Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (9 page)

“And now she works in fashion? A ‘female appropriate field’? Not the same.”

“Well, yes, but she started off in business. Mom and Dad groomed her to take a seat at Pierce Industries, just like Hudson. And gender is still at play because, when she decided to do something else, they didn’t bat an eye. Do you know what they’d do if I didn’t want to work in the family business? I doubt they’d be so understanding.”

She frowns. “Do you not want to work in the family business?”

“No. I do. I like the job.” I like it more than I let on, actually. I love the adrenaline and the maneuvering and the ideas. It’s as thrilling as driving my car fast when I’m up in the country. Don’t even ask how many tickets I’ve gotten—I can barely count. Thank god I’m in with the traffic judge, or I might not have a license.

But it’s also frustrating. The job, not the tickets, though those are a pain in the ass too. “I’m trying to say that I’ve also encountered expectations revolving around gender. And I’ve been discounted and overlooked. My family doesn't take me seriously. I’m just the baby. The cute one. The spoiled one. The one who gets everything handed to him. Sometimes I think everyone just expects me to be Hudson’s lackey forever. My father acts like I’m a joke. My mother probably hopes I’ll marry well—probably assumes I have to, unlike my brother who was elite enough to fall for who he wanted. Marry well, breed, and learn how to play a good golf game. Those are my prospects.”

She pulls her foot away to kick my chest. “Stop it. Your family sees you as more than that.”

I shake my head. “Why would they? I don’t head Pierce Industries’ top accounts. Anything innovative I’ve brought to the table has usually been dismissed. The only press write-ups I’ve ever received have remarked on my social life rather than my business efforts. I don’t know why they’d expect me to amount to much more than that.” This is all stuff I’ve felt for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never told anyone. It’s odd sharing it now with Genevieve—she’s someone I should be trying to impress. She doesn't need to think that I’m a loser.

Strangely though, when I tell her, she doesn’t make me feel like I’m a loser. “That’s absurd,” she says. “I’ve spent very little time with you, and I already know you’re more than that. You’re quick and witty, good under pressure, can improvise in sticky situations. Those are skills that can’t be taught. You either have them or you don’t.”

Our eyes meet and though I’ve looked at her like this before, this time it’s different. This time her gaze pulls at something in my chest. Makes me feel like I’m exploding and crumbling in on myself all at once.

If I were as fair and as prone to blushing as she was, I’d be bright red right now.

I duck my head. Focus on massaging her ankle. Tease her instead. “All these nice things you keep saying about me. It’s like you like me.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“Look, you can admit it. We just discussed how liking me is actually
not
a problem. I’m not going to get in the way of you and your goals. In fact, I’ll help you as much as I can.”

“Helping me work off my frustration in public bathrooms is not what I need right now.”

“No,
princess Genny
.” I use her father’s nickname mixed with mine just to poke at her. “I’ll help you with Hudson.”

Shit. What am I saying?

I have no idea why I keep offering Hudson as a token of my affection. I already know he’s not keen on Accelecom, and I’d be fooling myself to think that the ideas brought forth by a twenty-three-year-old woman—yes, gender does matter in this business—will be enough to persuade him to take another look.

Yet when she asks, “Got any plan how to pull that off?” I wrack my brain for a solution.

“Actually, I do.” I rest my hand on her ankle and lean forward. “Remember that date I want to take you on? That’s happening. I want to see you bright and early on Saturday.”

“Oh, no. I’m not going out on a date with you. I already told you that a mill—”

I cut her off. “It won’t actually be a date.” Well, it will be as far as I’m concerned, but anyway. “It will be an opportunity. I’m taking you to my parents’ vacation home in the Hamptons for the weekend. They’re having their annual end of summer/Labor Day party, and this year it’s also where Hudson and Alayna are presenting their new babies to their friends and family. It will be a perfect chance for him to get to know you on a personal basis.” It’s brilliant. I can’t believe I thought of it. “If we play our cards right, we might even be able to steal him for a few minutes of business talk.”

She squints at me, hesitant. “You’re sure your brother won’t mind?”

“No, he loves business talk no matter the time or location. Even when he’s not working, he’s working.”

She delivers a kick that lands awfully close to my family jewels. “I meant, are you sure he won’t mind me intruding on your family’s holiday?”

“You won’t be intruding. You’ll be coming as my date.” And, yeah, that’s the real impetus behind this idea. Sure, I want her to get what she wants with her career, but I also want her with me. I want her to meet my family. I want everyone to meet her.

“
Chandler Pierce’s date
.” She tilts her head like she’s mulling it over. “Will I be photographed in the rags?”

Let me pause to say that I’ve had pictures taken with many women. Many, many, many women. It’s not a big thing.

But at the mention of being photographed with her? I’m into that. I’m so into it, I’ll hire my own photographer if that’s the only way to make it happen.

Problem is, I don’t think she feels the same. Luckily, for her, it’s not an issue. “There won’t be any media at this. It’s low-key. It’s family and close friends.”

“So I’m only posing as a date in front of them? I guess that might be acceptable.”

I ignore the disappointment that she doesn’t want to flaunt a relationship that doesn’t exist between each other the way that I do and remind myself that this is just the first step in winning her over. Maybe. Hopefully.

“But fair warning—there will be a lot of people at this thing. We might not get to talk to Hudson. If that’s the case, are you going to blame me for distracting you from your career goals?”

She raises her chin, and if her hands were untied, I imagine she’d put her hand over her heart—is that something Brits do too? “On my honor, I will not.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“But not
really
a date.”

“Exactly.” Or not exactly at all, but it’s fine.

And then, because it seems like it’s been forever since I’ve sampled her, and because she looks so perfect and vulnerable bound to the chair in her skimpy pajamas, and just because I want to and I’m not sure she’ll ever give me the opportunity again, I stand slightly and kiss her.

Somewhat surprisingly, she responds eagerly, her lips matching me as I keep kissing her. And keep kissing her. My hands tangle in her hair. I get aggressive. I nip at her lower lip. I swallow her taste. I fuck her mouth with my tongue. I pour everything into this kiss, and all I can think about is how, despite being so hard my balls hurt, I just want to keep kissing her and kissing her. And kissing her.

I’m pretty sure this has strong implications for what kind of feelings I’m developing over the girl. Feelings that scare the fuck out of me. Feelings that make me want to do naughty, terrible things to the girl tied up beneath me. Feelings that are more instinctual in nature than emotional.

A blaring alarm in my head says I’m not ready for this. That it needs to stop. That I should pull away and leave before this relationship gets out of hand.

The twisting in my gut says I’m too late. It’s already out of hand.

And if it’s happening anyway, I might as well stay.

Right?

W
ith her hands still bound
behind her, I tilt Genevieve’s chair back against the desk.

She gasps, the movement surprising her. “What are you doing?”

Honest answer? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know at all.

I test how secure it is, which is pretty darn secure. “Remember all you have to do is say stop and I will. You understand?”

She nods, but her expression is unsure. “That doesn’t tell me what you’re doing.”

I consider explaining but have no idea what I’d say. This is instinct I’m going on right now. “Do you want me to stop?”

Her eyes widen, but her mouth clams shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

Tucking my fingers around the waistband of her shorts, I pull them down along with her panties then toss them on the bed behind me. Then I stand back to survey her because, goddamn, if I’ve ever seen anything this hot, I don’t remember it. Her hands tied, her breasts pushing forward against her tank top, her long limbs hiding the sweet treasure of her pussy.

I nudge her legs apart, and let me tell you, Genny has a treasure of a pussy. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen, and yes, there are pussies that are prettier than others. Trust me. I can’t explain what makes one nice to look at and another not, but I’m telling you—hers is a wonder. Her dark hair is trimmed into a landing strip, contrasting nicely with the pale white skin of her inner thighs. And her hole is tight and inviting. Like it’s begging to be plundered with my fingers. Or my cock. I’m even having fantasies about sticking a dildo in her, and it’s not usually my thing to put other objects in places my body yearns to be instead.

Genny though—nothing is usual about how I’m obsessed with her. All I want is to watch her writhe. Want to see her come apart at the seams. Want to know I’m the one making her feel that way.

From her shallow, anxious breaths, I’d say she wants the same thing.

Eyes fixed on the prize, I kneel down and start to feast.

She tastes incredible. I’ve tasted her before, but each time I do, it’s better than the last. Like I forget just how good her scent is, how good her flavor is on my tongue, because how good can pussy actually be? It can’t possibly be as amazing as I remember.

And yet it is.
She
is. She’s amazing and delicious, and even though I endeavor to bring all my women to orgasm, I’ve never wanted to pleasure one as completely as I want to pleasure her.

With my hands hooked under her thighs, I spread her wider, licking up and down her folds in long strokes, teasing her before I zero in on where she wants me. She moans. She squirms. I do it again—long sweeps up and down, then I stiffen my tongue and lap at her bundle of nerves. I suck her clit until it’s so swollen that it throbs in my mouth.

She comes long and hard. Twice. By the time I’m working her up to her third, she’s shaking and writhing and I’m drowning in her wetness but I won’t stop until she’s thoroughly spent, until she can’t even think straight.

“It’s too much,” she pants. “Chandler, I can’t. I can’t.”

She tries to wriggle off of the chair, but my impromptu binding seems to be holding pretty well.

I replace my tongue with a finger so I can respond. “You’ll take as much as I want to give you. Now shush up and take it, or I’ll have to give you even more.”

She shakes her head. “No. No more. No more. Please.”

But she hasn’t said
stop
. I know I don’t have to remind her that it’s the word she needs to speak to end this—I’m certain she remembers. I’m also certain she won’t use it. I’m giving her too much, but it’s exactly what she wants.

And it’s exactly what I want.

In fact, I think we both want more. “Stop struggling. Or I’ll….” I trail away, not sure how to finish my statement. “Or there will be consequences.” No idea what consequences, but it feels good to say and I’m determined to see my threat through.

I return my lips to her soaked pussy and suck her clit into my mouth one more time.

“Will I be punished?” she asks, her thighs quivering. That’s the last thing she manages to say before the very word sends her into an orgasmic tailspin.

I’m minutes from my own release, and I haven’t even touched my dick yet. That’s how hard I am. Hard and desperate, so even though I’d love to see if she could take another round, I’m sure that I can’t.

She’s still gasping and shivering when I right her chair. I reach behind her and undo the makeshift cuffs. Then I step back and give her room.

“Stand up and turn around,” I order. It’s the kind of order I’m not used to issuing, and yet it sounds good in my voice. It feels good in my bones.

Especially when she obeys, which she does almost immediately. I love how her legs are jelly as she moves to follow my command. She can barely stand on her own, so I tell her to brace her hands on the desk.

Well, and because I just like the look of her bent over like this, her skin glistening with sweat, her curvy ass displayed prominently.

I want to bite that ass. I want to spank it. I want to mark it as mine.

Almost absentmindedly, I fold the belt in half, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m swatting it down on her behind. The leather thwacks against her skin and she gasps, and instantly I decide there has never been a more erotic combination of sounds in all of history.

I have to hear it again.

I repeat the motion on her other cheek, and now there are two red belt marks along her skin. I rub my fingers lightly over her burning flesh.

Fuck. It’s so hot. It’s so kinky. I’m so hard. So…

Wait.

“Genny?” I ask tentatively, all of a sudden concerned I’m the only one into this.

“I’m good,” she says through gritted teeth, apparently reading my mind. “It’s good. Keep going.”

That’s all the permission I need. I smack the belt down again. And again. Who the fuck am I? I don’t even know. Five more times until her ass is bright red and warm to the touch, and now I know I’m going to break my promise about keeping things in my pants, but I have a feeling she won’t mind. So, in between lashes, I get a condom ready with my other hand—yeah, I’m better at it than I thought I’d be too. Then I drop the belt to the ground, undo my tuxedo pants, and slide on in.

She’s so tight in this position, so warm, so wet—even through the condom I can feel how wet she is. It’s fucking incredible.

“Oh, god, that’s scrummy,” she says with such a blissful sigh that I have to assume that she’s enjoying herself. Enjoying
m
e.

“I’m taking scrummy as a compliment,” I tell her as I pull out to my tip. “But whether it is or isn’t, you’re about to get bloody fucked.”

She tries to laugh at my use of her slang, but it’s cut short when I slam back in. I’m relentless now, driving into her over and over and over, pummeling her like she’s the last woman I’ll ever fuck, like she’s the only woman I was made to fuck, like I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone in my life, and I know that’s a bad sign. This is familiar territory—a place I specifically try to avoid.

I don’t want to be here. I want to only be here.

When I come, I close my eyes, and all I see on the back of my lids is her, and as my seed spurts long and hot from my body, I can’t decide if I’m falling apart or if, finally, I’m coming together.

* * *

A
fterward
, Genny slips away to the bathroom to clean up.

And I take my belt, wrap it around my neck, and try to strangle myself before falling face-first onto her bed.

What. The Fuck. Am I doing?

I whipped a girl.
Whipped
her. This isn’t who I am. What the hell is she bringing out of me? Will I ever be able to go back to my usual loverboy ways?

Do I even want to?

Of course I want to. No questions asked. This is just good sex. Really good sex. That’s my excuse for being here.

But I know better than this. There are so many rules I’ve broken, and now I’m paying the price because my insides feel like goo and all I want to do is take off all my clothes and stay the night in her arms.

Which would be a big fat mistake.

And what the fuck was I doing inviting her to a weekend in the Hamptons? And telling her that I’ll help her with Hudson? Why would I stick my neck out for a girl I barely know?

Great. Now my chest aches.

Oh, god, am I…am I falling for this girl?

And fuck, if I am, is she taking advantage of me? That’s always how it goes. I fall then I get hurt then—

Nope. It’s not possible.

She can’t be pulling the wool over my eyes because firstly, I’m the one who invited her to get all business-buddy with my brother, which is stupid and will probably piss Hudson off, but that’s reason enough to follow through with my offer.

And secondly, I’m
not
falling for her. I broke my rules, but it doesn’t mean anything. My mission statement is still clear in my head.

But, my chest…

Moaning, I roll over on my back, rubbing the spot at the center of my sternum. I’m too young for a heart attack, right? It’s got to be heartburn. Or a pulled muscle. I did put a lot into that whipping. I probably strained something. It’s definitely not emotions. I am not feeling things for her. I. Am. Not.

I’ve got to get going.

I bolt up and loop my belt around my waist, and then start frantically searching for my cell.

“Have you seen my phone?” I ask when she returns from the bathroom.

She peers up at me, surprised. “You’re leaving already?”

I try not to meet her eyes, afraid if I do I won’t remember all the reasons I shouldn’t stay. Mainly, because it’s not Chandler protocol. “Just as soon as I find my phone.”

“Here it is.” She holds her hand out, and sure enough, my phone is in her palm.

“Thanks.” I swear I already looked on the dresser near where she’s standing. “Where was it, anyway?”

“Oh, uh. You left it in the bathroom. I brought it out with me.”

“Ah. Well.” I pocket my phone quickly, eager to get out of there. “I better go.”

“Yes. You said that you were leaving. See you Saturday, then.” I’m not sure if I’m imagining the disappointment in her voice or not because I’m ignoring it.

I wait until I’m safely in the elevator before I let out a sigh of relief. It’s so much easier to think when she’s not standing in front of me, all soft curves, her plump lips ready to nibble, her long dark hair perfect for pulling.

She’s sexy. That’s all it is. Pure sex on legs.

And, man, those legs…

Focus, Chandler.

See? That’s definitely what it is. Desire, pure and simple. I don’t feel anything except unadulterated lust. I don’t really care about getting her in with my brother. I just want more time between her luscious legs. Yeah, that’s it.

I’m so good at reasoning that, by the time I make it to my car, I almost believe what I’m telling myself.

But it’s not until I’m halfway home that I’m thinking clearly enough to remember that I never went in her hotel bathroom.

So why on earth did Genevieve have my phone?