by Christa Wick
Vogue, Glamour, Cosmo -- ads, interviews, TV spots. Every woman in New York knew that ring and he was about to put it on my finger.
But only to save his company from Anna Burke.
My eyelids fluttered, the tears now streaming freely down my face having nothing to do with my mother. Blake said something, his words drowned out by the thunder of blood rolling through my head.
He lifted my hand, his eyes slowly shutting as he pressed his lips against my fingers. “Pippa, love, I asked if you would marry me.”
He looked up, his pleading gaze so convincing I would have believed he loved me if I hadn't known better. Around us everyone stopped and stared.
My throat too tight to speak, I offered a slow nod of acceptance. Blake put the box on the table, took the ring and slid it onto my finger before kissing my hand once again. He surged up, his fingers threading through my hair as he kissed me.
The waiter came up, clearing his throat after a few seconds of being ignored. “Champagne, Mr. Cross?”
Another long second passed before Blake broke the kiss. Staring at me, he shook his head and smiled. “Just the check...we're leaving now.”
Minutes passed like hours until we were back in the limo. The whole time, Blake kept his gaze locked on mine, didn't turn his head to look at another person, barely acknowledge their existence as he signed for the dinner.
I reflected his devotion, my skin starting to crawl as the whispers built to a buzzing drone. A voice cut through, echoing the room’s confusion. By the woman’s pitch I would have guessed her my age or a little older.
“But who is she?”
“What is she?” Another voice, droller and older, asked a little more loudly.
I didn’t search for the speaker, pretended I was deaf to anything but the beating of Blake’s heart as he led me outside and tucked me into the limo’s back seat. The instant the glass partition was up, I slugged him in the shoulder.
“You knew...” It was an accusation, whispered but edged with hurt and anger. “You knew how I'd react when you asked about my parents--”
He captured my hands before I could him again. “No, PJ. I had no idea the question would upset you. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.”
My gaze narrowed. “What do you mean, should have?”
“Love, even with the people you care about, you hold everyone at arm’s length. That’s something you learn to do as a kid.”
I was too angry to listen to reason. I tried to jerk my hands free. “If you didn’t know, why'd you wait until that moment to propose!”
Blake let go, wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, his voice a hot whisper in my ear. “Because I saw the hurt the question caused and thought I could make it go away. I'm sorry, Pippa. I didn't think it would make it worse.”
I struggled but he wouldn't release me. I started to flail but he cinched me tighter. His mouth sought mine, but I buried my face against the seat cushion.
“Stop it.” The warning rumbled low in his chest.
“Right, someone might be watching.”
“No, love--”
I brought my hands to my ears. I wasn't going to let him sweet talk me into compliance. The timing of his proposal had taken me by surprise, coming at me as images of my mother’s disapproving face lingered in my mind. And those bitches at the restaurant!
“Pippa, be reasonable.”
I couldn’t lay my hurt feelings entirely at his feet, but he was the only one in the limo with me besides poor Carson. I pressed my hands tighter against my ears. He spun me in my seat, my back tucked up against his broad chest as he pulled the hem of the tube dress up. His hand slid along my thigh, lifting the dress with it, until he came to a stop at the edge of my lace panties.
I froze, not even breathing.
“Are you done with the hysterics?”
“I wasn't hysterical.” I had the urge to jab him with my elbow, but he had me pinned against him, his forearm digging into the soft curve of my stomach.
“Are you done?” He repeated.
When I didn't answer, he brushed a finger against the edge of the flimsy mesh panties he’d dressed me in, lifting the fabric half a centimeter.
“Yes!” I blurted. “I'm done.”
“Good.” He lowered the fabric back down, his fingertips brushing across my covered mound. “Now we can resume that other conversation.”
“What other--” The question died on my lips as he cupped my pussy and squeezed.
His chin brushed the hair along my throat to the side, his lips fastening on the flesh just below my ear. Beneath my panties, my clit jerked up, my labia and stomach clenching as he squeezed my pussy a second time.
Damn him! He shouldn’t be doing this right now.
Damn me, too, for wanting him to continue.
“Are you just as tight as you are wet, baby?” Blake licked behind my earlobe, his voice a hard moan of need. His hand dipped lower, one finger pulling the gusset of my panties to the side while another finger stroked the outer edge of my labia.
“Blake, we didn't--”
He didn't wait for me to finish. His finger parted my lower lips, ran a hard line along my clit that had my hips thrusting. “Shhh, Pippa. Let me show you I'm sorry, how it's more than just money you're getting out of the deal.”
I tried to shake my head, tell him to stop, that I wasn't going to give him more than a perfunctory fuck to make the marriage legal.
My resolve melted beneath the feather light touch of his finger as it traced the hood of my clit. Finding the pearl tucked inside, he made short lifting strokes against it, his warm voice subduing me.
“Just relax, love.”
“Don't,” I whimpered, the rest of my body warring with my heart. “Not that name, please.”
“But you are my love, Pippa. And I’ll call you that as long as it takes.”
I knew he was talking about the law suit, the timeline of our marriage -- however many months or weeks needed to grind Burke down. But for the moment, I wanted to pretend it was otherwise, to stop worrying about how quickly things were progressing and go, just once, with the moment.
“Blake…” I started to squirm, my indecision chewing at me.
“Don’t Blake me, baby.” He peeled one thick fold of flesh to the side and smoothed the pad of his thumb slowly down my clit. “I love you, remember? I just proposed to you. You said yes -- you know what that means.”
“That I’m yours.” My hips started to pump small circles as his thumb took another stroke along my length.
“That’s right, PJ.”
Another stroke had my hips thrusting high, a harsh moan leaving me in a shudder.
“Mine to touch, to test…”
Test me, he did. His fingers slid down my wet slit, their tips taking a shallow dip inside to find more moisture. His fingers curling, he pushed three of them into my clenching depths before they re-emerged to rub against the hyper-sensitive spine of my sex. They danced against my clit, stroking, pulling, gliding wet with my juices.
His lips caressed my neck, coaxed small gurgles of pleasure from my throat as my hips began to move in time with his hand. I felt myself cresting, my stomach muscles and thighs tightening as my mound lifted higher.
“So beautiful, Pippa.”
I whimpered, begged him for the first time that night not to stop what he was doing.
He slowed, teasing for a second before he buried three fingers in me again, the heel of his hand manipulating my clit. His free hand took hold of the hair at the nape of my neck, drawing my head back until I was looking up at him. “Baby, nothing in the world could make me stop.”
His gaze jumped from my face to my pussy, his head dipping occasionally to roughly kiss me, his tongue an invading force not to be denied.
I froze, my ass hovering half a foot above the seat cushion, my legs and torso vibrating with the strength of my release.
“Blake!”
“Pippa, love.” He squeezed my mound, his mouth claim
ing mine again. More rhythmic squeezes followed, extending my pleasure, leaving me gasping for air between his kisses. “Beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful and all mine.”
**********
I was so lost in Blake's touch that I failed to notice it was not my home we were driving to but his Manhattan penthouse. Tucked against his shoulder, I realized the limo was pulling into an underground garage.
I lifted my head to look at him, certain my gaze was wide-eyed and terrified. “Why are we here?”
“Really, Pippa.” Pulling the hem of my dress back down and smoothing the fabric, Blake hesitated. “Am I supposed to be the kind of man who would propose to his fiancée and then not immediately spend the night with her?”
Damn it -- he was throwing his brand back at me again. Worse than that, he was right. “What do you mean, spend the night?”
He laughed, brushed his cheek against mine and whispered, “Relax. It's just for show, baby.”
The vibration running through his throat didn't sound like this was for show. He sounded famished. When he looked at me again, his gaze sized me up like I was a slab of prime rib.
I didn’t know what to believe!
Still, I couldn't argue with his logic, nor could I escape the fact that leaving his place now that he'd brought me here would be disastrous if anyone noticed. I let him lead me from the limousine to the private elevator. The doors opened onto a small foyer with two chairs, a side table and a heavy oak door with a deadbolt.
Blake fished a key from his pocket, reached inside and punched a code into the security system. I took a step forward, but he halted me with a light touch on my shoulder.
“Let's do this right.” He bent down, one arm braced against my lower back while the other gently knocked my legs out from under me, impressing me once again with his strength. He lifted me, then stepped inside and thumbed the lock on the deadbolt.
“What-what are you doing?” I tried to swing my legs down, but he only lifted me higher, throwing me off balance so that I had to wrap my arms around his neck to keep from landing us both on the floor.
“Taking you to my -- our -- bed.”
Mortified, I buried my face against his chest.
Blake chuckled. “Aren't you tired, baby?”
Tired? Yeah, right!
Sleep was the last thing Cross had on his mind. He placed me center of the mattress and stripped the strappy silver sandals from my feet. Gray eyes flashing like polished gun metal, he climbed up the bed, pushing the bottom of the tube dress up.
Exposing my soaked panties, he brushed his lip over the fabric. “God, I wanted to taste you so bad in the limo, PJ.”
My stomach clenched -- this time with nerves. The limo had been dark, just the faint glow of the back seat electronics and two small floor lights illuminating me. Here, the room’s light on, every last roll and dimple of flesh was exposed.
I tried to push the hem down.
He captured my hands and held them against the mattress as he nosed the fabric back up. “Baby, you are not hiding this from me.” He took a gentle bite of my thigh. “I want to see every last, luscious inch you have to offer before I taste you.”
Releasing my wrists, he untied the wrap and then he pressed down on the mattress to create a small pocket of space. He slid his hands under me, his agile fingers working to unzip the dress. He stripped it and the wrap off, tugging both up over my pliant arms to leave me trembling in just my panties.
I watched his face, knowing my gaze was anxious as hell but unable to pretend otherwise. He licked his lips, first the bottom and then the top, everything in slow motion as his gaze darted, then lingered, then darted again to take all of me in.
His attention settled at last on my breasts. His mouth descended, releasing a soft moan before he latched on to one straining nipple. The massage of his hands along my hips turned to tugs as he stripped the panties from me.
“Blake--” I choked down an excited groan as the suction on my nipple intensified. “Blake, you said we'd talk about this with your attorney...”
Releasing my breast with a wet pop, he looked up as he slid down my body. A famished grin broke across his face. Lifting a brow, he looked down at the wet parting of my thighs. His tongue snaked out to wet his top, then bottom, lip again as he slowly shook his head side to side.
“No, baby.” His head dipped lower, his nose brushing the line of my cunt before his hot gaze pinned me to the mattress. “I said we'd talk about 'that' -- T-H-A-T.”
He took his first slow lick, groaning as his eyes fluttered shut. “I never said we'd talk about this.”
Pleasure whipped through me as his lips settled against my clit. He sucked the swollen dangle of flesh into his mouth where his tongue traced tight circles. I convulsed, my flesh already hypersensitive from the orgasm he'd delivered in the back seat of his limousine.
“Blake...” I brought my hands down to the black tangle of curls crowning his head, intent on pushing him away. Another exquisitely long lick of his tongue from the top of my clit down to my quivering hole changed my mind and left me knotting my fingers in his thick hair.
His hands followed his tongue, the tips of his fingers dragging inside me against the back of my clit in a little “come here” gesture that had me swooning and moaning his name. He repeated the motion, his tongue teasing the glans hiding under the hood of my clit at the same time.
He was going to make me come again, just as hard as the first time. It was an alien sensation -- not the climax, but at the hands of a man. I’d had few lovers and, apparently, Blake was right. They’d been amateurs. Selfish amateurs, their critical gazes comparing me to the women who had dumped them and finding me not worth their time to please. Dive in, pump a few times and get the hell out.
Not Blake. He took his time. All part of his brand -- customer satisfaction and a famous, meticulous attention to detail. He nibbled, sucked, stroked, his gaze raking my flesh before locking on my face.
Holy fuck -- I was not going to NOT enjoy this, not when he was looking at me like that, his expression fierce as he devoured my cunt, licking, slurping, driving me right up and over the edge.
I tightened around his fingers, trying to halt the onrush of my climax. Blake pushed deeper, three fingers wide as his shoulders wedged my thighs open. My ass lifted from the mattress, my pussy cresting against his mouth as he delivered another deep stroke. My stomach rippled, the muscles of my pussy causing it to roll up and down as the rest of my body locked in place.
His hand took up a steady rhythm, his tongue and lips matching the pace as the first wave of my climax slammed through me. I cried out, my palms thrust open and pressing down on his skull.
“Yes, Blake...oh...right there...”
Right. Fucking. There.
Another wave slammed through me, faster and harder than the first. The undertow tugged at my hips, pulling me down for a second before the next wave buoyed me back up. His name ripped from my throat one last time before I collapsed in a shuddering, sticky mess of ecstasy.
Blake surged up the mattress. He rolled me onto my side, his chest pressed against my back. He was still clothed, only his shoes abandoned. I gripped the side of his pant leg, my nails threatening to shred the fabric as my ass bounced against his cock.
“Shhh, baby.” He reached around, cupping and squeezing my mound in an effort to control me. His teeth scraped along my neck before gently biting down. “You can't keep moving like that, Pippa.”
He squeezed again, his fingers dipping into the wet pulse of my hole to trace the ring of muscle as I groaned into the pillow. “You keep moving against me and I'm going to take you -- right now.”
I wanted him to take me, could feel through the cloth how thick and hard he was. I wiggled my ass, pressed it tighter against him.
“No baby.” His breath vibrated hot along my throat as a shudder rolled through him.
“Blake...please.” A whimper, a wiggle. I tried to reach between our bodies to find and palm his cock, to s
troke the hard shaft until his will crumbled and he was buried balls deep inside me.
He captured my wrists, brought my hands up to cross over my breasts as he threw a leg over my lower body.
“I promised you, love, you're in good hands. Don't make me break my word.”
I tried to do just that but, in the end, he wrestled me into submission. Fatigue claimed me soon afterwards and I slept through to morning, waking to find a single rose on the pillow beside me and a fresh change of clothes.
**********
The clothes were a perfect fit and further evidence that he’d shopped in advance of coming to my office the day before. The pale gray skirt was loose flowing. He had paired it with an equally pale pink blouse with full sleeves and a plunging neckline. Pink lace bra and panties for underneath and gray suede flat-heeled pumps, finished the outfit.
The master bathroom was stocked with unopened toiletries and cosmetics. For the makeup, there was one each of the major brands. The thoughtfulness seemed excessive, but then I wondered if he kept it supplied for the line of women he likely had over the course of the average week.
“Ick.” I stepped into the shower, turning the water on cold and letting it stream over me until the queasiness passed. Switching to hot, I quickly finished. I wasn’t sure what time it was and my flesh was still sensitive from where he had so thoroughly touched me.
Dried and dressed, I went in search of my purse and Cross -- or at least a note from him. He was as notorious for being in the office before eight as he was for anything else.
“Good morning, Miss Jones.”
I froze, like a drunk waking up in the wrong house or a thief discovering the homeowner wasn't on vacation. Slowly, I turned to find a woman in her mid-fifties smiling at me. She had a tray and what looked like a cup of coffee from all the steam rising up from it.
“Mr. Cross said you take it black. Would you like some breakfast?”
I looked at the clock a few feet to her right. It was almost ten. I'd slept very late, the first full night of sleep I'd had since I'd discovered Gorman's theft. I was surprised by how well I had slept. While Blake’s money meant I would be able to keep the business afloat while I sorted out the mess, the deal came with its own set of problems that should have kept me awake through the night.
