by Ivy Carter
“In,” he says. He’s completely serious and monosyllabic, and it’s turning me on. I climb in.
When he gets in the driver seat, he seems too consumed by his mission to say anything at all. He fires up the engine and shifts into gear, the car screeching out of the spot, then surging forward. He grips the steering wheel with one hand, the gear shift with the other, maneuvering the car like a stunt driver or a fighter pilot, the wheels screeching on the polished concrete of the parking deck.
When we hit the street, he flips on the headlights and sends us careening down the narrow streets of the financial district, headed towards the harbor. The roar of the wind over the open top of the convertible makes conversation nonexistent save for a few sidelong glances of those dark, chocolate brown eyes that are so wicked and delicious.
The drive isn’t long, but with each passing minute I can feel the tension ramping up inside of me. We’re going home. To his home, where he once promised to lay me out across his bed and have his way with me.
And it’s finally happening.
I look over at him in the driver’s seat, driving as fast as the car and the law will allow (although he’s pushing the law well past its limit), and I know I want it to be him. He is what I’ve been waiting for. I am not about to be disappointed.
When he pulls up to the curb in front of his building, which I recognize from the first night, he slams the brakes. The tires squeal and we screech to a stop. I glance at the front steps and am relieved to see no one standing there. There’s no one in our way this time.
He comes around and opens the passenger door for me, then offers me his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up onto the sidewalk with a strength that makes my knees weak.
He keeps hold of my hand as he unlocks the front door with his free hand. He keeps hold of my hand as he pulls me into the elevator and plants his lips firmly on mine, his free hand snaking up into my hair at the base of my neck. He keeps hold of my hand as he pulls me out of the elevator and unlocks his front door, a heavy industrial door for the sleek, industrial loft he reveals on the other side.
I gasp at the sight of the wide planked wood floors, the stainless steel and subway tile of the open kitchen, the floor-to-ceiling windows that arch just before they reach the top, the exposed brick on the walls and the polished wood beams the travel the length of the ceiling.
The majority of the decor is built into the loft, the rest is minimalist. A leather couch and a single leather chair around a glass coffee table. Three gleaming industrial metal stools lined up at the marble-topped counter of the breakfast bar. A long, heavy wooden farm table surrounded by metal diner chairs.
No art on the walls, no tchotchkes atop tables or counters. It looks for all the world like a rental. The only thing that lets me know it’s his is how clean and straight and controlled it looks. That’s just like him.
He plants one final, firm kiss on my lips, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist as he holds me to him from the small of my back. Then he leads me to the back of the apartment, through a door and into his bedroom. It’s empty, save for a king sized bed with pristine white linens and a few fluffy white pillows, and a pair of reclaimed barn wood end tables. The floor-to-ceiling windows are bare, giving views of the dark water of the Boston Harbor, the lights off the harbor islands glittering in the distance.
I stand, rooted to the wood floor, and he comes around in front of me, his eyes roaming the length of me, hungry. He takes a step towards me so there’s barely a breath of air between our bodies.
“This isn’t some kind of family heirloom, is it?” he asks, his eyes flicking down to the H&M button up I’m wearing.
“No,” I reply, the word catching on all the lust in my throat.
“Good.” He reaches his hands up, but instead of starting work on the buttons, instead he slides his fingers into the gab, grips, and pulls. The shirt gives way with barely any effort, buttons skittering across the bare floor and disappearing to places unknown. I’m wearing the bra he bought me, not because I expected him to see it, but because it makes me feel sexy and confident. And from the way his eyes widen as he takes in the sheer fabric straining over my full breasts, I can tell he’s pleased to see it.
“Is this mine?” he asks. He reaches up and cups my breasts, one in each hand, then runs his thumbs over the hardness of my nipples. I gasp in a breath.
“Yes,” I hiss, barely able to keep from melting to the floor. I want him so bad.
“Good. Then I can do what I like with it.” He ducks his head and takes a nipple into his mouth through the fabric, running his teeth gently along my skin. I can feel the wetness between my thighs growing, ready for him, needing him. And then I feel the fabric catch between his teeth. He pulls, hard and quick, tearing a neat hole in the sheer fabric. I feel a burst of cool air on my damp skin, and I have to reach up and grasp his hips to keep myself from falling to the floor.
“Oh god,” I sigh, my fingers walking up to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of each until I have free access to his chest. I run my fingers across the lines and hardness of his abs. I reach up and shrug the shirt off his shoulders, and he lets go of my breasts long enough for it to flutter to the floor before returning to playing with my nipples.
I know I should go slow. I know I should enjoy it, but I want him so bad I swear I could mount him like a stallion right here, right now. My hands go immediately to his pants, where I feel his growing erection. He’s rock hard and nearly full grown. I wrap my hand around him through his pants and give him a squeeze, releasing and animal-like growl from the depths of his throat.
“Don’t make me wait,” I say as I flick my tongue along his ear. “Please.”
He pulls back, his eyes dark yet still sparkling, his lips quirked into a devious grin. “I like it when you beg.”
“I’ll do anything to get you inside me,” I tell him, and I mean it sincerely.
He reaches around behind me and gently lowers the zipper of my skirt, a delicate act in comparison to what he’s done to my shirt and bra so far. It drops off my hips, revealing the last pair of sexy underwear I own (after what he did to the others), a fire engine red lace thong.
“Jesus, Quinn. Did you know I’d be getting you naked tonight?” He steps back to take in the sight of me, his hands on my hips turning me so he can get a good view of my ass.
“Just lucky I guess,” I murmur, feeling the fabric between my legs grow wetter by the second.
“Fuck,” he moans, then turns me to face him as he walks me backwards towards the bed. My knees hit the edge and I tumble backwards. He stands over me, reaching for his belt. Within seconds, his pants are dropping to the floor, and I see that there’s nothing between him and his thousand dollar Gucci suit pants. I swear, my mouth waters at the sight of his cock, long and hard, and it’s all I can do to stay where I am and wait for him.
He reaches down hand hooks his thumbs into the waist of my panties, peeling them down slowly. When he bends down to pull them past my toes, he ducks his head, his tongue dipping between my folds. I cry out, reaching down to thread my hands into his hair, holding him to me. His tongue delves into me, then travels back up to my clit, circling until I feel like I might explode, but he pulls back.
“Not yet,” he says, crawling over me, all muscle and heat. He bends down to kiss me, hard, his cock brushing against the place where his tongue had just been. I arch my back into him. His lips leave mine, traveling down my neck and onto my collarbone, his hand sweeping down my chest and hips, coming to rest behind my knees. He gives a slight pull, and I part my legs, opening for him. He settles between my legs, his cock grasped in one hand. I’m so close, both to having him and to coming. I hear myself whimper, I want him so bad.
His eyes come up to meet mine, a look of intensity that seems to ask, Are you ready?
For a moment, there’s hesitation—this is it.
Am I really ready for this?
But I know that I am, despite my lack of experience. Despi
te the fact that he’s absolutely enormous, hard and forbidding, and I’m not sure how badly it will hurt when he goes inside me for the first time.
He seems to sense my millisecond hesitancy, and his eyes narrow. “Quinn,” he says softly.
“Yes,” I say, before he can try and take anything back.
I nod, and without taking his eyes off mine, he slides in.
I close my eyes and feel a tremendous pressure, and I bite my lip, inhaling sharply.
He draws back, as if sensing my reluctance.
“I want it,” I whisper, eyes still closed.
And it’s true, I do want it. I want him so much I can hardly take it anymore.
He must feel the same, because then he’s pressing more forcefully, and the pain builds to a fast crescendo and then breaks as he slides deeply inside me.
I gasp, and then the pain is gone and it’s replaced by the most intense wave of pleasure—I groan from deep in my throat.
I’m wet and ready and I want him so bad that I arch my back past until his he’s in deep. I wrap my legs around him to hold him close and still, just feeling every inch of him before I realize I’ve forgotten to breath. I heave out a breath, my head thrown back as I moan with pleasure.
When I look up, I see he still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He begins to move, slowly, lazily, sliding in and out, but still his eyes bore into mine. After a moment I start to move with him, my hips rocking instinctively to help him reach the spot inside me that sends electric sparks all the way through me.
And still, he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
So this is what I’ve been waiting for. Oh my God, it’s everything I wanted and so much more. His body is like the sun, radiating, warming me, electrifying me with his heat.
I feel the pressure begin to build low in my abdomen, the heat and electricity radiating through me. I reach around him, my fingers digging into the firm musculature of his back. His head rolls to one side as he begins to build his speed and intensity, rocking into me hard and fast.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, or maybe I scream it, I can’t tell. In this moment I’m gone. Lost. He’s in me, but I’m lost in him. I toss my head back with the intensity of his strokes, feeling my orgasm growing closer.
“Look at me,” he says. “Look at me.”
And I do. I make my eyes meet his, and I watch him watching me as he fucks me all the way to the edge. When my orgasm finally bursts through me, I clench down on him with every part of my body, holding him to me with my legs and my arms. It’s the only time our gaze breaks, because he drops down and covers my mouth with his, the intensity of his kiss matching the intensity of my orgasm.
My breathing is ragged and my heart pounding when he starts to move again. He leans over and gathers me in his arms, rolling over so I’m on top of him. He sits up so that we’re face-to face, me in his lap, and grasps my hips. He raises me up and then pulls me back down, hard. Over and over. Soon I’m moving with him, bouncing hard on his cock. He begins to groan, taking one of my nipples into his mouth. I toss my head back with abandon as I ride him, shocked to feel another orgasm begin to build.
It’s like the dream I had come to life. Only this time, he’s not sending me away.
I’m finishing.
We’re finishing what we started.
“More, Quinn,” he growls, his voice ragged. I know he’s close. The sound of my name in his mouth with me naked on top of him sends me into a frenzy, because I’m close too. I’m close again. I rock my hips into him hard, grinding into his cock, trying desperately to get him deeper, get more of him. I want every inch of him inside of me.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” he says. “Come with me.”
“Yes,” I cry as my body starts to unspool. I want to come with him. I’m coming with him.
I can tell the moment he lets go. His muscled body seems to turn to liquid, and he wraps his arms around me like we’re going to meld together. His breath comes in ragged fits and starts, and he holds me down onto him like he worries I could disappear.
Every part of my body feels simultaneously electrified and exhausted. We collapse onto the bed next to one another, panting, our chests heaving. I stare at the ceiling, at the old beams crossing the smooth white plaster and the enormous industrial ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
My heartbeat begins to slow, and I start to take stock. Of the twinge of a bite mark on my shoulder. Of the slickness but also the soreness between my legs. Of the knot forming at the back of my hair. At the way that it all just hurts so goddamn good.
Being with Jared is everything I wanted it to be.
I turn my head to look over at him, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a deep, heavy rhythm. He’s not asleep, but he looks like at any second he could be. He looks as if I’ve wrung him out as thoroughly as he’s done to me.
I’m about to look away when he turns his head towards me. His gives me a lazy smile, the first lazy thing I’ve ever seen him do.
“You’re special, Quinn.” He smiles, and it’s a little goofy, and cute—so not like his usual aloof coldness.
And I don’t feel special. I feel dirty and wild and sexy.
I laugh in spite of myself, of my nakedness and what we’ve just done. But then I feel something building in my chest, something else, and without thinking, it pours out. I can’t stop it.
“There’s something I need to tell you. I mean, I want to tell you.”
He pulls back slightly, propping himself up on his elbow. He seems completely unaffected by the fact that he’s naked, so confident he in himself. “Should I be worried?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I say, though I have a brief moment where the enormity of it sits on my chest like a baby elephant, pushing the air out of my lungs. “I just want you to know that this, what we’re doing, is really important to me. It means a lot.” Dammit, Quinn, just say it. “It’s just that…I’ve never done it before.”
He cocks his head like a puppy trying to understand a command. “You mean sleeping with your boss?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never slept with my boss before, because I’ve never slept with anyone before. I was a virgin. Until, you know, a few minutes ago.”
“Oh,” he says, the word sinking between us like a heavy stone. I chance a look at his face and see terror in his eyes. Every part of his body that was in contact with mine suddenly separates just a bit, so that there feels like the start of a breeze between us. I wait for him to say something, maybe get used to the idea, and settle back in. I wait for something, anything, maybe a look or even a sigh, but he’s gone still as stone. And in that moment, I know I have to get out of there.
The problem is, of course, that one can’t make a quick exit when one is naked with her clothes spread across the floor and potentially in many pieces.
“I need to uh, use the restroom?” I say, beginning to scoot across the bed and out from beneath him.
“Over there,” he says, pointing towards a door on the opposite side of the room. I search for something in his voice that feels human, but he sounds like he’s on autopilot.
As I make my way towards the bathroom I begin picking up pieces of my clothes — my bra (which is full of holes) and underwear (that’s thankfully in one piece, skirt, shirt (which no longer has its buttons), shoes. I worry I’m going to have to be stealth about it, but as soon as I leave the bed, Jared turns over. His bare, muscled back is facing me, which not long ago I was digging my fingers into as he pushed into me for the first time. The memory should send me into waves of ecstasy, but now it just makes my skin go cold.
In the bathroom, I shut the door and begin to dress, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have so completely misread the situation? I thought he was feeling what I was feeling. I thought he was opening up to me, which is why I opened up to him. I thought we had a connection, but I was so completely wrong. All he wanted was a good lay, someone to fuck and stay out of hi
s life. And I, like an idiot puppy dog, followed him home and practically told him I was in love with him.
I feel my stomach turn with embarrassment. When I open the door, now fully dressed, I expect to have to make some kind of excuse or apology for my quick exit, but Jared is still facing the opposite wall as his back rises and falls with his deep breaths. Is the bastard asleep?
Without a second look, I reach for my bag and stride out the door, my heels clicking heavily on the wood floor as I go.
He never says a word as I leave.
The End of Book 2
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