Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (5 page)

G
enevieve clings to me
, even after she can stand on her own. She keeps her gaze averted, but I can’t stop staring, can’t stop taking in every single observable detail in the thin streams of sunlight. Her mascara is slightly smudged, her hair tousled, her breathing shallow.

And she suddenly seems so slight and small.

When I first noticed her at the gala, I was drawn to her strength and confident detachment. In this moment, her beauty is in how she’s fallen, how she’s folded into my arms, how her fingers dig into the sleeve of my jacket, like it’s a lifeline. She’s not a fragile woman in the least, but there’s a delicacy about her right now. An elegance that she likes to keep private. I wonder how many people she’s let see her like this.

After a minute, she remembers herself, and her head pops up, her eyes fluttering to meet mine. Now that I have her attention, I bring my finger to my mouth and suck her wetness from my skin. I tasted her the other night, but this simple gesture is so sensual and erotic that I swear she tastes better today.

Her eyes spark, and my dick jumps as though it’s connected to her gaze with jumper cables.

Not that it needed the extra jolt. I’ve been hard as steel the whole time we’ve been in the closet, and when she cups her hand around my bulge, silently asking for my permission, I practically burn from the contact.

“Don’t,” I hiss, and her expression says she’s confused.

Honestly, I am a little too. Because I fucking
need
her.

But not yet. Not on these terms, and thank Christ it’s only a few seconds later when I hear Hudson say, “
My chief financial advisor can show you the projections she’s put together. Her office is just down the hall. Let me walk you over
.”

I put my hand on the knob, and the instant I’m sure that Hudson and Edward have left, I fling the door open. With Genevieve’s hand tucked in mine, I pull her to the elevator, push the button, and tug her inside after me when it opens.

“Where are we—”

I cut her off. “Don’t talk.”

Her jaw closes, drawing her mouth into a tight line. I’m not sure I can quite articulate why I want her to be silent. Because I’m near sensory overload. Because I don’t want her to break the mood. Because I’m too focused on my agenda at the moment to be disrupted. Maybe it’s all of that or something else all together. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I love the way she’s obeyed me. Without question. Without comment.

It does good things to the buzz in my veins. Good, good things.

At the elevator, I insert the access key, and after a short ride the doors open to my loft. Genevieve walks out beside me, and before she’s taken two steps, I have her pressed against the wall. I kiss her thoroughly, roughly. My tongue swipes across her teeth. My hands wander up. Soon, I’m helping slip off her jacket.

Again, she reaches for my crotch, and damn, I want her to touch me, but I want it with her mouth. I want it so badly I can barely speak, can barely think straight. I step back and start working on my buckle. “Shirt and bra off,” I say gruffly, and it sounds like an order.

Hell, I guess I mean it to be one, too.

And god bless Captain America, she complies.

By the time I’ve gotten my pants undone, she’s naked from the waist up. My eyes eat her up, greedily, as I lower my boxer briefs just enough to draw out my rock-hard cock. With one hand on her shoulder, I nudge her down to her knees.

“This ends the minute you say stop. If you can’t talk, pinch me.” Because in about two seconds, I don’t expect her to be able to say a thing.

In fact, I’m so impatient, such an asshole in my lust, I don’t wait for her to respond before saying, “Open your mouth,” and the instant her jaw drops open, I step forward and thrust inside.

I mean, thrust. Completely. As far as I can go. No hesitation. No going slow. None of this foreplay-take-your-time bullshit. I am that shithead who sees a hole and shoves all the way in.

Jesus.

And all that is holy.

There are no words for how good it feels to have her lips around me. My head is practically touching the back of her throat, her tongue flat against the bottom of my cock. It’s everything I’d imagined and more.

I draw out, slowly so I can feel everything. I pause to let her catch her breath.

Then I drive in again.

Her cheeks hollow as she presses them in against my length. She swirls her tongue, and it feels like she’s licking me everywhere at once. Like she’s a whirlpool around my dick. Goddamn, it’s so good. So hot.

Especially the way her tits bounce as she moves her mouth up and down my length. My eyes are glued on her breasts. I alternate between imagining that my cock is sliding between them and imagining my fingers tweaking her nipples, so hard she cries out. Mostly I just like staring at them, fully ogling her. It’s so dirty and filthy and me-centric. She’s getting no pleasure from this. It’s all about me.

God, I’m a douche.

But then I catch her gaze. Her eyes water as she looks up, adoring me. Idolizing me. Wanting to please me. It’s almost spiritual, and all I can think is no wonder man decided god wanted to be prayed to, because being prayed to is fucking awesome.

So awesome that I lose control.

Or rather I go into hyper-control. The kind of control I’ve seen in other people in business and boardrooms—not ever in me. The kind of control I’ve only ever aspired to. Hyper-control like my brother who micromanages and supervises every transaction. That’s what I do to Genevieve. I cradle her face and hold it exactly where I want it and then I just…let go. I pound into her. I take advantage. I use her. She’s not doing it to me; I’m doing it to her. She’s not sucking my cock; I’m fucking her mouth.

Her hands curl around my calves, steadying herself, and I try to pay attention to the way she grips me. Try to notice whether or not she means to stop me.

But I’ve got to be honest—I’m so into how good this feels that she’ll probably have to pinch me hard enough to break skin to get me to notice anything else. If she does, I’ll stop. I don’t know how, but I will. That promise is the only way I can live with myself as I push in again and again and again. Mercilessly. With total abandon.

“I’m going to come down your throat now, Genny. That’s all the warning I’m going to give.” Because that’s as long as I can manage to hold out, and almost as soon as I’ve said the words, I’m there, exploding, shooting down her throat in long thick spurts. My hands are still clamped so tightly on either side of her face she has no choice but to take it.

And she does, she takes every drop, every bit of what I give her.

It’s the best blowjob anyone’s ever given me.

Except, it was more taken than given. And the second I’ve finished spilling inside her, the realization fully rushes over me.

Oh, god. What have I done?

Flooded in guilt, I can barely look at her.

“I’ll be right back,” I say and make a dash for the bathroom. I clean up quickly, tucking myself away when I’m done. Then I scrub a hand over my face and brace my other on the countertop.

Leaning over the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. “You’re an asshole,” I tell my reflection. “Whatever she accuses you of, you deserve it because you just raped that woman’s mouth. She didn’t say yes. You just took what you wanted. Happy?”

Worst thing is I
am
happy. Even tainted with regret and shame, I still really enjoyed it.

Asshole is too nice of a reference for what I am.

I heave a sigh as I wet a washcloth. I need to clean her up. Need to apologize, even though assault isn’t something you can just say sorry for. I need to try to make amends even as I’m certain that I’m going to hate myself for this for a long, long time.

And what if she presses charges?

I can’t even think about that. I’d deserve it, but I can’t think about that shit.

After several deep breaths to psych myself up, I venture back out of the bathroom. I keep my head down, staring at my shoes, unable to look at her.

“Genevieve…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say next.

I brave a glance in her direction. She’s on the floor, her back against the wall, her legs splayed in front of her as though she were a ragdoll that was thrown across the room and this was how she happened to land.

I did this to her.

Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me?
After violating her downstairs, I follow it up with this?

But then I study her face—really study it. And the expression she’s wearing doesn’t say traumatized. It’s a much more familiar look, one I’ve seen on plenty of women in the past.

Holy shit!

“You liked it.” It’s not a question because I’m sure of the answer.

Still, she confirms. “I liked it.”

A roller coaster of emotions rumbles through me. I’m overwhelmingly relieved. And surprised. And delighted. And a little confused.

Also, I’m cautious. “Are you going to make a pizza comparison now?”

Her lips creep into a smile. “Better than any pizza I’ve ever tasted.”

“Good. Good.” I mean, pizza is still a lame correlation, but it was good sex, and I’m just glad she knows it this time.

Which begs the question…

I cross to her and squat so I can wipe at her mouth with the washcloth. “What changed?”

I’m desperate to know the answer. Because I’m pretty sure a lot of what I just did to her would have been considered rapey if whatever it was that has obviously changed hadn’t changed.

Though, as much as I want to know, I have to confess—it’s difficult to concentrate when her breasts are so near and so naked. A fantasy forms in my head of her tits covered in my jizz. It’s mind-blowing to think about. Sure I’ve given a pearl necklace or two in my time, but I’ve never wanted to see a woman bathed in my cum like I want to see Genny.

I’m so distracted by the image that I almost forget what I’d asked when she responds. “Are you going to make me talk about it?”

I pull my eyes up from her naked breasts to answer. “I think you’d like it if I did. You like to be bossed.” Somehow I make it sound like a statement, but it’s most definitely a question. I’m still feeling out this thing that happened between us, trying to come to grips with what exactly we both liked about it.

Seeming to understand my need, she answers, “Yes.”

Which is awesome, because I liked bossing her. I liked it a lot.

I boss her again now. “What else?”

She looks away before answering. “I guess I liked it when you pinched me. And maybe when you pushed me to my knees. I really liked the way you held my head while you…” She blushes and her skin goes pink from her cheeks to the tips of her nipples.

“You like it rough.”

The tentative way she nods tells me she’s just working this out herself.

Well, that makes two of us. Because I had no idea how thrilling it could be to dominate a woman. Like driving on a clear night down the highway in my Bugatti. It’s a rush like no other—handling something as it moves that fast. Feeling it respond.

I brush my hand across her face, tracing the crimson in her cheeks. “I liked when you opened your legs for me, and I didn’t even have to tell you.”

“I liked how you didn’t let me speak.”

“Which time?”

“All of them.”

God, she’s perfect.

I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Come here.”

She lets me help her, and as soon as she’s on her feet, I capture her wrists and bring them above her head, pushing her back against the wall. After shifting my grip to one hand, I use my other hand to trace my thumb across her bottom lip. It’s plump and swollen from the way I made her take me. It’s such a fucking turn-on, I’m already getting hard again.

“I’ve never been like this with anyone before,” I say, sticking my thumb between her lips.

She tightens her mouth around me and sucks, sending electric shocks down my arms and thighs and to my cock.

I pull my thumb from her lips slowly, prolonging the hum of desire in my veins.

“I’ve never been like this with anyone either,” she says, and I’m as glad as if she’d told me I’d taken her virginity. “I’ve imagined it sometimes, but I’ve never had the courage to ask a guy to try it out.”

“If you had to ask, it would be beside the point.”

“Well. Yes. Exactly.”

Unlike her, I haven’t thought about it. But
I get it
. It feels natural. Right. The way I want to make her bend to me again and again—it’s like a second engine I’ve just discovered. An engine that’s fully tuned and raring to go.

The possibilities of future trysts stream through my mind as I gather her clothes. Silently, I help her put them on, the whole time thinking about the next time I get her undressed, thinking about her wrists tied behind her back with the sleeves of her blouse. Thinking of the cups of her bra pulled down, propping her tits up for my exploration.

And it hits me. “I have to see you again.”

She takes a shaky breath in, and I’m sure that acquiescence is on the tip of her tongue.

Except then she turns away.

“It’s not a good idea,” she says matter-of-factly, bending to get her jacket. She’s careful to keep her distance and avoid my eyes.

“Uh, what?” I totally did not expect that response.

She straightens and forces her eyes to mine. “I said it’s not a good idea. It’s not. So we had our fun, but we’re done now.”

“Bullshit.” No fucking way is she getting away with that. She must want me to convince her to change her answer.

She shakes her head, her mouth drawn down sullenly. “I have things that I want—things that aren’t you. Things like my job. My father already doesn’t take me seriously. Spending time with you will look like I’m using my body to get what I want at Werner Media, and that won’t help prove to him I’m actually qualified.”

“Your father doesn’t have to know. In fact, he shouldn’t know. Because that’s just…” I don’t have kids—obviously—but I have a niece, and there’s no way I ever want to hear about her having sex with someone. “That’s weird, is what it is. Besides, maybe I can help you figure out a way to get him to listen to you.”