Beware

by Shanora Williams

  “Told you not to wear silk or pearls tonight, but you did anyway. And I swore to myself that if you did, I’d make sure you never wore it in public again. I figured the only way to get you not to wear it again was by giving you what you obviously want from me.” He looks me over, studying my short, silky coral dress. This time more of my cleavage is showing, along with my legs. The pearls draped around my neck don’t help. I guess I’m just like the girls down stairs. Showing it all.

  “I can wear whatever I want, Ace. I’m grown.”

  “You wore it on purpose,” he says, as if he’s bored. “You want me to ogle you. Stare you down and eye-fuck you. You want me to fuck you… so I will. Now, if you don’t want the drink and would like to just get to it, I’m down with that. I was just giving you a chance to get ready.”

  “I’ve had enough to drink. We aren’t doing anything together.”

  He takes a large step toward me, and his chest bumps against mine. I press my palm against the heart of his suit, shaking my head, but I can’t shake this feeling. I can’t describe what I’m feeling.

  I should be terrified.

  I should be running away.

  I should be yelling at him. Cursing at him. Shouting at him. Demanding some kind of answers.

  But unfortunately, my lusty flesh seems to be a lot stronger than my tipsy mind. The stranger that I ran into becomes a problem I want to worry about later. He drifts from my mind the longer I look at the man before me.

  Bringing his hand up, he cups my face, cocking his head to the side. Then, in one quick movement, he picks me up and my back presses against the cool glass window behind me. I shiver, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “Stay quiet,” he mutters.

  I roll my eyes. “Stop telling me what to do.”

  “I’ll do what the fuck I want,” he grumbles. Before I can say anything smart, he crushes my lips with his own, lodging his sweet tongue into my mouth. He tastes like scotch. It’s all over his breath. Apparently I’m not the only one that’s tipsy.

  I moan gently as he rocks his hardening cock against me. Running his hands down my sides to get to my ass, his fingers linger on my cheeks, repeatedly running over the silk.

  “Fucking silk,” he grumbles, but I hear the vulnerability in his voice. He loves it. Bringing one hand around, he guides it beneath my dress and sticks a long finger inside me. I gasp against his lips, eyes stretched wide. “Wet,” he whispers. Then he drops me to my feet. Turning my back to his chest, he presses my stomach against the glass and grabs a fistful of my hair in one hand. “Stay still,” he demands.

  I don’t say anything. I do as he says because, unfortunately, I want this to happen. I want this psycho out of my system. I want to hate him again.

  His zipper unzips, and I hear his pants fall to his ankles. Lifting my dress, he runs his free hand down the curve of my bare ass, using the other hand to yank my hair a little more.

  “I’m gonna fuck you like you wanna be fucked, Red. Hard. With no mercy. I’ll show you that what I say goes.”

  His cock presses against my ass. Hard and thick, just how I thought it would be. He runs it between the crack of my ass, making himself harder. Making me wetter. Then, he lowers himself, stuffs his cock inside me, and I release a deep, moan-like gasp.

  “Fucking tight,” he says in my ear. “How long?”

  “Maybe three months,” I breathe as he snakes his tongue around the lobe of my ear. I shiver.

  “Three months too long.”

  He begins his thrusts, my hair still locked in his hand, his body hard against mine. In and out he goes, growling with each pump. He finally releases my hair, but it’s only to hold on to my waist. He slams into me just as he said—mercilessly.

  I start to cry out, but he caps a hand around my mouth, whispering in my ear for me to keep quiet.

  My walls clench around him each time he enters me. My legs quake from the heavy, intense impact. I should hate it, how he’s trying to hurt me, but I love it. If this is his form of punishment, my word, I’ll take his punishment anytime.

  “No. More. Silk. In. Public.” He growls each word into my ear, plowing into me harder and harder with each one. “Understand?”

  “Yes,” I say submissively.

  “Swear on it,” he demands.

  “I swear,” I whisper.

  “Good.” I hear him let off a quick, throaty laugh… and then all goes downhill. Pulling out of me, he turns me toward him and stares into my eyes, holding my face between his hands. “Good girl.” He kisses me roughly then sucks on my bottom lip as I whimper with my eyes sealed. “But that’s all you get.”

  He pulls his pants up and walks way, buttoning and zipping himself up as the distance between us grows. Glancing over his shoulder, he smirks, but I narrow my eyes.

  Hell no. This is not happening again. Marching after him, I grab him by the shoulder, yanking him in my direction. He looks at me, eyes hard.

  “Why is that all I get?” I ask, nearly out of breath. “You never finish. Are you trying to get me to beg?”

  “No. I just know you can’t handle what I’m capable of. Too innocent.”

  “I can handle anything,” I snap, matching his hard glare.

  “Not me. Can’t be fucking handled, Red.”

  “Try me,” I breathe. I know what I’m doing. Not only do I want to be satisfied by him—need to be satisfied by him—but also I need to know more about him. All that I can. I need to get closer in order for someone like him to open up.

  Ace shakes his head, running his fingers through his slick hair. “Don’t test me,” he mumbles, fighting a laugh.

  I step closer, so close I can feel him breathing on me. “This,” I breathe, “…is me testing you.”

  We stare at each for a brief moment. His eyes flicker from the moonlight above, his nostrils flaring just a little. Inhaling deeply, he steps back and exhales, shaking his head and chuckling.

  “Fine. Meet me at my place after the party. Come in what you’re wearing now. Come ready,” he says.

  “Okay,” I breathe. “I will.”

  He looks me over, a smirk on his lips. “Bold.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “We’ll see how bold you are tonight.” Leaning forward with his lips to my ear, he whispers, “Because when you come, I will own every. Fucking. Inch. Of you.”

  I swallow hard, but keep my composure. My pussy clenches, my throat constricting with need, but I keep my head up and my confidence high. Turning his back to me, he walks away, doing his normal casual stride.

  “Just a little warning. So if you don’t show up, I understand. My words should never be taken lightly.” He flashes a small smile.

  “I’ll be there!” I yell after him as he enters the building.

  And I will.

  I guarantee it.

  I’m out of my fucking mind.

  Here I am, standing in front of Ace’s door, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Luckily, Ace told Gerrick not to wait up tonight, which is good because privacy goes a long way with me. I’m sure Ace doesn’t care about being heard, but I do. And with the warning he gave at the party running back and forth through my mind, I know I’ll be screaming to the rooftops.

  Just the mere thought of him inside me again makes me tingle. During the remainder of my time at the party, I needed more. More of his touch. His breath running down my spine. His hands all over my body. Him… inside me. I’m no longer tipsy. I’m drunk, more so than I was on the yacht.

  Am I afraid? Yeah.

  Am I intimidated by his warning? Yeah.

  Am I horny? Fuck yes. Which is the biggest reason I’m here. I’m drunk, horny, and desperate. The worst combination a woman could ever have.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I build up my courage and knock on the door. I wait for a short minute, and when the locks clink and the chain rattles, my heart drops.

  Ace opens the door with no shirt on, only a pair of black shorts riding low on his hips. He’s
obviously taken a shower because his hair is damp and hanging on his forehead. My eyes travel down to his chest, to the tattoo. It’s the same name bordering the heart of the cross. Gloria. Who’s Gloria?

  “Took you long enough. Thought you got cold feet.”

  “I told you I was coming,” I say boldly, but not bold enough. I hear the waver in my voice, and he does as well because he laughs.

  “There’s still time to back out,” he says, lifting a brow. I roll my eyes and push past him to get inside. I watch him shut the door behind me, and when he turns to look at me, he licks his full, pink lips. “Want another drink?” he asks.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Sure? Looks like you need it.”

  “Stop trying to scare me,” I mutter, folding my arms.

  A smirk plays on his lips as he walks toward me. Grabbing my hand, he turns me around, bringing my ass to his groin. “Got a question for you,” he says.

  “What?” I breathe.

  “Who were you dancing with at the party?”

  I hesitate on my response. Good thing my back is to him. He can’t see my slightly panicked reaction. “I don’t know. Just some guy that wanted a dance.”

  “Oh. Surprised me seeing you out there,” he murmurs in my hair.

  “How was it surprising?”

  “You don’t seem like the dancing type.”

  “I’m not.”

  “So why’d you dance with him?”

  “Because I can.” His body stiffens behind me, and in an instant, he turns me in his direction, chest-to-chest, glaring down at me.

  “You think you can say and do whatever you want to me, huh?” he asks, running the tip of his nose down my jawline. He places a small kiss on my collarbone as I nod.

  “I do as I please,” I say confidently.

  He pulls his head back to look down at me. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you’ve got the wrong fucking mentality tonight, Red.” His eyes get darker. He picks me up, rushing toward his dining table. Placing me on my feet, he forces my body down on the table stomach first, burying his groin in my ass.

  “What are you doing?” I ask breathily.

  “Teaching you a lesson.”

  “What kind of lesson?” I muse, giggling.

  “Find something funny?” His voice is gruff now.

  “You,” I whisper. Oh, goodness. I’m drunk. I should shut up. It sounds like he’s getting pissed. But I can’t. I want him upset. I like the fact that I can get under his skin. It’s exciting. Apparently his annoyance comes to surface because a loud rip fills the copious room, and I gasp, glancing over my shoulder. “You ripped my dress!?”

  He ignores me, pushing my head back down. Lifting his right foot on the table, he hovers above me, running the palm of his hand down my bare back. He pushes the ripped silk aside to touch and squeeze, and I mope. I loved this dress.

  But my thoughts about the dress disintegrate as he squeezes my left ass cheek hard. Then spanks it.

  I yelp.

  “You have a smart-ass mouth,” he mumbles. “I’ll teach you.”

  He drops his foot and orders me to stay the way I am. I breathe slowly, listening to the rustles behind me as he moves. When he’s done with, what I assume, was taking his shorts off, he brings his foot back on the table to my right and grabs my waist with one hand, grinding his cock against the crack of my ass for the second time tonight.

  I’ve never had anyone play with my ass the way he does, and something tells me there’s much more he’d like to do to it.

  Lowering his foot again, Ace takes a step back. Silence fills the room, but it’s instantly shattered as a cry of pleasure erupts from my mouth.

  Just like that, he’s inside me, with a grunt so fierce I can tell he isn’t going to hold back. Not like he did at the party. I want this, and he knows it, so he’s going to give it to me. Nothing is holding him back.

  Gripping my waist tightly, he plows into me from behind, grunting through clenched teeth as my fingernails scratch at the table. Each thrust is met with a lift and swivel of my hips, and with each one, the table screeches over the grey, marble floor.

  He’s holding my waist unbelievably tight, so tight it hurts. I know it’ll be bruised when he’s done, but somehow, I look over that pain.

  “Let’s get one thing straight…” he growls, grabbing a handful of my hair with one hand and yanking my head back as he drills me from behind. My pleasure intensifies. I pant for him to do it again. Wait… Why the hell am I enjoying this so much? Lifting me up, my back against his chest, he says, “When it comes to you and me, I make the rules. I’m in charge. You don’t run shit. You don’t ask me questions. You should be grateful for all I’ve done for you so far.”

  Immediately following his last sentence, he brings a hand in front of me and pinches my nipples. “Ah… shit,” I groan.

  “Look how I’m taking care of you,” he murmurs in my ear, releasing my hair. He uses the other hand to pinch the other nipple. His hips don’t stop stroking. He’s drilling into me. No remorse. No mercy. As he gets closer, his body tightens, and he pinches my nipples a little harder. “Shit,” he whispers through clenched teeth. “Shit.” He forces my body back on the table, picking up his already rapid speed. My moans increase because I feel it. I feel him. His growls are mixed with groans. He tenses with each pump.

  He’s close.

  And I’m almost there.

  With four final strokes—four deep, penetrating, orgasmic strokes—he clutches my waist even tighter, releasing a noise like the sound of a roar and a sigh.

  As my body goes lax on the table, Ace whips himself out of me. I remain still, my cheek pressed against the hard, solid surface beneath me, staring ahead at the wide window. My mind is somewhere else.

  I’m not sure how to feel about what just happened.

  I’m not sure if I should be glad or upset.

  But as it replays over and over again in my mind, I realize how my mind feels about it doesn’t matter because my body feels un-fucking-believable. I feel good… and I want more. So much more.

  Pressing my palms against the table, I sit up and turn to face him slowly. He’s staring at me, probably waiting for me to say something first.

  But I don’t.

  I just stare at him.

  And he stares back until he starts to get annoyed.

  “You look like you’re about to pass out,” he mutters, snatching his gaze away and pulling off his condom. “Go home.”

  “No.” I refuse.

  He laughs silently. “Obviously haven’t learned your lesson.”

  “Maybe not,” I breathe.

  Shaking his head, he walks around me and marches up the stairs, leaving another “Go home, London,” behind him.

  But I won’t. No, I can’t. I want to stay. I want him… again. My body is aching. My body is craving for more. My lust is overpowering every shred of common sense I have. Every ounce of decency and self-respect is bridled by desire.

  My body is longing for more of Ace Crow, so I do something I thought I’d never do in million years— I chase after him for more.

  It’s just my luck that he’s stepped out of his shorts again and is in his boxers. I can see his mild erection dangling against the cotton fabric. And suddenly, I have the urge to taste him. All over. As he turns and catches sight of me, he looks me over with a deep, panty-melting laugh. While shaking his head, he reaches through the slit of his boxers and fists himself. He frees his cock, eyes trained on me, not daring to look away.

  “You are too fucking hardheaded,” he says.

  “No,” I breathe, walking toward him. “I only want more. Just like you do.”

  As I reach up to him, he leaves no time for me, or himself, to think. He pulls me against him, locking my chin in his hands. He looks down at me, smirking as the pad of his thumb runs from the corner of my mouth to my cheek.

  The next thing that happens sends me somewhat over the edge.

/>   Removing his grip around my chin, he caps my shoulder with one hand, the other still holding his cock, and gently forces me down, watching me get lower and lower, until my knees hit the carpet.

  Now, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous or terrified, or even reconsidering this whole encounter, but as I watch him stroke his semi-hard flesh with nothing but confidence—as I allow him to bring his thick member to my lips—I know this is truly what I want. This is what my body has longed for—ached for ever since meeting him. I know because I haven’t stopped him once.

  “Open,” he demands.”

  I drop my chin, spreading my lips. Without a second to waste, he shoves his cock into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I gag around him, thinking he’ll draw himself out, but he doesn’t. He stays buried in my mouth, looking down at me with those hooded, burning eyes.

  “While this happens—every time it happens—you’re mine. I’ll do as I please with you, and I guarantee you’ll love every bit of it.” He grins, somewhat demonically. “But through it all, remember you wanted this.”

  I look up, refusing to nod. Such an arrogant, dominant bastard. But it’s sexy. And kinky. And I hate that I like it. His words give me a thrill. Every time it happens means it’ll happen again… and again. And it’s a shame that I’m excited for what’s to come.

  Finally, he pulls himself out of my mouth. I draw in a deep breath, but he shoves his now hard cock back into my mouth, only this time, he doesn’t touch my throat.

  “Look at me,” he murmurs, voice thick with demand. I look up as he strokes my hair. A small smile appears on his lips. “Good girl. Now suck… slowly. Show me that you really want more.”

  I fight a smile. I can most definitely do that. What he doesn’t realize is that in this moment—in the now—he’s also mine. And in order to please myself, I have to please him. Turn him on.

  So I do as told.

  I suck. Slowly. Gently.

  I bring one hand up to stroke his balls, which catches him off guard and causes his whole body to lock. I want to smirk, but unfortunately, my mouth is full. I bring him deeper into my mouth as he continues stroking my hair. He’s enjoying it. I love the sight of his eyes closing, his face oozing with pleasure.