The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense (4 page)

Chet

“Chet!” Chloe squeals like a pig. It could be because the side of her face is being flat-palmed against the leather seat.

“You know what I need. I've been utterly clear. Now spread your legs and give me what I need.”

“Not like this! I'm better than this. Not in the backseat.”

So
much better
in the backseat. “Oh yes in the backseat. Your bad behavior toward my friends will not be abided. You deserve the punishment I feel honor-bound to mete out.”

I stuff a finger in her pussy and find it wet and ready.

As usual, the ill-treatment is exactly what Chloe needs. Her dark, shameful secret is a need for degradation.

Chloe might be a rich, spoiled young woman, but she seeks the exact abuse I like to dish out.

I throw her long dress over her head and jerk her hips toward my bobbing prick.

She grunts a moan of “no!” that’s so unconvincing it makes me chuckle. I tear off the top of the condom package with my teeth and roll it on one-handed.

All pretense of her resistance melts away when I stuff my cock inside her, like a deep strike from a sword.

“Ah!” she screams.

“You're a foul-mouthed whore.”

The suffocating silence is punctuated only by her labored breathing. I lift my hand from the side of her head slightly so she can breathe—though her passing out would be very interesting. A nice twist to the debauchery of the event.

I jerk out of her and ruthlessly slam into the deep wetness of her cunt. She groans in guilty relief and pleasure, spreading herself wider as I stab her from behind a third time.

I lift my palm completely, and she tries to turn her face to see me. I like the distancing technique of the dress over her face. I'm fiercely pleased.

“Chet,” she moans. It's a half-pout, half-groan of pleasure.

“Shut up, slut.” I grab her hips and jerk them against myself. Soon I’m pumping with vigorous abandon.

My finger goes to her engorged clit, slick with her arousal, and I pinch it in a vicious little pluck.

Chloe screams, “Yes!” Her hips buck wildly against my one-handed hold.

I flatten my thumb against her clit and feel her cunt give a tight squeeze that has me hitching my breath.

I use the cramped backseat to cup her body against mine, and her back arches against my chest as I ram her hard and fast.

She groans, and I give it to her deeper, faster, aiming for her throat with each brutal stroke.

“Chet!” she screams.

I unload inside her, my course of cum hot and thorough, exhausting me of my anger and lust.

Not lust for Chloe, but for a dark-eyed, defiant beauty I’m beginning to want to fuck more than I want to live.

*

As usual, I'm untroubled by silences.

Chloe's no exception.

I take a puff from a Marlboro cigarette and blow a perfect ring into the car. It's instantly sucked out the cracked window as I speed toward Chloe's estate.

“Those will kill you someday,” Chloe says sulkily.

My eyes flick to her crumpled dress. She tries to smooth the rippled material over thighs that still quiver.

My lips quirk as I take another drag. “We all must die,” I reply cryptically.

She crosses her slim arms and pouts.

Another affectation which doesn't move me.

“What was that?” Chloe asks with her palm toward the backseat.

I blow smoke toward the slit above the glass. “That was fucking.”

“I know that!” she yells, crocodile tears crawling out of her eyes and sliding down her face.

I loathe this part. It appears Chloe and I might be winding toward an end. Of course, if she had been a little more civil to Mick and Faren, our
tête-à-tête
would have had longevity.

She's fun to fuck.

I pull into the circular drive at the palatial grounds of her parents’ holding. If my residence weren’t as grand, I might be impressed. This estate dates back to the very earliest settlers in Washington state in the mid-nineteenth century.

Huge pillars rise from a modernized, stamped concrete porch made to look like cobblestone, and they secure a Grecian-style roof and Roman-topped columns of imported marble.

Indigenous brick and granite from antiquated local quarries sculpt the sides with interlocking, contrasting corners. The alternating materials use rich, natural color to add depth and texture.

I roll the window down and light another cigarette. My personal trainer has a nose for my illicit smoking and makes Saturdays the most grueling of all work outs. 

“What part of our arrangement is unclear?” I ask without looking at her.

“You're tired of fucking me?” she asks.

I hear the tremble in her voice. I don't have to look at her to understand her lips are vibrating with her emotion.

“No,” I say tightly. “I like fucking. I especially like my
brand
of fucking.” I look at her and flick the cigarette out the window in a practiced toss.

Chloe draws away from my expression.

“I have been honest with you from the beginning. I’m rich; you’re rich. We want for nothing. I do not wish to marry you, have a baby with you, or love you. I want to fuck you my way, and you agreed to that and to attend the tiresome functions I must be present for. That was it. What is confusing about that?” That's a speech for me.

“I thought… I thought it'd be more.”

I laugh from my belly, folding an arm over my stomach. It's so inane it's funny.

Chloe hits my arm, and I catch her wrist before it leaves the sleeve of my five-hundred-dollar tailor-made silk button-down.

I squeeze the small bones of her wrist together and am rewarded by her whimper.

“Chet,” she whispers.

Her need to be dominated brims in her eyes.

“Don't hit me.”

I release her wrist, and she rubs it.

I continue, “Tell me what I told you when we first met.”

She folds her arms under her breasts and my eyes track her hard nipples.

Even now she's aroused. If I push her, I can take her again.

But her emotion shrivels my cock into a dehydrated pickle.

“ʻI am a violent man, Chloe,ʼ” she recites, her fingers dropping from air quotes.

“Was that a truthful assessment of my character? The warning. Among other things I explicitly told you.” My eyebrows rise.

Chloe rubs her wrist. “Yes.” She blows out a harsh wave of pent-up air.

“Do you still want to fuck me?” I lean forward until our faces almost touch. “And not tender, sappy, loving fucking—but my hand beating your ass, you being held down.” I run a finger down her highly sculpted cheekbone. The touch causes a rich pink color to bloom underneath my fingertip. “Your breath not a guarantee.”

Her gaze meets mine. It’s unsure, fearful—excited.

Always that.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I smile, lean past her, and pop the door handle. I capture her upper arm before she tumbles out.

“Good.”

She trembles and jerks her arm out of my grasp. But her eyes tell me she knows if I’d been intent on keeping it in my grip, I could have. Easily.

“And Chloe?”

She swipes at her leaking eyes. “Yes, Chet?”

“I will drop you the instant you disrespect my friends again.” My eyes grill her on the spot. “And you will never talk about Kandace King to me again. Is that clear?”

I see defiance overtake her expression before she can stop it, and I know she won't last long.

She simply can't submit. She can't be pure in it.

Chloe opens the door the rest of the way and gets out, slamming it and gripping the open car window. “One question,” Chloe asks, masking her fury badly.

I sigh, dragging back inside my car, I close her door from the inside, shutting her out of it. “Ask.”

“What do you see in her?” She runs her palm down her beautiful body. She's sculpted and slender, blond perfection in a lithe package with clear blue eyes.

I am truthful, as usual. “What I don't see in you.”

I hit the button for the window, and the dark privacy glass swallows the hole where her face had been.

I put the Porsche in gear and rip out. My tire tracks leave behind ebony ribbons like a tattoo of my anger.

Kiki

My phone dings, and I bump my hip on the corner of my kitchen table. “Shit!”

I grab the phone.

I know it's Chet.

But the face that looks back at me under the saved icon isn’t Chet but Damon Axton.

My breath shivers out of me. I slowly put down the cell.

Damon “Ax” Axton isn’t who I’d expected. He's not even who I need. But maybe he'll keep me from dating Chet.

The question is: why do I
need
anyone? No—I push my cell away. I don't need a former flame to “save” me from Chet. I need to jerk up my big girl g-string and deal with Chet.

Speaking of…

Another ding stacks on top of Ax's, and it's Chet. There's no face on my list for him.

I swipe the silhouette guy icon to read the text.

One word.

Hello.

Inhaling sharply,
I can't help myself. I whip my finger over his prior messages. I've never allowed myself to look before—too tempting.

Hello
greets me over twenty times.

My chin juts back. “That freaky sucker said
hi
over twenty times?”

I struggle, my finger hovering over the greeting. Faren's words come to me.

Text back.

I click out a
hi
before I can stop myself and tap
send
.

I wait.

Five minutes clicks by. Then ten.

Well, fuck me.
I slam the cell on the kitchen table and stomp off. I'll go work Chet right out of my system. It doesn't matter that I'm fresh from my shower. I need to channel my frustration.

I slam my hair into a top knot and gaze at my face, bare of makeup. I can't go out with a naked face. I throw a lick of mascara on my black lashes and swab my bottom lip with bright red lipstick. I roll my lips, spreading the lipstick.

My white tee is a crappy choice of work out clothing, but it pairs great with my screaming neon-pink yoga pants. I stride down the hall to my bedroom and plop down at the foot of my bed. I tear my tennis shoes from underneath the bed and stuff my feet inside.

Chet.

The fucker.

I stand and grab my key card. My phone stares at me from the table. I flip it off, leaving it behind.

I hit the door running, jerking the knob and tossing the door wide.

Chet stands against the frame, and we're half a foot apart. I jerk back as if I'll be struck by lightning.

Chet's eyes are half-hooded, and he steps into the space I just retreated from.

“You answered.”

I nod stupidly.
Get a goddamned grip, Kik.

“Yeah.”

“I'm so glad, Kandace.” His eyes are so light, I'm afraid they've captured a bit of the sun. He blinks, and the effect is gone, but the coming storm gathers in them.

My heart races.

I'm pissed because of his supposed slight. I'm mad I texted back.

I want him inside me so bad my mouth is too dry to speak.

He's so quiet, so still.

“What are we doing here, Chet? You and me?” I swing a finger between us.

His eyes flick to my finger. He catches it with the reflexes of a cat and lays his lips against the side.

Breath and lips heat my skin as they slide down my finger. I shudder as the air leaks out of me in a badly hidden gasp.

His eyes never leave mine, crushing me with everything he doesn't say.

Maybe he doesn't want to date me. Maybe this is just—sex. Or something.

It's the
or something
I'm not sure about.

His gaze seems to ask permission as his lips press against my finger. I say nothing.

Silence is acquiescence. I learned that early on in law school.

His mouth encircles my fingertip, nail and all, and glides down in a wet push toward my second knuckle. 

He pauses at the base of my finger before slowly drawing backward with a sucking, hot draw.

His sky blue eyes blink slowly at me, and my head tips back slightly.

Chet shoves his mouth down to the base of my finger again.

A moan escapes without my permission. I’m half out of my mind because he's going down on my finger like a cock.