by René, Dani
Opening the tap, I grab some paper towel and wipe the sticky alcohol off my skin, leaving me glistening. I don’t hear him when he finally returns. Instead, I feel him behind me. His heat cocoons me, causing me to want to melt into it, but I don’t.
“This should fit,” he whispers in my ear. When I glance at my reflection, I meet his softened yet commanding gaze. His eyes are the color of warm honey, shimmering with longing, which makes me curious as to what he’s hiding. Their golden depths hold pain, so much agony it causes my heart to lurch in response. He sets a black shirt on the counter beside the basin without touching me, and I want to sigh in relief and disappointment. But then he lifts his hand, his knuckles brushing along my bare arm in a white-hot trail. Goosebumps dot my skin. A tingle shoots through me.
The air is electric. My nipples harden against the soft lace material of my bra. He drops his eyes to my chest, and I watch as the color darkens to a hazel shade as he takes me in.
“Are you affected by me, Kitten?” His words feather over the sensitive skin of my neck, causing a slight tremble to trail through me. My stomach tightens, swirling with desire, twirling wildly as if a hurricane is about to pull me into the eye of the storm and I have no way of stopping it. I want to retort. I want to answer back with an angry bite, but I can’t, because when I open my mouth to form words, I can’t find them.
His hand comes up as he tenderly strokes the curve of my nape, moving my hair to the side. It allows him access to the most sensitive part of my neck. Just behind my ear. The movement is so light I’m sure I’m imagining it, but my eyes are glued to his touch in the reflection. The skittering of an electric current shoots down my spine, and I pull my lower lip between my teeth, biting down to keep from moaning out loud.
“Or am I the only one who feels this delicious poison trickling between us?”
Once again, he only breathes the words. They’re carried along my flesh like a map leading directly to the apex between my thighs. My fingers grip the material of the shirt he set down, and I finally clear my throat.
I’m about to answer when his finger reaches up, finding my lips and pressing against them to shush me. He places his other hand flat against my stomach, fingers fanned out, his pinky just touching the waistband of my jeans.
“This isn’t a good idea, Carrick,” I tell him, even though his finger is still positioned on my mouth. His hand inches down. I tremble. I’m needy and wet. With deft fingers, he unbuttons my jeans, slipping his hand beneath the material but keeping it above my panties.
“Tell me no, Kitten,” he murmurs in my ear as he strokes me slowly, tentatively. His movements are nothing like I’d expect a domineering asshole to be. “Please tell me to stop,” he urges me, implores me with a pained growl.
“I-I . . .” My words are decimated when his finger trails over my clit. He presses down, and I’m beyond reason. My hips buck against his hand. I’m drenched. So fucking turned on I’m ready to bend over and beg him to take me every which way.
“Peyton,” he chants my name, as if he’s a sinner asking for salvation. Repenting for much more than his ministrations on my body. He’s playing me like a musical instrument. As if he’s the master, attuned to my moans, knowing what to press to draw out my whimpers. Which button to push to cause me to cry out as an orgasm rocks me to my very core, and he’s not even entered me with his cock or his fingers. I turn to putty in his hands. Nothing ever felt like that with Michael. It was a chore for him to kiss me most times, which is why I’m still a virgin.
We stand there in silence for what feels like hours, but when I open my eyes, I don’t care how long I’ve been in his arms, because I want more of what I can’t have. He’s a bad idea, but I’ve been known to make stupid decisions. “Carrick, this . . . This . . . It can’t—”
“It’s already happened, Kitten.” He pulls his hand from my jeans. Turning me around, he trails his finger, wet with my juices, over his full pink lips. I watch in awe as he slowly licks at the arousal. “This” — he gestures between us with his index finger— “is happening because you no longer have a choice but to be mine.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m no submissive, Carrick. I came here to experience it, not to be owned. You can’t just lay claim to me because you made me come,” I return hotly. Grabbing the shirt he left for me, I shrug it on and storm out of the room, leaving him glaring at my back. Once the door shuts, I lean back, inhaling deeply.
“Are you okay?” Savannah’s voice startles me back to the present when I almost walk into her, and I nod, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. “What did Rick do?”
“Nothing. He didn’t do a thing. I need a drink,” I tell her in frustration at my stupidity. I’m such a slut for Carrick. One moment I’m telling him no, the next he’s stroking me to orgasm. Heading down the stairs to the main area of the club, I reach the counter to find the barman whose name tag reads Dylan.
He glances at me, offering me a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”
“Tequila. Make it double,” I tell him.
He nods, smirking at Savvie who’s standing beside me, waiting for my confession. She knows me too well, and sometimes I feel as if I need space. Just time away from everything and everyone.
“He didn’t do anything that I didn’t want,” I tell her without looking at my best friend. I can’t see the I told you so look on her face. She doesn’t respond. Dylan sets two shots on the counter, and I pick one up, clinking mine with hers, we down the shots in one gulp. If there’s one way of getting rid of these emotions, this pain, it’s to meet the bottom of a bottle of tequila.
5
Carrick
For two days, I’ve been sitting in my office with her on my mind. Work has been put on the back burner. Reading the emails and applications coming through for staff blur in comparison to the light she shone as she peeked up at me. Watching her lose all control was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever seen.
She burned at my touch, and I was scorched by her heat. There is something about her, the smile she hides from me, those glistening jade orbs of emotion that dance with wicked mischievousness. I want her.
With every person I’ve spoken to over the past forty-eight hours, with each moment I’ve spent attempting to focus on the business at hand, her sounds echo in my mind. They’re still the only thing I can think of. I try to concentrate on the documentation Callan sent over, but the sweet kitten has been running circles in my head.
Her feisty nature drew me to her, but it’s the blonde hair and green eyes reminding me of Aurora that has me hooked. Maybe it’s wrong to want a girl who looks exactly like the woman I lost, but I can’t help it. I’m a selfish asshole, and this time I’m going to ensure I get what I want.
I can’t quell the thirst I have for her. Since she walked out, leaving me drenched in her sweet juices, I’ve been craving another taste. One more.
Can a night with Peyton allow me to say goodbye?
Would it be a bad thing to indulge in her?
All the nights I prayed for Aurora to come back to me, and now her doppelgänger is right here, and I have the opportunity to get the closure I’ve longed for.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve given a second glance to a blonde, but it was like seeing a ghost. A living, breathing ghost. When she walked out, it took all my fucking restraint not to follow her. I wanted to own her, lay claim to a woman I’d just met. Only because she reminds me of someone. She reminds me of a past I lost.
It’s not fair. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t stop myself from wondering if Peyton had said yes, would I have really been able to see her for her? Perhaps it’s time I find out. If she’s Savvie’s friend, she knows exactly what this lifestyle entails. That means she was in here for a reason. That thought causes a smile to crack on my face. It’s genuine. The first one for a long while.
No submissive has ever walked away from me before. But no other woman makes me want to bind her to my bed for days while I fuck her sen
seless. Not like Peyton. Each toy I’ve played with has been forgettable. Every woman I’ve touched has never given me a forty-eight hour hard on like the beautiful, intoxicating Peyton.
While I was deep in conversation on an online conference call with a new rope supplier, all I could think of was the way she moaned my name. How her slight curves trembled as she found euphoria from my touch. Since that night, I haven’t seen her, nor heard from her. When I asked Savvie for her number, I was politely told to go fuck myself. Savannah is a fiery little toy.
I figured I’d be able to cast her from my mind, but sitting here has only proven one thing. It’s time to take a chance.
Both nights I’ve been down in the club looking for her, but she’s not visited again. I don’t know where she’s staying, not even my best friend, Mason, will tell me. I know why though. Savannah would have his balls if he so much as uttered a word.
Since we each have a penthouse above the club, I know she’s not in the building. I would have seen her coming or going, so the only other option would be one of the many hotels close by. I have gone so far as to call a few asking for her, but none of them will divulge information about their guests.
All I have to go on is her name, Peyton Moore. Another blonde Irish girl that’s gone and caught my attention and doesn’t want to let go.
“My name is Aurora O’Neil,” the woman before me says with a fire that sets my body alight. I know exactly who she is. There’s no need for her to tell me anything more. The name alone tells me she’ll one day be my wife.
“And I’m Aeden O’Leary,” I answer, not giving her my first name. Instead, I tell her the name she’ll recognize. We’ve been told from a young age we’ll one day be married. Who knew people still did that? My father and hers are old friends. Business partners in a way.
Going back centuries through our ancestry, an O’Neil and O’Leary have always been married. To keep the business in the two families who had joined together and formed a section of the Irish mob.
“Why do you lie?” she quips, while her green eyes trail over me in a descent of every inch of my body. Her eyes leave sizzling desire in their wake, which causes me to groan deep in my throat.
“What do you mean?”
“Your name is Carrick,” she tells me easily, folding her arms in front of her chest. Her tits, those beautiful mounds, lift, and so does my dick.
“Aye, it’s Carrick Aeden O’Leary,” I respond, trying to keep my voice even but failing as the rasp is easily noted. Her right eyebrow arches in question, then her mouth tilts into a smile. A movement that turns a light on in her face, making her look like an angel.
“Then why didn’t you say so, Carrick?” she says, stepping closer to me. “Because,” she starts, her finger tracing a line from just below my left eye, down to my lower lip. “I’d like to kiss you, Carrick.” She breathes my name, which makes my dick jolt to attention.
“You wouldn’t want to kiss a man like me, princess,” I tell her, dropping my mouth closer to hers.
Her head tips to the side. She narrows her gaze, watching me. “And why is that?”
“I have blood on my hands. I’m no good for you.” It’s true. I kill. I’ve watched men bleed from wounds I’ve inflicted, and the worst thing is, I enjoyed it.
“Who said I wanted a good man?”
And that’s how we started. Aurora and me. We’d found love in a world where there was none. She was a girl who would forever be the princess of an Irish mobster, and I would always be the man who killed for her father.
My phone buzzing drags me from the memory of how the past seems to slowly be replaying itself. A beauty and her alluring smile, with eyes that look right through me. The only difference is, Peyton doesn’t want me. Why would she? I could never give her a ring, or a happily ever after. I’m not the knight, I’m the goddamn dragon. When I pick up my mobile, I glance at the name before swiping my finger over the screen.
“Callan,” I answer, waiting for the lecture from my brother about not responding to the email he sent about Moran, but I’ve had something else on my mind. This is the most I’ve spoken to my brother since leaving. I can never bring myself to call and hear my father’s voice if he by chance answered. His disappointment in me for leaving is enough to break me down, turn me into the teenage boy who always did everything to please him.
“I’ve told Cayleigh she’s staying with you. Her flight leaves on Sunday. They’ll land at the private hangar. Make sure you pick her up.” Straight to the point as always. We’ve both grown up with a father who was business always. Strict, but fair, we were taught that commanding respect from anyone we come into contact with is the only way to live. And also, the only way to love.
My mind drifts to two nights ago when a specific blonde challenged me beyond reason.
“Are you listening to me?” Callan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I clear my throat in response to him. Shifting in my chair, I glance at the time, realizing it’s almost time for Savvie and Mason’s show. That means she’ll be there. “I have to go. Just drop all the info to me, and I’ll make sure she’s collected.”
“Fuck you, Rick. Are you hanging up on me for pussy?” Callan hits the nail on the head when he questions me, but I’ll never tell him about Peyton. The thing about Callan O’Leary, my older brother, is we’ve always been in competition, and women have been no different.
“Fuck off, Cal. I have to go.” I hang up without waiting for his response because I know he’ll get me all the information for Leigh’s flight. Pushing off my chair, I head to the window looking out over the club. There at the bar leaning against the dark wood is the curvaceous woman who's somehow invaded my mind, causing me to wonder about who she is, why she’s here, and just how I’m going to get her into my bed, in my dungeon, and kneeling to please me.
I turn away from staring at her and pour myself a double shot of whiskey. A three-finger shot is enough to have my body buzzing, but still not too much to cloud my mind. No, there’s only one thing I need right now, and she’s sitting at my bar dressed in a scrap of material that’s about to be ripped off her petite frame and lying on my office floor.
Lifting the glass, I gulp the whole shot in one swallow. The harsh liquid burns as it trickles down my throat. “I’m coming for you, Kitten,” I utter as I slam the glass on the bar. When I pivot to the door, I notice it opening, and there on the threshold to my office is the woman in question. The one I want to devour and fuck until I’ve had my fill.
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
“Only when women deny me what I can so clearly see in their eyes. Those big, doe-eyes you’re piercing me with, they tell me all I need to know.” I stalk toward her, placing my palm flat on the wood of my door, which shuts it behind her.
“You’re overconfident,” she retorts, squaring her shoulders. Those green eyes flicker as they look through me, answering me with confidence she doesn’t feel. She’s here because she wants me; I can see it.
“And you, Little Kitten, are a liar,” I tell her, leaning in, caging her against the door with my mouth at her ear. “Tell me, did you touch your pussy last night wishing it was me?”
Her silence answers me.
“And did you come for me?” I quip, stepping back, allowing her space.
“Just because you’re overbearing and commanding, doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole,” she bites back, causing me to chuckle.
“That’s not why I’m an asshole, sweetheart. I am one of the most thoughtful, caring Dominants you’ll ever find. But my assholeness comes from much more than you can ever fathom. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” I turn, heading back to the desk. I perch myself on the edge. Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I watch her stalk toward me. Her hips sway just a little more than she needs them to, causing my slacks to feel a tad tighter than they should.
“Oh? Well then you should take your own advice. Just because I’m in your club doesn’t make me a submi
ssive. And don’t ever think you know what I have or haven’t been through.”
“You’re not submissive? Mmm . . .” I answer, watching her as she stops in front of me. My legs spread, and I crook my finger at her. “Come here, Kitten.”
“Why do you call me that?” Her lips purse in frustration, and I’m tempted to test out just how beautiful they’d look wrapped around my dick. But with Peyton, I have a feeling patience will pay off more than the domineering way most women enjoy.
“Because you’re a feisty little toy, and you look like you can be a handful. Also, I have a feeling while I’m driving my dick inside you, those claws will come out, and that makes me want to test my theory.” My words cause her to raise both eyebrows in response. She steps between my legs as easily as a submissive would, just the way I need her to.
Normally with women, I find myself feeling a pang of guilt, of agony, but with Peyton, it’s different. No guilt. No heartache, just lust. Desire is a dangerous thing. It can heal you, but it can also tear you down to your very soul and destroy you.
“Lift your dress,” I tell her, expecting a retort, but she surprises me by obeying. I, in turn, raise my eyebrow in question to her responsiveness.
“If you want a sub so badly, then teach me,” she says, causing my cock to harden painfully. It’s thick, solid, and throbbing to drive deep inside her pert little ass. Between those luscious tits, and inside her pussy that I’m dying to taste.
“You’re too new to this life. I can’t train inexperienced submissives,” I tell her, placing my hands on her hips, tugging her closer. I don’t trust myself with this woman. She’s dangerous to me, to my heart, because when her gaze meets mine, I feel it. A thump. A thud of emotion. Of need I squashed long ago. Emotion is not one of my strong suits, because when I allowed it to take over me all those years ago, it annihilated me, and I lost everything. I vowed to never allow it inside me again.
