TEN
GRAHAM
Fucking Eleanor Courtney.
I’ve not been able to get her, or that tight black dress she wore to my place, off my mind since I took her back to the little shoebox she lives in the other night. Since she’d been in such a hurry to get home after she gave me the answer I knew she’d settle on, I’d given her my terms on the way to her apartment:
She’s mine until the end of the semester.
Our arrangement is strictly between the two of us and my Manhattan accountant.
Love is a four-letter word that will have no room in our agreement, and most importantly, I’m a selfish prick who won’t share her under any circumstances. I’ve never played well with others, and I’m not about to start doing so now.
When we reached the parking lot in front of her building, she had sat beside me in the BMW, with those long legs crossed at the ankle, staring blankly ahead.
“What happens next?” she had finally asked, turning down the Godsmack song playing on a random satellite station I chose, and I laughed.
“I go to New York for Christmas.”
“No, I mean ... with what I just agreed to do with you. What do we do now? How often will we, you know, do it?’”
As often as I want, I had thought.
“I’ll call you,” I’d told her, trailing a finger up the inside of her thigh. She had shivered, flicked her pink tongue over her lips and carved her hand through her loose black hair. My hand had frozen against her creamy skin because I was so desperate to get my fingers in that hair. “Now get out, dove, before I put this car in reverse, with you in it, and spend the rest of the night doing what I planned. Learning exactly what it is that makes you scream.”
“I get it!” She gasped and grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers before I could touch her like I desired. “Do you get off doing this to me?”
“Not nearly as much as I will when it’s my tongue making your cunt quiver and not just spoken promises. Goodnight, Elle.”
In all honesty, I had no plan to see her again until I was good and ready—after I came back from the inevitable trip to New York where I pretend to give a fuck about my family at some fundraiser my mother saw fit to include my name in. Fate had bent me over when I agreed to meet Hannah Amherst, an old bang buddy of mine, Hannah’s words, not mine, from boarding school. She’s made a detour in D.C. before she jets off to Spain with her newest husband. He’s twice our age, and I’ve been mentally referring to him as The Poor Shit, T.P.S., since I forgot his actual name seconds after he was introduced.
“Why so distracted, Graham?” Hannah’s silky voice cuts through my thoughts. Curving her red lips into a smile, she leans against the table, and her tits nearly fall out of her slinky red top. The Poor Shit barely notices. “You’ve been a giant stick in the mud since we met up this morning," she pouts.
A giant stick in the mud. She must have picked that one up from T.P.S.
“Work problems,” I respond coolly, feeling my cock throb at the scent of Elle’s fruity scented perfume. Hannah is invisible to me when my attention follows the proper Ms. Courtney sashaying past our table with her blue eyes glued to the floor, and her ass teasing me under more layers of clothes than Hannah probably wears in a week.
That’s the first thing I’m going to do with Elle. Peel away some of those layers. Get to the freak I know is somewhere underneath it all.
“Graham?” Hannah’s voice is worried. Maybe by now, she’s figured out that I have no intention of going with her to her hotel, even if husband number two—or is he number three?—doesn’t give a fuck.
“Excuse me,” I tell her, earning a sulky look that, once again, brings no emotion out of The Poor Shit.
She is a perfect reminder of why I’ll never get married. Why I’ll never let another woman plunge her fucking claws into my heart again. Too much risk. Too many headaches. And too many chances to ruin everything.
“Hurry back,” she drawls, before concentrating on T.P.S. She says something that makes him chuckle and pet her arm. Knowing her, she probably told him to pop a Viagra because she’s planning to fuck me right in front of him while he jerks off.
Following Elle’s scent, I enter the pink-decorated bathroom right behind her. Mouth hanging open, she whirls away from the sink to look at me like my dick is already hanging out.
“What the hell are you doing in here? You said you’d be in New York by now,” she whispers accusingly as I lock the door behind me. When I face her, her arms are crossed over her shapeless sweater, and she’s burning a hole into my forehead with her glare. “I’m starting to think you put a GPS on me or something.”
I laugh. “On the contrary, Elle. I honestly had no plans to see you until I got back from New York. Believe me, I didn’t wake up this morning, realize that all I wanted or needed was Eleanor Courtney, and decide to hunt you down.”
Letting her arms fall to her sides, she stalks toward me. With her black hair flying around her face, and her trembling lips, I decide she’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “If I weren’t all you wanted or needed, Senator"—She jabs her finger to my chest, and I catch her hand in mine—"Then why would you offer so much money to get me in your bed for the next five months? Seems like you're the one piling on the bull today.”
“You forgot to say discreetly in my bed.” I wrench her to me and flare my hands over the curve of her hips, both hating the way she hides her delectable body and feeling relieved that no other man knows the curves and angles buried beneath her hideous sweater, dress, and stockings. She has a body made for lingerie, lace, and silk. Material that’s easy to rip through. “I never said I didn’t want you. Obviously, I do. Just not today. But if you must know why I’m here, an old friend came to town, and I stuck around to see her before she goes to Barcelona.”
Elle stiffens in my arm, and when I glance down into her enormous blue eyes, I can’t help but grin at the flash of anger. Realizing her mistake, she turns her face to the side. “Don’t you need to get back to ... your old friend?”
“Say that again, beautiful. Next time with a bit more ... jealousy.”
A strangled sound leaps from the back of her throat. “God, you’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you? I’m not jealous, by the way, I just think it’s rude you’re in here when she’s out there.”
“Sure you’re not jealous. But she’s also not what you think.” I kiss her throat, and she sighs. I slide my hand between her thighs, rubbing my fingers over the slick reward her aggravating tights are obstructing. She drinks in a ragged breath. When I trace the column of her throat again, this time with my tongue, she exhales and swallows hard. “You’re going to be a greedy one, and I wonder if your pussy will be just as selfish.”
“You have such a nasty mouth,” she seethes, but she clamps her legs around my hand. “When my five months with you is up, I’ll—”
I kiss her delicate chin. “Beg for more. You’ll beg for more, Elle.”
And then she’ll regret me all over again when I ruin her to ruin her father. Something cold freezes my chest at the thought of it, but I swallow that shit down. Remind myself that Eleanor Courtney is just a walking, talking piece of ass.
It still doesn’t sit right, so I make a resolution to stay far away from Vero and her judgment for a while. It must be getting to me.
I tilt Elle's mouth to mine, and she clenches her thighs again. Fuck, I need to be inside her already, not feeling her up in the middle of a bathroom. “Have you thought of me since we parted?”
“No, not at all.” She gasps when I tear a hole in the center of her stockings, and my fingers find the soft cotton beneath it. The heat emanating from her is enough to shatter the control of any man. “Oh my God, Graham!”
“No thoughts at all, Ms. Courtney?” Rubbing a knuckle over her slit through her panties, I watch her face, waiting until her eyes are squeezed shut to shove the cotton aside and spread her apart. “Jesus, Elle, you’re already dripping. Did you get wet just seeing me out there? Is that where we are now? Blind turn-ons?”
She moans, bowing her body against mine. “What are you doing?” she demands, as I back her against the wall. She bucks her hips and releases a throaty moan that I feel, deep in my gut. “Why are you doing this here?”
“Hands over your head,” I order, and to my satisfaction—my cock’s satisfaction—she lifts her arms up, resting them against the wall with her palms turned outward. “Keep them there. Don’t move. Just feel.”
“We’re really doing this?” she whispers.
“Should I stop?” I thrust two fingers deep into her pussy. She’s tight—tighter than I ever imagined—and all I can think of is replacing my hand with my cock and taking her right here on the marble floor. “Should I go back to lunch and pretend we never saw each other?”
“Yes,” she pants, her hips rhythmically rocking against me. And then she lets out a cry when I start to pull away. “No!”
I flick my thumb over her swollen clit, and her tongue darts out to touch her lips. She licks them again and again. “You’re going to drive me crazy." I stop her next distracting round of tongue play with my mouth, nibbling on her bottom lip. "And you taste like blackberries. Why am I not surprised?"
There’s a knock at the door, someone jiggling the knob, and her eyes fly open. “We can’t do this,” she whispers frantically. “We shouldn’t do this!”
“Save your can’ts and shouldn’ts for confession. We already are doing this.”
“I’m not even Catholic,” she retorts furiously.
“Eleanor?” the voice on the other side of the door calls. Her mother. The bastard’s wife. “Eleanor, is everything all right?”
“If you don’t want her to hear you scream, I suggest you have her leave.”
“I’m okay!” Elle shouts, the desperate, husky sound making me want her on her knees right now with my dick filling her mouth. Instead, I guide her legs farther apart, finish ripping the center of her tights, and pound my fingers harder. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little ... under the weather.” Never moving her hands from above her head, she bites down hard on my shoulder, and I grasp her ass.
When she lets out a cry into my shirt, I stroke her clit harder, grinding my thumb, and narrow my eyes in warning. "I wasn't kidding, Elle. Get rid of her."
“Just go sit down, okay?" she calls out to her mother. "I’ll be out in a minute or two.”
When her mom doesn’t knock again, I brush my lips against her ear. “Are you that close?” I inhale her intoxicating scent, blackberries and vanilla, responding to it by arching my fingers inside her and hitting a spot that makes her body do wondrous, delicious things. Her full breasts press so close to my chest, I feel her nipples pebble. “A minute or two?”
But she doesn’t even last that long. Watching the look in her eyes as she convulses around my fingers is something I won’t forget—not even after we’re through. For all the shit she talks, right now Eleanor Courtney trusts me. Part of me would prefer any other emotion than that one.
She drops her head against my chest, catching her breath.
“Did you have to do that here?” She shudders when I drag my fingers from her pussy and sweep the other from her ass to her hip. I want more, crave her wet body, but for this reward, I’ll be patient. “Graham?” Her voice soft and tentative.
“Yes,” I reply as her arms lower from above her head, falling limply over my shoulders. She’s too fucking warm. Too soft. “I did have to do it. I’ve already told you, I want to possess you.”
And then, I’ll break you.