Hard Act: Davis (Hard as Nails Book 5)

by Virna DePaul

  “Do what?” she asks calmly.

  “We were talking. You were starting to, to actually talk to me.”

  She looks up. “Don’t make this more than it is,” she warns.

  Right. A deal. A trade. Her body for my compliance. But I want more. I want her mind. I want the truth of her.

  She reaches for her wine glass and I catch her wrist, surprising myself with the sudden force of my desire. For her, yes, but mostly to get her to understand.

  I immediately loosen my grip, not wanting to be that kind of douchebag, so I turn the grasp into a caress, running my thumb along the side of her wrist. When her gaze flicks up to mine, I meet it with the barest hint of a smile. My heart rate ratchets up. Just holding her this way is making me wild with need. Her cheeks flush, and her eyes blaze, daring me.

  “I thought I was in charge here,” I say.

  She gazes right back at me. “Then prove it.”

  A stare hot enough to make me burn. We’re back to the language we both understand—sex. Her pupils dilate. She stands, smoothing her skirt.

  “I’m going to use the bathroom.” She says it pointedly. Blood rushes to my cheeks . . . and elsewhere. “Check on me if I’m not back in a few.”

  She turns and walks away without another word, her ass moving delectably under her tight dress, heads turning to stare as her heels click across the glossy onyx tiles. She’s with me, I want to tell them.

  Now, I’ve got to figure out a way to subtly slip over to the bathroom.

  The waiter comes by to refill my water. I thank him, then slide out of my chair and walk quickly over to the alcove, trying not to look nervous.

  I pause in the alcove. She’s nowhere in sight, and there are three separate single-toilet restrooms marked Ladies. Which one is she in? She’d make it easy for me, right, by picking the first one? I hesitate near door number one.

  C’mon, I urge myself. Grow a pair.

  I knock softly.

  No response, but I hear the faintest click of the door unlocking.

  I turn the knob. Slowly open the door.

  She’s naked. It takes me half a second to register that, and then she pulls me inside the spacious, dimly lit room, shutting and locking the door behind me. It’s like its own suite, with a little red velvet settee, a coat tree, and a toilet so white it hurts to look at it. The floor gleams, reflecting the overhead lights, and Bella’s bare skin holds the golden glow of those lights. She’s flawless and so beautiful I can’t speak. She’s taken her blond hair out of its tight updo, and it hangs over her shoulders.

  In an instant, she’s on me, kissing me fiercely. She undoes the button of my suit jacket and runs her hands up the front of my shirt and under my jacket, sliding it off. I tug my arms out of the sleeves and toss the jacket on the edge of the sink, still kissing her. She shoves me back against the wall, hurriedly undoing the buttons of my shirt, then yanking it open to expose my bare chest. She glances at me for a moment, her lips curving slightly upward, and then begins kissing down my chest.

  “Come on,” she pants when she comes up for air. “Show me how much you want this, Davis.”

  A shiver goes through me. I like her as the aggressor. My dick strains against my pants, but she’s already yanking my belt undone. I help her by undoing my fly, my dick springing free. I need her. I can’t go another second without her.

  I pull her against my chest, feeling the firmness of her breasts, her stiff nipples grazing mine. Her entire body scorches with desire, and the feeling’s mutual. My dick rubs against her pubic hair, and all I want to do is slip inside her and fuck her hard against this expensive-as-shit wall.

  But not yet.

  The sink is high-edged, the counter sleek black marble. In addition to starched linen hand towels, there’s a small steam basin full of hot washcloths. The soap dispenser looks like some kind of modern art sculpture. Bella’s dress is folded in a neat pile beside it. I push her gently away.

  “Turn around.”

  She draws back, breathing hard, and turns. In this dim gold light, I get a glorious view of her tapered back and heart-shaped ass. The large mirror shows her stunning reflection—a side view of pert breasts and pointed nipples. I step beside her. I don’t know how long we have before someone comes knocking, and I don’t care.

  “Hands laced behind your head,” I order quietly.

  She obeys, lifting her arms, which makes her breasts rise. Jesus, I’m going to blow before we even get started. She links her fingers behind her head, and I walk around, inspecting her. She stares straight ahead. I place my palm on her belly, feeling the muscles jerk slightly. Then I run my hand down, my first two fingers sliding between her legs. She’s dripping wet, and I make a V with my fingers, her clit in the crook of it. I rub back and forth slowly, listening to her breath get shorter and sharper.

  “Look at me,” I tell her.

  She tilts her head towards me, meeting my eyes, and she holds my gaze while I continue to tease her. Good. I want her to know who’s giving her this pleasure. She holds my gaze through each second of it, pupils engulfing her irises, her delicate throat moving as she swallows. Suddenly, I withdraw my hand and give her ass a firm slap that makes her cheeks jiggle.

  “Bend over the counter.”

  She casts me a glare that seems to have a smirk within it, and walks to the counter, bending over and thrusting her ass out. I run my hands over her, gently at first, before squeezing, pinching, and kneading. I give an extra pinch to the area that has my flushed pink handprint.

  Someone knocks on the door, and she calls out, “Occupied!” without missing a beat.

  I groan softly and run my hands down the backs of her thighs, easing her legs apart. I reach over and grab a hot washcloth from the bin. I slowly drape it over her shoulders. She sighs at the heat, her legs trembling visibly. I scrub the cloth lightly down her back, broad sweeps zigzagging down towards her ass. She arches beneath the hot contact. When the cloth loses its heat, I cast it aside and grab another one.

  This one I place between her legs. I press it to her pussy lips for just a moment, listening to her breathing quicken, watching her try to stay still as the heat seeps into her lips.

  “Hold it there,” I breathe.

  She squeezes her legs together, gripping the warm cloth. I take yet another hot washcloth and run it through my hands. Gripping one corner in my right hand, I swing it. It lands with a satisfying thwack across her backside.

  Her breath leaves her in a rush, and she wiggles her ass like she’s begging for more. This time I whip it more quickly, like the kind of lash I’d give a teammate in a locker room. Not that I’d spent much time in locker rooms. Bella gets up on her toes for a second, sucking in air.

  I knot one corner of the cloth and send it whipping out to sting that gorgeous ass. The knot produces a heavier thwack, less sting. She moans, the sound pure pleasure.

  “You like that, Miss Prince?” I ask.

  “I do,” she practically purrs.

  I grin, and this time I swing it upwards, catching her at the very base of her crack, where her legs are pressed together around the other cloth. She starts rocking, like she’s trying to rub off on the towel.

  “Nuh-uh,” I warn, giving her another slap with the hot cloth.

  “Mmm,” she whimpers.

  “Stick that ass out. Spread your legs, let the cloth go, and show me everything.”

  She does. She dips her spine, thrusts her hips back, and spreads her legs. The hot cloth falls to the floor. I have a perfect view of her tight pussy, slick with juices, and her little asshole. Those round, taut ass cheeks just waiting for me to drive between them.

  “Very nice.”

  I spank her with the cloth right between her legs, catching her pussy. Her asshole winks. I whack it too, with one corner of the warm, wet cloth.

  “Oh God. Davis . . .”

  “You’re mine, Bella,” I say, my voice a low rumble. “And you’re perfect.”

  I drop the wash
cloth and step forward, placing my hands on her hips, my legs meeting hers. My dick’s pointing straight out from my open fly, rubbing against her ass. She’s whimpering softly as I run my cock up and down her crack.

  I reach over to the sink and pump some soap into my hand. She tenses as she listens to me slicking my cock, so I gently stroke her back with my other hand.

  “It’s all right.”

  I stroke her again, and she relaxes, shifting her weight slightly. I wipe my soapy hand on yet another warm cloth and undo my tie.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  She rests her cheek on the counter and places her arms behind her, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. I wind my navy satin tie around them and stare for a moment at the picture she makes.

  Perfect.

  I nudge my cock against her asshole, letting her know what I’m planning. She gasps slightly, but only thrusts her ass out further. I lift some soap from my cock, and start to tease her asshole with the pad of my finger. Finally, I ease it in slowly, relishing her quiet groan. She’s tight and hot, and I love watching her try not to squirm as I explore her most private place. Once she’s stretched a little, I add another finger.

  “Davis,” she whispers.

  I pause. Does she want me to stop?

  “Davis, yes.”

  I grin and thrust just a little with my fingers. Her moan this time is loud enough to be heard through the door.

  I take my fingers out and position my cock.

  “It’ll help if you bear down,” I let her know.

  Her wrists tug against the silk tie, and she gasps and writhes as I push myself into her tight hole. With the tip of my cock inside her, I pause again. She’s resisting, breathing hard.

  “Okay?” I ask. “Do you need to stop?”

  “Do it, Davis. Fuck my ass.”

  Hot. Damn.

  She should be giving orders all the time! My knees buckle, and I move myself slowly forward, pushing my way in. Soon, she’s breathing out and relaxes, taking me in. She gives a muffled grunt, as if of surprise, but as I begin to thrust, she starts making those moans of pleasure again. I’m slow at first, careful, and then faster. And faster. Her knees bump against the cabinet beneath the counter. I hook one arm around her waist, holding her hips out away from the counter and then thrust hard. Her head snaps up, and she spreads her legs wider.

  “Oh, God yes, harder.”

  “Who do you belong to?” I ask, giving her another hard thrust.

  “You! You, Davis.”

  Another knock on the door.

  “Occupied!” we both shout in unison.

  And then we go at it. I fuck her hard, the way I’ve wanted to since she sat down at the table. She takes it. She takes every inch of my cock, begging in urgent whispers for more. The way she clenches around me, the heat of her. I am driven insane. I reach under her with my other hand and stroke her pussy, rapidly rubbing the wet lips, nudging her clit.

  My legs tensing, my body growing rigid on the verge of coming, I switch to rubbing her clit. Her neck cords and a strangled cry escapes her. She clenches hard around my cock, and I come deep in her ass. I’m breathless, exhausted, and she’s so close, I can feel it.

  But this is supposed to be about showing her who’s in charge, right?

  I stop stroking her. Release her waist and step back, my cock sliding from her ass. She lets out a frustrated moan and wiggles her ass again.

  “Well,” I say, finding a fresh hot cloth and cleaning myself. “I’m satisfied. At least for now.”

  “Davis.” She begins straining against the tie again. “Please. I need—”

  I deposit the cloth in the bin and wash my hands. “Need what, dear?”

  “Please.”

  “That word sounds so pretty, coming from your lips. But you wanted me to prove I’m in charge. As such, you’re going to accept your punishment for taunting me, and then I’m going to reward us both when we get home. Do you understand?”

  She almost whimpers, but manages to nod.

  I take another cloth and gently clean between her legs. She tries to rub against the hot fabric, but I give her bottom three light swats, and she yips, one leg kicking up slightly.

  “We’d better get back. Our food will be getting cold.”

  She moans. I untie her wrists. Fasten the zipper of my pants. She dresses, and I watch.

  “Oh, Bella,” I say softly. “The things you do to me.”

  She glances at me, her tight, high-necked dress once again covering those lovely breasts. She’s flushed, and she looks so radiant and alive. She might be unsatisfied, but I sense there’s something she likes about the way I’ve taken charge.

  “You’re an evil bastard,” she says, her voice husky.

  I grin.

  I open the door and send her out ahead of me with one last little slap to her butt. I love the way it makes her jump. She’s walking a little bowlegged, attempting to compose herself with her usual elegance and not quite succeeding.

  Maybe it’s my imagination, but it seems more than a few heads turn as we walk back out into the restaurant. People know. They must. But nobody says a word about it to me.

  We take our seats, and the waiter comes over immediately with our first course. Beef medallions in some sort of outlandishly complicated sauce. After that romp, I could eat a whole damn cow.

  Bella meets my gaze across the table, a small, private smile on her lips.

  “Cheers,” I say, raising my wine glass.

  “Cheers.” We clink.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bella

  As soon as we walk out of The Bell Tower, a black town car instantly appears. Davis holds the door for me. His warm, gentle hand is on my back to guide me in. Just that slight touch is enough to make me almost jump out of my damn skin.

  He slides into the backseat next to me, and the driver heads for the penthouse. During the whole drive, I’m antsy, hoping he will touch me, tease me, do something. But he just makes pleasant conversation without so much as brushing against me. And I’m certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of seeking attention. Even though my ass still aches from his cock, and my pussy throbs with need. I barely tasted my dinner. I’d sat there, aroused and frustrated, tensing with anticipation each time I felt his legs shift under the table.

  In the darkness of the backseat, I steal quick glances over at Davis. That strong jawline. The perfect slant of his shoulders. His posture is straight without being rigid. He’s so handsome. But that gorgeous, serious face holds a hint of vulnerability as well. I find myself fantasizing about both sides of Davis—the confident, dominant man who bent me over the bathroom sink and fucked me like I’d never been fucked before. And the man I want to get to know better. Quiet, thoughtful. Unsure.

  I look over at his eyes, and he smiles at me, a smile that holds both warmth and wickedness. I press my legs closer together. Damn it. Damn him, for the way he looks at me. The way he makes my control slip. When I was a teenager and we had our little make out sessions, I was mostly motivated by boredom and horniness. I’d found Davis attractive, sure, but the world was full of attractive boys. Even if I couldn’t get far enough from my father’s watchful gaze to experiment as much as I wanted, I was a slim blond teenage girl. I knew I had my pick.

  But there was something about Davis—there is something about Davis—that I still can’t articulate. A compassion that, sadly, seems rare to find in men. Especially wealthy men. Every time he’s taken me, I haven’t felt used. I’ve felt worshipped.

  I shiver.

  “Cold?” he asks conversationally.

  “No,” I reply automatically, defenses coming up. “I’m fine.”

  I can practically feel myself bristling. Why does it bother me so much that he might see me? Know me?

  He shrugs and gazes out the window for a moment, a smug look on his face that makes me either want to smack it off or lean over and kiss him.

  “I haven’t decided what I want to do with y
ou,” he remarks, still looking out the window.

  His gaze flicks back to me, just for a moment. Long enough that something tugs in my stomach, and renewed heat spreads through me. Then he’s focusing through the window again. His voice is soft and low.

  “But make no mistake, whatever I decide to do, you’re going to come so hard for me. And I’m going to watch every minute of your pleasure.”

  I nearly slide off the seat. I swallow, not sure if I’m ready to be that exposed, to be taken to the sort of place he’s describing.

  I don’t have a choice.

  By the time we get to his place, my panties are soaked. He takes my coat in the entryway and tells me to go to his bedroom, not the guest bedroom. I’m to stand facing the bed and wait for him.

  I obey, walking with as much dignity as I can muster with my ass aching and my clit buzzing with aroused heat for every step I take. I’ve never been so ready before. Sex has always been something I could take or leave. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I need him to finish what he started. Even if I have to throw him down on the bed and impale myself on his cock.

  But I don’t think that’s going to happen. As I stand there in his room, my knees shaking with anticipation, I know that I don’t need to demand anything. I’m his, which he’s already shown me once tonight and will probably show me again.

  I hear his slow, even footsteps coming down the hall. I remain facing the bed, my heart pounding, my throat tight. The door clicks shut behind him, and then he seems to be all around me—his warmth, his presence—even though I can’t see him.

  He approaches. I close my eyes, my fingers slightly flexing. His hand glides across the back of my neck, and I actually gasp from his touch. Then his fingers come down my shoulders to skim over my dress. One hand moves to the zipper and tugs it down with painstaking slowness.

  Just do it already! I don’t even need to be undressed. Yank my dress up and fuck me.

  But he doesn’t. He slides the dress down my body. Every light scratch of the fabric against my skin is a delicious frisson of pleasure up my spine. My nipples are stiff again, almost aching. I have to fight the urge to press my legs as close together as possible, trying to put off the inevitable moment when he discovers how wet I am.