Payne: A Bad Boy Romance: (With bonus book Mine)

by Kim Linwood

  Even though I know what he’s about to do, I gasp sharply as his tongue parts my folds, sliding wetly up until he flicks the tip right over my clit. I shiver, chills racing through me, all the way out to my fingertips and toes. Swirling his tongue, kissing and nibbling, he drives me crazy while his strong hands hold me open.

  The sensations are too much. Everything I’d wanted threatens to push me over the edge way too quickly. My muscles seize and my soft gasps turn to loud moans as he drives me right up to the brink. I’m just about to plunge over the edge when he pulls back with a wet grin.

  “Please. No more teasing.” I can’t take it. He can’t stop now. “I need to come!”

  “You’re right. No more teasing.” He stands while unbuckling his pants, letting them drop around his ankles. His thighs are as powerful as the rest of him, but what gets my attention is the bulge in his boxer briefs. The soft fabric is distended around the large and obviously very erect cock inside. I think he’s looking at me, but I have to admit I’m struggling to raise my gaze. Almost casually, he tugs his underwear down, letting himself bounce free.

  Wow.

  Picking up his pants, he pulls a plastic packet out of a pocket and tears it open, obviously prepared. It smarts a little that I’m just another notch on his bedpost, but he’s giving me exactly what I need. I went into this with my eyes wide open and he’s been nothing but honest.

  Cocky, but honest.

  He climbs onto the bed, settling between my legs and guiding himself with his hand. “I’m going to fuck you until I feel you come all over my cock, then do it all over again.” His voice drips with confidence, and I have no reason to doubt him. Staring at him wide-eyed, I hold my breath and nod.

  He sinks into me slowly, giving me all of him in one long, smooth thrust. So big, he stretches me open and takes my breath away. Lying over me, he supports his weight on his hands while his powerful hips drive his length deep into my core.

  I’ve never come so quickly from sex alone, but all the tension that built up while he licked is threateningly close to releasing. I arch against him while I reach up and slide my fingers into his hair, clutching him to me like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.

  “So hungry,” he whispers, his voice rough in my ear. “You’ve been starving too long, baby.”

  I don’t care that he’s cocky anymore, because he’s right. Nobody has ever given me this before, and I’m just starting to see how much I’ve been missing. If I only have tonight, I’m going to savor every second of it.

  My screams echo in my ears as I come apart around him, just like he promised. The world falls away, giving way to swirls of color and flashes of light. Fireworks go off behind my eyelids, blinding me while he keeps fucking me with steady strokes. I’m floating and I don’t ever want to come back down.

  “More.” I arch my back and pull him deeper.

  He chuckles and gives me what I need. “Now who’s bossy?”

  He makes good on his promise, driving me over the brink more times than I ever dreamed possible before he finally groans, presses deep and stops moving. His wears a faraway look, and there’s a content smile on his face as he lets go. He’s kept his promises and then some, but he can’t claim for a second that he hasn’t gotten plenty out of this too.

  Empty, he rolls off and drops onto his back next to me. We’re both breathing like we’ve finished a marathon, but it’s not long before he thickens again. I must look shocked when I take in his quick recovery, since he laughs when I do, right before he reaches over to pull out another condom. I didn’t even know guys could go more than once, but he’s not getting any complaints from me.

  He climbs over me, and then I forget everything as he takes me again. And again.

  Eventually we wring each other dry, and he captures my mouth with his before thrusting deep and shuddering one last time. When we finally drift off into sleep, me curled up in his powerful arms with his broad chest against my back, it’s closer to early than late. He’s kept his promise. This might’ve been the best night of my life.

  When I wake up, it’s the crack of noon, and he’s long gone. A quick pang of disappointment surprises me. I knew the deal, and I guess he spoke the truth. He fulfilled his promises, and sticking around wasn’t on the list. Still, it would’ve been nice to find him here when I opened my eyes, even if it was just for another go.

  I glance around my room, wincing at the sight of my clothes strewn all over the floor along with enough condom wrappers to make me do a double take.

  With a sigh, I shake my head and try to grasp what I’ve just done. A one night stand. Exactly the sort of thing I usually frown at other people doing.

  At least my clothes for today are still neatly folded on the chair. My apartment isn’t large, but without all of Michael’s stuff, it feels really empty. I had no idea how much of what we had was his until it was suddenly gone. Not that I miss any of it. Well, maybe his espresso machine.

  But like Michael, I’m sure it can be replaced.

  My bed is really big and empty without someone to wake up with. It’d been nice to fall asleep next to someone last night, even if it was fleeting. It’s probably for the best that we didn’t exchange information, because it would be all too easy for me to beg for a repeat performance.

  This way I can keep my pride because I know it’s not going to happen. It was just sex. Great sex, but just sex. I’m grateful he showed me how much more I should expect from a lover, but what else could there be? Nothing but heartache over a man who makes no promises.

  Besides, I don’t even know his name.

  6

  Claire

  - Four Months Later -

  The elevator dings when I reach the top floor. Fifty-four freaking stories up. As a lowly intern, I have to take what they give me, but I hope there’ll be a window where I sit. The view’s got to be incredible. On a beautiful June day like this I bet you can see forever from up here.

  Maybe I’ll sneak a picture later, but I want to look professional, not like some country yokel on her first visit to the big city. I straighten my skirt in a hurry and tug at my lapels before the door opens. Even and neat.

  Stepping out, it’s like walking onto the set of a 1950s office drama. Dark red wallpaper. Small chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. A massive reception desk made from solid polished wood. Behind it is a large open office area full of busy employees typing away on their laptops. Good to see not everything is stuck in the 50s, but there’s a real typewriter on a table further back, set up like a display piece.

  In front of the reception desk is a thick area rug that swallows up the clack of my heels as I approach. Behind it sits a white-haired, middle-aged man who peers at me over thick, horn rimmed glasses, balanced precariously near the tip of his rounded nose. He’s wearing a white office shirt, but with sleeve garters.

  Where do you even buy stuff like that? Maybe they came with the typewriter.

  I push down the urge to giggle, because he doesn’t look like the type that would be amused.

  He stands. “Ms. Anderson, I presume?” His voice is just as stodgy and emotionless as his expression. He seems entirely unenthused to be here, and like my presence is about as welcome as a fly in his soup. Not a great start. I hope he’s not a reflection of the rest of the office.

  I nod. “Yes, that’s me. I’m here to meet Declan Riordan.”

  “Ms. Anderson,” He pushes his glasses back into place and my palms start to sweat. “Do you know the difference between a dead lawyer and a dead dog in the street?”

  I blink. Words fail me, and I wonder if I’ve had some sort of altitude related mini-stroke on my way up that left me unable to understand English. Is he telling a joke?

  “There’re skid marks in front of the dog,” he replies without so much as cracking a grin.

  Do I laugh here? I don’t know. Am I on camera? For a moment the only sound is the soft hum of the office behind him while we stare at each other.

  The moment of sil
ence drags on. So awkward. My gaze flicks around the office while I try to come up with an appropriate response. Heat rushes to my face when I can’t. “I—”

  He slaps his hand to his desk, breaking into uncontrolled laughter. “Oh God, you’re the best one yet.” He slaps again, laughing so hard he has to support himself on the counter. He looks up at me, his bright eyes crinkled in laughter. “You should see your face right now.” He can barely gasp out the words.

  I can only stare in wonder, hoping my heart starts beating again before I pass out.

  Finally, he gathers himself, standing up straight. “I’m sorry. They say it takes a while to get used to me, which isn’t a very good trait in a receptionist.” He puts his hand out. “I’m Carl. Welcome to Riordan & Flynn. Technically, it’s just Riordan since Flynn was bought out years ago, but two names sounds more professional. Don’t you think?” He’s still grinning, but I’ve recovered enough to decide he means well, even if he’s a little crazy.

  “Absolutely.” I take his hand as he steps out from behind his desk. “I’m Claire, the new intern. Which you probably already knew… Sorry, nerves.”

  He’s gracious enough not to tease me about it, and his friendly smile doesn’t falter. “Here, let me show you the way. It’s a big office and we’d hate to lose you on your first day. When I first started, I hardly ever left my desk, afraid that I wouldn’t find the way back.” He winks. “Besides, Mr. Riordan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Alrighty, then. “Sure. Lead the way.” What have I gotten myself into?

  Befriend the receptionists, my economics professor once told me. They’re the gatekeepers. The ones who determine whether your paperwork ends up on top of the pile or buried in the “archive”. My professor never met Carl, but he seems harmless enough. When he turns to look at me with an arched eyebrow, I smile and hurry after him.

  I try not to be too obvious about watching the flurry of activity around me. In the open landscape, it’s like an ant farm, stylish people sitting desk to desk, hurriedly typing, murmuring in low tones and looking very busy and important. Will I fit in here? This internship is exactly what I need for a jump start before I start law school in the fall, but I feel so out of my depth.

  Mom’s voice is in my ears like she’s standing next to me. “Behave yourself, do what you’re told, and please, please don’t do anything to upset Garrett. He’s already uncomfortable about giving you this opportunity just because you’re my daughter.” Never mind my GPA and Political Science degree, of course. It’s not like I’m not qualified.

  I know what she means though.

  Garrett Riordan’s my new stepfather. Or rather, will be in a couple of weeks. I’ve only met him once, a brief introduction when I was home for spring break. He was handsome, for an older guy, but all business. A real hardass. I’m not sure he smiled the entire time we were in the same room.

  Whatever. If he’s what Mom wants, I won’t stand in her way. She’s earned a bit of happiness.

  Our house is total chaos because of it right now, as she’s buried deep in wedding planning, sorting menu selections, guest lists, and preparing to move to Garrett's place on top of all that. Living there is driving me crazy and makes me wish I hadn’t let the lease on my apartment run out, but there wasn’t much point in keeping it over the summer.

  Mom met Garrett at a charity event she coordinated for his firm. They hit it off in the type of crazy whirlwind romance that only happens in the movies. He didn’t strike me as the whirlwind romance type, but maybe he has a fun side that he only shows Mom. I hope so, for her sake.

  That’s never happening to me, that’s for sure. God knows I’ve had enough of men for now. Tattoo Guy got a one-night pass, but I have more important things to focus on the next couple of years than men. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Things like this job.

  On my right is a long line of offices, most of their interiors hidden by heavy oak doors with fancy designs and bronze nameplates on them. We pass an open one, and I get a glimpse of deep bookshelves, thick carpeting and a man in a dark suit, busily writing at a monstrous polished wooden desk with gold trim. Behind him, a huge window shows the city sprawling below. Then we’re past and moving on.

  We reach the far end of the room where there’s another row of even fancier offices. Each with its own front room, glass windows and doors keeping them apart from the main work area. Some are empty, some manned by what I assume are assistants or other interns like me. The corner offices are the largest, and Carl leads me to one marked Declan Riordan.

  The big man’s son, and my future stepbrother.

  Our parents decided it would be best if we work together. We get to know each other, and as a bonus, if I turn out to be a total screw-up they can keep it quiet. My mother assured me it was more the other way around, but looking at his executive setup here I’m not convinced. I’ve never met this guy, but if he’s anything like his dad, I’m in for a long summer.

  Once we’re in the front room of the office, Carl knocks on the heavy oak interior door, his rap barely audible against the massive wood.

  “Come.” The single word is muffled and clipped.

  I draw a breath. This is it. My new boss. My new brother. I feel woefully unprepared. Would it have killed them to do introductions over lunch? A new job is one thing, but a new family member is something else entirely. I don’t know the first thing about him.

  God, I hope he’s not a jerk.

  He’s standing by the window, facing away and talking on the phone. I feel like I should recognize his rough voice from somewhere but I can’t place it. I glance at Carl, but he waits silently, not looking at all concerned that we might be interrupting something private.

  I take a moment to admire Mr. Riordan’s—Declan’s? I don’t know what to call him—broad back. He might be ugly as sin for all I know, but he’s in shape, I’ll give him that. His gray suit fits him perfectly, obviously tailored. I doubt they have a lot of off-the-rack suits that fit a frame like his. It hugs the contours of his body, showing off his V shape, sloping down past his narrow hips and tight ass before dropping to his black leather shoes in sharp creases. Thoughts pass through my head that I definitely shouldn't be thinking about someone I’m about to be sorta-related to.

  “A bigger yacht? Yeah, I guess three hundred feet would get a little cramped after a while.” He sounds like he could care less about boats, and where have I heard that voice? “Nah, why would I get one when I can just borrow yours? Besides, I’m too busy playing lawyer.”

  I really want to slink back out so he can finish his conversation in peace. He obviously knows we’re here, but this doesn’t sound like something I should be overhearing. Carl doesn’t move, though, so I stay put.

  “Alright, listen, there are some people in my office that I gotta deal with.” The snarky resignation in his voice doesn’t make me feel any better about interrupting him. “Some of us do actually pretend to work for a living, remember? You can tell me all about your fancy shit later, and I’ll pretend to give a fuck. Deal? Right.”

  His voice clicks with me just as he taps his phone and tosses it with a rattle onto his massive desk.

  No way.

  No wonder it sounds so familiar.

  I’ve heard that voice whisper much more inappropriate things at much closer range.

  He turns, and his deep blue eyes go wide. Sure, his black hair is neatly combed without a strand out of place, his tattoos are covered up by the expensive suit and he’s clean shaven, but there’s no doubt about it.

  The guy who screwed my brains out four months ago before taking off without so much as a goodbye is going to be my boss.

  And my new stepbrother.

  7

  Declan

  Is this a fucking joke?

  How did she track me down? Why did she track me down? I know for a fact I kept things wrapped, so she better not be here congratulating me on my impending parenthood.

  Shit.

  “Carl, wh
at is she doing here? Why did you—” I trail off, realizing I’m not the only one that looks shocked. Her eyes are wide as saucers. So why is she here?

  She was hot in her party clothes, but seeing her all dressed up, I hope one of my friends set me up and she’s here for a strip-o-gram. I doubt it, but a guy can dream. Her dress suit can’t hide those luscious curves. It tries, but my hands have been all over her and I know exactly what’s under there.

  Images of that night flash through my mind, each moment clear as crystal. My hand sliding over her soft ass, the taste of her gorgeous tits, the tightness of her wrapped around me while her heels dig in like she’s wearing spurs. Her deep red hair fanned out on her pillow like a fiery halo while she moans and gasps with every thrust.

  Yeah, that night has a regular spot in my spank bank.

  So much that I almost went looking for her for another go, and I fucking never do that. My rules keep everyone happy, and if they don’t, well, I don’t know about it because I’m long gone. So what part of “one night only” didn’t she get?

  And why is my dick thinking this isn’t a bad thing?

  “What the hell are you doing—”

  “What are you doing—”

  We speak at once, interrupting each other. We start again, but I hold up a hand and she stops. Waiting a moment to be sure, I ask, enunciating each word clearly, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’m—I’m Claire.” She’s clutching her left arm with her right, looking like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. The way it shoves up her tits, I almost miss what she said.

  What is she even—Claire? My stepsister? The new intern? The girl who’s been running through my fantasies for the last couple months is about to join my fucking family?

  For a long moment the room is silent. We stare at each other while Carl stands there, probably trying to think of a lame-ass joke to go with the situation. If only he knew the half of it. This whole situation is a joke.