Purr Scent I: The Meeting (Purr Billionaire BDSM Trio, #1) (4 page)

“Eyes on me,” he growled, tilting her at an angle that with each thrust met a tender aching need deep within her.

Her eyes snapped open. As she neared the edge, she tried hard to keep them open. Her hastened pants sounded foreign to her.

“Say. My. Name,” he punctuated with every plunge, his eyes wild as his face scrunched with barely controlled pleasure. He pounded into her, growing harder and bigger.

“
Clark
,” came the curdled cry between moans. Her inner walls trembled and clenched, her body convulsing with pleasure to draw him further inside.

He bit into her shoulder, hard enough to make her whimper, and her pussy fisted him again in desperation.

“
Mariah!
” He released her shoulder, pinned her with his eyes, and came with carnal ferocity. His face scrunched with salacious fury, his body shaking against hers.

Vaguely, she remembered the windows at her back, which were now warmed to body temperature. How the glass could hold up without being shaken by the solid mass of a man god pushing her against it was beyond her. Oddly, she found more comfort in his arms now than she had before when she stepped away from him to move closer to the glass.

When their breathing evened, he picked her up and sat them down in her office chair. With his cock softening now inside her, his fingers combed through her hair. Grabbing a fistful of her locks near their roots, he tilted her up for a sensuous yet demanding kiss.

What would it feel like for him to eat her? Was she losing her mind? Sure, she had imagined being a Dream God's captive, but she hadn't ever really wanted it in real life. Fantasy was fantasy and should stay a fantasy. Right?

Mariah broke off the kiss and squeezed her eyes shut. Her head started to spin. Fuck. Was she into...? She didn't even want to think the word. Fuck, was she into pain?

“Eyes on me,” Clark said, his voice soft yet stern.

She opened her eyes and saw the vigilant concern in his dark brown depths.

“Where did you go?”

Was she that readable? How long had he been scoping her out during all those quarterly meetings? Eight. They had only met eight times!

She bit her lip. In his book, if she didn't answer him with “utter honesty,” then she would earn an infraction punishable by another slew of disciplinary pain. She felt spent, worn out, robbed of energy and will. She had little to no reserves left to put up a defense or go through another round of whatever disciplinary action he planned to dish out.

With a thudding heart and trembling lips, she pulled in a deep breath and told him, “I'm...” She blinked her strained eyes and tried again. “I think I'm scared—scared that I'm a...a pain...”

She blinked again, cursed the tear that spilled onto her cheek, and glared at him. “Slut. I'm a slut, okay? A pain slut!” A spark of anger reared its head and spurred her onward to blurt out, “That's what you wanted to hear, right? That's what you wanted to prove, didn't you?”

C
lark tightened his jaw. What did he expect? That he could break through her defenses by having her break down like this? That he could woo Mariah by cuffing her to her desk and having her want him?

Correction: she
did
want him—their feelings were mutual. Their bodies did not lie. He only acted upon the feelings for both of them, though, and clearly she was lashing out now. What convenient timing that she had lashed out now when his cock had just exited her opening.

She was angry alright, but she was also hurting. The tears were proof of that.

More tears spilled over her warm cheeks. Before she could wipe them away herself, he thumbed away one rivulet and licked the other trail. He capped it with a kiss to her temple and a nip to the ear that sent a pleasing shudder through her.

“Mariah,” he murmured, worshipping her with a breathy kiss past her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. “You're precious.”

She started sobbing, chest heaving against his. She pushed him away. “Let me go.”

Clark straightened and looked into her watery sky blue eyes. Baby blue. Yes, Baby Mine. “Let me hold you until you feel whole again.”

Without waiting for her response, he embraced her in a firm hug. Having her seated on his thighs, his nose came up to her chin and he grew heady breathing her scent. Tropical with a hint of lime.

He felt every heave of her crumbling wall. Yes, he had accomplished his objective to fuck her brains out, but was it worth it? He knew she was strong, but would this make her stronger? Make
them
stronger? He was here after all, to help her build a different wall, perhaps one that held him in instead of one that left him out. He wanted this, he wanted “us”—a future together.

As Mariah's sobs morphed to sniffles, Clark discarded the condom. Then he brought out a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks and her nose.

She suddenly paused, eyes wide. “That's mine,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he affirmed. “It fell from your pocket that first meeting. I took my time to pick up my files and swooped in to get it as soon as everyone left the boardroom.”

The plain white handkerchief bore the monogram
MJO
which, according to the background check he ordered, stood for Mariah Janiece Olsen

Her baby blues darted up to him. “Why?”

“I've wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you—ever since I saw your picture in the news announcing you as the new CEO,” Clark said. “I don't know what came over me. I just had to have you. This handkerchief was the closest thing I could have that touched your skin.”

All cried out and stunned, she shook her head. “I can scarcely believe this!”

“That I've had my sights on you for two years now?”

Her expression hardened. “This isn't how you court a woman,” she seethed.

“I'm not courting. I'm here to please.”

“By imprisoning me and bringing out the slut in me?”

Clark grimaced. “There's nothing wrong with a woman taking her pleasure.”

“That's twisted! You—You beat me!” she spluttered.

“You liked it.” He grinned, enjoying the rapid reddening of her cheeks.

She pursed her lips. “You
forced
me.”

“You begged. You said please.”

“No, I
blinked
.” Her eyes shot daggers.

“To the tune of 'Please fuck me, Sir.'” His lips curled at the memory.

“Doesn't mean that those were the words that went through my head,” she huffed.

“Oh, yeah?”
No more Mister Nice Sir.
He stood up and threw her back flat onto her desk. Pinning her there, he held her hands down beside her ears.

“Goddammit, Clar—!”

He swallowed her fumes with a fervent kiss, willing her to feel just how much he planned on pleasuring her sweet cunt. Their teeth smashed together when he quickly withdrew to prevent her from biting his lip. She was no damn butterfly. She was a jungle cat, a tiger, a fierce lioness.

“Kitten,” he murmured, as he worked his lips down to latch onto a pink nipple. Teasing her succulent flesh made him hard. God, he could hardly wait to see the pink of her pussy and feel her slick tight heat fisting him again.

“Don't 'kitten' me!” she growled.

“That's so hot,” Clark said, breaking the latch. “When you grumble like that, the rumble gives your tits a nice quiver.” He bent down to lave a nipple. Choices, choices—left or right? Too bad, he didn't have two mouths to please both nipples at the same time.

Mariah became quiet, but the silence was thick.

Clark chuckled, glancing at a stony faced Mariah. “Cat got your tongue?”

She glared at him, probably not wanting to cause her tits any more grief.

He smirked and returned to his task, ambling lower to the luscious lips between her thighs. Keeping her hands pinned to the desk, he speared her with his tongue and lapped her slit. He nipped her inner thighs, licked her labia, and stopped shy of her clit. She squirmed to no avail as he continued to assault her senses, taking a whirl around her nub, and torturing her with the emptiness he knew she needed filled. Taking one of her hands to her crotch, he said, “Touch yourself.”

“I'm not conspiring with you,” she spat through gritted teeth.

“As you wish,” he said as he helped her stuff one of her fingers in her channel and slid in two of his own to cover her finger. He tempered her to agonizing heights, her thighs thrashing at either side of him, her arms resisting arrest. Excited gasps escaped her as he curled his fingers to direct hers and wrapped his palm upon her hand to exert indirect pressure to her clit.

“Dammit!” she swore, striving to slide her moistened hand to her clit.

Pleased, Clark removed her hand and pinned it back to the desk. Hovering over her, now face to face, he asked, “What was that you said?”

“I said damn your fucking tease!” The quickening rise and fall of her chest only added to his amusement.

“If you can still swear, then you're not pleased enough.” Grinning, Clark resumed his favorite torture tactic—orgasm denial. Ignoring her wet lips and engorged clit, he moved his hips, gyrating his hard cock against her belly.

Mariah glared at him. “Don't you know you're being recorded?”

His heart skipped a beat. Her poker face was good, but the turbulence in her eyes betrayed her. He narrowed his eyes. “Honesty, Mariah. Are we?”

She swallowed. Her mouth opened in an O.

“Think carefully before you answer or you may need to cancel your last appointment for the day.”

Her eyes widened, and she shut her mouth.

“I've watched you for two years now, studied you live in meetings and recorded press conferences. Video feedback—heard of that? I've frozen every frame—all thirty frames per second—of your appearances to gauge what you say and what your body shows me. If you were recording this all along, don't you think I'd know? In fact, wouldn't someone have barged in by now?”

She gulped, her breathing heavy.

“Even if you plan to play hard ball, sue me and it'll be your word against mine with no vaginal tears to prove force upon entry. If we go to trial, who would have more to lose with the recording—your reputation or mine? That's assuming the recording is not sealed but revealed to the jury. Even if it was sealed, your millions compared to my billions will have the jury questioning your motives for bringing me down.”

“What do you want from me?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Isn't it obvious?” he asked softly.

“No.” Her eyelashes fluttered.

“No?” He arched an eyebrow.

She sighed. “No, we're not being recorded.”

“Yes, I know that, and thank you for your belated and reluctant honesty. I still expect you to answer
my
question.”

She trembled beneath him.

“I want to touch you,” he said, feeling the limitation of pinning both of her hands down with his.

“You already have my body at your mercy. What more do you want from me?”

“Your trust,” he said. “I want you to trust me with your pleasure.
All
of your pleasure.”

Her stony stare shot airs of defiance. He looked forward to breaking through all of her defenses.

“I can't trust you yet if you don't trust me.” He smiled grimly, retrieved the handcuffs from his pocket, and cuffed her right hand.

Her hands balled into fists. “You're asking for too much.”

“Relax, Mariah, or this will hurt.” Her mouth set into a thin line, but she did not protest when he bent her right leg to her cuffed hand, leaned his chest in to reinforce the bend, and clinched the open cuff to the ankle.

“Dammit, Clark! What is it with you and restraints?” Her icy glare made his lips curl. One day—maybe today—he would earn her willing submission.

“As I said before, I can't trust you from ruining your pleasure when you don't trust me.” He loosened his tie and removed it. “And you can't trust me when you don't trust yourself.” He used his tie to restrain the other hand and ankle together. She lay sprawled with her arms and legs open, ready for bliss.

He loved her desk—the wicked prop was just the right height for what he planned to do. His hands free at last, he touched the addictive glide of her skin now finely misted with orgasm and orgasm denial. Up and down he caressed her curves—her legs, her hips, her breasts. He could never tire of them. Softly he kissed her neck, willing her clenched jaw to give, and nipped his way to her weeping cunt. He kissed and bit her inner thigh. Noting her tender gasps, he indulged her inner thighs with light rubs from knee to pussy. Her scent thickened as her fiery eyes turned to half-lidded lust.

Biting and sucking her nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers and thumbs, he grew hard at her supplicating cries.

“Stop, Clark! Stop!” she moaned.

“This stops when you come.”

“Goddammit, then make me come!” Good. Clearly she knew by now that he would get his way. Always.

He smiled sweetly. “You know what to do, then.”

“Argh!” she cried when he suckled a nipple—hard—and she pulled on the restraints. “Oh, god!”

“And what do you do when you speak to God?” he coaxed, latching and drawing upon the other nipple.

“P-p-pray—oh, god!”

He dipped his fingers in her slippery cleft—so tight—and drew them to his mouth. “Delicious.”

“God—you
tease
!”

“Nope, God doesn't tease.” He anchored her hips with both hands now and immersed his lips in her folds, occasionally nudging his nose against her clit.

She moaned again and squeezed her legs against his ears.

“When you pray, you ask.” He dipped his fingers in again and gave her channel a lazy swirl.

“You're driving me crazy! Just get this the hell over with.” She pulled at her restraints—again to no avail.

He grinned. “You know what to ask.” He gave her juices a leisurely lap along her cleft and stood up. “I'll give you a hint—four words.”

That look on her face—pure sexual tension riddled with plain fury—was priceless. “Fuck me, then—
Sir
.”

“Three out of four—not bad,” he mused, “but not good enough without the magic word.”