Her Crazy Brother, page 9
He watches my face for any trace of a lie while I explain about the car accident and the brain damage and how she’ll die without the machines. And the medical costs. And Whyte’s marketing being more than I budgeted and it being a trap. — “I don’t want to work for Taylor Manning.”
I rub my goose bumped arms while I watch him pace the pavement. Like a lion, he skulks one way, then prowls the other, his gaze occasionally flicking my way. Tightening the band in my hair, I massage my temples until his shoes halt facing mine. His face is shuttered now, all harsh lines and an icy tone.
“Do you want to come home with me?”
I nod. “Yes.”
I grasp his out-held hand, and he hoists me to my feet. Sweeping around me, he flips off the light and locks the door and I ask, “Do I ... need clothes?”
No expression. His face is void of emotion when he drops the keys in my palm. He jerks his chin, gesturing for me to follow him to the car. He opens the passenger door, and I duck obediently inside. When he crouches, I allow him to fasten my seatbelt. I gratefully smile, but he won’t look me in the eye. With my heart racing, I watch him stalk around the car. And after he pulls on his seatbelt, and starts the engine, we travel in silence.
“How long are you going to punish me?”
Jesus. I close my eyes when he accelerates through an amber light—he can’t stay mad forever.
In the elevator, it’s silent and tense. His eyebrows are drawn low and angry over his eyes, as his unflinching gaze just glares at me.
“Enough. You’re scaring me.”
His eyes flash and I stiffen. When he rears forward. I stagger back and his palm smacks the lift wall at my shoulder, his breathing ragged against my face. “How do you think I felt when I woke and you weren’t there?”
My heart pounds, and I force myself to breathe calmly. “I said I’m sorry.” His touch isn’t gentle, and his fingertip under my chin forces me to look directly at him.
“There’s going to be rules.”
I’m listening, but he doesn’t elaborate. The lift jolts to a halt, and I take a long, unsteady breath before following him inside. The door slams at my back and the lock clicks. He jerks the hallway table drawer open, and my pulse jolts with an uneasy spike when he says, “Phone and wallet.”
The muscle in Ben’s jaw tics when I hesitate. His eyes flick to the drawer and with my heart in my throat, I finally drop them inside and he slides it shut. He watches me for a moment before asking, “Do you want a beer?”
I glance at the locked door, then reply, “Yes.”
I should make a run for it, but when he passes me to go to the refrigerator, his masculine scent lingers in the hallway. Triggering the memory of him between my legs and the thrust of his cock inside that feels so good. It’s fading trail lures me after him.
When I accept the beer, he rests against the kitchen counter and ticks off his demands. “You will only wear your hair down for me. And you will never leave the apartment without my approval.” His fingers scrape back a fallen strand of fringe and, with a shuddery breath, his sight fixes on mine. “Agree and I will pay all your costs.”
I want to demand how he plans to do that, but I swallow my doubts and sip my beer. I’ve triggered his protective urges—saving me makes him feel needed. It’s an inconvenience because his feelings are tugging at my heart and seeing him act so masculine is making my balls stiffer than iron.
This agreement we’re making is unconventional. But he’s wedged himself into so many cracks I’m already breaking. I tug the band from my hair in a show of submission, mumbling, “I hate this power you have over me.”
He grips the counter at his back. “I feel the same.”
His blue eyes bore into mine for a moment before his jacket slides off his broad shoulders and is tossed on the counter, along with his loosened tie. Biceps flex and bulge in his sleeves as he removes his cuff links. They clink the wooden countertop.
I sip my beer, and he responds by pressing his thumb to my damp lip. “You make me feel so powerless and frustrated.” His eyes drop to assess the mud on my clothing. “You’re filthy.”
He steps back, unfastening his shirt buttons with a sigh. “When you run, it makes me want to lock you up. I’m going for a shower.” I watch him pad from the kitchen. When his shirt lands on the floor, he halts and glances over his shoulder. “So are you.”
I sip my beer.
Then follow.
Chapter 19
I lean against the ensuite tiles to watch Ben pull off his socks; unfasten his belt, then slide his trousers down his powerful thighs. Back muscles ripple when he stretches to turn on the shower. Our eyes briefly meet when he lowers his clingy black boxers to reveal his semi-erect cock.
Under the spray, his palm rests on the tiles when he impatiently looks my way. “Do I have to come out and get you?”
I finish my beer and abandon the bottle at the sink. I have what he wants, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s not to give it to him easily. Which comes with a personal challenge as I leer through the gathering steam at the shampoo drizzling down his taut muscles.
Removing my jacket, I wait until he looks again before I let it fall to the tiles. Slowly loosening my tie, he faces my way, watching it drift on top of my jacket. There’s a connection between us, an energy that I can’t explain, but one Ben figured out long before I did.
I gradually open my shirt. Button by button. Before slipping it from my shoulders. Ben watches, stroking his swollen cock, and I toss it at my feet. I pop my trouser button, and his hawk-like trance follows the lowering zip, tooth by tooth.
Hot steam suddenly wafts my face as wet arms curl around my chest and I squeal, “You’re too impatient,” as he hoists me under the spray.
“Don’t move.” His jaw is tight and his eyes flash, but under my palm, his heart pounds like a drum. His wet hair lowers to my waist, wrestling drenched trousers and underwear down my thighs. Stepping free, I dig rivets in his shoulders when he runs his thumb up the length of my arousal as he rises.
I lift the shampoo, but his finger ticks in warning as he takes it from me. White bubbles drizzle down my face as he scrubs my scalp. I’m not sure how I feel about Ben’s obsessive and domineering attentiveness, but I allow his foot to nudge my ankles apart. His behaviour is disturbing, yet I’ve never felt so adored and wanted.
I reach to caress his face and he spins me to face the tiles. He teasingly bites my ear before he says, “We’re going to fuck until you can’t walk.”
I nod, unable to look him in the eye. His raw, physical power holds me pressed against the wall. Jesus. I’m trembling. This deep need for his body to overpower mine is obscene.
His chest shifts from my back to step from the shower, and I peel myself from the tiles, raising my face to the spray. Watching him brush his teeth, he bends over the sink to rinse and spit, and the thought of gripping his hips and burying my cock into his tight ass is so tantalising my dick leaks.
With water dripping from my hair and my dick in my hand, he catches me leering. He straightens, smirking at my debauched stance. “You don’t have the strength to take me.”
I turn off the shower, then catch the towel he tosses before he saunters into the bedroom. Thumbing the links that hold a ring locked around my neck, I know I don’t need physical strength to overpower him.
With the tangles combed from my hair, and my teeth brushed, I follow into the dimness of a single candle. An electric guitar strums a familiar haunting melody as Ben’s silhouette crosses the flickering light to stand behind me. “Do you remember this song?”
Blinking to adjust to the darkness, I reply, “It was playing when I knocked you to the ground.”
“You tripped over my tent guideline and caught me unawares.”
“You still went down.” I stop sniggering to add, “It was the first time we met.”
I glance at the signed guitars on his wall. I don’t need to ask. In my gut, I already know they are from that open-air concert. Souvenirs from the same night as my mother’s accident.
He strokes the length of my damp hair before he whispers against my ear, “Kneel on the bed.”
The duvet sinks under my weight as he holds up the red silk scarf from the office and I chuckle. “That’s an expensive blindfold.”
“Yes, it is,” he replies.
The cool silk slides across my eyes, and he firmly ties it behind my head. It’s dark and depraved, and the heat emanating from his chest sends a tingle of anticipation zipping down my spine. At his push, my palms land on the soft bedding. With the thrum from the music vibrating the hairs on my skin, I wait, so feverish with lust, I might combust before he touches me.
The bed beneath me depresses, and his head pushes between my knees. He sucks my dick between his warm, wet lips while I carefully fumble, finding a thigh, then resting on his abdomen. With his semi-aroused cock in my grip, I lick the tip and roll it over my tongue until it swells and stiffens. Hot and hard. We’re soon lost to the music of wet sounds and ragged grunts.
I want more.
The memory of him bent over the sink was so erotically provocative I release his balls and search for his entrance. His body clenches when I spread his cheeks. He’s clamped tight, but there’s no going back when I let his dick slip from my mouth. Overwhelmed by the primal physical urge to shove my cock inside him, my wet tongue swirls and probes to find its way in.
Ben’s body shifts beneath me, and my elbows keep his thighs apart while my knee juts to pin his arm to the bed. The tight skin around his entrance quivers and my tongue surges down, increasing the pressure to coax a gap.
The weightlessness happens so fast I don’t make a squeak until my face sinks into the duvet. “Why can’t I make love to you?”
He commands, “Don’t move.”
His returning weight straddles my thighs to bind my wrists at my lower back. Pulled onto my knees, he sinks my head into the bed linen, answering, “I didn’t save you, so you could fuck me.”
My jaw drops on a gasp, my fingers curling in my palms at the wet lap across my exposed, sensitive skin. He sucks and kisses as I croak, “I don’t understand.”
At the probe, I bite down on a moan. The strength in the fingers sliding, prodding, exploring. They surge and drag, in and out, achingly slow. I push back, seeking his touch, my breaths coming faster with the build of my racing pulse. Thighs quivering, I need Ben inside me. Grasping for him only results in his strength, restraining my wrists behind my back and I whine, “I love you!”
“You don’t know what love is.”
I’m jolted from my euphoria to the present when he stops. Ben releases the ties, and I’m flipped onto my back. The comfort of his breath warms my face while he secures my wrists to the headboard and tugs the ties tighter. I raise my mouth, seeking the reassurance of a kiss, but he moves out of reach. Instead, wrenching my knees nearer my chest.
“Stealing clients from my father’s study. I didn’t pull you from the car so you could fuck my family.”
My lips part with a gasp when he shoves his cock inside me. The slow drag pulling a whine from my throat while I whimper, “Ben, when you saw me in the study. I wasn’t stealing. I was transferring merger documents between Gerard and my father.”
He stops moving.
“Why would Taylor Manning want to merge with Chalmer Media?”
“Because I’m his only heir and I refuse to work for him. And your refusal to work for your father—”
He finishes my sentence: “... means Chalmers Media will go to Beth.”
I nod and the eerie introduction to the music restarts with a crack of thunder, followed by the haunting strum of the electric guitar. Ben surges in time to the beat. His meticulous pounding driving my knees flat against my chest and fading my thoughts along with its bittersweet melody.
Opening my thighs, his abdomen greases over the iron rod between us, and I thrust my stomach upwards, seeking more of his sweat-slicked friction. For a moment, his mouth is on me. Urgent kisses on my neck and jaw. “Shh,” he rasps at my ear. “I’ll make you come.” He makes a soft, rough groan before the frame creaks at the sudden increased pace and my eyes water at the way he slams into me, over and over. The punch of his hips becoming fast and calculated. Grabbing the restraints, I hang on, bouncing back into him with every thrust.
Soon, I’m clawing at the ties. Not recognising my own desperate pleas until Ben’s rock-hard abs rumble over my aching length and I’m finally overcome by wave after wave of ejaculating ecstasy. His thrusts get harder, quicker, more desperate until he collapses onto me and, with a final slam into my body, his swollen cock pulses, and fills me full of him.
He’s breathless and panting as he releases the ties. I pull the blindfold free and he rolls me onto my side and curls around my back. His arm crushing us tight together until we fall asleep.
Chapter 20
In the morning, I can’t move because his weighty limbs hold me shackled to the mattress. I caress his blond hair and he startles. His mass rising to blink at me with bloodshot eyes.
Caressing his cheek, I whisper, “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I smile when his lips part with a sweet groan before his eyes blink down to my palm, stroking his morning cock. His lips morph into their signature smirk before he says, “Turn around, Gregory.”
I roll facedown and he tangles one hand into the hair at the base of my skull as the other takes a greedy handful of my ass. I jerk forward with the force of him entering me in a single powerful thrust. He grunts, burying his head into my shoulder as he drives into me.
He groans when I clench my ass, causing him to increase the pace and my muscles to quiver around him. The power, the friction, the feeling of his chest sliding up and down sends my teeth biting into the sheets and my dampness spreading under my abdomen. Then I feel it: the jerks before his dick fills me followed by his crushing weight on my back and a growl in my ear tapering to heavy, satiated breaths.
His heat vanishes when he swipes the covers aside, and I roll off the dampness, asking, “Where are you going?”
“I have a meeting I can’t cancel.”
I watch his naked ass wander into the ensuite. At the sound of the shower, I close my lids and bask in the calming endorphins, melting away all anxiety and stress. When I open my eyes, I find Ben in a white shirt, watching me while he fixes his navy tie.
“I’m giving you the day off.”
He sits on the bed to put on his shoes, smelling fresh with a dash of cologne, and I hook the back of his neck, pulling his mouth onto mine. His tongue dips between my lips, deepening the kiss. And when I release him, he slides the hair off my shoulder, and holds up the ring under my chin.
His eyes slowly rise to meet mine, and when his lips part, soft and hesitant, I know a question is coming. But his phone buzzes and he jolts up, pointing at the corner of the bed on his way out. “I’ve left you clean clothes. Don’t leave the apartment.”
I slump on the pillow at the command. And with a half-hearted threat, I call after him, “Then don’t be long.”
The front door closes, and I force my lazy ass out of bed. After I shower, I find he’s added a second toothbrush right next to his. In the bedroom, I lift the gold tie that restrained my wrists. At least his bossy, possessive ass didn’t leave me handcuffed to his bed. I pull on his grey jogging pants. But when I let them go, they land at my ankles. With a chuckle, I hoist them up and tighten the ties. His black T-shirt spills over my head, the scent reminding me of Ben as I hold it to my face like a love-obsessed teenager.
When I go to thank him, I remember my phone’s in the hallway. Goddamnit Ben. I tug, then rattle the locked drawer. I didn’t consent to my phone privileges being removed. How can someone so beautiful be so insecure?
In the kitchen, the coffee machine invades the silence like a rumbling tank spitting in the air. Finally, with a cup in hand and a pastry caught in my mouth, I slide open the balcony door. Chilly and fresh. Wind tangles my hair as I watch a swan dapple on the river while her protective mate chases-off a goose.
Returning inside, I slump on the sofa, and switch on the TV only to find I can’t connect to any streaming service. On my hands and knees, I follow the cable to the missing router.
That’s it. I’m going downstairs. It’s time to set a few rules of my own.
Unable to find my clothes or shoes, I howl with frustration, then a jolt of panic sends my attention flicking to the front door.
I thump my fist against the locked panelling before tugging my hair—he can’t trap me against my will. Unsure how to deal with his paranoid insanity, I stalk to the kitchen to find a flat-bladed knife, then return to shimmy the locked drawer open. I stick my wallet in the sweatpants and check my phone.
Two missed calls from the anonymous number sends chills shuddering down my spine. Why is he calling? He never calls.
Annie’s text says:
Call me urgently, poppet.
Her phone goes directly to voicemail, and I inhale a deep breath to slow my racing pulse. It’s fine. Don’t overthink it.
I call Ben to demand he let me out, and his phone diverts to voicemail. Maybe he’s in a meeting. But looking again at the two anonymous missed calls, my gut wrings my stomach like a wet cloth.
Something’s wrong.
After I find a screwdriver, I pry the front door free from bent hinges. Stealing a pair of Ben’s trainers, I tie them tight to avoid landing on my face, then descend in the elevator.
The doors part and an eerie silence prickles my skin as I wander up the desolate corridor that should be Sel Barchmen Advertising. The computers are gone as I pass the vacant rooms. This can’t be happening. With my heart pounding in my ears, I step over the wall planner and swerve around my desk. Sliding my drawer open, I sag to my knees—it’s empty.
I call Annie again, but it directs to voicemail, and I hang up.
My short, raspy breaths hurt as I hug my knees to my chest. Light-headed and dizzy, I force myself to breathe deeper and slower. Then call the anonymous number.
