Hurt So Good: A Break So Soft Novel

by Black, Stasia

  Hurt So Good

  A Break So Soft Novel

  Stasia Black

  Copyright © 2019 Stasia Black

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Stasia Black

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  DYLAN

  I stare over the rim of my glass of bourbon, watching the bombshell in the red dress work the room.

  She’s good, I’ll give her that.

  She flirts just enough with the men—only the important ones, I note—a touch of her hand on their shoulder, the brush of her hip, the flash of her smile. She’s making them feel like they’ve gotten something from her but then she moves on before they can really get a taste.

  And the more I watch her, a taste is exactly what I want of the woman.

  I don’t even know her name but my cock has been stiff for the last half hour as I’ve nursed my bourbon and watched her.

  This is a bullshit mixer the Silicon Valley Robotics Symposium puts on every year, and it’s made exactly for this kind of shit. To encourage the greasing of wheels that actually gets deals done. An open bar. A tight red dress. A word or two in the right ear.

  The hotel ballroom is dimly lit while a band plays soft, unremarkable jazz on a small stage up front. Meanwhile, middle-aged men with flushed faces laugh too loudly at jokes and are a little too obvious about their hopes for getting laid. Because it’s a tech conference though, there are about two guys to every woman, so their chances aren’t good.

  And then there’s her. The woman in red.

  I wonder what company the woman represents.

  It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to find out and you sure as fuck aren’t getting a taste of her.

  I frown and tip my glass back, draining the last of the bourbon. Don’t know why the fuck I even stopped by here after my presentation. My brother, Darren, kept saying I needed to at least show my face or it would look rude after I gave the keynote speech. Considering he’s also my business partner, I thought, fine, I’ll drop in for a few minutes and then get the hell out of here.

  Until I saw her.

  Trouble is what she is. Trouble I don’t need.

  Which is why you’re leaving. Right now.

  I stand up and put the glass down on the bartop, then turn and—

  Almost run straight into her. Her.

  “Where you off to in such a hurry?” She flashes the same mega-watt smile she gave every other guy in the room and my eyes narrow. She thinks she’s gonna run her game on me? It’s insulting. Do I look like all the other desperate fucks in here?

  I ignore her and reach for my coat and umbrella, then I move again to leave. I don’t step around her, though. I step into her and our bodies do more than brush. We collide and I hear her quick intake of air as she rocks back on her heels.

  I expect her to get pissed at the dick move. Which is for the best because I just need to get the hell out of here. Discipline has been my watchword for the last six years and I’m not about to blow it now.

  But when I glance her way, her posture is completely different.

  Her eyes have dropped to the floor and her head is bowed. Submissively. Her brunette hair shines in the dim light of the wall sconces and now that she’s here up close I can see that she’s younger than I first thought. Maybe only twenty-five? Twenty-six?

  And then I see her tongue swipe out to lick her lips at the same time her chest heaves, ample cleavage rising and falling dramatically.

  I’m captured by the sight and when a moment later she glances back up at me, the lust is clear in her eyes.

  Who the fuck is this woman?

  “Who are you?” I’m not a man who beats around the bush.

  “Miranda Rose. With ProDynamics. And you’re Dylan Lennox of The Lennox Brothers Corporation.”

  My eyebrow lifts. ProDynamics, huh? Rod Serrano, the CEO, has already put in his bid to have their Pro processors in our newest robotics motherboards we’re pushing out. He keeps calling to get updates about his bid but I’ve been ignoring his inquiries.

  Is putting this siren in my path his latest attempt to sway me into taking a meeting with him?

  “Wow. Rod really does go all out,” I sneer. Rod will find out along with everyone else when we make the announcement of which processing chip we’re going with. But I already know I’m not interested in his processor. Processors like Intel has capitalized on—and like ProDynamics keeps producing—are the past. I’m more interested in the future.

  The woman’s eyes flare but she doesn’t say anything. Fuck. She doesn’t look pissed by my asshole attitude. She looks turned on. And her lust seems genuine.

  Or she’s just one hell of an actress.

  Either way, no fucking way I’m letting my dick have any say in my business dealings. Jesus but I learned that the hard way, didn’t I? I barely survived the scandal last time and only because I had the money to pay to make it go away quickly.

  Never again.

  So no matter how luscious Miranda Rose looks in that red dress and those fuck me heels, I continue pushing past her. My eyes shut briefly as I inhale her seductive scent but then I’m finally away from her.

  I stride for the door and almost make it.

  A red-faced Ken Kobayashi stops me feet from the door, clapping me on the back. “Dylan! Good to see you! Loved your talk. Come, have a drink with us.” He gestures toward his table of big wigs from the Japanese tech sector who flew in for the conference.

  I force a smile and shake him off. “Sorry, I’m heading out.”

  “No, man, you gotta come hang.” Ken grew up in the states and we briefly knew each other in college. He’s the opposite of every Asian stereotype—he always loved partying instead of studying, barely got by in his classes and only managed to get the position he has now because his daddy pulled strings for him in the family company.

  Over his shoulder, I see Miranda heading out of the hotel ballroom, ass swaying sinfully in the red dress.

  My cock stiffens again. Fuck, I need to get out of here and get home where I can take myself in hand and give in to all the fantasies crowding my brain before I embarrass myself in public.

  “Great seeing you, Ken,” I cut him off mid-sentence. I clap him on the back and then head out the same door she just left through. She’s only about twenty feet ahead of me, strolling with those hips still swaying through the lobby and out a side exit to the garage.

  I’m not intentionally following her.

  … I don’t think.

  I’m just making sure she gets to her car safely.
She’ll never even know I’m here. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

  As if I could ever be accused of being gentlemanly. I know what this really is.

  Just more fuel for tonight’s fantasies.

  For once, I’m giving in to the rush of what it feels like to stalk my prey.

  Chapter Two

  MIRANDA

  My heels click clack on the stairs as I head up to the third floor of the parking garage.

  Hairs tingle on the back of my neck, the same way they always do when I walk anywhere at night in the city.

  It’s not safe to be a woman alone.

  The thought both thrills and terrifies me. Because I’m fucked up. I’m a seriously fucked up woman.

  I bite my lip at the thought of the man in the bar.

  Dylan Lennox.

  His chiseled face and broad shoulders. Those eyes that captivated even as they dismissed me.

  The man who followed me out of the hotel into the garage.

  I don’t hear his footsteps on the stairs behind me, though. Will he take the elevator? Or was he not following me after all?

  He was leaving, too. He’s probably just heading to his own car.

  But he’s Dylan Lennox. Surely he used valet parking.

  I bite my lip as I reach the top of the staircase. I only offer one glance over at the elevator before pushing through the door to the open air of the top floor of the garage.

  I parked at the very end of the row, at the corner of the rooftop. As I go, I force myself not to look back like I usually would. It’s dark and I’m a woman alone. I’m supposed to be afraid.

  And my breaths do come quicker with every step I take. I hurry, almost at a jog or as near to as I can in these heels.

  My heartbeat only calms once I reach my car. A red Corvette, naturally. I’m so careful about the packaged product I want to project to the world as I make myself up each morning. The Corvette is all part of it.

  Confident. Sexy. Desirable.

  In control.

  Everything I wish I actually was.

  I reach in my tiny clutch purse and pull out my key, ready to push the button to open the door—

  When I’m pushed from behind, my face crushed into the glass of the driver’s side window.

  “Spread your legs, bitch.”

  It’s not Dylan.

  The breath is heavy with the stench of cigarettes and the arm that cinches around my neck is merciless.

  I let out a small cry before the arm tightens around my neck.

  A foot kicks my legs apart. My ankle turns at the rough movement and I cry out again but it doesn’t matter.

  Nothing matters to the man at my back as he rips my dress up to my waist. I’m not wearing underwear because the dress was so tight that even the strings of a thong would have shown.

  I cough and choke as tears rush my eyes.

  Rough hands on my body. Hands squeezing my breasts as I cry out uselessly.

  You’ll take what I give you, you worthless whore. The memory and the present mingle interchangeably. And you’ll love it so much you come the more I hurt you. You’ll beg me to hurt you even more.

  “Oh yeah, you’re a hot little bitch, aren’t you?” The man behind me breathes into my face, slobbering and then biting painfully at my ear. “You hot for me, whore?”

  I shudder at the words as it all washes over me. Knowing the pain is coming. The humiliation. The helplessness.

  Worthless whore. You want it over? Then beg for it. Beg for it, whore!

  It starts to rise, just like it always did and I hate myself. I hate him for making me this way. I hate him and I—

  “Get the fuck away from her!”

  My eyes pop open wide as I wrench my head to the right.

  Just in time to see Dylan Lennox barreling towards us.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Three

  DYLAN

  I’ll kill the fucker. It’s the only thought I have as I tear into the guy and yank him off her. He goes down with little fight, throwing his arms over his face.

  Miranda screams but all I can care about is the fact that I got him off her before he could. Before he could—

  I roar in fury and bring my fist down on the fucker’s face.

  Once, then again, and—

  I lift my fist to ram into his face again but arms wrap around me from behind. I look back in confusion.

  It’s Miranda. Dark mascara tear tracks line her cheeks from and she’s shaking her head. “Stop. It’s not what you think. Stop!”

  What the fuck is she—

  “He wasn’t— He wasn’t— I wanted it. We arranged this. Online. I knew he was going to be here.”

  She wanted—

  I jerk back from both her and the guy I’m on top of. She tumbles backwards and the guy underneath me crawls away, dropping the condom he had clutched in his hand as he goes.

  “You crazy fucks,” he mutters as he crawls to his feet and limps away, hand to his bleeding face.

  “You arranged for this.” My voice is dead cold and my hands clench into fists. I still have the other fucker’s blood on me. I’m sure I broke his nose.

  Miranda just nods, her head down, sitting on the ground where she landed after I brushed her off me.

  “You arrange for strangers to fucking rape you?”

  Her head shoots up at this. “No! It’s not… that. Not if I want it. We’re consenting adults.”

  “Consenting—” I scoff, shaking my head. I can’t fucking believe her. I drag my hands through my hair and turn away from her.

  I rode the elevator up and then stood on the other side of the door for several long moments, warring with myself over whether or not to open it onto the roof. Just to peek. Just to double check she was fine getting to her car.

  And when I lost the battle with myself and pushed open the door, only to find her struggling against that bastard and trying to scream…

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I roar at her where she’s still on the ground, dress up around her waist.

  Jesus Christ, she’s just exposed to the fucking world, not even trying to cover herself as she wipes at her eyes, only smearing the mascara worse.

  I shouldn’t have looked.

  Fuck but I shouldn’t have looked.

  Because the sight of her there. Weeping. Broken. Legs splayed with one of her high heels broken, cunt bared…

  It flips the switch I’ve managed for years to stifle. All the years of therapy, all the iron discipline.

  Gone.

  In a single moment, all of it, gone.

  “Is this what you want?” I sneer, reaching down and grabbing her roughly by her upper arms, dragging her to her feet and then twirling her and slamming her face down on the hood of her Corvette.

  I take both of her wrists and pin them behind her back. Then I bend over her from behind, just like that other bastard had her, and I jam my erection into her ass. “You want it like this? You want a stranger to fuck you?”

  There’s a distant voice shouting in the back of my head: What the fuck are you doing? Let her go. Back away. Fucking now. This is a road you can never go down again.

  But then she bends her head to look at me, an awkward angle with the way I have her positioned. I can’t read what’s in her eyes. If it’s lust or determination or what.

  All I know is she doesn’t look broken anymore.

  “Yes, I want it,” she whispers. “But only if you make it hurt.”

  My hand that’s not holding her wrist is on my buckle the next instant. I rip it open and undo my slacks.

  Fuuuuuuuuuuck, it feels good to free my cock. My tip immediately seeks her entrance. She’s so hot. And wet. Dripping fucking wet.

  She wants it.

  And I haven’t had it in so long. So fucking long.

  Just this once. Just this once and then never again.

  She wants it. It’s not wrong if she wants it.

  My hips surge forward and then I’m fucking her. It’
s not a decision. In this moment, I can’t not be fucking her.

  She cries out with the first in stroke. I don’t ease her into it. And I’m a big motherfucker. Women have had trouble taking me in the past.

  I pull back and then drive my hips forward again. Deeper. Fuck. I throw my head back and grip her wrists even tighter.

  I’m not wearing a condom. Shit. It should worry me. But after six years without a woman, the only thing I can think is fuck, I can feel all of her. No barriers. Nothing between us. My nerve endings feel raw as if they’re firing for the first time and the need to fuck her is this insane compulsion.

  She clenches around me. Or maybe she’s squeezing so tight because she’s trying to keep me out? Is she regretting her decision?

  The thought only makes me harder.

  I put my hand on the back of her neck and shove her face harder into the hood of the car and I let my fantasies loose.

  I followed her out of the bar. She was swinging that luscious ass so temptingly. Teasing all those bastards but then leaving them wanting.

  Cock tease. My father’s voice reverberates in my head. Women who are cock teases need to be taught a lesson, son. A tease is a promise. It’s our job to make sure they pay up.

  NO. I swore. I swore I’d never be anything like him.

  Disgust chokes me.

  But I fuck Miranda even harder. My hand pushes the side of her face against the hood. Fresh tears squeeze out of her eyes.

  I’m horrified.

  I’m fascinated.

  She squeezes around me, tighter than my fist when I punish-fuck my hand for my sick fucking fantasies.

  And I cum.