The Price of Scandal

by Score, Lucy

  By love, my mother meant financial security. And by financial security, she meant a man with money. It didn’t matter that I had my own. In Venice Stanton’s mind, a woman was one step away from destitution without a husband with a club membership and deep pockets.

  Derek pushed more tequila shots at the dean and Mrs. Winters with a charming smile. Just ignore the drunken elephant at the table, it seemed to say.

  “So, sis,” Trey began, “How many ounces did you have on you when you got busted?”

  My brother had never matured much past fourth grade. And while I admittedly could still enjoy a well-timed fart joke, I had long ago learned the art of not throwing temper tantrums.

  I’d told him no, and he was pushing back, completely unconscious of the fact that he was reinforcing my decision.

  “Whoa, bro,” Theolonia said, her heavy fake lashes fluttering. “Why are you hashtag hating?”

  “Excuse me, Pedialyte,” my father rumbled in her direction. “What the hell did you just say to your sister?” he asked my brother.

  My father had no mob connections. I’d checked, hiring a PI when I was a teenager. But he still gave off that scary vibe, and I took the smallest bit of pleasure watching my brother shrivel miserably under his glare.

  “Nothing, Dad,” he mumbled. He reached for the tequila.

  “You’re damn right nothing. You haven’t earned the right to insult anybody. You’re a fucking sponge, my boy. So until you go out and earn a damn dollar the old-fashioned way, I don’t want to hear you snivel a single word about your sister.”

  “Hashtag harsh,” Theolonia said, stroking a hand through her hair.

  “Are those extensions?” Mom asked her.

  Theolonia blew a bubble and nodded, staring down at her phone.

  “When are you going to grow the hell up?” Dad leaned in aggressively. “When are you going to make something out of yourself?”

  “He’s just a boy!” My mother argued. “He doesn’t need to rush into a job… or a relationship.” She gave Theolonia a pointed look.

  “He’s thirty-three fucking years old, Venice!” my father announced loud enough for the hard of hearing.

  The soups vanished, and in their places appeared small plates of chicken and greens. Bethenny and Ed commented loudly about how perfectly wilted the endive was.

  The room lighting cast a purple glow, making everyone look a little ill, a little alien.

  “Just so you know,” Derek said, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ll now require a burger in addition to that milkshake.”

  27

  Derek

  Thanks to the mounting tension of disappointed expectations and the second bottle of tequila, the dinner had taken a turn for the worse. Bethenny and Ed thoughtfully ushered off the dean of medicine and her wife to safer territory while the Stantons circled each other like sharks.

  Well, three of the four of them did. Emily, the underwear-less genius, sat sphinx-like in the midst, soaking up her family’s bad behavior. When voices raised over Byron’s tryst with a professional tennis champion, Emily folded her napkin neatly over her untouched veal and turned to me.

  “Derek, would you like to dance?”

  I’d itched to touch her all night. So much temptation tonight. A man could only hold out for so long.

  I wasn’t one to turn my back on opportunities. Opportunities opened doors. Opportunities changed lives.

  “I’d be delighted.” That was a lie. There was nothing delightful, or even reasonably socially acceptable, regarding my feelings toward her. I wanted to tear her dress from her. To shove my hands into her hair, raining down pins. I wanted to destroy every wall she’d ever built until there was nothing between us. I wanted to watch her come. Watch her let go. Be human. I wanted her to let me possess her.

  She didn’t have a clue about the dirty, annihilating thoughts I was having as she slipped her hand trustingly into mine. She led the way to the dance floor, and I was content to follow.

  There were other couples swaying to the orchestra. Moving in time. Appropriate and sedate. And I had a raging beast under my skin.

  I stopped her in the middle of the floor and pulled her into me with a restrained violence. Need had stripped me of my manners. My propriety.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and I savored that small noise.

  I needed to remember my place. I wasn’t here to ravage my client, lovely and irresistible as she was.

  “What’s going through that mind of yours?” Emily asked, placing a hand on my chest. Oh, so proper. I could feel the years of etiquette and dance lessons in that delicate, restraining motion.

  “Darling, I don’t think you really want to know.”

  Her nostrils flared delicately like a doe scenting danger. “I think I really do,” she said quietly.

  She wasn’t soft or pliable. Emily Stanton was a challenge. A razor-edged, high-walled challenge. And there wasn’t anything in this life that I enjoyed more.

  “I’m thinking about tearing these to shreds,” I said, running a hand up her back, across her flesh, to finger the off-the-shoulder strap draped over her arm. “Then chasing you into some dark corner and watching your dress fall off those perfect breasts.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the glassy blue-gray of them sparkling at me from under her thick lashes. Her lips parted a fraction of an inch, and I could envision them, pearly pink and plump, wrapped around the head of my cock.

  I hardened at the speed of light. And I knew if she didn’t let me into her bed tonight, I’d end up breaking my rule and spend an hour in the shower jerking off to every fantasy I’d crafted around Ms. Emily Stanton.

  We were closer than appropriate. People were looking at us. And for once, I didn’t care.

  “Are you just trying to sell the story, Price?” she asked, her voice husky.

  “I’m trying to get into your bed,” I confessed, brushing my lips against her earlobe. Was she this smooth, this soft everywhere? I needed to find out.

  “That’s against the rules,” she reminded me. “You’ve never taken a client to bed before. Unless, of course, that was a line.”

  I shook my head, letting my hand on her back skim down to rest on the subtle upper curve of her ass. “No line, love. I haven’t before. But I’ll live to regret it if you don’t let me touch you.”

  Our grip on each other’s hands tightened.

  I wanted to pull her against me, to press my hard-on into the flesh of her belly. To show her exactly what it was that she did to me.

  The swell of her breasts moved with her breath. “I can’t believe dinner with my dysfunctional family didn’t turn you off,” she said lightly. She was turning it all around in that big brain of hers. Weighing decisions. Measuring data.

  I was so hard I was afraid to breathe too deeply. My long-denied orgasm was on a hair trigger. And I realized I wanted to give her a sliver of the love and respect that her family should have been providing for years. The people who were supposed to love her and protect her were the ones inflicting the most damage. I wanted to fix it. To be what she needed.

  “You’re even more miraculous than I thought,” I confessed. “To come from that?” I nodded in the direction of where Byron and Trey were glaring at each other over the second empty bottle.

  “I didn’t come out unscathed,” she assured me with a laugh. “I’m mean. Aggressive. Cold.”

  “You’re fucking terrifying,” I agreed.

  She laughed, delighted. My cock twitched between us, and I had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen.

  “What’s more important to you, Derek? Your rules or your carnal urges?” she asked, her voice a low purr in her throat. I wanted to kiss my way up that slim column and nip at the skin behind her ear. I wanted to sample her, then gorge myself on her. She wasn’t scared or wounded anymore. She was a survivor.

  “Having you is what I require to stay alive. A man could die of starvation.”

  “Are you pressuring me?”

  I
shook my head. “I don’t mean to, but yes.”

  “Sex isn’t some kind of spontaneous act. Not in my world,” she explained. “Blood tests, birth control, a controlled environment, a non-disclosure agreement for both parties.” She ticked off the items.

  “Who knew billions of dollars could ruin the joy of sex?” I mused.

  “You tease, but in my position, I have to be more careful than the average woman.”

  “You fascinate me.”

  “What? No ‘you know you can trust me’ statement?” she asked. She said it teasingly, but there was a heavy history there. One didn’t guard her position that carefully without having been burned before.

  “Emily, the only thing I require from you is the permission to make you orgasm as many times as possible in whatever time you’re willing to give me.”

  Her pupils dilated, and I felt her breath hot on my chin. I wanted to lean in and devour her whole in the midst of the glitz and glam and propriety.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” I whispered, begging her to lie to me. “Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like to have me buried inside you, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel. Tell me you don’t want to let me make you come until you’re boneless and breathless. Tell me you don’t want to be worshipped just for being a woman.”

  “Jesus, Derek,” she breathed.

  “I want you, Emily. But I don’t just want sex. I want to strip you down, layer by layer, and see you. Really see you.”

  The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered under her skin. The molecules of air between our bodies were charged with electricity. I was aware of every breath she took.

  “I don’t want to be seen. And I don’t know if I want to be fucked into oblivion by you,” she said, destroying my world with her words.

  “With all due respect, darling, you’re a shit liar.”

  Her grin was devastating.

  “I’m not asking for a relationship. For an all-access pass to your life—”

  “You already gave yourself that,” she complained.

  I gave her a wolfish smile. “Can you blame me? I want to be close to you. So close I feel you close around me like a fist while you’re calling my name. Will you shout it? Whisper it? What will you look like when you let go?”

  The color on her cheeks heightened.

  “This is wildly inappropriate,” she reminded me.

  “This is life, Emily. Two consenting parties who agree that we don’t require a fully functioning relationship in order to have a good time together.”

  “What do we require?” she asked with equal parts interest and suspicion.

  “Hours. Uninterrupted. Uninhibited. Unhindered.”

  Her lips, painted in that glossy, tempting rose, curved.

  “I need to think about it,” she said softly. Her hand toyed with the hair on my neck, and I reveled at the touch.

  “When you figure out exactly what you need from me to make your answer yes, tell me.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll remove any and all obstacles,” I promised.

  A peal of laughter drew our attention. Venice Stanton was hanging on her son as they danced a poorly choreographed tango around their table.

  “On that note, I think it’s time to go home. I have some thinking to do,” Emily said.

  * * *

  Traffic had cleared and the limo was waiting for us out front. I slid into the back next to her on the bench seat. Her bare arm brushed the sleeve of my jacket, and I thought about how very close we were, yet, thanks to a few layers of material and all of Emily Stanton’s impressive invisible walls, we were still miles apart.

  The slit of her gown parted over her leg as we pulled away from the curb. I admired the long, lean lines. Unable to help myself, I rested my palm on her thigh, just above the knee. Together, we stared down at my hand on her silky length of leg.

  As far as touches went, it was practically platonic. Except for the microscopic strokes of my thumb.

  She could think all she wanted, but I wanted those thoughts to be clouded with the perfume of lust. The material of her dress heard my darkest wishes and slid open, exposing more flesh.

  I tested her, sliding my palm an inch higher. My pinky finger rested indecently on her inner thigh. Even in the dim light, I could see her nipples puckering against the material of her dress. Her breath was short.

  “Just so you know, Emily,” I said conversationally, “I’ll be thinking about you tonight. I’ve held off as long as I can.”

  She shifted ever so slightly in her seat, and the movement brought my hand higher still. That pinky finger was so close to heaven, I could feel her heat. One move and I’d be able to stroke right through those soft folds.

  Was she wet for me? Was she throbbing with need like I was?

  My cock had turned to stone during our dance and was showing no signs of transforming back to flesh any time soon.

  “What will you do while you think about me?” she asked, gaze still glued to my hand.

  My fingers flexed on her thigh.

  I glanced toward the privacy glass and back to her. I was leaning into her, drawn to her with a gravitational pull. I could hear a heartbeat and wondered if perhaps it belonged to both of us.

  “I’m going to go home, get in the shower, and stroke my cock while I think about spreading your legs and feasting on you.”

  Her intake of breath was sharp. The material of her dress dipped low on her breasts. Those golden peaks were mere inches from my mouth.

  “I’ll think about this moment, when I’m a breath away from you.” I brushed my lips softly over the curve of her breast millimeters from the nipple straining to escape. “I’ll think about how wet you’d be for my fingers.”

  My finger curled back and brushed delicately over the seam of her folds.

  Her breasts rose with her breath, begging for more. I traced my tongue along the edge of the dress, dancing over the circle of her areola. I was torturing us both. She had the power.

  “And then?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “And then I’m going to come in my own hand wishing it was you.”

  I gave her nothing more than the tip of my tongue, my finger. Leaving us both trembling with need. When the car came to a stop in front of her house, we broke apart like guilty teenagers.

  I helped her out, discreetly adjusting my cock while she tugged her dress up to better cover the rosy tips that had just started to appear.

  The ache was painful, and I knew one shower jerk-off wasn’t going to put a dent in my pent-up frustrations.

  “Walk me to the door, Price?” she suggested.

  I waved off the limo and followed her past my car, up the winding walk, to her front door.

  “Sweet dreams, Emily,” I said, fighting the urge to touch her. I’d given her enough. The ball, and my aching dick, were both in her court.

  She turned to face me. Close. Too close. “Thank you for tonight, Derek,” she said, skimming her fingers over my lapels. Then they were clamping around the fabric, and she was pulling me in and down.

  And her lips. God, those lips were slamming into mine and devouring me.

  28

  Emily

  He tasted like sin. Exactly how I’d predicted and yet somehow more. Everything was more. He didn’t kiss me back like a gentleman. No, Derek Price slammed my back into the front door. A beast off his leash.

  I could stop him. I knew it. One tiny word, and he would walk away. He’d wait for me until I was ready. Until my requirements were met. Until I’d bled the passion out of it with those requirements.

  “If you’re going to send me home, it has to be now,” he growled against my mouth as he ravaged it. “Tell me, Emily. Tell me to go.”

  I shook my head, sliding my hands under his jacket and digging my nails into his back. “Don’t go. Make me come, Derek.”

  The beast roared. Or maybe it was just the blood in my head. He was done being proper. Shoving one
hand in the top of my dress, his other hand dove into the slit of my skirt. He found my breast and slick folds at the same time.

  I gave a ladylike gasp, a noise I was sure I’d never made before, as his tongue thrust into my mouth at the same time one thick finger slid into me. His knee parted my legs until I straddled his thigh.

  “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck.”

  “My sentiments,” I agreed, licking at his tongue as he invaded me everywhere. Hot fingers closed around my nipple and tugged. Hard.

  Speaking of hard, the erection rooting against my abdomen was a miracle of nature. I’d been keeping close track of Derek’s dick all night. And by my calculations, the man had been hard for close to two hours now.

  The scientist in me couldn’t wait to study the specimen up close. The woman in me was desperate for the pleasure I knew he’d provide.

  “Emily, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to fuck you against it, and I’ve had this fantasy about you spread out on those lovely sheets of yours.” He added a second finger to my channel, working its way in with insistence.

  “Door. Got it,” I said. Blindly, I punched in the security code with one hand while gripping his spectacular shaft with the other. “I’m on birth control, by the way. And my blood tests are clean.”

  I could feel the pulse in his erection.

  “God.” He thrust hungrily against my hand. “I’m clean. I can prove it. Download test results. Text them.”

  “I trust you.” I wondered if he understood what I was telling him, the permission I was giving him. But then the door I was still pinned to was opening, and we both stumbled inside. He kicked it closed with a resounding thud.

  “Thank God,” he breathed, still fucking me with his fingers.

  There was a raw finesse there in the way he crooked them inside me, thrusting rhythmically. He was still in control, though just barely. I went for his belt and zipper, and as I did so, my dress gave up the fight, slipping just past my nipples.

  The noise was primal as it rose from his throat. “If I start sucking on you now, I won’t be able to stop.” He brushed his thumb over one peak, and it pebbled like an instantaneous chemical reaction, a combustion.