Beg for Me

by Natalie Anderson

  “Salon? As in hairdresser?” As impossible as she’d thought it could be, Logan sounded more uptight. “What are you doing there?”

  “You’re not d-d-dragging me off to meet your family when I’ve not had a trim in ages and look like I’ve escaped a religious cult.” Min said.

  “So you’re just having a trim?” She heard him inhale deeply. “A little trim?”

  A bubble of pleasure ran through Min’s veins. She had a love/hate relationship with her hair. It was too thick to style short, but she knew the length was attractive to some men. It seemed Logan was one of those men. But she couldn’t resist teasing him—who did he think he was trying to guide how she styled her hair? “Well, I’m n-n-not sure—”

  “A little trim,” he snapped. “You’re not having it colored?” The horror in his voice rang out now.

  “Maybe,” she whispered, muffling her giggle.

  “What salon are you at?”

  “Leave me alone. I’m allowed a couple of hours me time before this hell trip.” She ended the call.

  Two hours later she ran from the cab into the building, baseball cap killing the hour-long blow-drier styling she’d sat through. She didn’t see anyone with a camera, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “I got in trouble because of you.” The security dude called out to her balefully as she raced past the desk in the lobby.

  She winked at him. “It’s a free country, Logan n-n-needs to remember that.”

  “He was worried.” The guard called after her just as the elevator doors closed.

  Yeah. Worried about her appearance. Thing was, shallow as she knew him to be, it still tickled her.

  She got to his front door and realized she had no idea of the security code. There was a buzzing sound, and the door clicked. He’d opened it remotely? The security guard must have phoned to let him know she was on her way up. Hell, the security guard must have cleared her elevator ride.

  “Logan?” She took off the cap as she opened the door. Stupid, but she seemed to have butterflies flipping in her stomach.

  “In here.”

  The office. She dropped her shopping bags in the hall and walked through the door. Stopping just inside the room.

  He glared at her from his customary position on the sofa. His eyes trailed over every inch of her washed, trimmed, styled hair. The length was still there, so was the color. But the ultra-expensive shampoo and treatments had left it shiny and fresh. She was pleased with it, more so when she saw the expression in his eyes. The hardness morphed into something heated.

  “Come here.” His voice was low, gravelly. Auditory sex.

  She should have bought a chastity belt while she was out. Put it on, locked it, swallowed the key. Except that for that naughty part of her that had been hoping he’d react like this. “I’m your f-fake-fiancée, not your slave.”

  “Come here. Please.”

  She remained in place, calling on her whisper so she could speak smoothly. “If I ever do marry, I won’t be promising to obey.”

  “You can write your own vows,” he said soothingly.

  But that tone was deceptive. Before she could blink he stood up from the sofa, took ten strides and reached for her. She stepped backwards but it was too late. With a firm grip on her waist he redirected her pace, so instead of making it out the door, her back was against the wall.

  Her simmering lust flared. Oh mercy. She wanted and she didn’t want. She was wet already and knew that in part she was going to give in any second. And wasn’t that what this had been about, really? Sitting in that beauty bar, she hadn’t been thinking about looking nice for his family. But about tempting him.

  She was so totally lame and she really should get the hell out of here. “I need to—”

  “Stop fighting me.” He grasped her wrists in large, firm hands then lifted them high above her head, smoothly and easily switching his grip to hold both wrists in the one hand. Which meant her breasts were thrust forward and his other hand was now free to—

  “What are you doing?” Was she really going to stand here and let him unbutton her shirt? Was she going to let him do anything?

  “What do you think?” His eyes and words teased. But not as much as his fingers. As he slowly undid each button, the backs of his fingers brushed against the heated skin they’d exposed.

  So deliberate. So tormenting.

  “I told you I’d see you satisfied,” he reminded her, his voice rough.

  His fingers too gentle.

  Yeah, she needed her hunger assuaged. She needed touch. She needed physical completion. She needed rest from this damn nagging want. She was turned on high, just like that.

  He released her wrists and her arms fell uselessly to her sides. In a second he’d pushed the shirt from her shoulders and unclasped her bra.

  She was topless in front of him, more naked than she’d been yesterday when he’d sucked her off. And she was so glad. Her breasts felt swollen. Her nipples felt like they’d been put in a vice—tight and hard and aching.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. Couldn’t move for fear he’d stop. He looked so fierce. So hungry. So determined.

  And that she was the one he was fixated on?

  Only for now. Only let a little happen.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling sections forward so it fell over her shoulders and flowed over her chest. Covering her breasts. He nudged a swathe of hair so her tight nipple poked through.

  He looked immensely satisfied with his work.

  “So fuckable,” he muttered, planting a hand either side of her and leaning in. “So ready.”

  Fuckable? What kind of word was fuckable? Yet liquid desire poured through her, she wanted to move. As far as she was concerned, he was the fuckable one.

  He lifted his hands to her waist, held her still. She was desperate to wriggle, his hot gaze tormented her.

  “What are you d-d-doing?” She gritted her teeth. Damn stutter.

  “Taking a mental photo of you,” he said softly. “I get the feeling you’d never let me take a real photo.”

  “I know what happens to the film and photos y-y-you’re involved with,” her annoyance sparked.

  He nodded. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else ever seeing you like this.”

  “H-how do I look?”

  “Like you’re about to come.”

  She shivered. Not from cold.

  He smiled. It was more a predatory baring of teeth. “You have the most glorious hair. The most sensational breasts.”

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t believe him but she was so letting it go for now. “Sh-shut up and d-d-do what you p-p-promised.”

  She felt his laugh as he leaned in close.

  “I keep my promises Min,” he nuzzled. “Satisfaction heading your way now.”

  Hungrily he kissed down the side of her neck. She ached for him to claim her mouth, but instinctively knew he wouldn’t. He was waiting for her word before he did that. For her to beg.

  She wasn’t going to. Not when she’d already lost her ability to control her stutter. So this would have to do for now. But these kisses were hardly second rate.

  He rubbed her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Watching them redden, harden. Almost to the point of pain. Then he bent. His teeth scraped the soft flesh. Then his mouth sucked. Oh my, he was going to leave love bites all over her breasts.

  That thought shouldn’t excite her. But it did.

  She gritted her teeth as he drew her nipple deep between his lips. His tongue worked, pressing the sensitive peak against the roof of his mouth, then twirling around it.

  Her sex clenched on emptiness. Dripping and aching for fulfillment.

  He nudged his knee between her weak legs. She released a heavy breath and widened her stance so she could press on his hard muscular thigh. Thank goodness he did, she was about to slither to the floor in a molten heap of hormones.

  She rubbed herself on his thick muscle, unable to
resist the need to rock harder, faster. She wanted to feel his cock against her. It pressed against her belly. Not where she needed it to be.

  Her lips were hot as her blood pulsed slick and fast. She yearned for him to smash his mouth onto them. She wanted his kiss. She wanted him. Hard, rough, fast.

  “Come,” he said, kissing his way down her neck again. So generous in his attention.

  She eased the ache of her burning lower lip by biting hard down on it. Holding back the sounds she knew she couldn’t control. Last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself in the heat of the moment. Her fingers dug into his broad shoulders as the contractions twisted her up.

  He pushed her breasts together, holding them in his big hands, alternately scraping his thumb or his teeth over the taut tips.

  She rocked faster on his thigh as he pushed it harder against her, the seam of her jeans scraping over her clit in a pleasure-pain. She wished it were his fingers, his mouth. She wished he was hard and full inside her. Pounding the need out of her.

  It was all she could think about. Having him. All of him.

  She bucked hard against him in a desperate fury as she hurtled towards the peak she so badly needed. At last the orgasm washed through her body, ripples of pleasure radiated from her core to her limbs, heart, mind. Leaving her crumpling.

  “Look at that,” he muttered softly, catching her in his arms and pulling her close. “You do obey.”

  Min said nothing. Couldn’t. She was still riding out the last blissful sensations. But still aching for more.

  So much more.

  He smiled, that sinful knowing smile. “Anything you want to ask me?”

  She slowly shook her head.

  Once he’d established that she’d straightened and was supporting herself, he stepped back. His heavy-lidded gaze drifted down her chest. He rolled his shoulders and walked away.

  “You need to pack,” he said. “We’re due to leave for the airport in half an hour.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  #TheRock

  Ten minutes later Min packed the last items into her case. For someone she’d thought would be a certified sex pest, the guy had iron control. She’d seen the way his erection was straining against his jeans. He’d wanted it. But she’d set him a challenge and a challenge wasn’t something he’d ever back away from.

  Only now, instead of pleasure, she felt pissed off.

  “Come on Min,” he called. “We’re due at the airport.”

  Min reluctantly opened her door, dragging her case behind her. He glanced down at her totally buttoned up outfit, one eyebrow quirking.

  “You’re going to r-r-regret this,” she said, not encouraged by his lacklustre response to her attempt to smarten up. Mind you, it had been a lackluster smarten—the one pair of jeans that weren’t ripped. A blouse covered up with a denim jacket. She’d spent the little surplus in her bank account on the damn dress to wear to this party. Not that it was any kind of label. But it would have to do.

  Only now Logan was looking at her with that wicked laughter in his eyes.

  “I don’t think so.” He took the suitcase handle from her hand. “I really don’t.”

  The black car was waiting by the front door again. There were more scruffy guys with cameras in front of their faces. Why was the attention worsening?

  “They know about the party this weekend,” Logan answered her frown with a clipped comment and drew her close to help her get to the car.

  Min’s frown deepened. “How b-big is it going to be? And if it’s common knowledge, why haven’t I been tweeting about it?”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d be going ‘til recently.”

  She focused on her phone for the entire trip to the airport, checking responses to the updates she’d posted for other clients. Checking her email. Checking to ensure she didn’t look at Logan too much for fear she’d slide further under his spell. Because when he clamped her to his side like that? Did the whole ‘sheltering’ thing?

  He glanced at his watch, then back at her as the car pulled up to the airport drop off. “You’re sure you have a dress?”

  She nodded.

  “Discreet, right? Not too... sexy?”

  She stared at him. Did the guy have eyes? Had he not noticed that she never wore sexy? She pulled out the ultra-sexy-soft whisper. “I got it from the ‘House of Come Fuck Me’.” Oh yeah, she nailed a ‘coo’.

  He opened the car door. “That’ll be perfect.”

  “We’re not flying by private jet?” she asked, fully sarcastic as Logan paused to read the departures screen.

  “You’re disappointed.” he adopted a soothing tone, walking them towards the gate. “But it’s not good for the carbon footprint sweetie, we rich people do have to be seen to do our bit.”

  Arrogant jerk. “You care about that?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  She hardly flew, so it wasn’t exactly a problem for her.

  On board she shrugged out of her jacket and took the window seat, staring out of it for the duration of the take-off and the next twenty minutes beyond that, recovering from her sulk—trying to pull together some confidence.

  Except they were going to total exclusive-ville. For some swanky party.

  “You need to talk to me.” She twisted in the wide first class seat to finally look at him. “What am I in for? Who’s going to be there?”

  Celebrities, for sure. He was friends with most of the world’s top models, and there’d be sporting stars. No doubt a couple of actors. They all seemed to know each other, like some elite circle of beautiful, talented people.

  “My family. Friends. Important connections.”

  Great. And what did he expect from her? “I’m not good at small talk,” she warned.

  The expression in his eyes softened infinitesimally. “Don’t worry, they’re probably not expecting much from any fiancée of mine.”

  “Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”

  But at the very least they’d expect a beautiful model type. She was okay, but hardly a Sports Illustrated cover. Not skinny enough, not maintained enough, not boobylicious enough. If she could be witty and offer intelligent conversation then maybe she could pass... but she probably wouldn’t be able to say her own name.

  “W-we’re not going to get away with this.” She shank into the seat. Could the plane be hijacked or something?

  “Of course we are. But actually, that reminds me…” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Here.” He handed her a small bag. “You’ll need to put that on.”

  She opened the bag, her palms suddenly dampened when she saw the distinctive pale blue box inside. She drew it out and resolutely pushed the lid open.

  For a second she couldn’t move. But then, for once, the words just slid out fast and easy. “You’re kidding. I can’t wear that.”

  The diamond was massive. Huge. Beyond huge it was ridiculous. The ultimate ‘statement’ show piece. The kind of thing designed to impress.

  “Where’d you get it,” she asked. “Giant Diamonds R Us?”

  He laughed. “So ungrateful?”

  Well, it wasn’t like she was going to keep it. She stared at the outrageous size of it. “No I’m not, gaudy is good.”

  “Gaudy?”

  “No.” She shot him a quick look. “It’s... amazing. Perfect,” she amended, regretting the bitch moment. “Exactly the thing you’d give a fiancée.”

  An astonished look flashed in his eye—surely it wasn’t uncertainty?

  “Honestly.” She laughed, it was that or cry. It was the second engagement ring she’d been given, and she’d be giving it back soon enough—just as she had the last. “It’s perfect for the purpose.”

  “But not what you’d want for real?” He looked thoughtful, cocking his head nearer to study the blinding sparkler.

  “Only because I’d feel like I needed double security detail with me at all times.” She looked at it again. “Please tell me it’s on loan.”

 
“It’s on loan,” he parroted.

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m doing as you asked.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  There was a pause. Unwilling, yet unable to resist, she turned her head to find his eyes right on her level, a mere inch away.

  “Do you want me to tell you what you ask me to, or do you want me to be honest?” he asked softly.

  She looked into those eerily blue, beautiful eyes. “Honest. Always.”

  He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. “Only if you do the same for me.”

  She couldn’t move. “Okay. Yes.”

  “Good.” he nodded. “The ring isn’t on loan. It’s real and it cost a lot of money. Don’t worry, I can get it back when I sell it again but we need it for the look of things. So can you try to look happy about it.”

  “When did you even get it?”

  He gave the ring one last quick glance. “Phoned the jewelers and got them to bring it to me. You were at the salon when the courier came.”

  Oh wow. So romantic. He hadn’t even chosen it? Just phoned and ordered the biggest, the most brilliant, the most expensive?

  “Better put it on before you lose it.” He looked down, resumed reading his iPad.

  Min felt oddly deflated. Was it bad luck to wear a ring on your engagement finger when you weren’t really engaged? When you had to put it on yourself because your supposed fiancé was too busy reading some stupid article about long-term share value?

  She lifted the platinum circle out of the velvet case. Maybe it wouldn’t fit. He was so used to the model types he probably got a tiny size and she wouldn’t get it past her knuckle.

  No such luck. The ring slid down her finger with just the faintest of pushes required. Typical. The guy had all the good fortune.

  She spread her fingers and looked at the behemoth. It had to be said, it was striking, made her fingers look longer and slimmer. Well that had to be good, given this was ‘for the look of things’. Maybe the new dress she’d bought would do the same for the rest of her? Wasn’t that what this whole party was for?