Ruthless Mr. Ricco, page 11
part #1 of Brutal Billionaire Bosses Series
Despite her spit dripping from my half-hard cock, I tuck myself back into my pants.
She gives a tremulous half-smile as she fixes her bra and adjusts her pants.
“You were wrong again, Mr. Ricco.”
Dread lodges a brick in my stomach as her declaration sweeps the ground out from under me. When she lifts her lips in a wicked smirk, relief spears through me.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me until I begged. I didn’t beg, but you sure did,” she says.
I chuckle and capture her head in my hands.
“No, love. I said I wouldn’t fuck you until you begged. Touching and tasting are fair game,” I murmur against her lips.
She huffs and looks between my eyes for a few moments before opening her mouth to speak.
The attendant knocks on the door. Brook’s expression loses all emotion. I lament the missed opportunity but know I’ll only damage the progress between us if I push while stubbornness glints in her eyes. I brush my lips side to side over hers as I respond to the attendant, then give Brook’s bottom lip a gentle nip before lifting my head and caressing her temples.
She shivers and splays her hands over my pectorals. When she drops her gaze to my shoulders and digs her nails into my chest, I realize she’s fighting the urge to push me away.
Hurt flashes through me, but it vanishes when a single tear forms on her lashes. I wipe it away with my thumb and kiss her forehead.
She shoves me away and ducks out of my hold.
I let her go only because I’ll enjoy catching her again.
“That’s only your second outfit, Brook, and it doesn’t count if you don’t try on the skirt, too,” I call as she disappears behind the screen.
Her huff fills me with satisfaction. I take the box of tissues off the side table and offer them to her over the top of the partition. She grumbles as she snatches it from me.
“You’re welcome, little rabbit,” I chuckle as I settle on the couch.
Despite having the most intense orgasm of my life, my libido kicks into high gear the second she steps out in the skirt. Her long legs and perfect ass launch me back into the depths of need, but I behave myself as she tries on several more outfits.
When the third suit is too big for her, I discard it from her count. She closes her fists at her sides and glares at me through the mirror before stomping back behind the partition.
I look through the suits and select two more before grabbing three casual tops, a pair of jeans, and two slacks and adding them to the hooks on the wall near the screen before returning to the couch.
My entire world narrows to her curves when she steps out in the first evening dress.
“Holy hell, little rabbit. You’ll have every man in the room hard if you wear that. Take it off. You’re mine, and I won’t share,” I demand.
She turns and pauses when she sees the extra clothes waiting for her to try on. My skin tingles when she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.
“I’m leaving after six outfits,” she declares.
I lean forward and prop my elbows on my knees, ensuring I have her full attention before I speak.
“They sell bikinis here.”
Her pupils shrink and breath hitches.
“Fine, we’ll add a few more articles of clothing, but no swimwear, lingerie, or intimate apparel of any kind,” she says.
I enjoy the sway of her hips as she retreats behind the partition.
I won a skirmish against my vicious little rabbit again. I’ve lost track of who has more points because it doesn’t matter.
She took pieces of me I wasn’t aware existed. I’ll never get them back. I don’t want them back.
I’m hers. She’s mine.
This past week was busier than normal. We launched several vital and innovative projects, so I haven’t had the time to devote a proper investigation into what happened our senior year of high school. The unanswered questions burn in my veins.
I can’t earn Brook’s trust if I don’t understand what went wrong.
The reminder helps me keep my lust in check as my little rabbit continues working her way through the clothes.
When I nix the second and third dresses, she sighs and checks her watch but moves on to the next one.
By the time I’m satisfied with the number of approved selections, impatience wafts from her.
“We missed lunch,” I say. “Come with me for dinner.”
“No. It’s Saturday. I’m off work at five,” she says.
My fingers itch to grab her, pin her against the mirror, and wrap her long legs around my waist, but I cross my arms over my chest as I rise and bite my tongue.
We signed a contract, and as much as I hate limiting my time with her, the agreement keeps her by my side for the foreseeable future, so I don’t argue.
I pay, have her fill out the address for the clothes delivery, usher her to the car, and drop her off at the office building near my penthouse. An ache forms in my chest as I watch her stride away.
I blank my mind and absently drive until I pull into my reserved parking spot. With a sigh, I exit my car and take the private elevator up to my penthouse. As I step into the quiet, pristine solitude of my home, I console myself with the knowledge that I’m one step closer to having Brook Simons in my home. The glass wall overlooking the cityscape holds new appeal. I’ll have my little rabbit pinned between my body and the clear panes soon.
With no immediate work on the schedule, I grab my laptop and a drink and plop down on the couch. As unanswered questions tumble in my mind, I open the information Mr. Brunswick sent me and scroll to Carol’s photos of our class reunion.
When the suspect list for who could have spiked Brook’s drink neither shrinks nor grows, I growl, toss my laptop onto the couch beside me, and run my hands through my hair.
It’s been a full week, and I still don’t have answers. My frustration grows.
I rise, stomp to the fridge, and swing the doors wide.
The cold air hits my face and clears my muddled mind.
In the addenda, I relented and gave Brook a few hours off work, but nowhere in our contract does it state I must refrain from contacting her for non-work-related matters during her down time.
I slam the fridge closed, grab my keys on my way out the door, and access employee records for her address on my phone as I ride the elevator.
I pay for a day pass and park in the deck underneath her complex. After confirming her apartment number, I visit the front desk and bribe my way into the security room.
A few minutes before her required time off ends, she walks through the lobby and takes the stairs to the third floor before riding the elevator up to her level.
A familiar man opens her door and greets her with a hug. Fury hazes my periphery, so I lean closer to the screen and watch in silence as he pulls her into the apartment and shuts the door behind them.
Recognition slams through me. I’ve only seen him once before when he brought her flowers in the office lobby during her lunch break on her first day of work.
Jealousy eats at my insides. Just before I turn away to demand a key to her apartment—I don’t care how much I have to spend or how many laws I must break to get in there, she won’t spend another second alone with the stranger—her door opens and three people step into the hall. Brook, her mother, and the man she keeps hugging despite the wicked things she did to me with her mouth in the dressing room.
I thank the security guard and toss him an extra wad of cash on my way out the door. After lurking in the hall for a few minutes, I follow the party of three through the lobby and out into the streets, waiting until I’m certain they won’t catch me through the windows before joining the boisterous Saturday night crowd.
They walk with Brook in the middle and link their arms together as they weave through the chaos and chatter happily together. Ice forms in my gut at the carefree expression on my little rabbit’s profile as she listens to the man every time he chimes into the conversation.
I grit my teeth and duck into the nearest alley when they turn into a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The last time I visited a place like this was after I refused my parents’ money and was living off one-dollar slices of pizza before my business took off.
Nostalgia rolls through me as I walk through the door even though I’ve never been to this restaurant. The chaotic, lively atmosphere brings back the drive to overcome any and all hardships. Fueled by rage and a need to prove my worth, I longed to stand out from the crowd.
Now I do everything I can to blend in as I spy on my wayward little rabbit. I choose a spot on the long bench for singles along the wall with a decent view of their table and seethe as they enjoy themselves. Despite their relaxed postures and animated discussion, they keep their hands to themselves. Unless they’re playing footsie under the table where I can’t see them, they don’t openly flirt. Probably because Brook’s mother tagged along.
Panic seizes my heart.
Is this a family dinner? Is this the man she changed her last name for?
Did Brook Simons make me an adulterer? Has she been playing me all along?
They don’t seem overly affectionate, but my little rabbit looks at him as though a halo hovers over his head, so I doubt she’s using me to get out of an unhappy marriage.
Goddamnit, I still have too many unanswered questions.
When Brook excuses herself and heads down the hall to the toilets, I duck into a darkened side room and wait. The moment she steps into view, I swing her through the doorway and pin her against the wall with my bulk. I clamp my hand over her mouth, cutting off her scream, and angle my face into the light streaming from the bathroom.
She stops trying to gouge my eyes out when she recognizes me, but murderous rage shines from her eyes, so I wait until she calms down to lift my hand away from her face.
“Let go of me,” she hisses.
I wrap my hand around her throat and trail my fingertips up her side.
“No. Not until you agree to break up with him,” I snarl.
She pauses and lifts a quizzical brow.
“Break up?”
“Yes,” I tighten my fist around her throat and grind my hard cock against her softness. “Break up. Divorce. Whatever it takes to end your relationship with him.”
She shakes her head. I sneak my hand under her shirt and push her bra up to cup her bare breast. Her gasp arrows straight to my balls.
“Break up with who?” she shudders.
“The schmuck at the table,” I hiss and tweak her nipple.
I cover her yelp with my hand. She bites hard enough to sting. I curse and spear my fingers into her hair. She aims furious eyes at mine.
“The schmuck at the table is my mom’s husband, not mine,” she says.
Her words pierce through my mania. I still and study her face.
“What?” I ask. Certainly I misheard her.
“I’m not married. That man is my mom’s second husband.”
I loosen my grip on her breast. Her heart pounds against my palm.
“Your parents divorced?”
“Wow, what rock have you been living under?” she snarks.
“The one that’s now worth billions of dollars,” I quip.
“Wow. Really? That’s what you’re going to throw in my face? Your success? Get off me,” she demands with a buck of her hips and a shove of her fists against my chest.
I squeeze her breast and thrust my hips.
“No,” I say.
“Why not?”
Despite the harshness of her voice, desperation lurks in her tone.
“Because you’re mine, little rabbit, and I don’t believe a man our age is that chummy with you without nefarious intent,” I say.
She twists and fights, but I lean more of my weight on her and keep her right where I want her.
“For all that’s unholy, do you not hear yourself?” Her anger carries clearly in her clipped voice. “That man is the best thing that’s ever happened to my mother and me. Don’t you dare—”
I tighten my fist in her hair and capture her mouth in a demanding kiss. She squeaks and writhes, but her hard nipple presses into my palm as I knead her breast. I pinch and roll the sensitive peak between my thumb and forefinger until she cries out. Swallowing her shout, I release her hair and trail my fingertips down her throat and torso to wedge my hand between our bodies. She hisses and trembles from head to toe as I grab her sex through her clothes.
I rip my mouth away from hers. Her breaths wash over my face.
“You know how to push me to the very edge, don’t you, little rabbit? Choose your next words carefully, or I’ll show you just how much more I can do for you than he can,” I promise.
She digs her nails into my wrist and tilts her hips away as she shakes her head.
“Don’t lie, Brook. How long have you been with him, and he’s never given you an orgasm? Yet I made you come all over my hand just a few hours ago, didn’t I, little rabbit?” I goad.
She closes her eyes and grits her teeth before responding.
“Gary is my father. He fell in love with my mother, married her, and legally adopted me. I took his last name as his daughter. There’s nothing romantic between us. At all.”
Several puzzle pieces click into place. I gentle my hands as the band constricting my ribs loosens. I take what feels like the first full breath in a century and press my forehead against hers as I will my heart back into my chest. When I no longer feel on the edge of spontaneously combusting, I lift my head and meet her eyes.
“He adopted you because your real father sabotaged your scholarship and banned you from the top law institutes,” I say.
“Yes,” she confirms.
She’s too resilient. Too soft. Too tempting.
I curl my fingers and grind my palm over the whole of her sex. She gasps and arches her back, pressing her breast into my hand. I knead the perfect mound and flick my pointer finger back and forth over her nipple.
“Stop,” she breathes.
“Say you’ll come to my penthouse tomorrow morning,” I demand.
She shakes her head.
“We have things to… discuss,” I murmur.
Her scoff shifts her breast in my grip. I squeeze her pussy.
“No.”
I lock my eyes on her swollen mouth and lick my bottom lip.
“Do I need to beg again? We both know how that ended last time,” I murmur.
Blood trickles down my arm as her nails break the skin around my wrist.
“Promise me something,” she says.
I pull my gaze away from her lips and drown in her melted chocolate eyes.
“Anything,” I vow.
Not anything. I won’t leave her. Ever.
“If I come tomorrow, no one at the office will know, not even Liam. We will keep our professional and personal lives separate,” she says.
I pinch her nipple and chuckle at her gasp.
“Do I need to draft a contract?” I half joke. I will if she wants one.
With a surprising burst of power, she stomps on my toes, twists my wrist, knees my thigh, and ducks away. I hiss in pain and brace my forearm on the wall.
“No. A verbal promise will suffice.” She turns her back to the hall, casting her front in shadows as she reaches under her shirt and fixes her bra. “You won’t jeopardize the ambiance of your carefully cultivated workplace, will you, Mr. Goal-Oriented and Success Driven?” she challenges.
I shove my amusement down deep but can’t hide the mirth in my tone.
“Of course not, Ms. Simons,” I lie.
I’ll happily endure a chaotic workplace for my little rabbit. She’s brought color and light back into the office.
With her clothes adjusted and her shoulders rolled back, she lifts her chin and meets my eyes.
“Text me your address, then. Oh, and, Matteo?” She holds every ounce of my attention. My entire body buzzes in anticipation. “I like it when you beg.”
A wave of heat rolls from the base of my spine to my balls, and I hold back my release by the skin of my teeth.
My little rabbit’s sharp tongue threatens my control.
She may not have answered all my questions, but she revealed enough to appease the beast inside me, and now that I know the truth behind her name change, I won’t hold back.
There’s no escape for my little rabbit now. I’ll make her mine tomorrow. All mine.
Chapter 13
Brook Simons
I’ve lost my godforsaken mind. I’m certifiable. No sane person would go to their boss’s apartment on a Sunday morning. No one with half a braincell would give the man who crushed her heart in high school another chance. No woman with an ounce of self-worth would traipse across the city to fuck an overbearing asshole.
Yet here I am, staring at the high rise containing Matteo Ricco’s doorstep.
This may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but other than to avenge my mother and enact my revenge, I’ve never wanted anything this much before. Retribution is no easy task. It may be years before I annihilate my father, but Matteo is within easy reach.
I roll my shoulders back and step through the fancy glass revolving door and into the lobby. Halfway to the reception desk, an elevator dings off in the distance, and Matteo emerges from a side hall.
I agonized over what to wear and finally settled on the green casual top and jeans he bought from the boutique yesterday. Mr. Carter, my landlord and part-time employer, nearly had an aneurysm when the ritzy car pulled up to his curb with fancy gift bags in my name. I was an idiot for putting my address down for delivery, but sending them to my mother’s apartment would’ve been too hard to explain.
Even in my simple clothes, Matteo’s grey sweatpants and tight black t-shirt make me feel overdressed. Heat throbs low in my belly as he stalks toward me with hungry eyes.
He nods at the man behind the desk as he weaves his much bigger fingers through mine and tugs me after him. Apprehension closes a fist around my stomach when he pulls me into the elevator.
