Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

her mouth to his. His tongue demanded entry, and it made every part of her tight, the way he lashed it against hers, pressing it down, learning her mouth more intimately than she thought was possible.

His hands stayed on her face, though her body writhed uncontrolled against him, her tight nipples pressed to his chest. She tried to push herself against his hard groin, but he thrust his thigh between her legs so his knee thudded against the wall, flexing muscle pressing against her mound.

“You fucking slut,” he muttered against her lips. “Hot little cunt.”

How he could make such awful words sound like an endearment, a caress, she didn’t know, but he did. She was shameless enough to nod, to confirm it. She was a slut, her pussy wet, all for him. Only for him. This was that moment she’d dreamed about, overwhelming, crazy, impossible to control, and she didn’t want any control. She wanted to be chained to him. Collared and belonging to him in every dark, dangerous way that horrified the civilized world.

If it were hundreds of years ago, and he were a pasha, she’d want to be his slave girl, subject to the sting of his lash. If he was a pirate, she’d be the nobleman’s daughter he kidnapped and corrupted, night after night, turning her into a wanton, willing to do anything. Fight at his side, press her lips to his polished boot. Curl next to his feet to be there for anything he needed.

She savored every millimeter of his palm against her face, her throat, his fingers buried in her hair. Her lips stayed parted, open as he plundered, took for himself. Her pulse thundered in her throat, roared in her ears. Her clit throbbed against his leg. When the thigh muscle shifted with his stance, she gasped into his mouth. But she stayed still, his to do with as he desired.

He broke the kiss, pulled her to face the mirror over the sink. “Hands on the counter,” he growled, gaze pinning her in that reflective glass. “Get rid of the shoes. Keep standing straight. Press your cunt against it.”

She obeyed, kicking off the shoes, knowing that her teeth were chattering with nerves. There was something raw and volatile in this room, something she’d glimpsed that night at Surreal when he hadn’t known she was there. This was the kind of Master he was. Hard, ruthless, edgy. Dangerous, the kind of Dom who took the challenge of finding out what his sub was and needed down to her soul, without allowing her to say a word. He was a lawyer—he had no trust of words, though he certainly knew their power.

It didn’t matter. She wanted him any way she could get him. She could do this.

Her nipples were so stiff, it was as if she was wearing no bra at all. He slid his hand along the right stocking, traced the garter as she made a tiny mewl. The loss of her heels made her feel even more vulnerable. Dipping his fingers under the hem of the skirt, he pushed it up so it folded around his wrist as he found her panties, the soaked crotch. She moaned.

“Wet as you can be. You were going to touch Don with this hand.” He lifted it with his other, his fingers tight on her wrist, emphasizing how much stronger he was.

She wouldn’t show fear, even though she was shaking like a cornered mouse. “Yes.”

Pushing the crotch of her panties aside, he sank two fingers into her, without hesitation, knowing her body intimately. She cried out, but managed to stay still as he ordered while his thumb settled on her clit, began to rub. He brought her hand to his mouth, sucked on her fingers, took the taste of her pussy into himself. It was a good thing he was pressed up against her, because her knees would have buckled.

“You didn’t come last night,” he muttered, “all spread out on my car. Why not?”

“Because…you didn’t give me permission.”

“You’ll come now.”

It was lightning, whatever he did, the skillful rhythm, pinches at just the right moments, the way his gaze met hers in the mirror, the feel of his body against hers, taking her over. She had a compulsion to resist, an automatic survival instinct before the vortex about to sweep her away, but it was useless. The climax she’d held out of reach last night, stoked to trip off at the slightest provocation, swept up through her, flushing her skin.

He caught her throat, holding her face so she was staring at herself in the mirror, staring at him. Her mouth stretched wide, her eyes teared, and strangled shrieks tore from her throat. He kept working her with the other hand, had her up so high on her toes he put uncomfortable pressure on her jaw, keeping her straining, quivering, gasping.

As she cried out, he turned his face into her throat and bit, sucking on her skin fiercely, marking her tender flesh just below the top edge of the soft turtleneck collar. A glazed glimpse at the mirror showed him biting into her like a vampire, her breasts thrust out, nipples jutting, body jerking uncontrollably in his powerful hold, his hand working between her legs. With her skirt pushed up and gathered around his forearm, his large fingers were visible through the sheer cloth of her panties as he thrust and scissored, pinched her clit.

Because of that hold, the balance of pain and discomfort with the pleasure, it was the most unusual and intense orgasm she’d ever experienced. Like a whitewater rapid ride, bumpy and thrilling, scary, a cyclone of unpredictable sensations as she cried out and shuddered, made pleading noises. The waves of feeling kept hitting her from all sides, spinning her mind, making her body buck. Just when she thought she was coming down, he’d move his fingers or alter the pressure on her throat and she was bleating with helpless noises once more.

At last her body itself