Chief of Perversion_a power broker novel Read online

  Then his grip tightens and he tangles his other hand in my hair. “Take it all,” he demands.

  Jesus, that just got me wet as fuck.

  Holding me still, he slides his cock in deep and I relax my throat. He pulls back and plunges hard. I gag and try to pull back, but he keeps going in long, deep thrusts.

  “Mmmm, so good.”

  I struggle to catch my breath and consider tapping out. Except we haven’t set any signal.

  I try not to panic. What the hell was I thinking? Am I that poor a judge of character? I can’t wait until I’m desperate to see if he will stop, so I smack his thigh firmly three times. Mercifully, he pulls out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to breathe occasionally.”

  “I was paying attention.” Perhaps he was, but it wasn’t obvious to me. “Shall we continue?”

  I nod and open my mouth. The condom tastes like condom at this point, and my heart really isn’t in it, but the sex up until now has been pretty damn good, so I’m willing put up with it.

  He slowly pushes all the way in, an out. “Open wide and hold out your tongue.”

  As soon as I do as I’m told, he glides down my throat and holds still. I could do with some breath, but this time I decide to trust him.

  He pulls back and gives me a couple of breaths before he goes down again, a little longer this time. “You’ve been so good. Last one,” he says. His cock swells slightly as he slides back down. As soon as he bottoms out, he withdraws fast, then thrusts hard, groaning while his cock pulses in my throat.

  I suck in big breaths when he finally pulls out, but I’m wet as fuck. It was scary, but maybe that had something to do with it.

  “Fuck. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Really sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  He rips off the condom and throws it in the trash before tucking his softening cock back in his trousers and walking out the door.

  I stare at him as he leaves, too stunned and angry to speak. The selfish piece of shit. Gets his rocks off and leaves me without my happy ending. If he’s only good for one, the least he could have done was let me come at least one of the two times he’d brought me close.

  As soon as the bastard is out the door, I scramble to re-lock it behind him. I lean against the cool wood and slide to the floor.

  Insecurity and self-doubt starts seeping in. What was it about me that sent him scurrying away?

  I push the negative thoughts aside and try to convince myself it’s not me, it’s him while I set about putting my clothes right and tidying up my hair. I didn’t wear make-up, so at least I don’t have to worry about dealing with smudged lipstick or mascara drool.

  I stare at my reflection and wonder just how insane I am. The only part of that encounter that wasn’t entirely foolhardy was the condom.

  6

  Heath

  I close the door behind me and hear the snick of the lock a moment later. Leaning against the wall, I take some time to collect my thoughts and recover from…whatever the hell that was.

  What was it about this woman that had me so desperate to possess her, I’d do something as reckless as fucking her senseless in a bathroom at my mother’s wedding?

  Okay, so she’s hot. But no more so than any other screw-worthy woman I’d come across in my thirty-four years.

  Guilt gnaws at me because I got tied up in my emotions and wound up misdirecting my rage and I pretty much hate-fucked an innocent woman. I didn’t stop choking her with my cock when I said I would, and to top it off, I left her hanging. I crossed way the fuck over the line between Dominant and asshole.

  She deserves a better apology. Turning toward the door, I raise my hand to knock, but don’t follow through. I second-guess myself. Not the part where she deserves the better apology, but the part where I think she’ll be receptive to it. I should have stopped when I said I would, and I should have at least made her come like I promised.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Checking my watch, I realize I’ve been gone too long, and my absence has probably been noticed. At least I bothered to show up, unlike my freshly acquired stepsister.

  Wiping my damp palms on my trousers, I slowly make my way back to the party, such as it is.

  The blue-hair brigade is out in force and flirting outrageously with me, although the serious attempts at seduction seem to be aimed at the silver-foxes in the room. Who knew little old ladies could be so crass? I wouldn’t be surprised if they are spiking drinks with Viagra before the end of the night.

  My anger returns with a vengeance when I catch sight of my mom’s sad face. She keeps glancing toward the door when she thinks no one is looking. And I’m not the only one to notice.

  George is obviously trying to mask his own anger, and I’m fairly certain most of it is because that bitch of a daughter of his has upset my mom.

  I love my dad to pieces, and I know he thought the sun shone out of my ass, but he treated my mom with indifference, and that never sat well with me. George, on the other hand, treats my mom like she’s the most important part of his life, and for the first time in as far back as I can remember, I think she’s happy.

  Well, if one doesn’t take into account how inconsiderately the selfish step-bitch treats her.

  The evening drags on, and I’m ready to stab my eyes out with sharp pencils by the time the happy couple finally take their leave and I can make my escape without appearing rude. I dutifully go around and say my goodbyes, politely declining a couple of drunken propositions along the way.

  I decide to spend the night in my suite on the top floor rather than go home. I’m tired and angry, and the sooner I get away from people, the better. An hour and two large glasses of Scotch later, I am laying in my big empty bed, my mind wandering back to the woman in the bathroom.

  I screwed up. That much was beyond obvious.

  Maybe if I’d handled things differently, she’d have joined me at the reception, and afterward, come upstairs with me, and I could have spent the rest of the night fucking her brains out. Too bad I buggered things up so badly I didn’t get her name and number—she would have made a damn fine booty call.

  Yeah, I should have handled that differently. Life is so full of should haves, I could fucking drown in them.

  I grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand, squirt a generous dollop in my palm, and then rub my hands together before taking a double-fisted stranglehold on my cock. Pumping my hips, I slide in and out of the tight space I’ve created, imagining it’s her deliciously tight cunt I’m fucking as I have her pinned against the wall.

  7

  Georgia

  By the time my clothes and mind are back in order, I’ve completely given up on attending the reception.

  I manage to sneak out of the bathroom and through the hotel without encountering anyone I know and grab one of the cabs waiting in front. Maybe my father is enjoying himself enough that he won’t notice my absence.

  Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?

  He’ll notice.

  There has to be a good excuse for missing the whole thing in my brain somewhere without telling the truth. Not that it matters what I say, really. My father would never believe me. I’m sure I’ll come up with something between now and brunch.

  As soon as I arrive home, I pour myself a large vodka and down it like water. I suppose if I’d gone to the reception, I’d already been well on the way to past caring. I make a valiant effort to catch up as I gulp back a second glass before heading for the shower.

  The scalding hot spray hits my skin like a hail of fiery needles, but no matter how much I soap and scrub my skin, I still feel dirty.

  And not that good kind of dirty like when you’re plastered in spunk after being wild and kinky with someone who has a feeling or two for you.

  No, this is the kind of dirty that walks hand in hand with shame and doesn’t wash off.

  I scrub myself one last time, then give up. It’s no use. I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again.


  All for a quick fuck with a complete stranger.

  Well, I can cross that fantasy off my sexual bucket list. I make a mental note to re-evaluate that list because there are probably more fantasies on it that won’t be as hot in real life as they seem in my imagination.

  Bad girls don’t get to come. That bastard’s words ricochet inside my head. Maybe I am a bad girl. Maybe that’s why he walked out. Maybe—

  I need to sleep. I’m supposed to have brunch with my father, his new wife, and her son in the morning—which, after today’s fuck-up, I feel even more obligated to attend.

  And if I have any chance of surviving it with my dignity intact, I have to be at the very top of my game. I’m so sick of hearing what a paragon of fucking virtue this son is, and now I’m going to have to experience it in an intimate setting with no chance for escape.

  No, I’m not perfect, but it’s a pretty safe bet I’m the only fucking fruit my father’s loins are likely to produce, and it rankles to be judged by him as lacking next to this Johnny-come-lately.

  Who am I kidding? I’ve been lacking since the moment of conception—I’m one penis and two testicles short of being a beloved son.

  Damn it, why didn’t I just ignore that miserable bastard’s asshole-behavior? If I’d been the good girl he wanted, I wouldn’t be lying here in bed, unable to sleep because of frustrated orgasms.

  And why exactly am I doing that, anyway?

  I pull out my trusty magic wand—because nothing less than a power orgasm will do. Pressing the head of the vibrator against my clit, I set it on high. My climax comes fast, but there’s something missing.

  It’s almost like it skipped the good bit. Here it comes. There it went.

  Normally I’d keep going for at least one or two more, but my heart isn’t in it. Not after the empty feeling left from the last one.

  Instead, I return to the kitchen and refill my glass with vodka, then head back to bed. I reach over to the night stand and pick up the framed photo of my mom and me cuddled up in her bed. Holding it tight to my chest, I weep while I pretend she is right there, snuggling me close as we watch Beauty and the Beast.

  It was my favorite film as a small child, and my mom never once denied me when I wanted to cuddle up in bed and watch it with her.

  In the end, it was my father who denied me.

  She’s too weak, you’ll wear her out.

  She’s in too much pain, you’ll hurt her.

  She needs her rest.

  It didn’t matter how much I begged and promised, he only let me see her when I woke up to say good morning and when I went to bed to say goodnight.

  Then one morning, she just wasn’t there anymore.

  Giving up on my little fantasy, I curl into a ball and cry in the dark.

  8

  Heath

  I’m not surprised that she’s not there when I arrive at the hotel dining room for brunch. In fact, based on her past behavior, I don’t expect her to arrive at all. She’s already at two broken promises this weekend, she may as well go for the hat-trick.

  If it didn’t upset my mom so much, I wouldn’t even care. But I can’t fathom how she won’t bother to at least meet the woman her father is in love with and chose to marry.

  Hell, anytime my mom so much as casually mentioned she was seeing someone, I had to meet him as soon as possible. Of course, part of that could be that I’m hyper-protective of her, and had concerns about fortune hunters, of which there had been many.

  It was a relief for my mom to meet a guy who is just as wealthy. And yes, I’ll admit, I did some checking to make sure he wasn’t hiding any dirty little financial secrets. I tried to be respectful about it, though. His finances were the only part of his privacy I invaded, and I was up front with both George and my mom about it. George was pretty funny around the whole business. Even offered to reimburse me for the cost of the investigation.

  I walk up to the table where my mom and George are sitting next to each other. “Hi, you two. I’m not late, am I?” I know I’m not, but it’s as good a conversation starter as any, and I sure as fuck don’t want to know anything about how their evening went. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the back of the chair across from my mom and sit down.

  “No,” Mom says, “not at all. I was just going to go get another cup of coffee, can I get one for you while I’m up?”

  I catch sight of George’s fingers interlaced with hers. It’s so sweet to see them like that. “You stay there, I’ll get it. George, more for you?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine for now, son.”

  I’m not sure how to process being called son by a man other than my dad. Even though he’s been gone almost three years, the hole my dad’s death left in my heart isn’t any smaller. I grab my mom’s cup and leave for the coffee station at the end of the buffet.

  My heart breaks a little when I see my mom sneak a peek down at her watch, then back at the doorway to the dining room. I can’t decide if I want the bitch to show up or not. If she doesn’t come, it will be yet another disappointment she heaps on my mom. If she does turn up, it will take all my willpower to keep from ripping her a big, shiny new one, because doing that would upset my mom, too.

  “Here you go,” I say as I place the steaming cups of coffee on the table.

  She smiles at me, but her eyes don’t have their usual twinkle—one more thing to add to that bitch’s rapidly increasing list of transgressions against the nicest person who ever lived. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  I smile back. “My pleasure, Mom.” I sit in my chair and pick up my cup. I’m about to take my first sip when a movement at the dining room entrance catches my eye.

  9

  Georgia

  Standing in the doorway, I do a quick scan of the room as I give the hostess my father’s name. It had taken a hefty shot of vodka in my morning orange juice to get me here. I’d have gone for a couple more if I thought I could get away with it.

  She leads me through the dining room, weaving between tables and chairs at break-neck speed.

  Jesus, her route is twisty and convoluted enough to cause motion sickness—I absolutely refuse to accept the reality that my nausea is more likely a result of a hangover coupled with a hair of the dog.

  Between keeping up with the hostess and avoiding collisions with furniture and people, my gaze doesn’t rise above waist height until we reach our destination.

  I look up, expecting to see my father. Instead, I come face to face with my shame from the night before. I’m about to tell the woman she’s made a mistake when I hear my father’s voice.

  His polite, angry voice.

  The one he only uses on me in public.

  The one that tells me I’m in deep, deep shit, but tells the rest of the world nothing.

  “So glad you could join us.” He remains seated, and I notice he’s holding his new wife’s hand.

  Envy. I’m puke-green with it.

  Witnessing him publicly show affection is almost more than I can bear. I’ve spent my whole life trying to earn just one loving touch from him.

  I blink back tears and bury my feelings. I will not fucking cry over this. He’s not worth it.

  Instead, I steel myself for an unpleasant meal. Made even more so as I put one and one together and come up with stepbrother.

  My morning just keeps getting better. I’ve fucked a sibling. Well, not in any true sense of the word—we’re both adults and have never lived under the same roof, but I’m sure there are people on the planet that would get all judge-y about it anyway. My father and new stepmother would probably top the list.

  It was a mistake for me to go against my instincts and make this a wedding no-show hat-trick.

  Oh well, the only option I have left now is to brazen it out. Pretend my asshole stepbrother and I have never met, and hope to hell he does the same.

  “Sorry, I’m a little late.” My voice is so hoarse, you’d think I’d just chain-smoked a whole carton of cigarettes. I guess crying the night a
way has pretty much the same result.

  “We’ll discuss this later. In private.”

  Oh, that’s bad.

  My father turns to face the woman next to him and says, “Frances, Heath, this is my daughter, Georgia.”

  I look at my new stepfamily and nod, not ready to trust my voice yet.

  Heath half stands and holds out his hand. Honestly? I’m supposed to shake it, after what we’d done last night? Knowing those fingers have been deep inside my body? Then I realize he’s playing the game I so badly need him to play, so I meet him halfway and shake. His hand is warm and soft, and even though I’m an emotional wreck right now, his touch makes my lower belly quiver. A most inappropriate and unwelcome response, and I try hard to ignore it.

  I’m not successful. And that annoys me.

  After Heath, I reach over to shake Frances’s hand, and take the empty seat across from my father. It is also the empty seat directly next to Heath. I just need to keep my eyes on the table and everything will be fine. I drop my purse to the floor and shrug out of my cardigan, letting it fall on the seat between me and the back of the chair.

  One look at the cups on the table and I have my excuse to get away from them for a few minutes. “I’m just going to grab a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll join you,” Heath says. “I could use a refill, and we can bring some back for my mom and your dad.”

  Not fucking likely. “I’m sure you must all be hungry. How about you get yourselves food, and I’ll get us all coffee?”

  “I can wait,” my father’s favorite says as he rises from his chair and starts gathering cups. “George, how about you and Mom head to the buffet while Georgia and I get the coffee? We can grab our own food and join you after.”

  “Excellent idea, son. We’ll meet you back here in a few.”

  Son? My father called this miserable fuck of an asshole, son.

  Of course he did.

  Penis.

  I have a bitter moment of regret for not using my teeth after all.