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She clasps her arms around my neck. She drifts her fingers up to my face, scraping the tips on my stubble. I grab her ass and pull her to me so my hard bulge pushes against her lower belly.
I break the kiss with a loud smack. I speak only with my eyes, gazing hard into hers. Then I turn her around, forcing her against the kitchen island, quickly push her sweats and underwear over her hips, and, in what seems like no time at all, shove my cock into her.
She moans, and I pull out and thrust back in balls deep. Fuck, she’s tight in this position, her legs not spread at all.
“I like control, Skye,” I whisper in her ear as I pump into her harder and harder. “Haven’t I given you pleasure in the bedroom?”
“Yes,” she moans, her voice almost a sob.
“Would it be so bad to yield to me in other areas?” I pant against her neck and ear.
I pump into her, fucking her hard and fast. Her clit is banging against the countertop, and that and her incessant soft moans mean one thing—she’s getting close to orgasm.
“Answer me, Skye,” I say against her neck.
Already I know she won’t say yes, even though she understands my position in the business world. She understands what I could do for her, how I could take her to the top.
But will she give up an orgasm?
She forces her hips backward, letting out a wistful whimper.
Yes, she gives up an orgasm.
I’m not overly surprised, though I was hoping she’d acquiesce. After all, her orgasms please me as much as they please her.
But it’s a statement. An answer to my question.
She won’t yield control of her life to anyone—not even me.
As I pump into her one last time, releasing, I smile.
I can’t help it.
Skye will always be Skye. She will always resist my control.
And to be honest? It’s hot as hell.
After Christopher takes Skye home, I head to the office and make a pit stop in to see my father. As chairman of the board, he doesn’t spend a lot of time at the office, but I knew he’d be here this morning as we’re getting ready to move forward on the UK property deal with Foster McCain—which reminds me. I need to reschedule that call with Ken Akers and Penelope Morgan.
“Morning, Dad,” I say.
My father, Bobby Black, looks up from his desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose. “Braden. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Vanna wasn’t at her desk, so I took the liberty.”
“She’s off today. Some kind of performance at Alec’s school. What do you need?”
“I’m bringing a guest to dinner Saturday night.”
He raises his eyebrows and removes the readers. “Oh?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“You’re serious.”
“When am I not serious, Dad?”
“You don’t bring women to dinner, Braden. That’s Ben’s thing. You never brought Aretha Doyle to family dinner, nor anyone else.”
He’s right, of course. Because I don’t date, in the normal sense of the word. I don’t get serious.
But Skye is different. I’m in love for the first time in my life, and…
Damn it all to hell.
I want to bring her to family dinner. And yeah, it’s unlike me.
“I’m seeing someone I want you to meet,” is all I say.
“Very well. I’ll let Sadie and the rest of the staff know.” Dad replaces his reading glasses on his nose.
“That’s it? You’re not going to pounce on me with questions?”
“I’m not your brother, Braden. I’m your father. I trust your judgment. I’m sure your new lady is lovely.”
Interesting words coming from Dad. He’s not Ben, for sure, but he does his share of dating gold diggers. Not my circus, not my monkeys. He can marry again and begin a new family if he wants. It won’t affect my inheritance because this business belongs to me. My father is only here because he’s my father—and it took me a while to get to that point, given our past.
He does a good job, though. He’s smart and competent, and now that he’s sober, he’s a damned good businessman.
“Did you need anything else?” he asks.
“Nope. Just keep me in the loop on the McCain deal. Has Dimitri been in touch with you?”
Dad nods. “I just got off the phone with him, actually. Everything’s a go as soon as you and Ken Akers come to an agreement about the lingo.”
I smile. Lingo. Such a Dad word. We may be billionaires now, but we’re still blue-collar guys at heart.
“I’m going to try to reschedule the call today,” I tell him. “It’ll be tomorrow at the soonest, though, given the time difference.”
“What happened?” Dad asks. “This was supposed to be taken care of by now.”
I keep my face expressionless. “Something came up.”
Back in my own office, I fire up my search engine and type in cameras.
Funny that I’ve never mentioned this to Skye, but I enjoy photography. In a totally amateur way, of course. I’m not an artist like she is, but I do love to capture life through a camera lens. I adore the work of Ansel Adams and Annie Leibovitz. I have many coffee table books of their work. Plus…I enjoy intimate photography as well. Bondage can be an art, and when it’s photographed perfectly, it’s more than engaging. It’s enthralling.
