Against the Ropes (22 page)

Then he calls.

The vibration isn’t great. Not like my Rabbit. But it isn’t bad. And coupled with the fact I am naked under the coat with six men in front of me who could turn around at any moment, I don’t need much more to get off. I hope the phone is waterproof.

I roll my nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Zings of pleasure shoot to my core. I close my eyes and shift position. The slippery slide of the coat’s silk lining brushes over my skin in a gentle caress. My body tightens. I’ve never brought myself this close this fast. I suck in a breath and press my lips together as I teeter on the edge. The sultry, strawberry taste of Vivacious Vixen lip gloss bursts over my tongue.

The vibrations stop. Damn. I pull out the phone and read the message.

ENOUGH

Ha. Ha. I don’t think so. I put the phone on the bench and slide my hand into the trench coat. I stroke my sweet spot and my body tightens again. I should stop. What if someone turns around? But I can’t stop. I am heady with the knowledge he wants me and can’t have me. Aroused beyond belief. My head falls back and I slip one finger inside my sex. Jeez. I’m so wet.

The office door crashes open. The glass walls shake.

I whip my hands out of the jacket and sit up straight, eyes wide, innocence personified. Max stalks toward me, his face so taut, I can see the blood pounding through the veins on his temples. He grabs my arm and yanks me out of the seat.

Without so much as a hello, he drags me across the reception area and slams his hand on the elevator button. The elevator opens instantly as if it knows Max is no mood to be trifled with. He pounds on the ground-level button and the doors slide closed.

“Are you angry?” My blood still runs hot with desire. I place a tentative hand on his chest. He hisses in a breath and steps away.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me.”

My cheeks flame. Uh-oh. Really angry. My stomach clenches. It was just meant to be a game.

The elevator reaches the ground floor. Max grabs my hand and pulls me through a maze of corridors until we reach a battered metal door. He throws the door open and I follow him out into a dark alley.

The streetlights from the main road lick the darkness but don’t quite reach our toes. Although I can see cars and people, they can’t see us. But I can see Max and he can see me. His eyes gleam under the soft faint exit light above the door, and he studies me, a predator assessing its prey.

My heart pounds so hard I fear it might break my ribs. Angry Max. Dark alley. Maybe I pushed him too far.

Suddenly I am up against the wall, the rough brick digging into my back. Max pins me, one hand on my chest, the other making fast work of the buttons and belt on the coat. He yanks it open, exposing me to his heated gaze. His eyes rake over my naked body as cool air brushes over my burning skin.

Fear and arousal blend into a potent cocktail of need. A whimper escapes my lips. In an instant, I am in Max’s arms, my body pressed against his.

“I’ve never seen anything as fucking hot in my life. You were killing me in there, baby.” He threads his fingers through my hair and yanks my head back. His kiss is hard, almost punishing, but quickly it gentles, softens. A tremor runs through me.

“So goddamned fucking sexy,” he whispers against my lips. “I thought I was going to explode.”

My body sags as relief courses through my veins. Not angry. Aroused. As am I.

Boldly I stroke my hand over his erection, hot and hard, straining against his fine wool trousers. “What a hard cock you have Mr. Huntington.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and his body goes rigid. “What did you just say to me?”

I lean against him and press my lips against his ear. “I said you had a hard cock, and I want it.”

“Fuck.” He has a condom in his hand and his pants down before I can catch my breath.

“I thought you didn’t like to talk dirty.” His voice is rough, gravelly, and hoarse with need.

“I thought the circumstances warranted a little dirty talk. We are in a filthy, garbage-strewn back alley after all. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Christ.” He rips open the condom and sheaths himself. “Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something that makes me think I don’t know you at all.”

“I didn’t know this about me either,” I whisper. “You’ve made me into a wild, wicked, wanton woman.”

He slides his hands under my bottom and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his body and the coat swings around us, hiding us from view.

“You were always a wild, wicked, wanton woman,” he chuckles. “You just needed someone to set her free.” He slides inside me with one long, hard thrust.

Oh God. So good. So big. So hard. I groan and tighten my arms around Max’s shoulders.

A sharp nip on my lip makes me gasp, and then he thrusts his tongue inside me, easing it in and out with the promise of what is to come. The ache of need burns through my body. He pulls his lips away and drags his mouth over my nipple, teasing it between his teeth until it peaks. Then he nips gently, and my body turns liquid.

A thin whine escapes me. I manage one slide up and down before he pushes me against the wall and grabs my hips, holding me still.

“I won’t last, baby. And you’re not ready.”

“I am ready. I’ve been ready since I put on that trench coat and walked into your office.”

He slides his fingers between us and strokes around my swollen nub. “I want you to come as hard as I’m going to come. After what you pulled in there, I want to hear you scream.”

His hot, wet mouth closes around my other nipple. He sucks it into a peak then bites carefully. Pleasure pain shoots to my core, and my sex clenches around him.

“God, baby, I like to feel your response.” He bites again. I clench and moan.

“Please, don’t torture me.”

His eyes crinkle. “Almost there.”

Another kiss, harder this time, demanding, possessing. Trembles start in my core and spread outward to my fingers and toes. My eyes slit closed and I rock my hips against him.

“Now, baby. Let’s go for a ride.” He moves. Finally. In and out, the rhythm of his thrusts sending shockwaves through my body, winding me tighter and tighter until my fingers are pressed deep into his flesh.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

With a low laugh, he puts his hand between us and slides his thumb firmly up and around the aching bundle of nerves at my center. Up and around, over and over, slicking so near where I want him to go, I want to scream with frustration.

My voice becomes one long, uncontrollable whimper as he continues to pound into me. I am overwhelmed by sensation. The rough wall in my back, the cool silk brushing over my skin, the sharp tang of his cologne mixed with the sultry fetid scent of the alley, the sensual taste of him on my tongue, the intense, all-consuming need for release. My mind blanks.

“That’s it, baby. Just feel.” His fingers slide over my clit and he pinches. Hard.

Suddenly the alley sheets white and I explode. Spasms of intense pleasure rip through my body, and I arch my back and scream.

Max’s mouth covers mine, swallowing the sound of my orgasm. His hands slide under my bottom and he drives farther, deeper, changing to a hammering pace. With one last forceful jerk of his hips, he groans and swells, pulsing against my sensitive, swollen tissue. Another wave of tingles rolls through my body.

He holds me tight against him and presses his forehead against mine.

“Christ, Makayla,” he mumbles. “What you do to me.”

What I do to him? What about what he does to me? Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined having sex in a back alley with a man I know so little and care so much about.

After one last, soft, sweet kiss, he lets me down and we straighten our clothes. He leans against the wall and holds me, his chin resting on my head, as if he doesn’t have a boardroom full of clients waiting for him. The traffic hums past, people laugh, a bird tweets overhead. We hold each other in comfortable silence until finally, he pulls away.

“You’ll never get rid of me now,” he says as we head back into the building.

“I wasn’t planning to get rid of you. Who else will appreciate my new penchant for dirty talk?”

We reach the elevator and he spins me around to face him. “You said you wanted to talk about something.”

My cheeks flame. Will he think I tried to seduce him to get my way? “I…um…it’s not that important.”

“It’s important to me.”

I bite my lip. “I…was wondering…if maybe you needed someone to do first aid at the club during the week, or even during the day on the weekend. If you did…I’m free. You wouldn’t have to pay me what you paid me before. I’m not really worth that much. But—”

His eyes soften and he cups my jaw and strokes his thumb over my cheek. “You want to work more often at my club?”

I nod, not sure where he’s going with this.

“Despite your issues with violence?”

I nod again. “Working on gym and training days isn’t really a problem. The problem is watching the fights.”

“So I would see more of you?”

My lips quiver. I hadn’t really thought of that. “I suppose so.”

“And this is a request you thought I might refuse?”

I shrug. “You might not need another employee or not want to take one on. It’s just…I enjoy being at the club. I like being able to help people. I like the guys and I like spending time with you. But I understand—”

His hand fists in my hair and he tilts my head back, cutting me off with a gentle kiss.

“If you need money, just ask. But I know you’re proud and if you want to work for it, you work as many hours as you need to. You are an incredible asset to the club. Everyone loves you. The pay stays the same.”

My eyes fill and I try to pull away, but he cups my face with his hands and holds my gaze. “Anything you want from me, Makayla, baby, you can have.”

Ah. So sweet. The moment is ruined only by the hum of a floor polisher, the ding of the elevator, and the slither of guilt up my spine. If I didn’t need the money, would I have offered to work at the club? But more troubling, do I feel the same way about him?

This one is quite wet

Four days later, I spill the entire debt collector story to Charlie over a box of donuts at a local donut shop. He offers to help. I refuse. My mother never once accepted money from friends or family when we were on our own, and I can’t bring myself to do it either. Self-reliance is one lesson I learned well. I already feel like I’m betraying her by working for Max and being overpaid.

“So what are you going to do?” He licks each of his fingers before sticking them back in the box.

“I’ve got a second job at Max’s club.”

Charlie waggles his eyebrows and picks up a chocolate dip. “Why work for the billionaire boyfriend? Why don’t you just hit him up for some cash? You could promise to work it off in the bedroom.”

“He’s not a billionaire.” I bite into my sugary sweet honey glazed. “No private jet. No yacht. No helicopter. No glider. No security team shadowing his every move. He has a successful company, and he seems to be financially comfortable, but our outings so far have been pretty sedate. He’s as close to a regular guy as they come.” Except for the ropes and D-rings on the desk.

Charlie frowns. “I thought you said he had a butler and a chauffeur and a limo and a kick-ass pad.”

I shrug. “He said he entertains a lot of clients. I think those are all business expenses. And his club is just a big warehouse. It isn’t like those top-class MMA facilities with mirrored fitness studios and high-tech equipment. He’s not really the type of guy to splash money around.”

Charlie snorts a laugh. “That’s why he blew one million bucks to keep you out of Doctor Drake’s clutches at the auction.”

“He bought a necklace.”

“He bought you. A man spends money like that, a man thinks he owns you. Don’t forget it.” He licks chocolate off his fingers and pulls out a cruller.

The door opens and a cool breeze dissipates the thick yeasty smell of baking donuts. I shiver and shrug on my sweater. A man in a brown jacket with sandy brown hair takes a seat at the table beside us and orders a coffee.

“You still haven’t told me where he’s taking you tonight.”

“The Symphony Gala.” My lips quiver with a repressed smile, and I blow on my fingernails and rub them on my shirt.

Charlie’s eyes widen. “No way! That’s
super
swanky. I wouldn’t call that sedate.”

I grin and lean over the table. “I KNOW. I’m so excited. I’ve never been to a society event before. He’s even buying me something to wear from a little boutique he knows.”

“DO NOT drink anything.” Charlie’s smile fades and he waggles a finger at me. “You know what happens when you drink too much. You need to act classy. Don’t embarrass him.”

I lean back in my chair and sigh. “Don’t be overly dramatic. I’ve matured since the beer pong incident.”

Charlie snorts a laugh. “I thought you said he caught you playing strip poker on the weekend.”

“That’s different. I knew what I was doing. I can even remember some of it.”

The man in the brown jacket chokes on his coffee and dabs at his lips with a napkin.

“Moving off the topic of my drunken exploits,” I say, “you’ve been chomping at the bit to tell me something, so spill.” I bite into a Bavarian cream and watch my thighs expand. Charlie licks his fingers and spears another chocolate dip.

“I slept with Doris.”

“You’re kidding!” I lean right over the table. “You and Big Doris?”

Charlie blushes. “We had a lot to drink at the Heart 2 Heart benefit. One thing led to another and suddenly we were in her bedroom.”

I snort and spew donut across the table. “Naturally. After a woman slaps you in a public place for stealing a kiss, of course you would want to sleep with her.”

“Anyhoo.” Charlie leans in and breathes donut in my face. “This is where it gets really interesting.”

“I was interested from the second you said you ‘slept with Big Doris.’”

Charlie looks around and then takes a bite of his donut. “The minute the door closed, she was all over me. She tore off my clothes in a frenzy of lust and then she—”

“Big Doris?” I interject, more to save my innocent ears than for clarification.

Charlie nods.

“Big Doris tore off your clothes in a frenzy of lust?”

“Check it out.” Charlie lifts his shirt and treats me to a view of his jiggly white belly covered in a smattering of hair, and eight long red streaks cutting across the middle.

“Holy cow.”

He drops his shirt and lowers his voice. “She ATTACKED me like a wild animal.”

“Did you call pest control?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Charlie’s cheeks redden. “She had me in a…compromising position.”

Oh God. All my stress and anxiety disappear in a snort of laughter. My head bangs on the table, and the man in the brown jacket drops his donut in apparent alarm.

“It’s not funny,” Charlie says, miffed. “I was afraid. She was totally out of control. She isn’t sane.”

I lift my head to wipe away the tears. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have put yourself in a compromising position. I mean, who does that? Who puts their most precious and delicate…item in the jaws of a crazed wild animal?”

“A desperate man,” Charlie moans.

“So after you extricated yourself from the compromising position, why didn’t you throw her back into the wild?”

“She wanted to have sex.”

“Seriously?” I widen my eyes in mock horror. “She is crazy.”

Charlie frowns. “You don’t know what it’s like. I had a long dry spell. A parched man does not turn down a glass of water even if the glass is broken.”

“So how was it?” I shouldn’t, but I have to ask.

“Wild,” he rasps. “But afterward, I snuck out.”

“Smooth. Love ’em and leave ’em. You’ve become a real player.”

“It wasn’t like that.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “In the heat of passion, she called me by the wrong name.”

“Oh. My. God. How crass. Whose name did she call?”

The door opens. Heads turn. Max appears in the doorway. He spots us and his eyes narrow. Charlie drops his donut. “Hot damn he looks so good in that suit.”

“Paws off, tiger. He’s mine. I can hardly wait to see him in his tux again.”

Charlie dabs at his cheek with a napkin. “He’s not looking too happy. Maybe he thinks I’m putting the moves on you, or maybe he doesn’t like his girlfriends eating carbs.”

My cell buzzes, but before I can check the message, a glowering Max is hovering over our table. The man in the brown coat looks up from his newspaper. His eyes widen when he catches sight of Max and he turns away.

“What the hell is this?” Max holds up his phone and I catch sight of a run of tweets.

“Hey!” I give him an encouraging smile. “You’re finally on Twitter. Good for you.”

“THIS.” He holds the phone closer to us and Charlie whistles.

“Hey, Makayla, that looks like your ass.”

Max shoots daggers at Charlie. “How would you know what her ass looks like?”

Charlie doesn’t miss a beat. “I see it every weekend when we play strip poker.”

Before Max can react, I snatch the phone and check out the picture. Yup. That’s my ass. The picture is titled “Makayla’s Ass” and is posted courtesy of @Toots69, who must have been at the Redemption party on the weekend when I flipped a cheek at Blade Saw.

“Looks like someone was drinking again.” Charlie pokes me in the shoulder. “And you told me you had matured.”

I pull out my own phone and check my messages. Oh God. So many. Everyone has seen my ass on Twitter—Amanda, Rob, all my housemates, work colleagues, friends, my fifth-grade pen pal from Norway, Susie in London, and my cousin in Nebraska. I hate social media.

“It’s trending,” Charlie shouts, holding up his cell phone.

The man in the brown coat has given up any pretense of pretending not to overhear. He stares at us, following our conversation with avid interest.

Max frowns. “What does that mean?”

“It means Makayla’s ass is very popular and is going around the world at lightning speed.” Charlie grins.

Max’s jaw clenches so hard I fear he might break his teeth. “What the hell were you thinking? That’s my ass out there.”

Charlie chortles. “I like your purple panties, Huntington. They looked good with your green skirt.”

Max leans across the table and grabs Charlie’s collar. I jump up and push him away with two hands. “Max. Listen to me. I didn’t post that picture on Twitter, and if you even understood how it worked, you would know that.”

“Who posted it?”

“I don’t know. Someone with the handle @Toots69.”

“Aaaargh.” Max slams his fist on the table so hard our mugs fly off and crash to the ground. Charlie’s eyes widen and he squeezes my hand.

“I should have known she would do something like this,” Max bellows. “And calling herself @Toots69!”

@Toots69 is a she? There was only one other
she
at the Redemption party besides me.

Everyone in the donut store pulls out a phone. No doubt @Toots69 is suddenly going to get a lot of followers, and my ass is going to get some extra viewings.

Max pounds his finger on his phone. Seconds later he holds his cell to his ear and shouts loud enough for everyone to hear, “What the hell were you thinking? You take it down right now. I don’t care what you want. We’re finished. I made that clear. And if you ever do anything to hurt her again, I will never—” He storms out the door and we miss the rest of the conversation.

“He’s pissed.” Charlie snatches the last donut. “He’s going to yell at you next. Doesn’t bode well for the evening.”

I grab my sweater and slide out of the booth. “I can handle him.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “You can always call me if you need a ride home.”

“I can handle him.”

“Don’t drink anything until after he’s blown off some steam. You know what you’re like.”

“I can handle him.”

“Yeah? So why are you shaking so badly?”

***

“Take a deep breath, baby. The feeding frenzy is about to begin.”

Max helps me out of the limo and onto the red carpet outside Davies Symphony Hall. Cameras flash and people stare, as San Francisco’s high society parade down the sidewalk at one of the city’s most anticipated society events. And me. Makayla Delaney. Imposter. What I wouldn’t give to be home on my couch in my sweats eating ice cream. I concentrate on not catching my three-and-a-half-inch emerald stilettos on the carpet.

“Huntington, over here.”

Max stops and turns us to the right, his hand firm around my waist. “Pose and smile,” he whispers. Millions of cameras flash, and suddenly I can’t see.

“Aaaaagh. Turn off the sun.” I throw my hand over my face to shield myself and Max grabs my arm and pulls it down. “They want to see your face, not your hand.”

“I didn’t realize a look of sheer terror would sell papers,” I mutter under my breath.

Max gives my name to no less than a dozen reporters and introduces me as his girl. Usually, I like to be Max’s girl. Today, however, the endearment grates on my nerves. In this strapless A-line taffeta and organza cocktail dress, my face caked in three inches of makeup, and my hair ironed and teased, all courtesy of the resourceful Eva and her swanky boutique, I feel much older than a girl—at least twenty-five.

“Maybe you should introduce me as your woman,” I tell him when we step inside the lobby. Although only five o’clock, the black-tie gala is already in full swing, with a sparkling wine reception and a string quartet.

Max chuckles and hands our ten thousand dollar tickets to the usher at the door. “You want me to say, ‘this is my woman’? Should I grab your hair and grunt too? Beat my chest?”

“Mmm. I’d like to see that.”

Brushing a kiss over my hair, Max whispers, “No one will doubt you are my woman. You are exquisite. You’re going to knock their socks off.”

“None of the women are wearing socks.”

“Then you’ll knock off their panties.”

“Max!” I give him a gentle shove. “What’s got into you this evening?” He is over-the-top playful tonight. So playful his good humor almost seems forced. Maybe he’s still angry about Assgate. He still hasn’t chewed me out. Best get him drunk and stay cheerful, and maybe he’ll forget about it.

“Just looking forward to an evening with my woman.”

Once inside, we are thronged by curious patrons. I grip Max’s hand and plaster myself to his side. He introduces me to politicians, movie stars, directors, authors, CEOs, an assortment of chairwomen, and a dirty dozen young blondes with bad nose jobs. I perfect air-kissing by imagining I am a chicken. Heeding Charlie’s warning, I turn down the copious amounts of champagne in favor of water. By the time we are called for dinner in the Tent Pavilion, I am ready to float away.

The tent has been decorated with yards of azure, draped fabric and thousands of blue peonies, which are also scattered over linen-covered tabletops.

“This is unreal,” I breathe, spinning around.

“This is unreal.” Max slides his hand under my skirt to caress my bottom. “It’s so short. Barely enough to cover you, and yet it does.”

“Stop it.” I slap his hand away. “What if someone sees you?”

“They’ll wish their hand was up your easy-access skirt too.” He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Go to the restroom and take off your panties.”

“What?”

“Take them off.”

“Are you on drugs?” I stand in front of him and check his eyes to see if his pupils are dilated. Nope. Normal, except for the wicked glint. “I don’t do things like that.”

He runs his hand up and down my bare back, his fingers tickling my spine until I arch toward him. “You did this morning and last night, and the night before that, and the night before that.” My body goes from calm to shaking with sexual hunger in a heartbeat.

Max threads his fingers through my hair and tugs my head back, exposing my neck to his featherlight kisses. “Bring them to me,” he rasps.

My heat rises quickly as if he had kindled my fire. I take a deep breath and pull away from him, my body trembling inside and out. My token resistance is crushed beneath his creativity, and my body’s unquenchable need to be devoured by him again. I am a bad, bad girl.