An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle #1) (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 3) (19 page)

His hand moves upward and rolls a nipple between his fingers, while his mouth closes over the other rigid peak. My back arches of its own volition. Sweat films over me like mist, and I can’t do anything except hold onto the sheet.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

“Yes,” I whisper breathlessly, mindlessly. The pleasure he elicits is like a drug in my bloodstream, and I’m like a junkie desperate for another hit.

He rewards me by cupping my soaking flesh. His thumb brushes over my clit. Electric pleasure jolts through me, and I let out a ragged breath. He pushes a finger into me. It slips in easily, and my inner muscles grip it greedily.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

“You didn’t have any trouble,” I point out, almost mindless with what he’s doing to my body.

“Only because you’re so wet.” He adds another finger. “Jesus.” He hisses, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Love the way your pussy grabs me.”

That only makes me clench harder. Some of my exes talked to me during sex, but with them, somehow…it was awkward. There’s nothing but heat between me and Elliot. It’s like I’m totally with him in the moment, instinctively understanding that if he feels even a little bit of what I’m feeling, it must be pretty good…that he’s not just saying stuff because he thinks it’ll turn me on.

He pumps his fingers. “I want you ravenous for me. I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name so many times you go hoarse.”

The heat searing me is too intense. I feel like I’m burning from inside out. I brace my feet against the mattress and match his rhythm.

“Yes, beautiful,” he whispers darkly against my wet, sore nipple. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I whisper, rolling my pelvis for more.

He curls the finger, hitting the sweet spot inside me. “Don’t come until I say you can.”

The second after the command registers, he circles my clit with his thumb, slick with my own juices. Pleasure coils tightly in my womb. Even the soles of my feet tingle with it.

I cling desperately to sanity. I’m not used to this. Usually I’m thinking about something to help me get somewhat excited or just fake the damn thing so it can be over. But these endless rippling waves of pleasure, each stronger than the one before, are driving me out of my mind, and all I want is for him to let me have it. I’m craving it more than air.

His mouth is back, on my other nipple. I let go of the sheet and tunnel my fingers through his silky hair. The cries coming out of my throat sound nothing like me.

Suddenly his hand leaves me, and I moan at the loss.

“On your hands and knees.”

My muscles clench. I’m so primed, I scramble to get into position.

He reaches into the drawer for a condom. I look at him over a shoulder. He strips out of his clothes and shoes, discarding them carelessly on the floor. Pre-ejaculate glistens and drips down his thick, hard shaft. With a fierce look of focus, he rolls the rubber down his cock. My tongue darts out and licks my lips.

His hands grip my hips, tilting them. “Gorgeous.” He kisses my butt, then nips it.

I tremble. “Please…”

He gives my ass a proprietary slap. “Remember what I said. No orgasm until I give you permission.”

My ass stings deliciously. My toes curl at the steel in his voice. “Yes.”

He dips the head of his penis into me. I’m so sensitive there that I feel it all the way to my fingertips. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Yes.” I arch my pelvis, needing more. “Yes, ye—”

And he drives all the way into me in a single stroke. He fills me, balls deep, and I cry out at the unbelievable friction, the way elation floods my body.

He pulls out, then thrusts back in. Each plunge is stronger than the one before, and the power behind them makes my breasts swing. That adds another sharp sensation to the act. They swell and ache.

I’m so close, but I can’t let go. My face contorts, and every muscle in my body strains against the orgasm building inside me.

“Come,” he orders in that dark, hard voice.

That’s all I need to let a torrent of euphoria sweep me away. The climax erupts violently. I clench my teeth, but it’s no use. A high-pitched cry tears from my throat anyway.

I thought he’d let go too, but he doesn’t. The hands at my hips grip me with bruising force, and he’s driving in deeper and harder, pushing me to another brutal orgasm that wrings more pleasure than I thought I could handle.

The sound I make is almost bestial. And still Elliot doesn’t stop. The drive of his cock into me is relentless, flesh slapping against flesh. I come again and again, my tissues going super-sensitive. I scream again, every cell in my body combusting. Elliot finally lets go, his cock slamming into me for one last, impossibly hard time.

He wraps his body around me and pulls me close. When I can breathe more normally, I run my index finger along his brow. My muscles feel like warm honey, my skin still damp and hot.

Elliot…

The name is on my tongue, but I suddenly stop. To me, it’s Elliot who’s given me the mind-shattering moments, but to him I’m not even a person, just a convenient orifice he’s paid for.

And just like that all warmth leeches out of me. I squirm, but he doesn’t budge.

“What’s wrong?” His breaths fan my neck.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just trying to get comfortable.”
Away from you
.

He moves, and I adjust. I can’t pull away without making a big deal out of it, so I close my eyes and pretend that I’m anywhere but in Elliot’s arms.

Annabelle

The dream hasn’t been bothering me for a while, although it used to almost every night. It’s amazing that the details never change.

Summer flexes its muscles, squashing my hometown in Minnesota with the kind of brutal heat I experienced at Florida State. The scorching weather also makes tempers flare. It’s almost like some kind of cosmic connection between the sky and the people. And I can feel it in the way everyone in Lincoln City looks at me. They don’t blame me for what happened, but they do think I’ve unjustly reaped the benefit of my dad’s fraud. Their resentment hits me like stones, but I keep my chin up.

They can say whatever they want, think whatever they want, but I still don’t believe it’s true. There has to be a mistake—all the things people say about my dad.

My only worry is Nonny. She’s only thirteen. She can’t cope with her classmates shunning her or the way she’s suddenly been disinvited to all the parties and sleepovers.

I’m still shaking that Susan Lexington’s mom told Nonny she had to go home because she isn’t welcome anymore. What a
bitch
.

“I’m sorry,” Nonny says, her voice small, as I drive back home.

“It’s not your fault.” I don’t call Mrs. Lexington names out loud. Nonny’s still too young for that kind of stuff.

“Do you think it’s true? What people say?”

“No,” I say decisively. “No way.”

“But everyone says Dad was running a Ponzi scheme.”

“That’s what nasty rich Wall Street guys do, not Dad. Only thing he did is try to help people in town make money so they could save for their retirements or their kids’ college and stuff like that.”

“But…”

“The whole economy is awful right now, and it’s been slow to recover.” I look over to see how much she’s understanding. “Even a professional investment company would’ve lost money. People just want to blame Dad for bad timing.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, Nonny. Dad’s a great guy, super smart too. But how could he trick everyone in town? That doesn’t make any sense, right? I mean, it’s not like everyone else is too dumb to figure it out if it’s really a fraud.”

She thinks that over. “I guess.”

“He even has a partner. Are they saying that Mr. Smith is too stupid to figure it out too? He went to Dartmouth, which is a really good school.”

She nods.

“I’m telling you, it’s all bull.” I let out a rough breath. “Once the truth comes out, people are going to be sorry they were mean to us. You’ll see.”

“Okay.”

Even as she says that, I know she’s unsure. She’s only thirteen. To her, being accepted and liked
right now
is more important than some future apology from the people around us.

I park my car in the driveway. As Nonny and I walk toward the three-story brick house with a cheery yellow roof, I can hear loud, angry voices coming from our home.

Mom and Dad didn’t used to fight, but now they argue all the time. Nonny stiffens, but I force a smile for her sake. “Come on.”

I open the door and yell out, “We’re home!”

Instantly the yelling stops. Mom comes out, her hands beautifully manicured and soft. I have her eyes and nose, but Dad’s mouth and brow.

“Why don’t you go up and change? I’m making pot roast for dinner,” she says with a labored smile.

Nonny’s shoulders sag with visible relief that the fight’s over. I’m worried about my parents. I don’t want to see them fight either, but I don’t know what to say.

Nonny and I go upstairs. “When are they going to stop?” she asks as she drops her duffel bag in her bedroom.

“Probably soon.” As soon as Dad’s name gets cleared, I’m sure. Mom can’t stand the scrutiny and social condemnation. She’s used to having a full calendar, stuffed with charity events, lunches and dinners. Beautiful and vivacious, she’s always been the center of Lincoln City’s social scene.

“I heard that they’re going to divorce,” my sister whispers.

“Nope. Never going to happen.” I crouch in front of her. “Don’t listen to what everyone says.” Despite my calm words, apprehension slithers over me like rancid oil. Mom and Dad are terrible at hiding things from me. I could always guess what they got for my birthday and Christmas.

Loud yelling comes from the yard. Startled, I jump to my feet. It’s the voice of my dad’s partner in the investment company.

“It’s all your fault, you fucking bastard!” he screams, his words slurred. He almost sounds drunk.

Dad says something back, but it’s hard to make out with the other man’s ranting.

Pop pop pop
.

I jump at the deafening cracks. My heart pounds. They sound like gunshots, but—

Nonny’s hands clutch me. “Anna!”

“Shh…” I soothe her and take a quick peek at the front yard. My blood turns to ice. Dad’s on the lawn, something red pooling around him.

There’s a shriek, then the door bangs open and Mom rushes out. The gun swings toward her.

No!

I grab Nonny and cover her ears with my hands as though that can block out the horrible sound.

Pop pop pop!

My entire body shakes, and I hug Nonny tightly and get on my knees. My instincts are split—call for help, or keep Nonny safe? What if we’re next? Oh my god!

Another bang reverberates the air. My shoulders snap up around my ears. I clench my teeth to contain a scream. Nonny opens her mouth, and I shove a palm over it.

No
,
no
,
no! Please
…
!

I breathe roughly. The air is too thick, and it smells metallic and ugly. I can’t hear anything over the thumping of my heart.

No
,
no! Don’t hurt my sister! Leave us alone!

Suddenly my wrists are bound, and I can’t move. Nonny’s gone. To where, I don’t know.

“No!” I scream. “Please! Not my sister!”

But I’m too weak. No matter how hard I look, I can’t find her—it’s too dark.

They asked for it
, murmurs rise around me.
Got what they deserved
.

A crippling pain guts me. Grief and sorrow crescendo, and I drown in a sea of anguish.

* * *

Elliot

“Wake up,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm.

My wife struggles, her hands clenched into fists. Tears start to flow freely down her cheeks. Her chest shudders, and my hair stands at the sound she makes, one of the keenest sorrow like something infinitely precious has been ripped from her.

“Hey, wake up,” I say again. “You’re okay, beautiful. You’re safe.”

My internal clock tells me it’s after three. I fell asleep, wrapped around her, only to be jerked out of slumber when she started thrashing.

“No!”

Jesus
. I turn on the bedside lamp. “Hey.” I jostle her gently. “Wake up!”

“Please!
Not my sister!
”

Terror contorts her face until it’s a mask of abject horror. Her hair sticks to her sweaty skin.
Okay
,
enough
. I shake her a little harder.

Her eyes open, but they look right through me. Tremors run through my wife’s body, and I grip her hard, trying to anchor her in reality.

“I got you, beautiful,” I say. “I got you.”

She blinks, and her eyes finally focus. “Elliot?”

“Yes. You’re okay.” Then I quickly add, “Nonny’s fine.”

A huge breath heaves out of her, and she goes limp. “Thank god.”

I rub my thumbs over her cheeks, streaking the tears. She blinks up at me, her eyes wide. It’s as though she didn’t even realize she was crying.

“I couldn’t save them,” she whispers, her voice broken. “I couldn’t do anything.”

“It was just a dream.”

“No. It’s more.”

The wooden flatness of her voice makes my chest ache. I’ve seen her devotion to her sister, and know the sacrifices she’s made to ensure she gives her sister the best life possible. The nightmare must’ve been harrowing to touch on that. She’s so far away, someplace I can’t quite reach. She’s actually slightly clammy to the touch.

A compulsion I don’t quite understand urges me to make it right. Make her feel safe and protected.

“Shhh…” I whisper, kissing her on the forehead. I rub my cheek against hers, offering her comfort that I can’t give with words. I’m not a poetic guy. If it can’t be done with action, I don’t do it at all.

She tilts her head, angling so our mouths touch. I go still. She’s in a vulnerable state, and I don’t want to misinterpret and take advantage.

Her hand grips the back of my neck and pulls me closer. “Please…” Her breath fans against my lips.

I let her lead, unsure of exactly what she needs—and wants—from me. I’ve never dealt with a woman after a particularly nasty nightmare, so I’m actually in uncharted territory here. It’s an odd feeling.