Chapter 12
Arya
Michael kisses me like he’s been waiting to do it all his goddamn life, and for a moment, before I get caught up, I smile against his lips. I’ve got him.
His mouth is warm and firm against mine, his tongue just teasing a little against the inside of my lips. It sends a jolt of pleasure through me that I wasn’t expecting. So does the feeling of him shivering under my hands as I skim them up his chest. It makes me feel powerful—and sexy for the first time in too long.
He lets out a little grunt of pure delight, his big, warm hands sliding over my back to pull me against him. I hear the faint beep of the file search he was running completing, but I ignore it.
I’m committing to this, knowing the danger. The risk of being found out. The risk of my family finding out. The risk he’ll turn out to be crazy with his women—even violent. The risk that I’ll be manipulated. The risk that he plans to betray me, too.
The chance that I’ll catch feelings.
That can’t be allowed. It absolutely can’t be. But as our kiss deepens and my heart starts to pound, I start to worry that I’ve gotten in over my head unexpectedly. We’ve got chemistry, Michael and I. I can feel it rushing through me like a drug.
His tongue darts against mine, and I let out a whimper in spite of myself. God, he’s good at that. I might as well enjoy this while it lasts. It won’t last long.
I’m so used to selfish lovers who ruin any trace of sexual chemistry with their antics that I return the kiss, confident that the same thing will happen here. It’s always been the same with men, no matter how awesome things are at first.
He’ll do something porn-inspired, try to skip foreplay, or pull something creepy or degrading on me out of nowhere. That’s just what men do; they wind me up with some kissing and petting and then ruin it fast and thoroughly as a splash of cold water, leaving me resentful and unfulfilled.
And just like that, the spell will be broken, and I’ll be back in control again. Disappointed and frustrated but back in control.
But as the kiss lingers and our hands start to explore each other, I feel myself starting to get into it. Really get into it. Kisses don’t usually make me chase after more. His does.
Now that I’ve decided on this and feel my hunger for him growing, I get impatient. I want to feel this good for as long as I can. I unbutton his shirt as we kiss, then push the fabric off his shoulders and start running my hands over him as he grunts and moans into my mouth. His muscles tighten under my fingertips like the slightest caress is enough to stir him up.
He shocks me in the best of ways by scooping me into his arms, leaving his shirt on the floor behind us as he carries me to his bedroom. I hang on, eyes wide with surprise at both his strength and how steadily and gently he carries me. I actually swoon a little bit against his shoulder. I’m not used to being swept off my feet.
His bedroom is a dark, cozy cavern with blackout shades drawn. The bed is wide and low, sprawling across most of the room and covered with a velvet comforter that has to be custom-made. He settles me onto it and then kisses me again, bending over me as he pulls off my blazer and sets it aside.
He undresses me slowly between long, hungry bouts of kisses, his hands sliding over every inch of my skin as I bare it. He’s taking his time—too much time, making me impatient for more. Maybe that’s the play, damn him.
I give as good as I get, running my hands over his body as I help him out of his clothes. His skin is warm and smoother than I expected and wonderfully sensitive. Just running my fingertips down his belly makes him jolt and suck air as if I slapped him. I use my nails next time, and he groans through his teeth.
Pent up? Or has he been craving me this badly? Either way, it makes me want to play with him.
He has the dress off and set aside before I can catch my breath and get even a bit self-conscious. He’s already in his boxers, showing off his lean, well-muscled form and that smooth skin adorned on both shoulders with bright tattoos of birds. I stretch out across the mattress in my bra and panties, my stockings still clinging to my legs. He hasn’t touched them, I notice. I guess he likes them on.
I’m no pillow princess; when he bends over me again and kisses me, my hands go straight to the small of his back. I run my nails lightly up his back, down again and over his ass, and then circle down to his belly. He grunts with delight as he unfastens my bra.
I tug at the band of his boxers lightly, then nudge them down low on his hips. “Got a rubber?” I murmur when the kiss breaks, not wanting to wait until I’m so turned on that talking turns into a chore.
He flashes a grin again and fumbles for the drawer in his bedside table while covering my neck and shoulders with kisses. His dick is so hard under his boxers that I can see it jumping a little bit in time with his heart.
I take the condom out of his hand and tear the wrapper open while he eagerly shoves his shorts down. His cock springs free, and my eyes widen slightly at the sight of it. Uncut, gleaming, and thick enough that I’m just a little intimidated. Not that I’ll let that stop me.
He groans as I roll the condom on, his hips slightly jerking as I run my fingertips down his length. His chest heaves. When he bends to kiss me again, I help him pull my bra off and unfasten my garter belt.
He falls over my breasts like they’re a feast he’s been craving, kissing and nibbling all over them while I squirm and struggle against the urge to beg him to suck. When his lips finally close over one of my nipples, I groan aloud and bury my fingers in his hair.
His hands slide my panties off, leaving the stockings just as I predicted. He grips my hips, then slides one hand down between my thighs to caress me. I’m trembling and panting even before his thumb finds my clit and starts circling it slowly.
I gasp, and my hips jolt forward. His mouth and hands move in rhythm, sending shocks of pleasure through me from my nipple and my clit until my gasps turn into little cries.
I’m further gone than I’ve ever gotten with someone else in the room, so desperately horny and dizzy with pleasure that I’m not sure I can speak at all. I’m torn between hoping he screws things up before the finish and praying he actually gets me off. The one fits my plans. The other, I need like my next breath of air.
His breath comes in shaky gasps now; I hear him curse under his breath. He leans up to kiss me, hand still resolute between my thighs, and I part them as he settles his hips over mine.
I’m so slick and hungry for him that the slow, insistent push of his cock into me makes me groan with relief and pull him closer. There’s no pain at all.
We move together slowly at first, both shaking and gasping from holding back, wanting this to last. His hips pump against mine in time with the push of his thumb, and I go from gasping to letting out little cries in under a minute.
My lips move, but nothing but noise comes out. I want to beg him to keep going, just like that, Please don’t stop , but I can’t even draw a full breath anymore. I grab the tight muscle of his ass cheeks in both hands and grind against him fiercely until I start to lose my senses.
He groans hoarsely in my ear, and I think that’s it and brace myself for another letdown... but he’s only getting started. He keeps moving, keeps the rhythm, grunting harshly with the effort of holding back...
...and I go rigid under him, back arched, every muscle taut. My voice sobs with desperate need, and he pounds into me harder and pushes me roughly over the edge.
I thrash under him, nails in his back, every contraction pushing another blissful cry out of my throat as I grind on him. In the middle, he loses the fight and throws his head back, groaning, “Oh, yeah... yeah!” in a tone of shameless bliss. His cock jumps inside of me, and he shudders against me until the last contraction passes, then we lie still together, entwined.
Oh, God , I think. Oh, God. That was so good...
I stare at the ceiling in shock as he lies over me, catching his breath, shivering a little now and then.
Finally, he drags his head up and kisses me softly. “That was amazing. You still with me, sweetheart?”
I blink up at him, and then I nod.
His smile becomes wicked. “Good. Because I’m not done with you...”
I wake up in Michael’s arms, and I don’t know what time it is. For a solid 30 seconds, I don’t even know how I got here. I’m too sleepy and relaxed; my thoughts slip away from me like a bar of soap in the bathtub.
Slowly, I come to realize that I’m in trouble.
We’re curled up in a tangle of velvet bedding, and my body doesn’t want to move. I can’t remember where my clothes are. I can’t remember how many times I came.
I lost track. I actually fucking lost track. It almost makes me want to laugh... except reality’s already sinking in, and it’s no laughing matter.
There was nothing about last night that I could call frustrating, unfulfilling, or even forgettable. He spent plenty of time exploring my body, my reactions, and then remembered what he learned. He took the time to get me hot and make me crave his cock, and then made it worth the fucking wait.
That’s never happened before.
The irony hits me like a splash of cold water, and the sweet afterglow haze I woke up with recedes. I slip out of Michael’s arms and bed and hurry into the bathroom across the hall to splash water on my face and try to pull myself together.
“Shit,” I mutter as I meet my own eyes in the bathroom mirror. My makeup’s crazy, lipstick kissed into smudges all over my mouth and chin, and there are black tear marks where my mascara ran. I start cleaning it all off as my mind starts to race.
Last night was the best sex of my entire life... ever. And I want more. Except... there’s a huge complication.
I cannot afford to fall for this guy .
I have to play along with being Michael’s ally and with being interested in him, but at the end of the day, he is still the sonovabitch who screwed me and humiliated me in front of my family. I can’t warm up to him too much, or I won’t be able to get my revenge.
But...
Oh, hell. Now, I’m wavering in my course over some good dick. What am I, nineteen? “Get your shit together, Arya,” I mutter at my reflection.
I’m only supposed to use sex to throw off his judgment while I work on ruining him. So, what if he figured out where my clit was? He also fucked up my life.
I finally give up and take a whole-ass shower, taming down my massive bedhead and washing off our sweat. I smell like his cologne even after scrubbing down. Just a little whiff of it, but it mocks me. It’s a reminder that I can’t take back last night.
The worst part is, I know that as soon as I see him, I’ll want him again. He has that power over me now, and I know it, and I hate it.