Fuck, it’s so perfect with the tail of her nude lacy thong accentuating its roundness.
I would truce this shit, but we both know this is just a part of our war. I’ll fuck her and she’ll stay because she doesn’t have any other real choice.
Squeezing the tops of her thighs, I lift her legs, tucking them beneath her body so she’s on full display to me with only the skimpy underwear covering her asshole and her cunt.
Breathless moans fill the air as I trail my finger over the tail of her thong, through her crease to the wet lace over her pussy. Her front flat to the cluttered wood, she curls her hands around the edge of the desk by her feet.
I lower myself and take a bite of her ass cheek, licking and sucking down to her pussy as I free my cock. Ava’s writhing on my tongue before I’ve even tasted her bare flesh. But even like this, she tastes so fucking good. Too good.
Hitching her thong to the side, over her butt cheek, I lick around her swollen entrance. She’s so fucking wet that her juices drip down my chin and her thighs before I have a chance to drink them all in.
We may never admit it out loud, but whatever this is between us, it’s obliterating. It cuts through all the shit: hate, attraction, lust…this surpasses it all. It’s a primal need, always simmering in the background, and now we’ve reached boiling point. The only way to sate the craving is to let it overflow and spill. Let it burn through us.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Ava cries huskily as I press my tongue into her tight cunt, my teeth grazing her folds the deeper I bury my face in her. And with the press and sweep of my thumb over her clit, she comes apart, her walls clenching and her heels pressing into my shoulders with the sweetest bite.
Fisting my dick, I stand over her, taking in the marled blush of her orgasm on her exposed skin.
So fucking beautiful. It’s all I can think as her thick hair splays around her. The higher I drag her dress, the more I get of the faint trail of miniscule stars and planets that wind up her spine. Delicate and elegant, just like her.
Releasing my cock, I bracket her waist and pull her up until her back is to my front and I’m nudging at her wet heat. I could fuck her like this. I could squeeze her cries into silence with my bare hands as she begs me to go easy on her, but then I wouldn’t kill the curiosity that niggles at me every time I see her face with my eyes and in my thoughts. I want to see what she looks like when I fuck the pleasure right out of her.
A low groan hums through her as I sit her on the desk, facing me. And grabbing her ass, I impale her on my dick to a raspy, garbled cry she buries in my chest. Her hands sweep up my shoulders with every hard, blunt thrust and slap of our flesh that has her legs tightening around me for purchase.
Hands cupping my jaw, she looks up at me with heavy-lidded and trembling eyes. Her blazing blues melt through me with a force that is beyond anything I’ve ever felt.
“Cheese, little mouse.”
Ava’s stare doesn’t waver once. No matter how deep I drive or how hard I punish her cunt.
She takes everything I give her with her pants and her gasps and moans and choked cries. She doesn’t let go or relax her hold on me as I fuck her, pounding and pounding and pounding until we’re a wreck. Breaking and shattering. Crashing.
And while my cock is still pulsing inside her clenching cunt, her thumb trapped between my teeth, she still holds me with those eyes. It’s like she’s stealing everything with her soulful depths. And in this moment, I know that I would break every fucking rule for her…even my own.
I can’t let that happen. She can have all the control she wants, but the power has to stay mine.
Chapter Eight
AVA
One month later
Lacie’s pissed. We’ve never done each other professional favors. It’s not how we operate, and until now, there hasn’t been any crossover in our fields and clients. The last month has been hell without her to talk to, so much so that Owen has become the only person I talk to outside work.
Dad is ignoring me, Mom pretty much told me she needed time to forgive me, and Lacie hmms and ahs during our conversations. I’m on my own, and surprisingly, I’m surviving. No thanks to Damon and his constant demand to know where I am on Callum Warner.
The answer: right where I was when Lacie told me that if I wanted to be considered I’d have to work like every other literary agent and editor approaching them. Again, no thanks to Damon. Her hate of him and his guts is feral. And completely warranted.
Lacie’s become a stumbling block as far as Warner is concerned, but I’ve found a possible resolution.
It’s taken me long enough.
“Do you ever use the door?” Damon calls from my open doorway.
He’s standing tall and broad, his black tailored suit and light blue shirt molded to his chiseled body. The shirt is so light that it’s more like a blue-tinged white. It brings out the golden undertone of his skin and the pink in his lips.
My mouth waters as I take him in. My stomach swoops. Like I’m physically hungry for him.
“I open and close it occasionally,” I tell him, slipping my white suit jacket over my nude lace camisole. “Typically, I open it in the mornings and close it when I leave. Does that answer your question, Mr. Coldwell?”
We’re treading a thin line since fuck-gate or fuck-gate-the-second. Or rather since I walked out of his office trying not to look like I’d had seven shades of Wednesday fucked out of me.
Damon is like a car wreck. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to acknowledge him. I don’t want to want him. But I can’t help myself on any of those fronts.
My world would be better off without him. And yet, I can’t imagine it without him. There’s something about this man that brings out the parts of me that aren’t the prettiest but make me stronger nonetheless.
Still, I’ll never admit that, not in a million years.
My nude stilettos hammer on the concrete floor as we walk side by side to the elevator. Damon has his typical “I own everything” swagger on—hands in his pockets, straight face, eyes taking everything in. A king looking over his kingdom.
“You don’t have to come,” I tell him as we wait for the elevator.
I don’t know why he’s insisting on coming to my lunch meeting with Robert, but it’s annoying the crap out of me.
He turns his face to look at me, eyes raking over me from head to toe. “But I do.”
“Oh my God!” He’s jealous. “Robert is old enough to be my father.” I turn to face him, and his eyes go to the low V of my top that peeks from the blazer. “Scratch that, he’s old enough to be my grandfather.”
“Your point?”
“My point is…” How do I say this without sounding like an idiot?
He takes a step back and waits for me to finish with an amused quirk of his lips. “Well?”
“You and I…we’re not a thing, and you have no right to be jealous…or whatever.”
The doors ding, and the drop of his grin is followed by a stern “Shut up, get in.”
I do as he says because I don’t have another option if I’m getting to my meeting on time. Once the doors close, I stand as far from him and his brooding as possible.
“If the only reason you’re coming is becau—”
“I’m coming because if you’re incapable of landing Warner, I want to make sure you don’t fuck things up with Rhodes.” His offhanded cutoff lands in the pit of my stomach with a sickening crash.
I bite my tongue because I’m the reason Robert is with CPM, not because of any of the other shit Damon threw at him during the contract meeting. And after today, Warner should happen a lot quicker.
We’re fifty-six floors above New York City. The music is getting louder as the lights get dimmer, and we’re finally done going over the publishing schedule that I’ve worked on with the production and publicist departments. Right on time for summer break.
“Is everything okay?” Robert asks while Damon is taking a call.
Right on time, Lacie walks in with Callum Warner at her side. Thank God for social media.
“Everything is perfect,” I tell him, kind of ogling the basketball player heading our way. Damn, he’s so tall that the urge to crane my neck is overwhelming even at a distance. But so I don’t make my ruse obvious, I focus on Robert. He’ll do exactly what I need him to without any prompting from me.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“Sometimes it’s nice sitting back.”
Callum walks past our table, and as I’d fucking prayed, Robert lights up. He’s naturally a Mallards fan, being a Manhattanite all his life. Something I found out in the last part of his book I read through.
“Callum Warner?” he croons, sitting back in his chair and picking up his drink like he’s king of the castle.
“Robert Rhodes,” Warner sings back. I feel him pause behind me, his long shadow cast over me like the most blessed shade.
They banter back and forth, Warner coming closer with his soft booming voice. And behind him stands Lacie. She’s got her eyes narrowed on me like she’s got me all worked out. Which she probably has, but in my defense, she told me to work like all the other agents and editors, and a staged encounter like this…is exactly what they would do.
I smile at her, ignoring the fact that we’re in this awkward place, and with a sigh and roll of her eyes, she smiles back. She’s pissed, but she misses me more. And it’s really taking everything in me not to jump her with a hard hug.
“Here, let me introduce you two.” Robert takes my hand across the table, holding it up to Warner like I’m some kind of offering. “This is Ava Monroe. Miss Monroe is one of the editors over at Coldwell Press.”
I offer him the broadest smile I can muster, and with a wave of my fingers, I say, “Hi.”
Robert tells him all about the wonders I’m working on his book. At one point he calls me an angel, something I’m really not. At least not anymore. I don’t have to say anything; I sit contentedly quiet while he sells me.
“You have to join us.” Robert waves over at a passing waiter and asks him to join the table beside us to ours.
It all happens very quickly, escalating beyond my intention or prediction.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Lacie grumbles, but there’s a pursed smile on her lips. “How did you know we were coming here?”
Side-glancing at her, I shrug with a proud grin. “You told me to work for it like everyone else…right?”
“Smart-ass.” She palms my face with a shoulder bump.
“Wait.” Warner breaks away from his conversation with Robert and asks, “Do you know each other?”
I look at Lacie, and when she rolls her eyes, I tell him, “Since kindergarten.”
“That’s cool. I don’t I have any friends that go that far back.”
“Ava is a boil on my ass.”
“Lacie is…” I pause, trying to come up with something witty, but Damon’s stare from across the room scrambles me, and all I can come up with is “Lacie.”
“She is kinda special,” he chortles, hanging his forearm on the back of her chair.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Shut up!” Lacie kicks me under the table with a genuine laugh.
It’s sort of a pity that when Damon returns, she becomes a bit snarky even through her professionalism.
It’s a wonder that by the time we leave we have a personal invite from Callum to watch their next home game, because the vibes Lacie puts out are anything but inviting.
Lacie makes her excuses to leave soon after Warner, and once we’ve put Robert in a cab, Damon walks with me the few blocks to Central Park.
We’re both quiet; I’m not really sure what to say after his remark when we left the office. And as always, Lacie saves me from the awkwardness.
BBF: I miss you. xox
I smile at her contact photo. She’s changed it back to one of us.
Ava: I miss you more. X
Damon comes to a stop at one of the park gates. Turning to me, he studies me.
“Good job,” he finally says, his voice serious and deep.
“Thanks.” Clutching my purse in my hands, I look up at him.
“Want to grab some ice cream?” he asks from nowhere, and while my heart is thudding relentlessly and everything in me is screaming yes, I can’t.
“Actually, I want to go home.” I sense his disappointment. Although I’m disappointed too, it’s for the best. “Good night, Damon.”
I turn and walk away, my heart hammering in my throat and my stomach twisting until I’m so nauseous, I’m clammy.
A hand grabs me by my elbow. I almost go flying off the edge of the pavement onto the road.
Damon pulls me back, turning me to face him. “Wait…”
“Don’t, okay?” I shake my head at his drawn face. “I’m not that woman, and you’re not that man. Let’s not pretend we’re something more than this.”
Shaking him off, I manage to cross the road and hail a cab before either one of us presses for more. For something we’re never going to be.
Chapter Nine
AVA
The next couple of days at the office are a blur. I’m rushing from meeting to meeting, trying to keep myself stupidly busy so that I have an excuse to miss the weekly forecast meeting with management. Every moment of quiet I find myself in is tinged with words and whispers of what might have happened if I hadn’t walked away the other night.
“This all looks great.” Francesca sits back in the chair opposite my desk. Her hair tumbles past her petite shoulders while she takes a sip of the ginger tea that’s scented the air around us. “The numbers are incredible, and Damon believes you have Warner in the bag.”
“Nothing’s concrete.” I shuffle the papers in front of me with Damon’s words ringing in my ears. You’re incapable of landing Warner…don’t fuck things up with Rhodes…
“That’s not what he believes.”
There’s no point in arguing with her over it; we both know what he believes doesn’t mean anything until Callum is fully on board and a contract is signed. We’re both quiet, me waiting for her to leave so I can continue with work, but she has other ideas.
Sitting up, she folds her arms over the edge of the desk and leans over them, leveling me with her bright gaze. “He’s stubborn and cantankerous.”
“Excuse me?”
“Damon.”
“Oh.” I hope my indifferent reply doesn’t betray my hammering heart at the sound of his name from her lips.
Perhaps her impromptu drop-in to go through figures is a ploy to deliver some kind of warning to stay away from him. Regardless, it’s unneeded. She can have him and his pissy attitude and ruthless antics.
My stomach twists at that, making my heart stutter with the sharp groaning ache.
He’s a bastard! Complete jerk, I remind myself, but it does nothing to quell the burn in my chest.
“He’s incredibly smart, and the problem with being that and stubborn is that he acts like an asshat. Especially when he cares about something…or someone.” She pauses, brushing her coiffed hair back like it was messy. “The thing is, he’s a spoilt rich brat that feels the need to make more of what was passed to him because this company was the sibling he never had. He loves this place, and when Damon loves something…he will do whatever it takes for it. Nothing will stand in his way.”
“Francesca—”
“Fran.”
“Fran, I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this, but there is nothing between Mr. Coldwell and me. He’s my boss, and that is all.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “He’s my boss too.”
Okay…
My phone rings and before I pick it up, she grabs the headset, holding it to her chest even though she’s placed the call on hold.
“We’re friends. That’s all.” She stands, shaking out her loose dress. It’s different from the bodycon outfits she used to wear when I started here
almost two months ago. “And beneath the mercurial veneer, he’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure,” I tell her simply as I take the phone from her and hold it to my ear. “Thank you for stopping by.” I take the call off hold and answer it.
Walking out of my office, Fran looks back with a soft smile. It’s like she’s trying to impart some kind of feeling to me. It’s a pointless task because I refuse to be the stupid mouse any longer.
Three weeks later
The game is on the last quarter. Lacie is practically falling off the edge of her seat on one side of me, as is Damon on the other. I’m not one hundred percent sure what is going on, but the place keeps going crazy every time a player gets close to the semicircle by the hoop.
The atmosphere is electric, and with seats being so close together, I feel Damon’s energy pulsing through him. Every time he moves, his body touches mine. Our thighs graze or our arms press together and my heart races like I’ve been running up and down the court.
I take a sip of my soda to stop myself obsessing over the way his skin stretches over his muscular forearms when he clenches his hands around his water bottle.
“God, look at those arms…” Lacie groans. “I love a man with strong, ripped arms.”
Shit. I look away from Damon and over at her, but she’s engrossed on the court. Seems as though my gawking hasn’t been caught.
“It’s like their muscles have muscles…”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, leaning forward to put my soda down on the floor. And when I sit up, my hand catches on Damon’s thigh. I pull away instantly, but it does nothing to diminish the shock from the contact.
Our eyes lock and it doesn’t matter how much I try to distance myself because there’s a pull that draws me back to him. We’re a breath away from touching, and that wisp of space is more painful than anything I’ve ever felt.
Forbidden: A Romance Anthology Page 32
