In His Grip: His #5 (A Billionaire Domination Serial) (6 page)

Through my clenched teeth, I grated, “No, you don’t.” I didn’t believe me, but I hoped he did.

His jaw tensed, and those full lips pursed tight at the edges. Adrian let his weight fall forward just an inch, and his member pried at my opening and entered me. “No?” he asked as I yelped, at the bolt of pain I always felt as I first flared wide for his cock, before the relentless pounding of a hard fucking made my inner walls relax around him. “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

With his eyes unfocused, and holding his breath, Adrian Knight sank into my depths in one torturously slow, thorough stroke that bottomed him out with a harsh kiss of pressure against my cervix. My breath rushed out of me in a cry that threatened to form his name. It was an incoherent curse in the end.

“Did you ever take him this deep?”

It was a question Adrian had no business asking, and one I resented enjoying. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, that I thrilled at the edge of jealousy in his increasingly husky voice.

“Was it like it is for us?” he persisted. “Every day, so many times a day, so hard and so fast and so goddamn addictive?”

“Please,” I whined abruptly, because I needed Adrian to move, to start working in and out of me. Because I didn’t want to think about the difference between the way Penn and Adrian used me—and the similarity. Because it was too much to expect of me now, after everything, to make me confess my every shame and need.

“Please? Well that’s some progress.” Adrian rewarded me with several ferocious thrusts that dragged him tip to balls against the trembling walls of my sex. At my apex, a mounting ache became a flickering pulse, then a persistent throb.

“Oh, fuck,” I keened again.

“Language, Chloe, language,” he chided in a fast pant, a suggestion of a smile lighting his face rakishly. “You either start to suck your bottom lip or swear then it’s getting good for you. Did you know that? You wouldn’t want me to think you’re enjoying this.” He pulled the hair and the top of my head and nipped at my parted lips. “What would Penn say if he knew?”

I tried to jerk my head away, begging. “Stop… Stop it, please.”

Knight went still against me, muscles coiling, his body ready to strike. “Stop this?”

“No! No, not that. I just don’t… I can’t… No more t-talk.” No more Penn. No more vows. No more taunting and teasing and drawing this out. I needed Adrian to fuck me, to take me, to spend us both.

But it was heartbreaking when he did. He sensed I was at my limit, my end. He understood. And he began to piston smoothly in and out of me, no more words, no more games. Why? Why did he have to just know like that? What I would have given for this, under any other circumstance… But not like this, haunted by the knowledge that no true tenderness or love lingered behind that consummate Dom skill. He was my Master but not my lover, and I squeezed my eyes closed and cried as he drove himself into me with growing power and passion and need.

Behind my closed eyes, I focused on the maddeningly sexy sound of Adrian’s labored breath, huffing out abruptly at the crux of each thrust, dragged back into his heaving chest through clenched teeth. I memorized the smooth, satiny heat of his stomach and chest against mine, the bruising pressure of his fingertips digging into my waist. The reservoir of aching tension swelling inside me strained my boundaries, stretching my inner spaces. I was going to come…burst, break, shatter. And he kept pumping, pushing.

I must have cried out, must have begged permission.

“Yes,” Adrian was gasping. “Come for me, Chloe. For me, baby. For me.”

For him. He kept repeating that, the demand cycling urgently at first, then succumbing to the rasp of his own panting. Part of me struggled to maintain my awareness of him, everything about him, while a bone-jarring orgasm tore the rest of me away in an unstoppable torrent of rushing bliss. It roared in my ears, crackled along my nerves, cast the rhythm of my heartbeat into chaos. I twisted as much as the chains and platinum bands would permit, like burning paper crinkling and curling. And when the climax subsided, I was ember and ash, the remains of a wildfire that had consumed all the oxygen in the room.

Above me, on the periphery of my senses, Adrian Knight stiffened and ploughed into me to the hilt, then froze. For a second, I thought he might release himself inside me, but then he pulled away, and I felt the telltale jets of warmth along the lips of my sex and my inner thighs.

The bands and the chains were gone, but I couldn’t believe I’d let myself begin to doze there spooned back against Adrian in his bed, as though the last few hours hadn’t happened. As though harsh revelations hadn’t shattered my childish illusion of what I was to him. I came awake with a knot of emotion lodged in my throat. If I’d been dreaming, I didn’t want to remember it.

So carefully, I slid out of bed to use the bathroom, without waking him. My mind elsewhere, so far away and scattered, I left the bathroom light on when I came back into the bedroom.

It was, of all things, a shoe out of line under one of the intimidatingly heavy wooden wardrobes that caught my attention like a snag of fabric against the fingertips. The kind of detail that made me want to pull at the thread. When I bent to nudge the loafer back into place, I noted the bundle of papers folded loosely on Adrian’s desk…and the absence of his laptop.

From habit, as I had been handling all his correspondence since I’d begun managing the villa, I wondered if the paperwork needed mailing. My eyes skimmed the first few lines, until I realized the documents were written in Portuguese, which I didn’t read and which I found odd, since all the letters I’d proofed and printed for Adrian had been in English.

When I shuffled back to the latter pages, I recognized the same formatting, but now in English, as though the documents had been provided in both languages. Isolated words reached out to me. Warrant, subpoena, fraud, falsification, bribery. I blinked, my head aching, and made myself stop, focus, concentrate.

“Leave it, Chloe,” he whispered hoarsely from behind me, his voice still thick and rough with sleep.

“What is this?” I asked, softly at first. Then I whirled from the desk to face Adrian. He was still in bed, barely sitting up, leaning heavily on one arm. “It looks like… I mean, they’re going to file charges.” I waved the papers like I was shaking my finger at him. Why did I seem more concerned than he did? “They think you faked environmental reports. It says you bribed an official in Natal. How are you going to answer this?”

Otherwise unmoving, Adrian blinked, holding me suspended in the moment. “I’ll admit it,” he finally answered.

“You’ll…” I replayed his response in my head, as my spine wound tight and my nape flushed. “You’ll admit it? Did you…did you really do it?”

“Chloe,” he sighed, his tone weary and oddly flat, “we don’t need to—”

“Oh, we do.” I needed to know, and I needed to know now. “Did you do this?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t need to give me the rest of the routine, though he did. I wasn’t really listening. It wasn’t that serious. Fines, sanctions, good lawyers. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything would be fine. Blah blah blah. Excuses, justifications, trite reassurances. And me feeling even more like a fool, because I hadn’t wanted to misjudge Adrian again, even in the face of so many suspicions. So many well-warranted concerns…

Goddamn you, Adrian Knight, I thought. Adrian
Alexander
, son of his father. Wretched, lying bastard…

The sins of the Ellisons and the sins of the Alexanders. It was one continuous spectrum of underhanded tactics and narcissistic entitlement, lies large to small, momentous to minor. And I was a footnote, a bit player, an unfortunate casualty of business and personal pleasure.

When I stormed out of the bedroom, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, beyond avoiding Adrian. I ended up standing at the edge of the pool outside, naked, the breeze lightly buffeting my bared body and braiding my hair into tangles. That aching need inside me for Adrian had frozen, flattened, a still life memory of an emotion now utterly deadened by betrayal I should have seen coming.

However long I remained outside, enough time had passed that Adrian was asleep again when I padded back into the bedroom. I took the white sundress from the floor, unconcerned with the spider web network of wrinkles, and slipped back into it and into the soft-soled flats. From the bottom of one of the wardrobes, I retrieved my purse with all my cash and credit cards and my passport. No need to pack. Back on the East Coast, it would have been about forty degrees, so I’d have no use at all for strapless sundresses and strappy summer heels.

In the lobby of the resort, I had the concierge at the desk call me a transport from the mainland. I was unconcerned about the exorbitant surcharge for service after midnight and before seven A.M. Eager…eager to be done, I waited at the end of the stone walkway, where it met the planks of the short pier. Before me in the darkness, water lapped quietly, like a whisper or a soothing lullaby that tried but could not penetrate the numbing layer of emotional exhaustion slowly smothering me. Behind me, the resort glowed with golden light sifting through scattered windows, a doorway here and there. It was the very picture of a haven in the night, but not for me.

This was the exact spot where I’d first seen Adrian Knight sixteen days ago. When I’d first tempted—no, not fate—
consequence
by succumbing to foolish desires, instant gratification, not forgetting but ignoring that there was always a price to be paid. I had resisted Adrian, a man I assumed to be just another of Penn Ellison’s ilk, a man who had proven me just wrong enough to lure me in before living up to my worst expectations.

Now I had to live with these memories steeped in a beautiful delusion. The lingering sensation of Adrian’s firm hand on my hip, his tongue in my mouth, his breath and that deep lilt ever at the curl of my ear.

I sniffled back oddly unemotional tears as I strode onto the small personal ferry for the ride back to Natal. Reality had broken Adrian Knight’s spell on me, his grip. I left him and Ilha de Flor and Penn Ellison, too. My failed experiment at exploring lust without love and my ridiculous illusion that Adrian had ever cared for me… I left it all behind in the darkness and the rippling wake of the boat that spirited me away in the small hours of the morning of the seventeenth day.

To Be Continued In

In His Wake: His #6

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ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN

MY TWO DOMS: HOT HARD MÉNAGE #3

AN EROTIC DOMINATION SHORT

An innocent mix-up in the mail—the delivery of a bondage magazine to the wrong house—reveals that the hot gay couple next door to Zoe aren’t gay at all. Both men are very hetero and the Doms of her dreams, to boot. When she brings the magazine back to its rightful owner and admits her arousal, Matthew and Noah have all the encouragement they need to claim Zoe for their own.

AN EXCERPT FROM ERIKA MASTEN’S

MY TWO DOMS: HOT HARD MÉNAGE #3

“You’ve never responded when I’ve flirted with you, Zoe. Is that only because you thought I was gay?”

I look up from the bottom of my glass. “You’ve never!”

“I have.”

I blink hard a few times. “You have?”

Matthew nods, and I frown at the thought of the missed opportunity. Little by little, I’m leaning toward him, my face turned upward. As soon as his soft, lush lips brush mine, I open my mouth, hungry for his tongue. He teases me, licking my lips, sucking, making my mouth tingle. Then his hand is taking hold of my long ponytail. His dark eyes watch my face carefully as he starts to pull my hair. My mouth bows in a whisper of a moan.

Then he’s pulling harder, making me arch, his other arm circling my waist to support me. Matthew’s lips, his rugged, scratchy chin and jaw, work up and down my exposed neck. My gaze grazes the ceiling before my eyes roll back in my head.

“Open your knees, Zoe,” he growls low against my skin. When I comply, he advances, pushing his swollen hard-on against my pussy through my skirt and panties.

I gasp at the sensation, at the pressure on my swelling clit, at the size of Matthew’s bulging cock. His response is to reach between us and pull my skirt up, out of the way. One less layer of clothing shielding my cunt from his hard dick. He grabs my ass and jerks me forward, so that my pussy lips spread to cradle his hard-on. I keen with need, with months of pent-up sexual frustration, with astonishment at my own brazen reaction to his touch.

Matthew’s hot breath on my ear leaves me shuddering. “Do you want to know what I’d do to you if you were my submissive, Zoe?”

“Yes,” I mew.

“You know better than that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

I panic for a moment, before realizing and blurting, “Yes, sir.”

He licks my ear with his silky, warm tongue, while pulling my hair hard enough to make my scalp prickle with stinging pain. The intensity of the sensation leaves me limp in his corded arms.

“I’d make you strip down for me and show me how wet your pussy is, to prove you’re ready to please me. Would that excite you?”

Pressing my nipples to his chest and digging my fingernails into his biceps, I whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Then I’d put you on your knees on the floor so I could bind those delicate ankles together and your little hands together, and then your wrists to your ankles.” He gives me a moment to picture this, to imagine my arms bent back and my bare tits thrust up in invitation, my thighs spread wide. “Then you’d suck my long cock while I held your head and fucked your beautiful mouth. I’d make you do the same for Noah.”

My eyes fly open when Matthew adds this last detail. The idea of both of them touching me, of both men using me at the same time, leaves me breathless. Shouldn’t I be scandalized, offended, frightened, instead of riveted by the thought?