Chapter Ten
Bastian
My Bad
Now I really have crossed a line.
Offering to buy Mara a drink was one thing; taking her back to my place quite another. It wasn’t my intention when I walked over to her table. But now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m like a meth-head on a joy ride—insatiable and unstoppable.
I’m a very bad boss.
Kissing her only provoked my frustrated cock, and brought out emotions I thought were a lost cause—locked away along with Celine’s personal effects in a trunk back in Roussillon.
When we arrive, Mara seems awestruck at the interior of my penthouse suite off Central Park, but I can’t take credit for the address or the decor. I have people who take care of that.
I rarely even pay attention to the view, but Mara is drawn to the wall of windows that face the Park. If I had a daughter, I’d imagine she’d have the same look of rapture on her face opening a Christmas gift as the one Mara wears now. The comparison is not lost on me. She’s young enough to be my daughter, and I’ve seduced her with my sexual fierceness instead of toys or dolls or some holiday trinket. I’m walking a very dangerous edge here, but I don’t give a shit.
I want her.
I lead her to the bedroom, where she sits on the edge of my bed, looking small and frightened. Those amazing aquamarine irises gaze up at me as though waiting for instruction; for guidance, for acceptance. And I’ll give her all of that if she needs it.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” I say.
“I know,” she says, twisting her fingers together. “You said that to me the first time we met. It’s just... I’ve never been in a place like this. It’s like a palace.”
I laugh softly. “I’ve seen palaces, and believe me this place bears no resemblance.” I step closer and hold out my hand. She takes it, and I draw her to stand. “But if it were a palace, you’d fit right in. I don’t think you understand how beautiful you are, Mara.” I take her sweet, heart-shaped face in my hands. Strands of her brunette hair catch in my palms, the ends curling on her cheeks. At this moment, with her eyes brimming wide and dark with anticipation, she reminds me so much of Celine I feel a physical stab of pain in my heart.
“You think I’m beautiful?” she murmurs, clearly looking for validation.
“Yes,” I say, tilting my face downward to meet hers. “And very, very sexy.” I kiss her again, taking my time. As I taste the last remnants of her strawberry lip gloss, she responds with enthusiastic urgency. I keep the pace slow, letting her desire build, teasing her mouth open with my tongue. My hands move down her neck and outward over her shoulders, caressing that impossibly soft skin and sliding my fingertips under the thin straps of her dress.
I push them aside and let my palm snake around to the nape of her neck. Her taut breasts pulse in and out against my chest as her breathing accelerates. My cock’s been rock-hard from the moment we stepped inside the penthouse, and now it’s fucking aching. Aching for a release, aching to be inside of her, stretching her tight walls around my cock until she screams and I come like a damn racehorse. Aching for something, someone to assuage the pain and loneliness I’ve condemned my wretched soul to for seven long years.
My other hand glides over the curve of her Grade A ass and takes hold of one exquisite, round cheek. I pull her close and grind my raging hard-on against her soft belly. A grunt of surprise issues from deep in her throat. Her hands push against my chest, and our lips break contact.
“Bastian,” she whispers breathlessly. “I feel dizzy. This is all happening so fast, I...”
“It’s alright,” I tell her, cupping her head in my palm. My fingers twist into the fine hairs at her nape as I struggle to subdue my body’s dirty inclinations. “It’s okay. Take a moment to clear your head. If you want to leave, I’ll take you home. We’ve both been drinking. Perhaps now’s not the right time.”
Her lovely eyes are glistening with moisture. “No, I don’t want to leave. But... you’re my boss... maybe we shouldn’t...”
“Shouldn’t what? Give in to our feelings, allow ourselves to have desires? We all have desires, Mara. We can deny them, but it doesn’t make them go away.” Just like it won’t make my stiffy go away.
“I don’t want them to go away.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Good,” I say as I stroke her ass in slow circles. “Because right now I desire you. You’re very special, Mara Snow.”
“I am?” I can feel her whole body blushing, generating a delicious heat.
I nod. “You make me feel things, remember things, I thought I’d lost and forgotten long ago.”
She grins, and for the first time, I notice a tiny dimple that forms in her left cheek as she does so. But only the left. It’s adorably lopsided. “Like what?”
“I think it’s better if I show you, rather than tell you.” I stand back and remove my suit jacket, my eyes raking the length of her body from head to toe. God, she’s fucking beautiful standing there in her bare feet, the bodice of her dress threatening to fall away since I’ve loosened the shoulder straps. She needs to know it as much as I already do. See herself as I do.
There’s a full-length mirror on the wall to my right. I shuttle her over to it and stand behind her. Our faces reflect together in its polished surface, painfully illustrating the contrast between us. Her dewy pale skin against my swarthy, chiseled mien roughened by a five o’clock shadow. You dirty old man, Kingsley.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” I say, holding my hands just under her jaw, making sure she doesn’t look away. “Do you know what their color reminds me of? Aquamarines.”
“That’s my birthstone,” she says with a shy smile.
“Perfect,” I say, whispering the word into her ear as I nuzzle close. The smell of her hair is intoxicating, laden with the scent of sandalwood and tropical flowers. I want to eat her in more ways than one. I release her jaw, and slip one arm around her middle, my hand resting on her belly. The other slides down to her silky expanse of thigh to stroke it up and down. “Your legs are sensational. They should be insured, like Betty Grable’s.”
“Betty who?” she giggles.
“An actress a long time ago. Her legs made her famous, so she took out a policy on them,” I explain, wondering why I would bring up such an inane fact from decades before. I didn’t lust after Ms. Grable’s legs. I prefer the ones right in front of me.
My fingers find the hem of Mara’s short skirt and drag it upward, toward that heavenly nexus where her fantastic legs meet.
“So gorgeous. You don’t know what you do to me when I look at you, Mara. You make me remember what it’s like to want something so bad it makes you ache inside. I haven’t wanted anything like that in a long time.” I bend my head and trace a line of kisses along her neck and shoulder; I see her visibly trembling in the mirror, and feel it in my embrace. I sense how much power I have over her; her submissive reaction sending my cock into a greater frenzy.
“Your body is perfect. I want you to see it the way I do,” I say, splitting the zipper on the back of her dress and letting go of her so that the loosened fabric falls away and lands in a pool of cotton around her ankles. She sucks in a sharp breath, moving to cover herself with her arms, but I take hold of her wrists and force them to her sides. “No, no, no. Don’t hide. Look at yourself. See how beautiful you are and believe it. I do.”
God, her youthful breasts are pert and firm, her nipples pink and smooth. I want to devour them like two delectable scoops of ice cream. Soon. Soon I will suck those baby nipples into my mouth and imagine sweet nectar flowing from them. I cup her tits in my palms and squeeze gently, brushing the nipples with my fingertips. They spike to attention as we both watch, transfixed.
Her chest sucks in and lifts out, her breath coming in ragged pants.
“Bastian,” she says, her voice a helpless mewl.
“Don’t be afraid of your body, or what it wants,” I whisper. “Celebrate it.”
She doesn’t answer, but swallows hard and gives a tiny nod. Both of us watch as my hands leave her breasts and snake downwards, slithering across the creamy skin of her belly and abdomen in a slow crisscross. My index finger teases a little circle around her puckered ‘inny.’
“That tickles,” she says with a shiver, flinching in reflex.
“You don’t like being tickled?” I ask, the throaty, low timbre of my own voice sounding like the Big Bad Wolf. And maybe I am. She shakes her pretty head. “You may change your mind,” I add, my hand dipping lower to brush my fingertips against the waistband of her thong. Pink. Hot pink. Just as I’d pictured. I had in mind a very different kind of tickling. My fingers hook beneath the material and pull it downward, just enough to get my hand inside.
I discover that her little pussy is shaved smooth, and every organ in my body jumps as I slip a finger between the warm, slippery cleft of her lips, seeking her precious bud. God, she’s so wet. So ready. My hand is awash in the creamy moisture flooding into her skimpy panties. She lets out a tiny gasp as I find her swelling clit. Our eyes are locked onto our reflections, the eerie dual voyeurism giving me a thrill as my hand moves inside her soaking wet channel.
She looks drugged, her lips parted and her eyes wide and dark despite their luminous color.
“Bastian,” she says again, and my whispered name on her lips sends my arousal off the charts. I’m torturing myself as well as her with this looking-glass foreplay. If I don’t get her into bed right fucking now, I’m going to explode. I press hard on her clit one time before withdrawing my hand, eliciting another breathless gasp from her.
“Lie down on the bed,” I command, releasing her and stepping back. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around herself as she watches my reflection recede into the background. I loosen my tie and yank it off. She turns toward the bed, her sidelong glance still following my movements in the mirror as I unbutton the cuffs of my Lacoste shirt and remove it. She likes a show just as much as I do. She walks slowly to the bed, hesitating as if she’s unsure what position to take.
“You can lie whatever way you want,” I say. “Can you take your panties off for me first though? I’d really like that.”
“Can I watch you do the same?” she asks. Oh, baby. Yes, you can.
I drop the shirt onto the plush carpeting and spread my arms in a welcoming gesture. I smile and begin to unfasten my belt. Mara slips her panties down slowly, the pink material sliding over the rounded moons of her ass and downward across the never-ending expanse of sexy thigh. My overexcited cock nearly goes ballistic at the sight of her bending over like that. I wrestle with my fly like a foreign object that my fingers are too clumsy to open. Finally, it gives, and my pants drop to the floor at the same time as the pink panties.
She steps out of the little ring of fabric at her feet and sits down on the bed, facing me.
“Lie back,” I say, ridding myself of the last of my clothing and moving toward her, my cock stiff and upright like the mast on a damn flagship of the fleet. She obeys, but her eyes remain fixed on me as she reclines. Studying me. Waiting for me. I can’t deny a proclivity for taking control in the bedroom, and I like her attitude. Receptive and willing to learn.
Christ, I have to get inside her before I fucking come apart at the seams.
I reach down between her knees and nudge them apart until she’s spread open so that I can see that pristine, hairless pussy in all its glory before me.
“God...” I whisper softly. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, Mara.”
“Take me, Bastian... please.” she says, her eyes thick with emotion.
I don’t need any further encouragement, but her pleading tone calls Mr. Wolf back to the scene. I cage her beneath me and fit myself between her luscious thighs, marveling at the unspoiled landscape of her youthful body. I take a sweet rosebud of nipple between my lips, sucking and flicking it with my tongue. Mara moans and squirms, her chest bucking up and offering me more.
My tongue swirls around the throbbing spike of flesh, wetting it until it glistens in the low light of the dimmed lamps built into the headboard of the bed. Then I take all of the firm but yielding flesh I can manage into my mouth, my teeth grazing the rippled ring of skin around her peaking nipple. If I could swallow them, I would, but I must satisfy myself with just the taste of her breasts, both of them delicious orbs of perfection.
“Please,” she mewls again. I want to give her what she asks, but I know there’s no going back if I do. The Big Bad Wolf and the Big Bad Boss have met at a crossroads, and won’t be going their separate ways.
I release her breast and gaze into the crystalline blue of her eyes. My cock, pressing painfully against her abdomen, urges me to get on with it, but instead I stroke her face, brushing the stray brunette locks off her forehead.
“Are you sure?” I ask, giving both of us one last opportunity to do the right thing, correct this derailment off the path of appropriate employer-employee relations.
“Yes... Bastian.” She spears me with that little smile that brings out the single dimple on her left cheek, and I’m gone. Long gone. I shift and sling a hand under her leg to draw her knee upward, giving me better access. She raises her other knee on her own, instinctively creating a welcoming cradle around my hips. My cock is dripping, salivating with need, seeking its home between her luscious wet folds.
I place my throbbing tip against her entrance and feel that first swell of resistance as I push forward. She gasps inwardly, her hands gripping the muscles of my back and digging in with her nails. I barely feel it in my lust-induced state. “It’s alright,” I whisper. “Just relax.”
She nods weakly, and I see the tips of her pearly white teeth biting her lower lip. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s tiny, and I’m not. I ease further inside of her, overcoming the first hurdle and sinking into the blissful rush of full penetration.
“Oh.” I groan. “You’re so tight, baby. So good...”
Fuck. She’s as tight as a rifle barrel, and I’m loving it. I can’t remember anything so sensational. Her young, strong inner walls encase me in a delicious prison from which I never want to escape. I withdraw slightly, then thrust forward again, relishing every slick inch of her. Again. And again.
I pick up the pace as she wraps her long legs around my back, opening to me without restriction. It drives my lust higher, and I’m like a mindless piston surging in and out of her, my balls tightening as they reach full charge.
Minutes that feels like hours pass and an unwanted image of Celine momentarily flashes in my mind. Yet a different name is on my lips as I climax and surrender to the tidal wave of ecstasy crashing down on me.
“Mara!”
***
Mara. My eyes open to the sound of her name in my brain. Morning light is streaming in through the sliding glass doors that lead onto the balcony from my bedroom. I turn my head and reach out for that sexy nymph-ish form that is hers, the one I’ve spent the night worshiping and ravishing, only to find empty space.
Mild panic filters in through my sleepy haze. “Mara?” I raise my head and rub my eyes. I hear the dull drumming of water in the separate bathroom, and let my head drop back onto my pillow with a sigh of relief. I’m not used to women running out on me—that’s usually my routine—so I’m glad she’s stayed.
I roll onto my side and smell her perfume in the fine Egyptian cotton pillowcase. I glide my hand over the place where she had lain, hoping to feel the lingering warmth of her there but it meets only cool fabric. I gaze at the slight indent left behind by her luscious body, and something catches my eye. I raise up on one elbow to examine the spot, or spots, I see as I look closer.
Droplets of dried blood.
Fucking hell, had I hurt the poor girl with my brutish assault? Damn, maybe I should have been gentler. I recall with satisfaction her kittenish moans and pants during our non-stop lovemaking but assumed they were from pleasure, not pain. Was that just my ego talking?
With a chill, two other explanations occur to me. It could be her time of the month? The other possibility forms an irrational knot of anger in my stomach. Virgin. She was a virgin, which would also explain that damn innocent aura that surrounds her, the one I’ve been attracted to. She should’ve told me. I don’t like surprises. Or deflowering little girls. Not that she is a little girl; she’s a young woman. But dammit. Why didn’t she tell me?!
The bathroom door opens, and Mara steps out in all her breathtaking, five-foot seven, naked awesomeness, beads of water on her skin and strands of wet brunette hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. My anger tangles with my lust. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she says, stopping in place as though waiting for permission to approach further. God, I love that air of unspoken submission she naturally displays.
“Come here,” I say, holding out my hand. She smiles that lopsided, dimpled grin that undoes me like a limp shoestring and walks forward to grasp it. I draw her to sit on the bed next to me. “Is there something you want to tell me?” I ask. Shit, there are so many other questions I could ask, but this one will burn me like a brand until I know the answer.
Her smile fades a little, but her eyes retain a hopeful spark. I don’t want to crush that.
“You’re almost out of shower gel,” she ventures. I should laugh, but what I suspect is no laughing matter.
“Not that. Mara, I need you to be honest with me. Was last night your first time having sex?” She hesitates but eventually gives a small nod. Fuck. My worst fear confirmed.
“Dammit, you should’ve said something,” I say, my voice coming out too fatherly for my liking. “I’d have behaved differently. I wouldn’t have—”
“Wouldn’t have what? Wouldn’t have invited me here? Wouldn’t have told me how beautiful I was? Or made love to me better than I could’ve ever imagined my first time could be?”
“You are beautiful,” I confirm. “A beautiful virgin. One that a jaded old man like me has no right to deflower without knowing it. It’s a gift I can’t give back, Mara. Why’d you do it?”
“You’re not old!” she argues hotly. “I did it because… because I’m twenty-two and tired of being a virgin—being teased about it and called a wallflower and a freak of nature. I did it because I wanted to... wanted you, Bastian. Wanted you to touch me, to want me, to be my first. You didn’t force me into anything, and I don’t regret anything. Not a thing. Please say you don’t either.”
I’m taken aback by the painful honesty in her words. She may be young, but she’s a grown woman in her own right who knows her own mind. How dare I scold her for not telling the truth like I would my eight-year-old son. I’m hardly the loser here. And Jesus, she’s even more beautiful when she’s angry.
I squeeze her hand that I’m still holding, and draw her back into bed. “In that case, I don’t either. And I do want you, Mara Snow. Over and over again if you’ll let me.”
Her wet hair splays out over the pillow as she lays her head on it. “Yes. I’ll let you, Bastian Kingsley,” she says with a smile.
My inner wolf growls at the sight, and I’m hard again.
“Does it hurt?” I ask as I stroke her inner thigh, inching my fingers toward her hot center to illustrate the area of concern.
“Not much anymore, but it was a good hurt.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I say, sneaking lower down the bed and nestling my head between her thighs. “Because I’m going to kiss it better.”
With that, I grab hold of her delicate ankles and force those lovely legs up and apart. I explore the delightful folds of her smooth pussy with my tongue, inhaling the intoxicating mix of her musk with my scented shower gel. I circle her swelling clit and lick the length of her hot, slick channel until I hear her moans of pleasure echoing against the walls. I penetrate the depths of her tender entrance, soothing away any discomfort I’ve caused, and taste her singular essence as she comes for me. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of her.
I ease her through the throes of orgasm and return to lie beside her, holding her close. My fingers tangle in her hair, and I feel the rise and fall of her chest against mine and the beating of her heart.
“Mara,” I whisper.
“What?”
“I have something else to ask you.”
“Ask away,” she replies, tracing a line across my arm with her fingertip.
“Remember I promised to look into some paid work for you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, what would you think about earning one million dollars? To be my fiancée?”
Her hand stops moving, and her whole body goes still for a stunned minute. Then she pops up on one elbow and stares me down, an incredulous expression on her face. “You’re joking. Say that again?” She looks genuinely shocked.
“I’m serious,” I say, a grin playing on my lips. “My fiancée, you know, like my publicist is insisting I get. Just temporarily, of course. I don’t want to disrupt your work or your personal plans. Not too much, anyway.”
She blinks her dreamy, aquamarine eyes. “Be your fake fiancée... for how long? What would I have to do?”
“Nothing you haven’t already,” I tease. “Just be with me. Be seen in public with me. A month or two at the most. Be stunningly beautiful. That part you need no coaching in.” I tap her dainty nose that sports a few tiny freckles I hadn’t noticed until now. She’s fucking adorable, inside and out.
She smiles and shakes her head in disbelief. “I don’t know... I’ll have to think about it.”
Who the fuck needs to think about a million dollars? But I have to understand where she’s coming from. She’s blindsided, nervous and uncertain. Christ, we’ve only just met, really. Of course, she wants to think about it.
“Do think about it. Please. It’s perfect. No one knows you so the media will be extra curious. My publicist will be off my back and shitting happy bricks out his ass. And with that kind of payday, you can buy ten new cars if you want.”
“I could,” she says thoughtfully. “But I think one fiancé and one car will be all I can handle.”