Suddenly His Page 7

  “I think you should pace yourself,” I whisper.

  His gaze is riveted on my mouth. “Why? Does it fluster you?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks down at the hem of my short dress and growls.

  The staunch hunger he’s displaying reminds me Jack hasn’t allowed himself pleasure since Friday night. Three full days. What I’ve learned about male habits comes from romance novels. If that knowledge is to be trusted, a man as young as Jack is accustomed to pleasuring himself at least once or twice a day. Is he in pain? I don’t like knowing that.

  Swiftly, I set aside my guilt.

  Who exactly am I feeling sorry for here? A super-rich, extremely good-looking mansion owner who broke his promise. And won’t give me the full amount of money I earned?

  “You’re frowning at me,” he drawls, with an amused expression. “God, I’d love to know what’s going on in that beautiful head.”

  “I’ll tell you.” I strut past him. “For two million dollars.”

  His low laugh follows me across the room. And eventually so does he. “Maisy—”

  “What’s in there?” I point to a metal chest in the corner.

  Jack clearly doesn’t want to be diverted from the main topic, but he sighs and answers anyway. “I had a company picnic last spring. A lot of the employees brought their kids, so I had some games on hand.” He walks over and flips open the heavy lid. “I bought out the Nerf section at the toy store.”

  Imagining the grounds of this estate being overrun by kids in goggles, firing foam bullets, I can’t help but smile. “Did they like it?”

  “Yeah.” He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “And I definitely didn’t wish I could join them instead of discussing market trends. Definitely not.”

  “We should play,” I blurt. Mostly because he keeps revealing things about himself that challenge my anger. Make me want to forget why I need to be wary of him.

  He does a double-take. “What? Now?”

  I shrug. Nod.

  “What’s the wager?” he asks.

  “There has to be a wager?”

  “I run a hedge fund, angel. I would bet on the weather if I could.”

  My lips try to twitch at that, but I press them together. “Fine. If you win, I’ll sleep in your bedroom tonight.”

  Jack scoffs, but the effect is ruined when he puts on a pair of plastic goggles. “That was already the plan.”

  “No. You assumed that was the plan.”

  He groans up at the ceiling. “You’re killing me, baby. Fine. What do you get if you win?”

  “A check for two million dollars. Dated today.”

  “Nope. Try again.”

  Yeah, I kind of had a feeling that wasn’t going to fly.

  I stomp to the chest and take out my own pair of goggles, settling them on my nose.

  Then I take out the biggest, ugliest Nerf gun I can find and prop it on my hip. “I want a sound booth, then.”

  He pauses in the act of selecting his own weapon, glancing over at me with interest. “For recording audiobooks?”

  I press my lips together and nod. “Yes.”

  “Done.” His expression is one of mock sympathy. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how to lose. It’s just not something I do.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  Loading my bullets, I send him a prim look—and I realize I’m having fun. A lot of fun, actually. Way more than I usually have with other people, which is why I keep to myself. “Are you sure you haven’t gone soft in your big mansion, pretty boy?”

  He shakes his head slowly, but there’s a new respect in his eyes. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, angel. What are the boundaries?”

  Gun under my arm, I turn in a circle. “The whole downstairs? The den, the game room and…”

  “The climbing gym?”

  “That works.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? You haven’t even seen the rock wall room yet.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  We start to back away from each other, guns at the ready. “We each get fifteen shots. Whoever lands the most is the winner.”

  I fire.

  A foam bullet drills him right between the eyes.

  His expression is so comically stunned that I’m giggling as I turn and run, immediately taking cover behind the college couch. When there’s no sound for a full ten seconds, I peek up over the top and a barrage of shots rains down on me from behind the doorway leading to the den. One glances off my shoulder and I yelp, wheeling around and sprinting for the climbing gym. Hearing Jack’s footsteps methodically creaking in my direction, I throw open the door and sprint inside, searching frantically for a place to hide.

  There.

  I kneel down behind a mini fridge stocked with water and wait for him to walk through the door, gun resting on the top of the appliance, my eye fixed on the viewfinder.

  “Cute,” Jack says behind me, quickly drilling me with three bullets in the back. “Didn’t know about that second entrance, though, did you?”

  Gasping my outrage, I whip around and manage to hit him with two bullets before he escapes behind the rock wall—and holy hell. I have to tip my head back to see the top of the thing. It has to be at least four stories high, rocky foot holds sticking out every couple of feet, ropes hanging down on either side.

  I scan the matted area to find a gym on the other side, complete with weight machines, treadmills and stationary bikes. Getting to the gym will be risky, but there are a lot of places to hide and I’m too exposed here.

  “On Friday night, you told me you only exercise if it’s spontaneous,” Jack calls from behind the rock wall. “Is this what you meant?”

  “Yes! And stop trying to determine my position by asking me things. This is war.”

  “Bloodthirsty girl. You could have a career in finance.”

  With a smile on my face, I truck it toward the gym, keeping an eye on the edge of the rock wall, just in case he tries to fire. And of course he does, but he misses and I skid into the gym, taking shelter behind a table stacked with towels and water bottles. Like fifty of them.

  “Lord. How many people work out here?”

  “Just me. But I’m an extravagant billionaire.”

  I’m laughing again—at his unabashed arrogance this time—but I quiet myself when his shadow crosses into the gym. Jack is winning right now, four to three, but he has a lot less bullets than me, after missing so many times. I’m at an advantage.

  I slide my finger onto the trigger and prepare to fire over the top of the table, but a movement to my left distracts me. Assuming it’s Jack, I fire a string of bullets, only to realize I’m shooting at a towel. With a gasp, I spin around, but it’s too late. He’s tricked me—and he’s right behind me with a smug smile on his handsome face.

  Ping ping.

  Two bullets catch me in the dead center of the chest, making it six to three, but I refuse to say die even though I’m almost out of bullets, attempting to scramble to my feet…

  And I smack my head on the edge of the table.

  Not hard.

  But sensing an advantage, I immediately play it up, cradling my forehead and sniffling pitifully, like I’m on the verge of tears. “Ouch.”

  Jack drops his gun. “Oh my God, Maisy.” He kneels down beside me, pulling me onto his lap, tipping my chin up. “Are you hurt? Should I call someone? Are you bleeding?”

  Upon seeing his gray complexion and panicked blue eyes, I immediately feel terrible for duping him. But not terrible enough to stop me from picking up my gun and firing my remaining four bullets into his shoulder. “I win.”

  A touch of panic fades. “You’re not hurt?”

  Unable to subdue my triumphant smile, I shake my head.

  A rush of relief blows over his features and a disbelieving laugh puffs out of his mouth. “That was cold, Whitaker.”

  We’re both breathing fast from exertion. “Maybe you’re teaching me how to play
dirty.”

  His erection presses up against my bottom, that masculine hand slipping my dress higher on my thighs, his knuckle teasing me beneath my belly button. “I’m going to teach you a lot of dirty things while you’re here.”

  A tingle tickles into my pelvis and carries low, like fingertips stroking over my private flesh. “That’s going to be tough when I’m not sleeping in your room,” I whisper, trembling.

  In a split second, I’m flat on my back, Jack looming above me. “I don’t need a fucking room. I’ll take you outside and pound you against my front door while the mail is being delivered, won’t I?” The imagery of that makes me moan, my nipples beading painfully. I’m too momentarily stunned to fight and he presses that advantage, his hips wedging between my thighs, fingers tucking beneath my neckline—and ripping my dress straight down the middle, sending buttons into a scatter all over the floor. “Can I come yet, baby?” He unfastens his belt and tosses it aside. “Yes or no.”

  My birth control should be effective now. And I would sell my soul to feel that wicked lick of liquid fire inside me again…which is exactly why I can’t allow it. He’s consuming me, drawing me in physically and mentally, making me fall for him before I’ve accomplished my goal of knowing him. After all, he’s still the man who broke his first promise to me. Is controlling me with money, like a carrot on the end of a stick. He gets everything he wants, but I can’t make it so easy to have me, too. Not until he gives up some ground. “No. You can’t.”

  With a growl of frustration, he rips down his zipper.

  Takes out his hard, heavy shaft and strokes it, root to tip, his breath stuttering out.

  “Can I make you come?”

  “Yes,” I manage, because there’s no other answer. Lust is clawing at me, turning the walls of my womanhood to little more than a greedy pulse. Need need need. I’ve relived him being inside me so many times since Friday, without actually experiencing that addictive fullness, that I’m desperate for it now.

  And he doesn’t make me wait.

  Jack pulls down my panties, spits on my sex and drives himself to the hilt.

  A scream blares from my throat, followed by the raunchy sound of flesh slapping. Fast, fast. No gentleness. No buildup. It’s before and after. Incomplete to complete. The moments between the last time Jack was inside me and now were nothing more than that. Moments. Killing time. This is all there is. His long, thick manhood slamming deep and reminding me he doesn’t just dole out my money, he decides how and when my pleasure is received, too. It’s true. Whether I like it or not.

  His teeth dig into my neck. “You like being fucked, little girl?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good.” He angles deep, scooping his thickness into me with powerful rolls of his hips. “With a pussy like this, you better get used to it.”

  His coarse manner of speaking shouldn’t turn me on like this. It shouldn’t riddle me with lust when he calls me little girl. Or refers to my womanhood like it’s driven him crazy. Or when his words turn me into a shameful temptation that can’t be resisted. As if it’s my fault he has to unzip his pants and blow off steam. But it does make me hot. It makes me wild. To be so coveted that he has to rip off my dress and take me on the floor.

  Like an animal.

  “Hurts, baby, hurts,” Jack rasps, eyes glassy.

  I can relate. I’m still so sensitive from touching myself in his office that when I reach between us and pet my clit, I make a loud mewling noise that turns Jack into a machine. He gets his knees beneath him and leans back, yanking my backside up and down his thighs like a shirt on a washboard. And the shift of positions gives him an up close view of my fingers stroking that swollen bud between my legs. “Daddy,” I sob. “Daddy.”

  “Jesus Christ. I don’t have any time left.” His sides heave, sweat showing on the front of his white dress shirt. “You better come on that dick, you hot, little brat.”

  Two more rough jerks of his hands and my flesh quickens, the sheer intensity setting my teeth on edge. Dress in tatters around me on the floor, this billionaire man-god groaning above me, our sexes slapping together loudly, I lose myself in the immense pleasure. Let it reach out and twist me in its grip, spin me around, pulling my flesh taut, taut until I’m screaming his name, his hips pumping wildly, trying to milk every last ounce of sensation from his turgid inches, from the blazing hot connection of our bodies.

  I collapse onto the floor, wrung out, the ceiling spinning above me.

  Ravaged.

  I’ve been…destroyed.

  I try to say something, anything, because suddenly it doesn’t feel right to find such an incredible release without Jack joining me. But I’m already up in his strong arms, being carried naked through the game room, the den and up the stairs, tucked protectively against his chest. He lays me down on a soft bed, brushes loose hair from my face and kisses my forehead.

  “Sleep, angel. I’ll bring you a tray of food in a few hours.”

  I reach for him, intending to beg him to stay, but I fall asleep just like that, with my arm extended toward the door and his name on my lips.

  8

  Jack

  After I put Maisy to bed last night, there was an urgent matter at work, so I was forced to spend the evening yelling in my office, instead of feeding her dinner and bathing her, the way I craved to do. I had a member of the staff bring a tray to her room and draw her a bath, however, and once the matter was settled, I checked in on her.

  Nine or ten times.

  Seeing her in the guest room bed, fragrant from a bath and exhausted from rough sex, filled me with a bone-deep satisfaction. I can only imagine what it’ll be like to see her sleeping in mine. God willing, I won’t have much longer to wait. She’s mine and her beautiful head belongs on the pillow next to mine. My arms are empty without her there.

  With a determined wrist flick, I adjust the collar of my shirt and leave my bedroom.

  Of course, I put Maisy in the room directly across from mine—and I’m surprised to see the door open now. The maid is inside making her bed, but there’s no sign of Maisy. Ordering myself not to give in to the sudden panic in my gut, I nonetheless fly down the stairs and into the dining room, slowing only when I see her at the table, sipping orange juice and staring up at the chandelier with an expression of wonder.

  Oh thank God. Thank God.

  “Good morning,” I clear my throat to say, sitting across from her. The Wall Street Journal is automatically placed in front of me, along with a mug of black coffee. Toast and a sliced hard-boiled egg. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, I had cereal with a banana on top,” she whispers, watching the maid hustle around with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You slept well.”

  She blinks. “Was that a question?”

  I give her a glimpse at my obsession. Let it kindle in my eyes until her knuckles are white around her orange juice glass. That’s right, angel. I’m always watching. “No. It wasn’t.”

  Maisy takes a slow breath, letting it out unsteadily.

  Yesterday when I brought her home, took her down to the game room…we had fun.

  More fun than I remember having in a long time. Maybe ever.

  The combination of exertion, the challenge and chase, that fizzy giggle of hers…there was no way I could keep my cock locked up. Not entirely. I needed in. Needed Maisy on her back, legs spread, screaming with pleasure. And I got it. Got more than I could ever hope for in a fantasy. But I’m left right on the edge now. Hungry, hard, aching.

  How long can I keep myself in check?

  Maisy twists her orange juice on the table, appearing steeped in thought, and I find myself eager to pry her apart. To find out what she’s thinking. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she says too quickly. “I’m just…” She glances toward the entrance of the dining room. “Won’t my mother be here any minute?”

  Jesus.

  I forgot where things stood with her mother. Forgot I even fired her
.

  If that doesn’t prove I’m a heartless bastard unworthy of Maisy, nothing will.

  No more lies. Only truths, Jack.

  Bracing for the fallout, I take a long sip of my hot coffee and set it down. “She won’t be coming, angel.”

  Her startled gaze flies to mine. “Why? Did you…fire her?”

  To my surprise, she seems to accept that this was inevitable. “Yes.”

  “When?” she breathes, drawing her hands into her lap.

  I hesitate to answer, which makes sense, since I don’t want Maisy to be pissed. But it doesn’t make sense, as well. Because I’ve warned her—and proven—repeatedly that I’m an unrepentant asshole. Nothing should be coming as a shock at this point.

  “Yesterday,” I say carefully. “She came home when I was packing your things.”

  “It happened in person?” She sits forward. “Did you tell her why?”

  “Yes.” My throat constricts. God, this explanation is going to require me to hurt Maisy, isn’t it? Yes. It is. Because I promised honesty. I told her no more lies and now I just have to hope that when this conversation is over, she can sort through my steaming rubble and find a man she can tolerate beyond two more days. “Maisy, I went into her room and found a one-way plane ticket to Belize. And money. Taped under her desk. I’m…sorry, angel.”

  A beat passes. “Oh,” she whispers, a line forming between her brows. “What happened to all of it? The ticket and the money?”

  “It’s in my safe now.”

  “You took it?” Her voice raises an octave. “Took it all? And fired her?”

  Here it comes.

  “She was going to abandon you.” By the time I hear the chill in my tone, it’s too late to do anything about it. “She lied. Neglected you on purpose.”

  “That might be true, but you could have asked me. We could have talked about how to handle this.” Her eyes search the surface of the table. “She’s my mother!”

  “And that makes her special? Immune to consequences?”

  She throws up her hands. “Kind of. Yes. Don’t you have a mother?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  Maisy flinches. “Oh, Jack…” A moment passes while she seems to gather herself. I find I have to gather myself, too. I’m too exposed. This isn’t the first time I’ve admitted to growing up with certain challenges, but it’s somehow completely different in front of Maisy. The wound is more tender when she’s the one examining it. She sees more of me than anything. All the shortcomings I need to hide if I want her to love me. “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I didn’t know.”