Breaking All the Rules (6 page)

An Asian woman leans into the hallway, stares at me, and then draws her head back into her cubicle. I hear her hushed tones as I pass her desk. A tall thin man stands, gazes at me, ducks down again. This happens again and again, a river of murmurs following me.

Nate’s office door is open. I rap my knuckles on the wood and sweep into his private space. “Nate.”

“Miss Trent.” He sits in a black leather captain’s chair, looking obscenely handsome, impeccably neat, and completely untouchable. I gaze at him with open admiration. His pale gray eyes are glacier, every strand of his golden hair is perfect, and he’s mine. This gorgeous successful man is mine.

I tear my gaze away from him and look around his office. Nate’s desk dominates one end of the space, his computer screens displaying colorful bar graphs. A wall of business books is shelved behind him. The guest chairs appear comfortable. I pivot on my heel. The floor-to-ceiling windows are uncovered, the sun streaming through the glass. The locked filing cabinets tempt me. The artwork is—

I stop, my heart squeezing.

At first glance the painting is merely an arrangement of monochromatic numbers, the shades ranging from the palest gray to the darkest black. I look longer, deeper, and see the hidden image. A woman cradles her baby in her arms, the expression on her face serene and loving. “Oh, Nate, they’re beautiful.”

The door clicks closed. “No one else sees them.” He stands beside me. His face is carved out of ice, a mask hiding his true feelings, protecting him.

“They see with their minds, not with their hearts.” Unlike me. Unlike Nate. I slip my fingers into his palm. This is another one of his secrets, a bit of his soul exposed. “I won’t tell anyone,” I promise.

We gaze at the painting together, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing. His clean, freshly showered scent fills my nostrils and his heat coils around my body. A tranquility, a sense of rightness falls over me. This is where I’m meant to be.

“I want a month.” Nate breaks the silence. “And I want sole custody of our child if you’re pregnant. You may visit whenever you wish, but our child lives with me.”

He’s serious. He’s demanding custody of our imaginary child. I open my mouth.

Nate holds up his hand, stopping my words. “I know you might not be pregnant, but I won’t take that chance, Miss Trent. I won’t have any child of mine believe she’s not wanted.”

I stare at him. “I’d want our child.” I’m definitely having my heart shattered in a month.

“A bedroom in our house will always be available for you.” He leads me to a guest chair. I sit on one side of the desk and he sits on the other, the positioning declaring us adversaries. “Our child will have proof in writing that I want her.” He pushes a stack of papers toward me. “She’ll never doubt it.”

Did Nate doubt he was wanted? His parents, like mine, have never married, but unlike mine, his parents no longer live together. Did they love each other, love him?

I gaze down at the thick stack of papers and my jaw drops. “
This
is the contract?” My full name, Camille Joplin Trent, and my complete address are listed on the first of many, many pages. “It’s huge.”

I don’t hide my dismay. Long contracts are normally drafted when one or more parties have to make significant concessions. I doubt Nate plans to alter his life for me.

“Take your time.” Nate leans back in his chair. “And read it. If you have any questions, any concerns, we’ll talk about them. I want you to be happy.”

“I’d be happier with no contract.” I fan the pages, the legalese making my eyes cross and my head hurt. “I trust you, Nate. Don’t you trust me?”

“This is about setting expectations, not trust.” His jaw juts.

He’s not moving on this. He wants a contract. I take deep breaths. I can do this . . . for him. “What should I know?” I clasp his black fountain pen, focusing on the sleek barrel and finely crafted nib, trying to ignore the anxiety building inside of me.

“I mentioned the sole custody,” Nate coolly states, oblivious to my impending meltdown. “I’ll have exclusivity. This is the per diem rate.” He flips the pages and I gape. The per diem is more than I make in a week working at Blaine Technologies.

“You’ve overpaid by twenty dollars.” I force my jibe, my voice flat.

Nate’s eyes gleam. “I factored for that.” He points at the line. “You won’t have any living expenses. You’ll share my house.”

“We’ll be living together?” I meet his gaze, unable to conceal my surprise. No man has ever asked me to live with him.

“You’ll share my house,” Nate repeats. I frown, not knowing what it means. Is there a difference between living together and sharing a house? “I’ll pay for your food, supply your clothing, provide your transportation,” he adds.

“In other words you’ll control everything I do.” I drop the pen onto the wooden desktop. “Hell no.” I push the contract toward him, my palms moist. “My freedom isn’t for sale.” I stand, preparing to run far away from him, from this deal. “Not at any price.”

“I don’t want your freedom.” Nate steps in front of the door, blocking my exit. “And I don’t want to control you. You’ll have keys to my house and can come and go as you please. You determine what you eat or wear. You can refuse my advances at any time.”

“Right.” I snort. “And if I refuse all of your advances?” I lift my chin, calling his bluff.

“Then it will be a very long month,” Nate says quietly.

It will be a very long month for both of us. He knows I can’t resist him. I pivot on my heels and walk to the windows, confused, trusting the man but not the contract. What does Nate want?

He can’t want me, the true me. No one wants a rebel. “You can’t change me.” I stare at the white fluffy clouds floating freely across the blue sky.

I tried to change for the other girls in the commune, for my classmates in school, for my first three boyfriends, and for countless others, striving to be less defiant, less passionate, less me.

Those changes never stuck, never became permanent, never felt natural or right. It was too difficult to be someone I wasn’t, and eventually the true me resurfaced, betraying, hurting, angering the people around me, the people who trusted me, who believed in my manufactured façade.

I can’t do that to Nate. I can’t see that look in his eyes.

“I don’t want to change you,” he murmurs into my right ear, his voice deep. He rubs my back, his touch warm and soothing.

“You say that yet you want me to sign a contract, to follow your rules.” I stretch my arms along the window, splaying my fingers on the glass, resting my right cheek against the cool surface. This is as close to being outside, to being free, as I can manage.

“We’re setting expectations. I’m protecting you.” Nate moves his hands in gentle circles, unknotting my muscles, restoring my calm. “You don’t have to change. I promise you.”

He promises me. Nate always keeps his promises. The tightness around my chest eases. My breathing levels. He doesn’t want to change me.

Maybe he’s tired of his vanilla-sex yes-women. Maybe I’m a vacation for him, a unique sexual experience. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be the man who finally accepts me for me, who loves me.

I’d be a fool not to chance it. The alternative is a lifetime alone. “I need to have my own things.”

“Give me your security codes and your keys and I’ll have the entire contents of your apartment moved today,” Nate vows. “I’ll also transfer funds into your bank account daily.” He pulls the elastic out of my hair and threads his fingers through the green strands. “You can verify your balance whenever you want.”

I’ll have my things reminding me who I am, what I stand for. I don’t care about the money. “If you try to change me you’ll be unsuccessful,” I warn.

Nate chuckles. “If I tried to change you I’d be a fool.” He reaches around me and unbuttons my blazer. “Our arrangement lasts a month, Camille.” He slips the garment off my shoulders and more of my tension dissipates. “Give me thirty days.”

Thirty days is all he wants because a normal man like Nate won’t ever seek a permanent relationship with a screwed-up rebel child like me. He won’t ever love me. I’m merely a short-term fling for him, Nate’s version of a back-alley fuck.

He’s more than that for me, much more. I gaze at the sky, wishing I could fly away from the pain that is sure to come. Nate unzips my skirt and the fabric falls to the floor. I’m nude from the waist down, cold air wafting over my bare ass cheeks.

“What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder, distracted by his actions, his proximity, his everything. I want him again, always.

“I’m freeing you.” Nate skims his fingers over my corset, his touch relayed through the thin leather, branding my skin, owning me. “Showing the world how special you are.”

He cups my breasts, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, and my body pulses to his rhythm, my nipples puckering into rigid points, my pussy moistening.

“Everyone returning from lunch can see you standing here.” He nuzzles into the curve where my neck meets my shoulders and I tremble, the contact divine. “They see me touch you.”

“Do you want our coworkers to see us together?” I move my feet farther apart, opening my stance, giving our imaginary audience a better view of my cleanly shaven mons, my pink pussy lips, my pale legs. Nate’s golden fingers spread possessively over my black corset, claiming my form as his.

“Do you want them to see you fondle the company rebel?” I lean into him, my curves framed by his muscle. Nate strokes downward, over my breasts, ribs, stomach, and I quiver, needing his fingers lower, inside me. “To watch us as we fuck?”

“Yes,” he rumbles, gliding his hands over my mons, palming my bare skin. “I want them to know you’re mine.”

He says all of the right words, expressing my secret fantasy, that a man like him would want to claim a woman like me, be proud to call me his, not want to change me in any way.

“For the next month this pussy belongs to me.” Nate strums me, making my nerve endings hum, teasing my clit with lingering light caresses. “No other man will touch your softness.” He mouths along my neck, his lips hot and firm. “Taste your skin.”

“Only you.” I sway, brushing my ass over the hard ridge in his dress pants, seeking to torment him as he’s tormenting me.

“Only me.” Nate dips his fingertips into my wetness and I jerk. The contact is too intense, too deliciously sublime, his rough, callused skin stimulating all of my senses.

“Easy,” he murmurs. His lips vibrate against my earlobe, setting off tremors inside of me. “I have you, Camille.” He pushes deeper, forging onward, relentless in his domination of me.

“Nate.” I wiggle, dancing in place, eager for this, for him.

“You’re so responsive.” He nips my right earlobe. A ripple of pleasure cascades down my body, and I clench around his finger. “Tight.” Nate plunges into my snug hold, forcing me to open for him. “Made for me,” he rumbles, his chest pressing against my spine. “For this.” He pumps me, drawing more moisture from my core, more bliss from my body.

“Yes.” I move with him, shamelessly rocking into his palm, selfishly seeking my own release. I’m wanton, wild, needy. “Fill me, Nate.” The heel of his hand presses against my clit and I tremble, the contact direct and constant. “I’m so empty.”

“I’ll fill you.” He adds another finger, stretching me wider, and I whimper with delight, the fullness magnificent. “I’ll give you this.” He skims along me, setting off mini tsunamis of desire, the waves pulling me deeper and deeper under the surface. “I’ll give you everything.”

I’m drowning, breathless with need. Seeking relief, I pull my corset lower, freeing my breasts, the cool air tightening my nipples even more.

Nate sucks in his breath. “Beautiful.” His appreciation excites me. He works my pussy with a renewed vigor while I clutch my curves, the dual assault pushing me closer and closer to climax, to sweet release.

“Nate.” I don’t want to come alone.

“Tell me what you need, Camille.” He fucks me hard with his fingers, my pussy humming from his sweet abuse, my wetness bathing my thighs. “And I’ll give it to you.”

I bend over, pushing my bare ass into his pants-covered hardness. “I want you inside me.” I grip the strips of metal that hold the panes of glass in place, the bars as rigid as my lover. “Give me every delectable inch.” I roll my hips, seeking to entice him. “I want all of you.”

“You want my cock.” Nate withdraws his fingers, leaving a frustrating void inside me. “My cum.” His zipper rasps, the sound loud in the quiet room. Fabric rustles. “Everything.” Warm flesh bumps against my wet pussy lips.

“Yes.” I tilt my hips, opening myself to him. “Everything.”

“Everything,” Nate repeats, pushing inside me, his size daunting. I’ve taken him once. His fingers fold over my hips. I know I can take him again. I clench the window frame, gazing at the sky as he fills my pussy with his cock, scorching me with heat and hardness.

I part my lips, sucking in oxygen, my wild eyes reflected in the glass. Anyone standing on the sidewalk, looking upward, will see Nate claim my body, my pale skin meshing with his golden tan, my breasts bare and my nipples taut.

The slow slide stops and he stills, his cock pulsing inside of me, every pump of blood through his veins relayed, the fit incredibly snug. “Perfect.” Nate supplies the right word. We might be opposites in all other ways, but when we fuck we become one. With Nate I fit.

This is the feeling I’ve been looking for my entire life, this sense of belonging. A normal woman would wish to prolong it. She’d embrace Nate’s slow pace, his unhurried movements, the way he leisurely pulls out and eases back inside of her.

I’m not a normal woman and I push back as I always do, bumping against him, urging him to take me harder, faster, frustrated by his restraint. I want to come now, damn it, not some time tomorrow.

Nate, my obstinate man, refuses to fuck me faster, advancing and retreating, advancing and retreating, his rhythm steady, ruthlessly regulated. He’s sticking to his plan, thinking he’s in control.

Fine. I’ll allow him this illusion for a few more minutes. I sway into Nate, following his lead, waiting and waiting and waiting until he relaxes, until he eases his grip on my hips.