by Kim Karr
I have fire in my blood and there is no way I am letting him tell me one more goddamn thing to do. Brushing past him in my bare feet, I march down the hall in the opposite direction of the exit.
“Where are you going?” he asks incredulously.
The air around me crackles dangerously. “To the bathroom. You can just wait for me right there,” I order, or huff might be a better word.
This man . . . he infuriates me. Gets under my skin. And turns me on at the same time. How can that be? He disappeared on me. Left me. No one has done that to me before, not anyone that I cared about, anyway. Besides, he’s so bossy. And I do not take bossy well. I prefer to be the one giving the commands. I do not take orders—from anyone.
You know, the only-child thing.
No father.
They go hand-in-hand—somehow.
Once inside the ladies’ room, I flick the light on and force myself to take my time to let my beating heart settle. After washing my hands, I soak a paper towel with cold water and hop up on the counter, kicking my feet a little as I remember what he said. Maggie, I can’t make you.
It sounded so heartfelt.
So real.
I’m not heartless. I get that he went through something, but I don’t know if I can, or want to, forgive him.
I just don’t know.
Gah!
Thoughts of him confuse me, and for some reason it seems to be a million degrees in here. I can actually feel myself starting to sweat.
Someone must have turned the heat up before leaving and forgot to turn it down. I draw my hair over one shoulder and hold the towel to the nape of my neck to cool myself down. Rivulets trickle down my bare back, and I ignore the memory of when it was his fingers there and not the drops of water.
When too much time has passed, I hop down, and after tossing the wet paper towel away, I pull on the door and flick the light off.
The hallway is dark, with the emergency lights the only source of illumination. I can’t remember if the lights were on or off before I went into the bathroom.
My hands go to my hips and I can feel my scowl forming. “Keen,” I call.
No answer.
There doesn’t appear to be anyone at the end of the hallway. He didn’t stay where I told him to stay.
Did Keen leave me here?
If he did, so help me God—
Just as I pass Jordan’s office, the door opens and a hand clamps around my waist. And then in a split second, I’m spun face-first against the wall.
Fear bombards me, but not because I am afraid for my physical safety. No, I’m afraid for my emotional safety.
A callused palm clamps ever so lightly over my mouth. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
My mind fills with images of his hands moving up and down my body. Images of his hands holding cards. Images of his hands holding my arms over my head. So many images that I can’t stop them.
Keen Masters.
Still, out of sheer pissed-off anger, I brace the wall with my hands and push back . . . into an iron-hard body. “I told you, I don’t want this.”
“I didn’t lie,” he softly whispers into my ear. Freeing my mouth, his warm breath cascades down my neck. “But to be honest, I knew there was a possibility that it was there; I just chose not to look.”
I inhale sharply. The air rushing through my nose carries with it the familiar scent of Cartier, and I can’t stop my knees from going weak. “Then why did you insist we leave?”
He presses his face into my hair, breathing hard, but says nothing.
Those pesky little butterfly wings feel like they’ve multiplied and are trying really hard to get free. Turning around, my hands land on his strong shoulders, and his big hands easily slide to my hips. “Why did you make me leave the club, Keen?”
Remorse blazes in his eyes. “I couldn’t stand to see you with another guy.”
My heart slams against my ribs like a bird in a cage, and no matter how hard I try to control my rapidly increasing breathing, I am completely unable to. I slide my hands down the bulge of his forearms to place them over his hands on my hips. “Why?” I ask, my voice soft, but knowing. Knowing that this push-and-pull between us is a sea of sexual tension that won’t end. Knowing that despite my vow to not let him in my bed again, I will. Knowing that I’m going to let him fuck me, right here, right now.
His voice is thick with tension. “You know why.”
With our eyes locked, our bodies touching, and the heat around us blazing like an inferno, I don’t feel like I have to hold anything back. “Because you were jealous.”
His nod is slow. “That, and because I want you. I haven’t stopped wanting you since I had you, Maggie.”
Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. My name on his lips is a sound I revel in, and I give myself up to him. “I want you too, Keen,” I whisper, “but I can’t—”
Before I can finish telling him I can’t go through what happened before again, he crushes his mouth over mine, swallowing my gasp of excitement. His lips are soft but the kiss is hard, punishing, brutal.
A silent demand for me to open my mouth, which I do.
A silent demand that I meet his tongue thrust for thrust, which I do.
A silent demand that I surrender, which I also do.
There is no way I can’t.
And just like that, all the bricks of anger I spent the past months stacking come tumbling down.
I’m too overwhelmed to stop it from happening. Overwhelmed by his scent, the heat of his skin, and the taste of him, hot and sharp . . . just like I remember, and at the same time so much more.
More intense.
More passionate.
More sensual.
Gripping the back of my neck with one hand, he slides his other hand down my stomach. His slide so much softer than his grip.
Hard and soft.
He’s hard and soft.
Nipping at my lip, tasting me, devouring me, he eases his hand from my stomach down to my hip and then wraps it around my bare thigh. “Tell me you want this.”
With a shudder, I kiss him back harder, wondering if I might draw blood, and this time hoping I do. Hoping I can mark him in some small way. All the while I kiss him, I cling to him like I’ve never clung to a man before. “I want this.”
His growl does funny things to my stomach and when he tugs my thigh up so he can press himself deeper between my legs, my skirt rides up, revealing my skimpy lace thong.
For a moment he freezes, and I start to worry he’s going to end this, but then he crushes me harder against the wall, grinding his erection into me.
Oh, God.
My belly squeezes and then, as if the butterflies have freed themselves, a ripple of arousal shoots through my entire body from head to toe.
His lips start moving again and although I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, they grow even more demanding.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on from just kissing.
Ever.
We are both panting when he pulls back and whirls me around.
Facing the wall, I whirl back to look at him and grab his face, yanking him to my mouth for an earth-shaking kiss.
His fingertips slowly skim the silk of my top, stopping to thumb my nipple. The moan that escapes my throat isn’t intentional and the minute he swallows it, he turns me back around. “I want you. Now,” he growls into my ear.
I suck in a breath and then slowly exhale, as the adrenaline rush caused by his need for me races through my body.
This time I don’t turn back around.
Instead, for only the second time in my life, I allow a man to take command. Allow his rough need and tight control to take me to that place only he has taken me.
He nips the sensitive rim of my earlobe and whispers, “You’re beautiful, do you know that?”
I shake my head, uncertain of anything but how good his hands feel on my body.
“You are,” he rasps in my ear, causing a bolt of hot lust to shoot th
rough me.
Trembling, I stand still for him as he pushes my panties down my thighs, and then goes to work on the button of his trousers.
Sensations zing through me as his knuckles brush against the soft, rounded flesh of my bottom.
And when he urges my thighs apart to make room for himself, the lace of my panties strains against the quivering muscles of my legs.
Without conscious thought, I arch my back and tilt my hips toward him.
His low, dry chuckle doesn’t mask the sound of the condom wrapper tearing. A sound that causes a ripple of arousal so great in my lower belly, I’m certain he must have heard it too.
After a beat, he settles his big hands on my hips and then lifts me up and forward at the same time, to the very tips of my toes.
I really wish I had kept my shoes on.
Keen turns my face to the side, and he kisses down my neck and back up until he meets my lips, and then he takes them in a bruising kiss.
Lost.
Lost.
I’m lost in him.
With him.
In the fine fabric of his trousers as they hit my inner thighs. In the soft brush of his white shirt as it rubs against my shoulder blades. With his lower abdomen so close to my body from leaning in to kiss me. With his hand pressed flat against my stomach. With his cock hot and hard against my bottom.
“Take me,” I moan.
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
The five-inch difference in our heights doesn’t seem to matter in the least. Keen simply bends his knees, wraps one arm around my waist to hold me up on my toes, and braces the other next to my face.
When I lick at his fingers, I feel his body shake.
When his thick cock parts my sensitive flesh already swollen and damp with arousal, my body starts to shake too.
And then he eases himself inside me, slow, slow, slow, until his cock is completely buried in my pussy.
Heightened sensations seize me. As if on overload, he’s suddenly a part of me. His lips, his hands, his hard cock inside me, his breath, his body, him. Him. Him. I want all of him.
He goes still. “You okay?” he asks, his voice rough, strained.
“Yes,” I cry out.
With that he pulls out and drives himself inside me.
“You okay?” he asks again.
I cry out, “Harder. Faster. It’s good. God. So good.”
A rough groan eases out of him, and then he begins to thrust, deep and hard. His hand on my lower belly moving down to my clit and up to my breasts, and back down to my clit.
That’s when I forget everything.
Where we are.
Who we are.
Who I am.
What happened.
He is taking me.
Possessing me.
Owning me like no man ever has.
And I want it. Want this like I never have.
With my palms flat against the wall, I plunge myself back to meet his fast and furious thrusts.
Out of nowhere, a tingling takes over my body. With his fingers circling my clit and his cock filling me, he’s already spurring the start of an orgasm in the same way I remember he did that night.
Suddenly my heart is pounding so fast, the room is spinning for a second. When I can see straight again, I force myself to hold off my orgasm with a few deep breaths.
“So close,” he whispers, moving his hand to my hips and changing his angle to move his cock in and out of me in the most delicious way.
Still lost in him, I allow my head to tip back, and when I do, he finds my bare shoulder with his teeth, the strap having slipped down my arm long ago.
Under the sting of his bite on my skin and the brutal grip of his hands on my hips, I start to come, and not just come, but explode. It’s sensory overload and I swear I not only see the stars in the sky, but planets from another galaxy, and feel the earth shift under my feet, all at the same time.
This position sets me off kilter and I find myself pushing back even harder to keep my balance.
Keen growls low and deep in his throat. Almost like he knows what he’s doing to me. That he’s setting me off balance in more ways than one. Like he knows how he’s driving me higher and higher.
I cry out louder. “I’m coming.”
With that his strokes become relentless, and he changes position one more time. His arm goes around my waist to hold me in place.
I’m not going anywhere.
Seconds later the fingers of his other hand gather my loose, sweat-dampened hair and he gently turns my head to the side.
Right where he wants me, he looks at me, an intensity in his blue eyes that makes me boneless.
My own eyelids flutter as my orgasm starts to settle.
But not for long, because then he angles his hips forward, stroking a spot deep inside me I don’t think anyone has ever touched, while at the same time stroking his hand down through my hair, across my ribs, and down to cup the top of my sex.
Hot, electric pulses zing through me.
And then I lose all control. Saying things I have no idea what. Making sounds even I have never heard. Murmuring incoherent thoughts as everything turns into a whirlpool of erotic sensations.
Keen groans through what I already know is his body getting ready for his own release. And I’m still coming.
Still coming.
“Oh, God!” I scream out, unable to contain myself. I have no idea how loud my moaning is, but I’m going to guess on a scale of one to ten, it’s at least an eleven.
At my loud, boastful moan, he turns my head and stares into my eyes. His hips grind faster against my bare bottom. And then I can feel his cock swell and pulse deep inside me. Groaning in what I know is his come noise, he mouths my jaw and neck through slow, jerky orgasmic strokes.
And then when I’m spent, I think he is too because he exhales against my shoulder, letting his weight slump into my body.
As the waves of sensations subside, I sag into his grip, waiting for my jellylike muscles to gain enough strength for me to stand up on my own.
When I am certain I can stand, I toss him a languid smile over my shoulder, and he smiles back.
Like really smiles.
Not a smirk.
His real smile.
Withdrawing, he cups my chin and brings my mouth to his for a soft kiss, and mutters around my lips, “We should probably talk.”
Pushing myself upright because I don’t really want to talk about how he hurt me anymore, I start to pull my panties up as he walks toward the bathroom.
“Don’t move.” The words are tossed over his shoulder.
I consider running.
Shimmying my panties up and straightening my skirt are about as far as I get before he returns.
In the pale glow of the emergency light overhead, I can see his hair—one hot, damp mess, and still sexier than sin. The stubble on his cheeks and chin—that only highlights the planes and curves of his face. His body—long and lean. I swear this man belongs on the cover of GQ.
His eyes are on me; his walk is slow, deliberate.
I’m gathering my cool—I mean my cool factor, because around him I seem to lose it—a lot.
Nervous, I twist my hair into a loose knot at the nape of my neck and just as I finish, his arms are caging me in, and then one hand is undoing my hair. “I like your hair down.”
Reaching up, I twist it back. “I like it up. I’m warm.”
His blue eyes glint in the darkness, and he resumes his position, keeping me trapped. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a handful?”
My pulse races with odd excitement. “All the time.”
He shakes his head, and just as he moves his hand toward the nape of my neck, the lights flick on.
Keen whirls around, his arms reaching back as if shielding me from whatever harm might be at the other end of the hall.
“Can I help you with something?” the security guard asks, pointing his flashlight in our direction.
Quick to move, Keen bends down and picks up the catalog that somehow ended up on the floor. “I’m Keen Masters, and I just started working for Simon Warren. It’s okay that I’m here.”
The flashlight moves and lands over Keen’s shoulder and right on my face. “Is that you, Maggie?”
I squint. “Mitch?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”
Stepping out of Keen’s protective stance, I give Mitch a wave. “I’m great. Just wanted to make sure Mr. Masters could find his way around.”
Keen snickers under his breath, “Mr. Masters. Now you’re learning.”
I give him a swift kick with my bare foot. “We were just leaving.”
“Let me walk you out,” Mitch says, the light still shining at us, and blinding me.
Keen leans down and whispers, “Follow me,” as if he knows I’m seeing spots. More than likely he is too.
But I can’t do that, now can I? So I step in front of him and start walking, mouthing over my shoulder, “No, you follow me.”
On my heels, he gets up close and personal and then swats my bottom.
I yelp.
“That was for the coffee, and this,” he swats me again, “is for not listening to me.”
I yelp again.
Mitch adjusts the flashlight and it blinds me. “You okay?”
Rubbing my behind, I smile at him. “All good.”
Once he lowers the light, I turn back to Keen and give him the evil eye. “You’re going to pay for that.”
He snickers. Actually snickers.
When we reach the end of the hall, Mitch looks down at my feet and pulls his brows together.
“Long story.” I wave a hand. “But my shoes are in the car.”
He smiles as if that is all I have to say.
As we walk down the steps, Mitch tells us about his wife, and how her feet are always killing her.
I laugh when appropriate, but am only half listening.
It’s Keen’s breathing loud in my ear that I’m most attuned to, and at the same time, most afraid of, because holy hell . . . now what?
Keen
Bonding over a guy in a white jumpsuit is not what I expected on the drive home with Maggie.
