailed proposal with profit and loss figures for the last five years, as well as future forecasting and risk evaluation.” I throw in a smile, hoping that he doesn’t notice that I wasn’t listening to a word he said.
He smiles back, clearly satisfied. Thank god. “Well, then I look forward to seeing what you come up with.” He says.
We stand up, shake hands, exchange pleasantries, all that bullshit, and then I’m heading for the door, refusing to look back at Landon. This is how it is with us, how it has to be when we’re at work. Now if only I could tame my hormones and force my mind to separate work and play with a big black line, that would be great. It’s not helped by the fact that he looks like a walking sex icon at all times. Seriously, can’t he just have a bad day occasionally?
I push through the doors and into the hallway where the bank of elevators are. I hear the door creak open behind me as I slam my hand on the button for the lift. I feel him behind me without even looking, and when the lift arrives, I step inside, pulling my phone out and focusing on my screen. I don’t even see what’s in front of me because all my attention is centred on him. That familiar pressure on my chest builds the longer I stand in the small space with him, and I lean against the side of the small metal box.
“You stalled.” He says quietly.
“Thanks for your help.” I reply coldly, attempting to brush off my obvious distraction. As soon as the doors open, I’m walking again, trying to put some distance between us, of c
ourse, he’s well over six foot, his long legs easily keeping up with me. He grabs my upper arm, yanking me sideways so violently that I stumble into him, wobbling on my heels and falling against his chest. “What the hell?” I snap, shoving my hands against his hard chest and pushing away from him.
We’re still on the street but pulled into an alcove set into the brickwork of the building. I glance nervously around at the people passing by, worried that someone might recognise us.
“What happened to professional?” He says.
I frown. “What?”
“It states in the contract that we are to be professional with one another.” He cocks a dark eyebrow at me.
“I am being professional. You’re the one who just manhandled me.”
“You really think this ice queen act of yours is professional?” He drags a hand over his face.
I clench my jaw, biting back the ‘fuck you’ that’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s the comment every career woman hates: ice queen, bitch, man hater. This is the shit I avoid like the plague, painting fake smiles on my face rather than giving them the middle finger. I’m already aggravated by him, but now I’m just mad.
“I am simply doing my job. Don’t like it, then fire me.” I spit.
He steps closer, and I move back, until the rough brick wall hits my back, scratching at the material of my dress. He steps even closer until he’s pressed against me and my nose is barely an inch from the skin of his throat. I slam my eyes closed as his scent surrounds me, making me want to sigh in relief. I shiver when his breath blows over my scalp.
“I have no intention of firing you, Georgia.” He says, his deep voice reverberating through my body, caressing my name. My mind blinks like a film reel, images of Landon fucking me, licking me, kissing me, flashing one after the other. I gasp, and my hand flies to his chest again, slipping beneath the lapel of his jacket and pressing against the warm cotton of his shirt. He shifts, and I feel his fingers gently grip my chin, tilting my face up to his.
