Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy

by Eve, Charlotte

I scanned his face to make sure, and he stared back at me, obviously meaning every word.

  “Blake, it’s absolutely perfect,” I said, running over to the desk, tracing my fingers across the dark polished wood of the desk, before taking in the breathtaking view from the window.

  “I’m so glad you like it,” he replied, relieved. “After all, I don’t have your expert touch. I tried to design this room myself ...”

  And then it happened; I thought again about my silly little misunderstanding and burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Blake asked confused, coming up behind me.

  “Well, I just thought that this might be some kind of sex room or something,” I explained, shaking my head at my stupidity.

  “Oh?” he said, his hands slowly closing around my waist from behind, his lips kissing the tender flesh of my neck.

  “Because of your parties …” I continued, trying to keep my voice slow and steady, despite the distraction of his kisses.

  “I like to keep business and pleasure separate,” he murmured, his breath hot on my neck. “Most of the time ...”

  I gasped as I felt his hands push my dress up around my waist, his hot hardness pressing against my ass. I pushed myself eagerly back against him, bending forward, shivering as I felt his fingers move between my legs from behind, letting my eyes close in pleasure as he tugged my panties to one side.

  And in those delicious few moments before he took me, I tried to focus only on the present, to enjoy what was happening to me, right now, because deep down I suspected that whatever my new future held with Blake, it might not all be quite so simple and straightforward as this.

  But at least for now, it seemed like any room with Blake Matthews in it was going to be exciting ...

  BOOK TWO: BLAKE’S GAME

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stretched out like a cat beneath the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets, still catching my breath. My whole body felt flushed with pleasure, every little part of me tingling, and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, wishing I could just pause things right here, wishing this would last forever. From the bathroom, I heard the soft hiss of the shower starting up.

  Blake.

  We’d spent the whole week together. And when I thought back on it now, the memories came dancing into my head in a crazy jumble. It seemed like we’d spent the entire week beneath these sheets, and it looked like Blake was still just as hungry for me as I was for him.

  Last Monday morning, after the ball, and a magical lazy Sunday, just the two of us, I’d found myself miraculously still here in Blake’s bed, but knowing that any minute now, he would put on one of his pristine suits and walk about the door, back to real life. And where would that leave me?

  There was no way I would have made him kick me out of bed, that would have been too embarrassing. So instead I’d gotten up and started gathering my things. So, I’d been totally shocked when he’d grabbed my arm and told me he had a better idea.

  And just like that, Blake had cleared his schedule for me and we’d spent another blissful day tangled between the sheets, exploring each others bodies.

  That was Monday. And Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday had followed a similar pattern. It was heaven. If I’m honest, after a second blissful weekend together, I’d begun, just a little, to think of this apartment as ours ... Or did I mean that I was thinking of Blake, just a little, as mine?

  Hold on, now.

  Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Jessica, a sensible voice of reason reminded me.

  It’s only been a week.

  For all you know, this is just a fling.

  Here I was, once more on a Monday morning, in Blake’s bed.

  I tried to push the nagging doubts from my head, tried my very hardest to remain here. In the present moment. But again, I found my mind racing backwards, poring over the week just gone for clues and signs that this was more than just some flash-in-the-pan romance, that this was more than just another meaningless little fling for well-known playboy Blake Matthews.

  No, he likes you, as much as you like him.

  Remember ...

  I thought back on the ways he’d really opened up to me, let me in, finally telling me a little more about himself, about his college days in Harvard, how he got started in business. But best of all, he had stories from all over the world. He’d visited so many exotic places, while despite all my daydreams, I’d never even left America. And he brought the whole world alive for me, right here in this bed.

  He’d asked me questions, too – about my life, my family, my ambitions. He really wanted to get to know the real me. And the icing on the cake was that the warm playful guy I remembered from our very first meeting, the one who looked at me like we were the only two in on the joke, he’d been present all week. We now had so many more of our own little jokes and I began to realize that Blake was a real person, not just some fantasy figure, as we giggled and whispered together in moments of real tenderness …

  But now it was Monday morning once again, and Blake was finally slipping away. I knew it. I could hear the shower’s insistent hiss from the bathroom and I just knew that soon he would be dressed and off to work …

  And then what?

  There was still so much left unsaid between us, so much we hadn’t actually talked about yet.

  What exactly am I to you?

  Just what am I supposed to do when you leave? And are you ever coming back?

  On top of all that, I still felt so damned hungry for him, it was as if I’d never quite fully be satisfied.

  A week ago today, I’d got up promising myself I wasn’t going to go through the humiliation of having Blake Matthews kick me out of bed. And now, after the amazing week we’d spent together, leaving him would be a hundred times harder. So, I wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

  I pushed myself up and out of bed, feeling the cool air on my bare skin as I padded softly through Blake’s apartment – it was still so satisfying to see it finished, this place that I’d poured so much of myself into, the last few weeks – along the corridor and up the small set of stairs and into the warm, steam-filled bathroom, catching a tantalizing glimpse of his tanned, muscular body, soaping himself in the huge walk-in shower.

  I tiptoed towards him, not wanting to disturb him just yet, wanting to drink him in with my eyes first: this perfect, statuesque man who was now somehow mine, or at least here with me right now ...

  I let my gaze travel hungrily over his tanned, sculpted physique, his broad shoulders, his strong legs, and his perfect ass, his bronze skin slicked and shining from the running water.

  And I had almost managed to tiptoe right up behind him, preparing to run my eager hands over his perfectly-sculpted body, preparing to press myself against him from behind and work my fingers slowly downwards over his rock-hard abs to that hot, thick prize between his legs, needing to feel him again, even though we’d spent most of the early morning making love, when …

  BANG!

  In a flash Blake had spun around, turning to face me with a playful smile, grabbing my slender wrists, all in one smooth motion, gently pinning me against the cold tiles of the shower wall, stealing a hungry kiss as he held me firmly in place.

  Taking control once again.

  This was something I was still getting used to – the sheer physicality of our lovemaking. Because as a lover, it seemed as if Blake was always one step ahead of me, always keeping me on my toes, surprising me with what he might do next, pushing my limits – both physically and mentally.

  I gasped in surprise as he held my arms in place, pinning them high above my head as he worked his kisses hungrily downwards, from my mouth to my neck, then over my tingling collarbone, and then further, down over the tender flesh of my small left breast, his lips closing around my nipple, sending a shockwave of pleasure rocketing right through me, my flesh responding so powerfully to his touch.

  Blake, I need you so badly.

  I thrust my hips frustratedly toward
him, my hunger reaching an almost unbearable intensity now, and finally he relented, reaching down and guiding himself inside me, filling me up once more with that hot hardness I’d begun to crave – taking me so fast and rough against the tiled wall of the shower room that it caused me to come quicker and harder than I’d ever come before, crying out in pleasure as my body bucked and trembled from the sheer unexpected force of my pleasure.

  I felt Blake orgasm too just a moment later, his body tensing and shuddering as he drove himself deep inside me with a final thrust, and I dug my fingernails hard into his broad back, the steam swirling around us, mingling between our bodies: these bodies which seemed to need each other so completely it was almost like a kind of madness.

  §

  “So what are we doing today?” I asked with a hopeful smile, as I watched Blake fix the final button of his crisp tailored shirt, his tanned flesh disappearing beneath the rich white cotton. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew he was obviously off to work, but still. Perhaps I really could tempt him into clearing his Monday schedule for the second week in a row ...

  And as I waited for his answer, I wrapped myself once more in the soft white sheets, mussing my hair and pouting, trying to look nonchalantly appealing like Bridget Bardot or something. But in all honesty, I felt like a bit of a fraud. I wasn’t sure I was quite cut out to be the seductive siren type. How did I even know I was doing it right? Where did women learn this stuff?

  But all that didn’t matter, because Blake’s answer to my simple question completely deflated me.

  “I’m going to Milan for a few days,” he said casually. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Humiliated, I grabbed the sheets and pulled them up over my head. It’s hardly what Bridget Bardot would have done, but I felt like I wanted to disappear. I was so embarrassed. Had I really thought a little bit of pouting would stop him leaving me, like he was obviously about to do?

  I tried to think rationally about this.

  Blake’s got a really important job.

  He can’t spent the rest of his life in this bedroom with you.

  You know he’s got commitments.

  Hang on though ... He definitely didn’t mention Milan.

  “Oh, oh yeah, I must have forgotten,” I murmured in reply, trying as hard as I could to play it cool and mask my disappointment. “Wow, Milan. That’s awesome! I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. It looks amazing.” But I could hear my enthusiasm ringing false.

  I fell silent, waiting for him to say more, willing him to explain that it was only a boring business trip and that he would be back soon enough. But instead he didn’t say a word. Just slipped on his beautifully tailored midnight blue blazer, then took a seat on the edge of the bed to tie his classic English Churches brogues, his back to me, his face a mystery.

  Who’s in Milan?

  The thought flashed through my head with an unexpected intensity. And before I could stop myself, I’d pictured the whole sorry scene: Blake taking up with some impossibly tanned, long-legged Italian goddess, some expensive mistress that he dropped in on every once in a while, some raven-haired Amazonian Monica Bellucci type, wrapping her body around him, murmuring in his ear in her husky exotic accent …

  I was grateful that at some point during this week, Blake had taken me shopping – grateful that I wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame through the Upper East Side on a bright Monday morning in a sparkling silver Dior evening gown.

  I pulled on my soft new 7 For All Mankind jeans and casual cream Isabel Marant shirt.

  Soon we were both fully dressed, and Blake had brought out a tastefully-battered black leather Mulberry hold-all, obviously packed days in advance. And I suddenly felt so, so foolish to think that this had been anything other than a week of fun to him.

  “Here,” he said, holding something small and shiny towards me.

  I took it from his hand: it was the very same Matthews Inc AmEx expense account card that I’d given back to him last week, when I’d finished the job on his apartment.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  Does this mean I’m getting a new commission?!

  The thought of it lifted me back up again. I perked up immediately at the prospect of starting work again, sinking my teeth into a brand new project ...

  “I want you to have some fun while I’m away,” he explained. “Treat yourself to something nice. Consider it a bonus for finishing this place,” he said, gesturing around the room.

  “Oh, thanks,” I mumbled, curling my fingers around the cool plastic of the card.

  And for the second time that morning, I tried – and failed – to conceal my disappointment.

  But on top of feeling disappointed, I felt totally out of the loop, too. I mean, what was going on? There were so many questions I still wanted to ask him. How long exactly was ‘a few days’, for instance, and what the hell was going to happen when he got back? Were we gonna just pick this right back up where we left off? Or was that it? The apartment was finished, we had no real need to stay in touch any more. Was I going to fade into the background, become just another notch on the bedpost?

  And then I remembered: my office.

  I began to follow him out to the lobby, and as he locked the door to his apartment behind us, my eyes were drawn across to that other door.

  Blake pressed the button, summoning the elevator, then turned to me.

  “You should get some work done, too,” he said softly. “This place is great, Jessica, but you can’t rest on your laurels. You’re only just at the beginning of your career. It’s important that you work on building up your portfolio and expanding your contacts. I saw you working the room at the ball last week. You need to start getting in touch with some people, fix up some lunch meetings ...” He took a step towards me, his breath on my neck, his fingers softly tracing my thigh. “Of course,” he whispered seductively, “while I would just love keep you here, all to myself, a girl as talented as you deserves to be shared with the world.”

  Ping!

  Just then the doors to the elevator slid open, and there was Collins, the friendly old elevator attendant, smiling warmly at us from his place by the controls. “Good morning, you two,” he greeted in his adorable British accent. Everything he did was so old fashioned; he was like a character straight out of Downton Abbey. “Am I taking you down now too, Miss Clark?”

  “Not yet, Collins,” I replied.

  Blake had assured me a number of times that all the staff in his building — Collins, the receptionists, the maid service — had been made fully aware that I now had an office here, and I was free to come and go whenever I pleased.

  “Very good,” Collins replied, taking a small step into the lobby to collect Blake’s bag.

  Finally, it was time for him to leave, and when we met eyes to say goodbye it felt like my heart briefly stopped.

  “Be good,” Blake said softly, taking a step back towards me, then planting a soft, gentle kiss on my lips.

  “You too,” I replied, again wondering just what he was going to get up to in Milan. I was pretty sure that whatever he was going to get up to, I wouldn’t want to know about it.

  What an idiot you are, Jessica.

  We’re not exclusive.

  We’re not even together.

  Of course he’ll have other women.

  Because this was Blake Matthews we were talking about, wasn’t it? The very same man who’d held my trembling body in place, kissing me hungrily while a complete stranger toyed with my pussy just a few short weeks ago; the very same man who’d thrown that whole damn party in the first place.

  “Have a safe trip,” I said, kissing him hard and forcefully, not caring if Collins saw, shivering a little as Blake reciprocated, his intensity matching my own.

  And then he pulled away, turning and stepping into the elevator, fixing me with those piercing grey eyes before the doors slid closed.

  §

  I turned the key in the lock, feeling it click softly, before I pushed
open the heavy wooden door and stepped into my brand new office.

  My brand new office.

  This must count for something, mustn’t it?

  He can’t have given every girl he slept with her own workplace.

  And certainly not one right in his apartment.

  I still couldn’t get over this amazing room that was now mine: the beautiful rug, the Tiffany lamp, the bare brick walls. It was clear that, while I was getting to know and understand Blake’s tastes, he was getting to understand mine, too. And the cherry on top was that sumptuous view, right in front of my desk.

  Even if Blake couldn’t be mine, standing right here, it felt like New York was.

  I took a step forwards, ready to start my week afresh, to work extra hard — my favorite technique for pushing any doubts from my mind. But as I sat down, I felt particularly distracted. It was hard to focus on the screen of my iMac, and my gaze kept drifting out of the large window in front of me.

  From up here I could see tourists’ cameras flash on top of the Empire State Building, and the movement of the downtown traffic down below, the cars small as toys.

  But just then I caught something else out of the corner of my eye— a small, plain white envelope laying on the far edge of my desk, with my name written on the front in Blake’s elegant handwriting.

  What could this be?

  I felt a pang of nerves as I picked it up and tore it open, wondering if perhaps it contained some kind of letter explaining that this whole week had in fact been a mistake and that he didn’t have the heart to tell me in person but our little fling must now come to an end ...

  Instead, inside the envelope was a familiar black ticket with ADMIT ONE printed on it, a small, sleek memory stick, and a note, just four words long:

  See you on Friday.

  CHAPTER TWO

  If I was finding it hard to concentrate before, now I’d seen the envelope I couldn’t work at all.

  I’d hastily stuffed the note and ticket back inside the envelope and shut them away, but even so, it felt as if the words it contained were whispering to me from the desk drawer. See you on Friday, the note teased and taunted, like some kind of challenge.