10. Scarlett
TEN
James Malone is a monster.
One that makes me hot and bothered. And so damn wet.
I don’t understand my reactions to him. I want to blame it on the fact that I was forced into this, having to please him, but I can’t keep my mouth shut long enough to give him what he wants.
Someone subservient.
I follow him into the elevator of his building. It’s only got three buttons: ground floor, basement, and penthouse.
He doesn’t look at me; his focus is on the phone in his hand. Mine’s up in the penthouse because where the fuck does a girl put a phone on an outfit like the red latex one I’m wearing?
The roomy elevator is too small with Malone there, a blond god of sleaze and power, and I take in a shaky breath, not sure what to do.
Nothing. I can do exactly nothing.
“Stop fucking fidgeting,” he says.
I glare at him. “I’m not moving.”
“In your head you are. You send vibrations out; you disturb the air. Stop it.”
“I can’t stop my mind, you ass. I hate this situation. I’m doing this for my family.”
“Maybe, but you also want to fuck me. You hate that, but let’s be honest. You’re here so you can get your pretty rocks off and save your family,” he says as the elevator dings. We get out on his floor and walk down the foyer to his door. He punches in a code—no key, pretentious asshole—and walks inside.
He’s right and wrong.
I’m not here for him or because I want to get my rocks off. I’m here for my family, and it’s an unpleasant side effect that I also want him.
Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it would be worse not to want him.
Fuck, I don’t know.
All I know is I’m ashamed that I got off going down on him, that I liked his cock in my mouth. Sure, I could blame the limo, the situation, but his cock is big and gorgeous, and it makes me wobble and tingle inside, and call me a whore, but I crave it.
Whether I want to or not.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
I’m still in the foyer, so I take a deep breath, step inside the apartment, and close the door behind me.
The evening air is cool and refreshing. The giant glass wall is open, allowing the city noises to float in. One of the things about SoHo is it’s quieter than other parts of Manhattan after a certain hour.
The lights are low and golden, and a breeze teases the curtain he has pulled over the open glass door. I look around, but he’s not in the living room, and my heart starts to thud heavily.
How long was I standing in his stupid foyer?
His jacket’s tossed carelessly over one of the overly expensive low sofas, the only evidence that’s he’s here in the apartment. What I’d like to do is to scrub myself clean, remove the makeup that I don’t really wear, the latex that’s too much like a second skin, and the heels that hurt my feet.
Then I want to put on an oversize T-shirt, one that I didn’t bring, one I stole from my only real serious boyfriend, Peyton, whom I dated all through my first year of college at Brown. And cotton boy-short underwear, I want those, too.
Not to mention taking my hair down.
But my wall’s already shaky as hell, and I don’t want to let what remains of my guard down.
Not when I can still feel his cock in the back of my throat, the liquid heat of his release. Not when I can feel his kiss, the taste of his skin as I bit him…
I pause, scrunching my nose at the scent of tobacco that wafts into the air.
He’s outside. The lights aren’t on out there, but with the light of the city and some of the golden spillage from here, I can make him out, that tall, muscular form as he leans against a column, the red tip of a cigarette lighting up into brief life.
There’re bottles and glasses on a wet bar near the glass wall. I don’t bother asking permission. I just pour a drink, choosing the rum, and then I walk outside.
“Take everything off except the shoes,” he says.
My stomach somersaults. “No.”
“No?” He sighs and takes another drag. Then he picks up the bottle next to him and takes a swallow from it.
I know Lagavulin. My father drinks it. Not from the bottle, though, like it’s malt liquor from a fucking bodega. Part of me wants to give him grief about it or believe he doesn’t know better. But I think he might. There’s an air about him, even with the gilt of flash he bathes in, that’s got quality baked into it. Like he knows how to live well but has decided to splash around like he’s got the cash but not the class.
Not that I’m calling him classy. I’m?—
Shit.
Does it matter?
“No.”
“Red, you’d do a lot better if you admitted you like to play in the filth with me.”
“I don’t know you,” I snap.
That’s when he looks at me, the green eyes catching the light from inside, and it’s like he glows with the charisma and charm of the devil. “We can fix that.”
“I’m not planning on sticking around any longer than it takes.”
“Once your family’s safe, you’ll be sticking around until I get what I want.”
“You can’t buy a better social standing.”
He puts down the bottle and stubs out the butt of the cigarette in an ashtray. “No. But I can buy my way in with a fake marriage.”
Horror rips through me along with a dark thrill I don’t want. “I’m not marrying you.”
“The engagement ring suffices. I have no intentions of giving myself a headache by doing all the fucking prenup bullshit to keep your hands off my money.”
“Or yours off mine.”
And Malone laughs. “Scarlett, I’m a fuck ton richer than you. No matter how many millions are in that trust fund of yours.”
Again, the wave of horror hits. He knows how much I have. I can feel it. I almost ask him how he knows, but he’s a criminal and they’ve got their ways. “I don’t want your money, either.”
“Then we’re agreed. Take off the dress, Scarlett.” He picks up the bottle again as he straightens up. “Out here or inside, I don’t really give a damn. But you have one minute to comply, or I’ll make the decision for you.”
“I thought that’s what this whole thing is about, you taking away my freedom.” I pause. “Sir.”
“Freedom? Do what the fuck you want.”
“There’s a but.”
He grins slowly, like I’m dessert. “Isn’t there always?” He takes another swig from the bottle but makes no attempt to edge closer.
From somewhere down below on the street level a shout rises, followed by laughter.
I take a breath, wanting to argue. Fight.
Poke the damn caged beast.
I know I should ask myself why, but I don’t.
Because maybe, just maybe, I like this lackadaisical authoritarian air.
Maybe I want to know what he’ll do if I bite back too aggressively.
“What’s the but?”
“No other men.”
I narrow my eyes. “In that case, no other women.”
“That isn’t how it works.”
I swear to God, his mouth quirks. “You want my help, you follow my rules.” He takes another swallow. “No men, no telling anyone this is anything other than true love and hearts on fucking fire. You’re to act like my loving, doting fiancée and you’ll also provide me with the kind of entertainment I want.”
“There are others better at this bullshit game than me.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t want experienced. I want what you have. I want the fine dining.”
There’s a backhanded compliment or insult in there, but I don’t say anything. Malone puts the bottle down again and moves toward me.
He approaches with the stealth of a jungle cat. He’s leather and lust and decadence. I inhale deeply, the faintest whiff of the scent that clings to his sleeve as he reaches up and slides his hand around my throat.
“Are you going to punish me, Sir?”
Malone’s not squeezing or applying pressure, but the vibrations from him sing through my veins. There’s a strength there, one I know can give pleasure and protect. One that can maim, hurt, and kill.
His mouth almost brushes mine as the heat of his hand brands my skin. “Maybe. Take off your dress. Now.”
The quiet command compels. This time he means it, and I taunt without words, stepping back from his touch. Then I turn and walk inside, the click of the heels almost suddenly too loud to my hyped-up senses.
It takes a moment or three to peel off the dress. Finally, I’m free of the sweltering latex and I drop it to the floor.
There’s a soft click, and I turn to find his phone in his outstretched hand, pointed at me.
“Delete that.” The wicked intent in his eyes mocks my words. “Please?”
“No can do, Scarlett. I’d like something to look at during boring business shit. And this?” He locks the phone and slides it into his pocket. “It’s perfect. Turn.”
I’m already facing him, so I do a spin, then come to a stop. His gaze is on my pussy, his stare sliding over me, caressing me, tormenting me because he takes his time and it’s humiliating.
But it’s also weirdly empowering to stand like a prize, naked apart from the heels, for this man’s pleasure.
Malone takes one of my breasts in his hand and it spills over the seat of his palm. The heat of his touch makes my nipple hard. He rubs it and I have to bite back a yelp.
Never, ever have I had someone do this to me. And I feel like… like the finest piece of art, or maybe more like a sex slave to do his bidding if he purchases me.
He bends, sucks my nipple into his mouth, and bites.
I jump, my pussy suddenly lighting up with need.
He flicks his thumb over the wetness he left. His eyes are green fire and I want… I want to be consumed by him.
Just once, without protest, just to see.
“What the fuck are you thinking?” He slides the palm of his other hand down my stomach and to the wetness between my thighs. He slips a finger along the line of my slit and a moan breaks free.
“Not your business, Sir.”
He smiles. “A stupid man might think you’d just given up or were biding your time to fight back. But the way you’re rubbing against my hand makes me think you just want to get fucked. Like you want to play with fire.”
Malone brushes his lips over mine. “Go to the bedroom, and get on the bed on your back with your hands up over your head.”
I swallow. “And?”
“You said you wanted to get to know me. I’m giving you a chance.” His lips lift. “That’s a lie. I want to see what you like, test your boundaries.”
I swallow hard again, and every nerve jumps and twitches.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just do as he ordered.
Because I know what he’ll do if I don’t. And I’ll wind up on my back one way or another.
I walk down the hallway to the bedroom, my heels clacking against the white oak floor as I try not to think about how weirdly freeing it is to be naked in heels. I fall backward onto the mattress.
The moment I close my eyes, it’s like the world shifts, slips, and becomes something else, where it’s just me breathing, the scrape of air as it moves in and out of me. The tiniest sound winds my nerves like a jack-in-the-box, ready to spring. And then he’s there.
I don’t hear him. But I feel him. Like cool water lapping against me, like the moment is here. I don’t know what the moment is except it’s him. Looking down at me.
I don’t need to see him to know that. He shifts the molecules in the room, in the air, in me. He takes space and feeds it to himself until the world consists only of him and me and pure anticipation.
The bed dips slightly, and instinctively I spread my legs to accommodate so he can move between them. And then his heat envelops me as the bed on either side of my head dips.
I can feel the warm air of his breath, the perfume of the peaty scotch and the remnants of tobacco. And then he touches my hands, puts something on them, something soft, and the binds tighten as he secures me so I can’t touch him.
My eyes flutter open and the green reaches down into me. “Close your fucking eyes, Red.”
I do.
His lips come down on mine, a soft kiss that invades secret places. He teases my tongue with his before he lifts up, breaking the kiss.
“I can be cruel,” he whispers, sucking my lower lip. “Or kind. I can be soft or hard, give pleasure or pain. Take or give. What I do is up to me. How I want to do it.”
The soft slide of material touches me, a caress of the senses, and he slips what I think is his tie around my eyes and secures it, blindfolding me. Then he kisses me again.
“That’s up to you, Scarlett,” he says. “I know you want me, maybe as much as I want you. I get it, it’s a shock, unwanted need, but it’s there. So I don’t mind you playing the brat or talking back, within reason.
“I don’t mind because I like to inflict punishment and pain, test your limits. Just like I enjoy giving you pleasure. But whether I spank you in punishment with an endgame of getting you off and making you squirt, or I spank you to cause your ass to ache enough so that you’ll wish you had a cushion at all times to sit on is up to you.”
“Squirting’s a myth,” I rasp, voice scratching.
As he moves, his shirt touches my breasts, and his mouth slides against my ear.
“Not a myth and challenge accepted. You will squirt for me.”
Malone stops speaking… with words. Instead, he speaks with his finger and tongue and lips, and he sears a path into my skin, waking everything as he meanders down over my breasts, my ribs, hips, and stomach until he’s between my thighs. I almost explode as he starts to lick.
All along my pussy lips, inside and out of the folds, then up to my clit. It’s an awakening. All my thoughts and sensations are focused there, on what he’s doing.
He licks and sucks and kisses. And then, oh fuck, he thrusts two fingers in me. I expect them to move hard and fast. But instead, they move with soft and slow and measured strokes and I’m barreling hard toward an orgasm, everything heavy and aching for release.
“So fucking pretty.” The words are against me, a vibration on my clit as he works me, rubbing something deep inside that makes me roll up my hips as much as he’ll let me.
He’s a tease, he taunts, bringing me to the edge and backing off. Each climb back is higher, the thrills deeper that wait, just out of reach.
Malone speaks again. “You’re not to come until I say.”
I gasp as his fingers and tongue do wickedly delicious things.
“And if I can’t help it?”
“I’m a sadistic bastard who’ll give pain for pain’s sake, so hold the fuck off.” He licks and sucks and starts to thrust into me. It builds even higher and I’m so on the brink.
He bites down on my clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue trilling over the very top and I arch up, gasping. “Stop, please, stop! You’ll make me come!”
“Not yet.”
And he keeps going. Each move makes me moan and gasp. I’m twisting and writhing, trying not to come, chasing the tail of that orgasm anyway. And he dangles it, then whips it away with cruel precision until I can’t stop. I’m stumbling, tumbling, everything melting into a bloom of intense, hot pleasure, and I don’t think I can hold back for another second.
I whimper, and only then does he say the magic words. “Come for me.”
The orgasm makes me explode. My body spasms as waves of bliss hit me hard. He pulls his hand free, and before I can stop coming, he slides his cock into me, thrusting so deep that another orgasm hits me again.
I’m lost. I’m in a sea of sensations and each one of them exquisite, divine. And it could last a minute or an hour. All I know is I’m in love with the feel of him pushing deep into me, stretching me, the thrust of him opening me up, and I raise my hips for more.
When he comes, I come again. This time it rolls up from the depths of my soul and I scream, convulsing.
He fills me, he’s so big I can feel the twitch of him as he releases. And when he pulls out, I almost cry at the loss.
Malone unties my hands and takes off the blindfold and I expect… I don’t know what I expect. Him to get into bed next to me? Him to just walk off and leave me there in a puddle of emotions I don’t understand?
But he shocks me when he pulls off my shoes and tucks me in. Then he pulls on boxer briefs and leaves for a minute, returning with a bottle of water.
“Good night,” he says and walks out one more time.
This time, he doesn’t come back.
And I’m left drowning in the puddle.