Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) (5 page)

My face burns with sudden emotion, and I blink rapidly to hold it back. I’m tempted to pull the ribbon that will release me and climb into this man’s arms. Instead, I surprise myself by saying, “Kiss me. Please.”

He freezes, and his face tightens, and I know I’ve made a mistake. He’s a Dom for a reason, I realize. Is one of those reasons to avoid true intimacy?

His face comes closer to mine, and I close my eyes, but his lips brush my temple instead. Then my ear, then his lips trail down my throat to kiss my shoulder, the soft brush of his beard both tickling and soothing as he goes. Opening my eyes again, I watch his back in the mirror as he bends to take a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around before scraping my sensitive flesh with his teeth. He changes breasts, sucking that nipple deep into his mouth and I swear it must be directly wired to my clit.

Need explodes through me as he moves lower, his lips trailing leisurely down my abs. When he’s on his knees, he kisses one hip bone, then the other, causing my insides to churn in expectation. As my panties slide down my legs, and I step out of one side then the other, his lips find the heat of me.

I jerk away, then press forward, needing his tongue and mouth. His hands grasp my ass, his nails digging into my skin. Pain. His teeth scraping my clit. Pleasure. The two feelings war with each other, each attempting to take dominance. Neither winning or losing.

A sharp crack of sound fills the room as his palm comes down hard on one ass cheek, even as his tongue explores my folds. It’s too much, but not nearly enough. His tongue sinks into me as his palm comes down again. I look down, watching his face move between my legs. Another slap and heat fills me everywhere.

I’m going to come. The snake of an orgasm writhes its way through me, coiling deep in my belly, eager to strike.

He spanks me again, even harder this time and I open my legs farther, needing his tongue deeper. But he pulls away and kisses the skin on my thigh.

“No!”

Disappointment so intense, the bark of the word is out of me before I knew my mouth was forming the word.

He merely chuckles, his palm coming down again, the sting immediately followed by another. His lips press to my hip bone again, then higher. His tongue slides over the scar which is the “body” for the angel on my lower belly. I close my eyes, trying not to remember the burn of the knife sinking into my skin.

“You were badly hurt,” he says, his finger now tracing the scar.

I can only nod, looking down to watch his fingers trace the outline of one angel wing, then the other. I see the moment he recognizes the words so cleverly crafted into the wings’ feathers. Mom on one. Dad on the other.

He looks up at me, those blue eyes filled with tenderness again. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I know he means it.

Emotion heats my face again and tears fill my eyes as memories of that horrible night flash in front of me. I blink them away, refusing to let them into this room as his fingers trace the cursive letters of the quotes inked into my ribs.

“Your pain has a purpose,” he whispers, reading the top line.

“With agony comes strength,” he reads the second.

“Love roars louder than demons.

We live in the scars we choose.

Hope comes with each breath.

I bloom from the wound where I once bled.

With darkness comes stars.

Inhale the future. Exhale the past.”

“They become more inspirational,” he says as he traces the last one. “You are your only limit.”

There are nine quotes there, one quote for the number of years since that night when my life was forever changed.

You’ve been a bad girl.

I shudder as my sister’s words whisper through my mind. They spin around, circling and circling, echoing through every cell in my body. They’re so real, like she’s right there, holding the bloody tip of the blade against my throat. The blade with my parents’ blood, I learned later. She had drugged them, their autopsies had reported, before slamming the knife into their hearts.

Before coming after me.

My hands are untied, and I’m being pulled into his arms. We’re on the floor, and he’s holding me in his lap, pressing me into his chest, whispering soothing words into my hair.

“She was only twelve,” I whisper, needing to say the words, get them out.

“Who?”

“My sister.”

“Was your sister killed too?” he asks, his hand stroking my spine.

“No.” I force the next words to come out. “She killed them, my parents.”

He stiffens before pulling me closer to him, balling me into his warmth. “And tried to kill you too?” he offers, but I shake my head.

“No. She tried to blame me.”

I feel his confusion, but I can’t talk about this anymore. I don’t ever talk about this, not to anyone. Why it’s coming out now is beyond me, but I need it to stop. I raise my head, looking up at him, turning in his lap until I’m straddling his hips.

“Make me forget.” I swallow and begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Sir. Please make me forget.”

We’re off the floor, and I’m wrapped around his body, my face in his neck as he carries me to the enormous bed. My back presses into the mattress and I take his weight as he comes down with me. His mouth is on my temple, my cheek, my ear, my neck. He lifts his head and looks deeply into my eyes. His thumb wipes away a tear that has escaped.

His eyes fall to my mouth and that same thumb wipes over it before he meets my gaze again. “Fuck it,” he mutters and takes my lips with his, plunging his tongue into my mouth.

I fight his shirt, pulling it up his back so I can touch his skin, feel his life under my fingers as I kiss him with all the passion and pain inside me. He raises up, his mouth not leaving mine and I move my fingers to the bottom buttons, fumbling them in my haste but am soon pushing the soft cotton from his shoulders and down his arms. Then my fingers move to his pants.

“Need you,” I say against his mouth, and he breaks away to stand next to the bed, taking care of the pants himself. Before they fall to the floor, he reaches into his pocket and tosses several condoms beside me. When he pulls his boxer briefs down his legs, I sit up and reach for his cock, wrapping my fingers around his length.

He groans as I slide closer and take him into my mouth. His hands fist into my hair as he controls the speed and depth. I let him. I’ll let him do anything he wishes, I realize.

Tasting the salt of him, I want more and open my mouth wider as he fills my throat. He holds himself there as my need for oxygen builds. I exhale in a whoosh as he withdraws but greedily accept him into my throat again, eager for the weight of him on my tongue.

Looking up, I meet his eyes as he fucks my mouth. He pulls my hair harder, forcing my head back until I release him. Wrapping a hand around my throat, he pulls me up until I’m standing in front of him, his mouth on mine once more.

Trapping his cock between our bodies, I press closer, my fingers tracing the muscles on his back and shoulders as the kiss deepens even more. I’m drunk on him, clinging to him as his teeth graze my tongue when I grow brave enough to explore his mouth.

When I’m on my back again, I don’t remember getting there, and I don’t remember him sheathing his cock, but he’s soon pushing my legs apart with his knees, his hips parting me further. I open for him, reaching for him, guiding him to my very center. Our mouths connect in time with our bodies, and he swallows the whimper that escapes me when he plunges, reaching the end of me in one forceful stroke.

“Fuck, are you sure you aren’t a virgin?” he groans out, his eyes tightly shut while my body struggles to stretch around him.

Stroking his beard, taking his face in my hands, I promise that I’m not and lift my hips, changing our angle until he’s seated even more deeply inside me. He’s pulsing, or maybe it’s me, I’m not sure, but I know that I’m being ripped apart with desire and need. Need for him to move.

When he does, pulling out slowly until only the tip holds me open, I brace myself for the impact I know is coming.

“Tell me you want this.”

His eyes are the deepest blue I’ve seen them yet. “I want this,” I tell him, whimpering the words. “Sir.”

He growls and our bodies rock together, my breath leaving me from the force. I gulp in air before his mouth claims mine with an urgency matching the fierce joining of our sex.

The snake inside me coils tighter as each thrust pushes me toward the edge. My fingers dig into his back, my heels digging into his ass.

“Look at me,” he says, and my eyes snap open to meet his. “I want to see your face when you come.” The words are urgent, broken, as his pace increases, the music of our skin slapping together filling the room around us.

The snake strikes and I scream, my body shuddering, my fingers digging into the only thing I can or want to hold onto. Him. He growls again, plunging harder and faster as I quake through my release. His blue eyes are black, his pupils swallowing the color and I plead with him to make me come again.

I don’t want this to stop, even as I shudder through another universe altering orgasm that rocks me to my very core. His mouth is on mine again, devouring me as he rips me apart. I don’t care. I want more. Need more. Need everything.

My name is on his lips when his pounding stops, his face contorting with the delicious pain of his own release. I take his weight again as he collapses onto me, kissing his temples, tasting the sweat of his skin. When he tries to roll away, I won’t let him, instead curling my arms and legs around him, pulling him closer.

He doesn’t fight to escape, but simply takes my mouth in a gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” I tell him and feel him smile against my lips.

“The pleasure has been all mine,” he says as he kisses me again. He kisses me for so long that I feel him swell inside me. He pulls away, but only long enough to change condoms.

We have sex twice more, both gentle and hard. Both ways are beautiful and leave me exhausted. I’m wrapped in his arms, catching my breath when a bell rings, making me jump.

“That’s your friend,” he tells me. “Time to go.”

He buttons his pants as I pull my dress over my head. He ties the halter for me as I step into my shoes. He walks me to the door and reaches for the knob. Then stops and pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

I look up at him, waiting for him to say something because words seem to have fled my brain. He opens his mouth, then shakes his head and simply kisses me. The softest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever known.

It’s me who opens the door. Me who steps out into the hall where Brooke is waiting.

“Goodbye,” I say as I pull the heavy wood closed behind me.

As the door clicks shut, I realize I still don’t know his name. As I follow Brooke down the long hallway, I realize I never will.

Chapter Seven – Gray

Taking a long sip of coffee, I stare out at the busy streets of Manhattan, my phone pressed to my ear.

“Carmichael.”

I’m pleased the personal investigator picked up on the first ring. “Dan, I need you to find a woman for me.”

“Happy to do so, sir. What information do you have?”

“Not much. She goes by first name Avery, and I assume she now lives in Manhattan. About five-six, trim, long brown hair, green eyes, early to middle twenties.”

Dan groans. “Please tell me you have more to go on than that.”

“I know that her sister killed her parents when the sister was twelve, and this woman was also stabbed in the lower right abdomen.”

“Location of the murder?”

I curse, stroking my beard as I watch an ambulance weave through traffic below me. “Unknown. Avery has nine lines of quotes tattooed on her torso. I don’t know for certain, but each line could possibly represent a year. The top quote was lighter than the last.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“She currently has a friend named Brooke who frequents Club Privé. Blonde, mid-twenties. May be a roommate, I’m not sure.”

“That helps, especially the part about the murder. Not many twelve-year-old female killers out there. Is the sister still alive?”

“Unknown.”

“Were the killings done in self-defense?”

I remember the terror in Avery’s face. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s okay, I’ll find out. Even if they sealed her juvie record, there would be plenty of press surrounding a parricide case such as that.”

“When can I expect a report?” I relax the tight grip I’ve had on my phone as I wait for his response. I’m nervous, I realize, and I don’t like the feeling, not at all.

“Day or two. I’ll start with the media which I’m guessing will be my best lead. Once I find her, do you want a full background?”

“Yes.”

“Pictures?”

My dick pulses in my pants. “Yes.”

“Got it. Will report back ASAP.”

“Thank you.”

I disconnect and take another sip of coffee, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Not once in my thirty-four years have I ever searched for a woman. Not once. But I’m damn to hell sure searching for one now.

Just out of curiosity.
That’s what I try to tell myself, but deep inside, I know better. Sex with Avery had been mind-blowing, no doubt. Her tight, hot pussy. The little noises she made. Those green eyes meeting mine with so many layers of emotions.

Her tattoos. The story behind them. The pain just beneath her surface hidden by a bravery that wasn’t only a façade.

She fascinated me. And even in the light of a new morning, the memory of her fascinates me still. I’d barely slept from thinking of her. I regretted the shower I was forced to take before coming into the office, mourning the smell of her body washing down the drain.

Curiosity, hell. I want her again.

Yes, it will break one of my rules, but they’re my fucking rules to break.
Like kissing.
My cock pulses again at the memory of our mouths connecting. Besides, I’m new to the city, and it would be nice to have a companion of sorts. For dinners.

Fucking.

Going to the theater.

Fucking
.

I curse and turn from the window. Flipping open my Mac, I power it on, tapping my fingers on the desk while it boots.