He steals the bottle from my hands. “She hates herself more,” he replies. “She’s been really nostalgic lately. You just caught her at a bad time.”
“If I gave up my profession for you, would she like me more?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says. “But I would like you less. You can’t please both me and my mother. You can only make one of us happy.”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t like this fact. I want to squash it immediately.
But he leans close, his hand beside my thigh on the leather seat, and I smell the sweet champagne on his breath. His sultry gaze rakes my body. “Don’t ever quit Calloway Couture for me. Your drive turns me on.” He kisses me roughly, his lips hard against mine. His hand rises up the length of my bare leg, slipping beneath the hem of my black dress and plummeting between my thighs.
I let out a gasp. We’re in his limo, I remind myself.
And then his other hand falls to my neck, unfastening the thin chain.
I clutch the diamond pendant protectively. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to play with you.” He meets my eyes, and his lips curve in that arrogant smile. Instead of wanting to slap him for it, I only want Connor to take control of me.
He pockets my necklace and reveals another familiar piece of jewelry.
“You had the collar in your pocket the whole time?” I ask.
“Yes.” He reaches around my neck and snaps it on carefully, making sure not to pinch my skin.
“Even during dinner?” I say, aghast. His mother was there! …briefly.
He squeezes my chin between his fingers. “It’s a necklace, not a vibrator.”
“It’s a collar, Richard,” I rebut.
“And it looks beautiful on you.”
I go quiet more at the way he’s staring at me than his words. His deep blue eyes consume my features like he wants to f**k all of them. An ache fills me, and as it builds, he places a strong hand on my back and forces my stomach to the leather seat.
I sit up on my forearms and my knees. His movements are so fast and domineering. In a matter of seconds, he hikes up my dress, rips off my panties, and kneels behind me, his pants at his thighs, his boxer-briefs down. His c*ck hard and exposed.
Before he pushes in, he rubs my ass and dips his fingers towards the spot between my legs. “What do you say?” Connor asks.
I smile into the leather. “Please, sir?” I nearly laugh at the words.
He smacks my ass so hard that tears crease the corners of my eyes.
“Don’t call me sir, smartass,” he reminds me sternly, no humor to his voice. I turn to see his face, to check if his eyes say the same. But he grabs me by the collar and forces my face straight.
Be that way, Richard.
“What do you say?” he asks again, more huskily this time. He lets out a low groan as he edges closer to me. And he drops his hold on the collar so he can massage my breast, lowering my dress so I’m free for his touch.
When he pinches my nipple, I gasp again.
I swallow. “Please…fuck me,” I beg. I check to see if the privacy screen is still up in the limo. Yes. Thank God. Gilligan, his driver, has no view of this. But I wonder if he can hear my voice pitch high while my mouth opens in a giant O.
Connor is doing a number on my breast with one hand while his fingers rub my cl*t with the other. And then his fingers dive into me, filling me so much, and the short plunges try to catapult me into the door.
He scoots me back so I stay a safe distance away from it. And he grips one of my shoulders to fix me to this place.
His motions are decisive, hard and unrelenting.
“Connor!” I cry. He f**ks me with his hand so fast that it’s not long before my eyes flutter, and I feel myself clench around him. The high is there—in sight. At the top of the hill. Just a few more—
Pulls his brilliant fingers out. Every part of me, mind and body, pleads and aches for him.
I think I hate him now.
“I know you’re glaring and I can’t even see your eyes,” Connor tells me. “Would you call that intuition or magic?”
Well, Connor doesn’t believe in magic. If Hogwarts actually existed I’m sure they’d send an owl to shit on his head.
“I’m sorry,” I say rather than answering the question. I try to relax my face.
And then his long, hard c*ck barrels into me. Holy…
My arms weaken beneath me and I moan into the seat, biting the leather at one point. Fuck…fuck…
My thoughts have been f**ked into submission—only curse words passing through.
He holds onto the crease of my h*ps and ass as he slams into me from behind. Thank God, not in the ass. I am nowhere near ready for that.
His breathing is more controlled than my ragged gasps. But he lets out deep, satisfied groans that vibrate my core. Each thrust against my body jellifies my limbs until I am being supported only by his hold around my waist.
Fuck…ahh…fuck, fuck, fuck… “Connor!”
And then the driver turns sharply, and my whole body jerks forward with the car, my head slamming into the door handle. Hard. My vision darkens to black for a split second before dots flicker in my eyes.
“Dammit,” I barely hear Connor curse.
I’m disoriented from the cli**x and the cranial impact.
I gather my senses when I’m in his arms, on his lap, his boxer-briefs and pants back up on his waist.
“Rose, Rose.” He snaps in my eyes. “Look at me. Rose!” His head spins to the privacy screen. “Gilligan, we’re going to the hospital!”
“No,” I say softly, finding his gaze and trying to meet it clearly. I blink a few times. “I’m…okay. Just let me…” I touch my head, a knot swelling. I wince. Lovely.
Connor inspects the spot with concern tightening his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes. He rubs my arm and holds me tenderly like he’s trying to mend his favorite toy that he dropped on the ground. The possession feels good. Because it means he’s not going to leave anytime soon, and that he won’t ever hurt me. On purpose, that is.
“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”
He grimaces at that word. “I’m not a child who wet the bed. This is serious.”
“Adults have accidents.”
“You were unconscious for a few seconds, Rose.” He carefully slips my dress back over my shoulders, covering my br**sts. The tender affection is a side of him that I dearly love. “I should have held you tighter.” He lets the pain pass through his features. Maybe he doesn’t care if I see his emotions anymore. “Gilligan,” he calls again. “The hospital.”
The driver’s voice sounds through the limo’s speakers. “Already on the way, Mr. Cobalt.”
“I’m okay,” I say again, “just dizzy.”
“I still want to get you looked at.” He places two fingers on my neck, checking my pulse. He studies my features with a focused gaze.
“What are you doing, Richard?” I ask softly. I blink a couple more times to keep his face in my line of vision.
“Making sure you’re fine.”
“You’re my doctor now?” I ask. “How inappropriate. You’re sleeping with your patient.”
He smiles only when he’s satisfied by the tempo of my breathing and all the other parts of me that he was examining.
I know what’s in his heart.
And if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t care so deeply. I just wait (rather impatiently) for the day when he can admit it to himself. If it never comes, then at least I’m smarter than him, able to see something he’s blind to. I’ll take that win if it’s all he’ll give me.
I rest my head on his chest while the limo speeds down the road. Connor strokes my hair, keeping a trained eye on any bad signs in my movements.
“I feel safe with you,” I tell him, “even if you let me bowl into four car doors.”
“There won’t be a second, third or fourth,” he whispers, his lips beside my ear. His hot breath tickles my skin. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
Promises from Connor Cobalt are like oaths spilled in blood.
Translation: I will die for you.
I smile widely.
I will die for you.
That will never get old.
[ 40 ]
1 month and 20 days – Mom
I read the text on Rose’s phone after it buzzes on the desk. She’s downstairs cleaning the kitchen with Daisy. It was taco night, which meant the entire place exploded in cheese and chips, only adding to Rose’s neurotic hysteria.
I’d be helping if it wasn’t for this damn term paper. I can almost see the finish line for the first semester, but papers and finals stand in my way. I doubled my Adderall dosage last week just to concentrate.
The door swings open, and I swivel my chair to watch Rose walk into the bedroom. She glares at Brett who stands in the hallway. “I’m in the no film zone. Run along, now,” she waves him off and then shuts the door. She’d never be as rude to Ben or Savannah, but Brett and Rose get along about as well as her and Lo.
When she turns to face me, I notice a…bulge where her br**sts are. No wonder Brett followed her up here.
Curiosity compels me to my feet, and I cross the room to Rose. “Something’s a little off about you,” I say and my eyes drift up to her hair as if I’m focusing on her nonexistent bangs.
I reach towards her br**sts, and she slaps my hand away.
“I’m a lady,” she chides. “I don’t let boys touch me there.”
Fuck. My c*ck stirs at her words. I grab her waist and pull her body against mine in one swift motion. She sucks in a sharp breath when her h*ps knock into me. She’s still in her five-inch-f**king-heels. Almost the same height as me, a few inches off.
“What about men? Do you let them touch you?” I ask, holding her tight.
“Definitely not.” Her eyes drift to my mouth.
I lick my bottom lip, moving my tongue slowly, as I watch her chest inflate with the motion. I slide my hand up her leg, her thigh, between them—her lace fabric already wet to my touch.
“And here?” I ask.
“Never,” she says in a whisper.
When she’s sufficiently distracted with my hand, I take the opportunity and reach down the top of her dress, grabbing whatever’s hidden in her bra.
I already have the baggy in my possession, and I hold it above her head.
She doesn’t make a pass to retrieve it, just pushes me in the chest for tricking her. I’m too fixated on her contraband to respond.
“Why do you have a bag of marijuana?” And where did she get it? Four messily rolled joints fill the plastic. The papers don’t have neat creases, which means that Rose didn’t roll them. It takes her two hours just to meticulously fold her panties and place them in her drawer.
My eyes fall to her with interest.
She stays quiet, twisting her diamond necklace in her fingers.
“Care to explain?”
“I thought we could do something different tonight…” she says. “I usually don’t try new things, and with you…” she trails off, lost for words. This must annoy her because she rolls her eyes.
“I accept,” I say instantly.
Her eyes brighten in surprise. “Really?”
I nod, willing to try anything with her. I want her to experience as many firsts with me as she possibly can. I’ve smoked only once—my first and only foray into illegal drugs. It was strategic. Boarding school. Trying to gain a connection I needed for Student Council.
“On one condition,” I reply. “You tell me who gave these to you.”
“Daisy.” She doesn’t even hesitate. “If I have the drugs, then she doesn’t have them. They’re much safer in my position.” She grins.
Devious and intelligent. I like this side of her.
My face suddenly falls as I remember something important.
I’m on Adderall.
And I’m not a hundred percent positive it’s safe to smoke pot on the stimulant. The small percentage of doubt is not something I’m willing to live with. I’ll never forgive myself for impairing my brain or my body over something so stupid.
“What’s wrong?” She touches my arm in concern.
The one question makes me frown even deeper. I’m getting worse at hiding my emotions from her. Or maybe…maybe I just don’t care if she’s sees this part of me anymore.
For the first time, I really want to be honest with her.
Not just my half-assed attempt at honesty. I want her to know me as well as I know myself. So I prepare to admit the one thing that could cause her to storm out, pack her bags, sleep in Daisy’s room and maybe even sling my clothes out the window.
“I’m on Adderall,” I let it go. One sentence. One breath.