His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) (11 page)

“Wow,” she suddenly said, her blue eyes piercing through me as she examined me up and down. She brushed a strand of straight, black hair over her shoulder. “The Sloanes have been good to you.”

I forced a tight smile and took a deep swallow of my luke-warm latte.  I pushed the coffee I’d ordered for her across the table, hoping for a distraction.

“How was Florida?”  I asked her.  I was genuinely curious.  She’d only just connected with her father, who hadn’t even known she existed until recently.  The story surrounding Elyse is long and complicated.  She hates talking about her past so it’s not discussed unless she brings it up.

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.  She sipped her latte and fumbled with the napkin, as though she was also trying to find a distraction from her own troubles.

“Florida was great.  I mean, it was my first vacation ever so I can’t complain, you know?”  She flipped her hair over her shoulder again, which showed me that she was slightly uncomfortable with the topic. 

“I thought he invited me along to watch his little rugrats and be the nanny but they never asked me to babysit.  Not one damn time.”  She smiled more, but it still didn’t reach her eyes.  She took another deep gulp of her coffee once she realized it was far from hot.

“I’m glad to know I actually have a dad who cares for me, but it feels weird.  They did their best to make me feel welcome but I still felt like a third wheel in their perfect lives.  I feel like such a bitch for feeling that way.  It’s not his fault he didn’t know about me, but I’m twenty-three now.  He’s trying to persuade me to go back to college, blah blah.  Oh, and they’re always talking in Spanish.  I don’t know that much Spanish, and that just makes me feel even more… I don’t know.  Whatever.  I’m such a whiner.”

Elyse spent eight years in foster care, and it’s a sore subject.  She doesn’t talk about it. Her mom had developed a substance abuse problem and turned her own daughter over to the state when she was ten.  She went from foster family to foster family, and wound up in a few detention centers along the way for delinquent behavior.  She’s always had a difficult time making connections with people, and I’m the only friend she really has.

Even during our sophomore days in college, she was withdrawn and stand-offish toward me.  She worked as a barista in this very coffee shop, and since I frequented almost daily, we began talking more and more.  We discovered that we both had a love for thrifting, shelter animals, and she was my inspiration for changing my major from Economics and Marketing to Social Work.  Someday, we’ll open a community Center for Disadvantaged youth.

“So… let’s talk about you.”  Elyse suddenly turns the topic onto me.  “It looks like you’re doing just fine.”

I shrugged.  Apparently neither of us wants to own up to our own situations.   I watched her pull out a pink starburst from her pocket and unwrap the candy before popping it in her mouth.  I don’t understand how she can eat those and drink a latte at the same time, but it’s part of the Elyse package.

She studies me for a moment and takes another sip.  “Jillian Katherine Pryor, you’re not telling me something.”

I let out a sigh as I fumbled with my coffee cup.  I couldn’t keep it in any longer and spilled.  “The Sloanes fired me, and I didn’t have anywhere to stay.”

Elyse’s blue eyes became round.  “What! Why?”

“Lara found my vibrator and ran around the house, teasing me with it.  That was the night her mom had a soiree.  They weren’t too pleased.  Horrified actually.”  I could feel my face flush with embarrassment at the memory. 

Elyse rolled her eyes.  “Nobody told that girl to go through your personal things in your room.  So, where have you been living then?”

She looked me up and down, critiquing my clothes before her eyes fell on the coat and designer bag that lay beside me on the bench.

“Mason Woodward,” I busied myself with another sip of my now-cold latte.

  Elyse looked at me, confused.  “Your brother’s ex-friend? Isn’t he the heir to some Fortune 500 enterprise?”

“Yeah…”

“I’ve read about him in the entertainment sections.  He sounds like a real dick.”

I gave her a tight smile.  Elyse was my dearest friend, but I still couldn’t give too much information because of the confidentiality agreement.

“He can be really sweet sometimes. Besides, it’s not me he’s mad at.  He said I could stay with him until I get back on my feet… but you can’t tell a soul.”  I looked at her in all seriousness. 

She enjoyed her own privacy, so I knew she wouldn’t press for anymore information that I didn’t give.

“Sure thing, babe,” she gave me a wary look, like she didn’t trust my decision to stay with Mason, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  She wasn’t in a position to open her door to me, and unbeknownst to her, I’d signed a contract.

We talked in the coffee shop and then walked around for a while.  She told me about her two half-sisters who are four and six.  She acted like she was annoyed by them but I could tell she was starting to become fond of them.  It was great to hear her funny stories about their antics and served as a good distraction from the secrets I kept buried deep within me.

****

I arrived home around six, with just an hour to prepare for Mason’s arrival.  My heart was skipping wildly in my chest at the thought of seeing him again after so many days.  I wondered how he would make love to me this evening.  My blood heated and sent a tremor down to my core at the very thought of how he handled me the first two times we’d been together.  It was as if he knew exactly what I needed, like he had a telepathic connection to the needs I hadn’t even known existed.  I showered and pulled on a red-lace thong, lace thigh-highs, matching bra, and then reluctantly slid my glasses onto my face before I stepped into the polished Louboutin heels. 

I stared at myself in the mirror.  If not for the glasses, I wouldn’t even recognize myself.  Already, I could picture his strong, precise fingers trailing down my body, caressing me, gripping me…

I arrived in the library with my arousal heightened.  A simple note lay on the coffee table closest to the hearth, which was conveniently lit by the staff.  I opened the note and saw his own script:

Bend over the cushions of the armchair, and wait for me.

I glanced around the library and spotted the closest plush emerald colored armchair  and with an escalating heartrate, I bent over, resting my elbows on the plush velvet.  My ass, which is too round in my opinion, feels exposed.  The sheer lace of my black thong is already damp and I feel too vulnerable but this only adds to the heated anticipation.  I wait for what seems forever. 

My feet start to ache lightly in the perfect five-inch heels.  Finally, I hear the door open and close lightly.  I sense his pace come closer to me and I dared to look at him over my shoulder.  He’s still wearing his dark gray Armani, but his tie is loosened around his neck.  His stormy eyes catch notice of my gaze.

“I did not give you permission to look up, Ms. Pryor,” and immediately I looked back to the cushion of the chair.

“I only wanted to see you,” I answered.

“I’m gone for one week and already you are forgetting the rules, sugar.”  His voice is firm, disconnected.  

He seemed distant, cold, like I was nothing more than a hired call girl…

“... Sir,” I blurted, correcting myself, but it was too late.

I still feel my heart thrumming in my ears as he stands over me.  I can feel the heat from his body on the back of my thighs and my ass.  His  hands caress my arms, and my lower back, trailing down to my exposed ass.  Then he leaned over and kissed my neck as his expert fingers pulled the thin lace of my thong aside and brushed his fingers over the wet heat.  I was already throbbing for him.

He plunged a finger into my slit and I let out a soft moan. I writhed lightly and tried to push my ass into his hand.

“You’re already so slick for me. I can smell your arousal,” he leaned over and whispered into my ear. 

I felt his hot breath on my neck as a hand firmly pinned me into the cushion.  He plunged a second finger deep into me and began pumping fiercely.  I gasped and cried his name out in response.

“Oh, F-fu… Mason!”  I whimpered.  I could sense his dark smirk over me.

“Go ahead, sweetness.  You’re not the pure flower you once were.  You can say the F-word,” his seductive whisper was sinful.

It wasn’t my nature to say that word for no reason at all.  Sometimes I’d lost my temper while venting about the Sloanes to Elyse, but that was not often.  I bit down on my lip as I whimpered into the chair.  His fingers still plunged mercilessly into my channel, now adding a third, and I was trying desperately to grind my ass against his hand.  His free hand firmly gripped my hip and held me in place.

“Don’t move without my permission,” he commanded, and it stilled me.

“But I want you,” I pleaded, desperately. I knew I sounded pathetic but I didn’t care.

His fingers continued to force their way deeply into my dripping heat.  In, out, in, out.  I couldn’t handle much more of this as his hand caressed my tailbone lightly up and down.  I was on the verge, clenching around his fingers. I felt my climax about to rip through me, and then he suddenly pulled away from me and I cried out in agony.

“You were very defiant on the phone with me earlier,” his tone was reprimanding. 

“Mason… Sir, please…” I pleaded, feeling completely out of my element from his torment.  I’d been denied an orgasm and it felt unbearable.  My core ached with a need to release, with overwhelming desire.

  “Consider this your punishment, the repercussions I warned you about earlier when you were quite cheeky with me over the phone.”  His hands stroked firmly through my wild waves, then I felt him put distance between us.  I felt a slight chill with the absence of his body so close to mine, even though the hearth was still burning.  From across the dimly lit library, he spoke again.

“You’re going to earn your orgasm, my little Jilly Bean.  Come over to me.”

Hell, his words were so silky.  I took a second to gain my momentum.  My legs felt weak and shaky from the pleasure he gave me, and the denied release.  I didn’t trust myself to walk in these expensive heels, but slowly I straightened.  I turned and found him lounging across the room in a sofa that matched the green arm chair.  He unfastened his fly and then rested back with his hands behind his head.

Steadily, I crossed over to him. His gaze on me was animalistic.  His eyes blazed with lust.  There was not a trace of that heated sweetness I felt from him the last time.

“On your knees,” he prompted.  I stared into his eyes as I compliantly fell to my knees in front of him.  I was confused by what he was doing to me, and how he was acting.  I was also incredibly frustrated by the torment he’d given me.  Glaring up at him, I pulled out his rock hard cock and massaged it between my hands.  I wished for once that I could make him weak and out of control, but his eyes burned down on me and he grabbed fistfuls of my hair before he pushed my head down.

“Take it, sweet heart.  Hands behind your back,” He ordered.

Now, I was beyond frustrated.  The flicker from the blazing hearth illuminated his face, emphasizing the heated desire on his face.  I took the tip between my lips and ravenously licked the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum. 

I sensed his body tense from the pleasure I gave him as my tongue massaged the sensitive spot between the tip and the base.  I’d learned that from last time.  I took my pent-up sexual frustration out on his thick length. His breathing became raw, raspy. 

I felt such exquisite power. My lips pumped furiously up and down, pausing briefly to massage the head with my tongue.  I heard his groans as both hands grasped my hair roughly; it was encouraging.  Despite being agitated, I still wanted to please him.  My lips continued their rapid pace, even when I felt my jaw become sore.  I felt him losing his control; the more he gripped my hair, twisting my scalp.  It was painful, but I loved it because it showed me how lost he was at this moment.  I did that to him.

“Oh fuck,” he gave another guttural groan and I drove my mouth further up his length until it hit the back of my throat.  That was all it took for him to lose himself completely. I felt his hot, salty liquid spurt into my mouth and run down my throat. Some of it dribbled down my lip, but I swallowed what he gave me.

His breathing was ragged as he came down from his orgasm.  His grip loosened in my hair and I finally pulled away and looked up at him.  His lips were parted slightly and he closed his eyes briefly, and I could tell he was trying to regain his control.

“Bloody hell, Jillian…”  It was all he could say for the moment.

I couldn’t help my smile as I looked up at him. Without thinking about it, I slid my hands up his firm torso. I was beyond aroused at this point. I loved the feel of his heat on my skin.  He suddenly gripped me by both arms.

“No,” he said huskily.  There was hunger in his eyes as he quickly pushed my hands away and stood up, towering over me now. 

I thought he was going to envelop me in a passionate kiss; I hadn’t felt his lips on mine in a week and I craved the taste of his mouth.  Instead, he gripped me by my waist and bent me over the arm of the sofa.  The sudden tear of my thong sent shock of wanting down to the very wet area between my thighs.