Secret Acquisitions Page 8

  When he finds the waistband of my skirt, I swear my skin is one sustained vibration. If I can’t be naked soon, have his hands hold me, his cock impale me, I might shatter.

  This time he doesn’t bother with slowness. He jerks my skirt down my legs with an impatience that is as intoxicating as it is rough. I’ve never been wanted like this before, with a desire so potent it threatens to tip over into madness.

  This is the kind of stuff the poets talk about, that heartbroken singer-songwriters wail about, and it’s happening to me.

  Once my skirt is gone, Mark grabs me around the waist and pulls me into him. His kiss is all demand and fire, threatening to overwhelm me. I set my hands on his jaw to steady myself and kiss him back, meeting his demands with my own need. I rub myself against him, needing friction to cool the sensations racing over my skin. But that only makes it worse, heightening my awareness of my bra cinching my breasts, my panties hiding my clit, and his whole outfit covering all of him.

  “Naked,” I pant against his throat. He’s got the faintest hint of stubble there, enough to make the texture interesting, more than enough to drive me insane when I run my mouth over it.

  “My thoughts exactly.” He misunderstands and reaches for the fastening of my bra. But when his fingers find my nipples, I don’t care anymore.

  He didn’t do this last night, and I’m suddenly grateful, because he pulls my nipples to such tight, aching points I think I might pass out. The dizziness is back, the afterwash from the vortex of pleasure swirling through me.

  If he’d done this during our first time together, I would have imploded. There would have been nothing left of me but scorch marks on his desk. Thank God he hadn’t or else I would have missed this.

  He cups my breasts and lowers his head. When his tongue finds one of my nipples, giving it a slow, appreciative lick, my entire body pulses. The shockwaves collect in my pussy and vibrate through my clit.

  “Again, please.” I don’t even realize I’m ready to beg him until I do.

  He looks up at me from under his lashes, the green of his eyes wicked. His smile is knowing and secret all at once. “Liked that, did you?”

  He rolls a nipple through his fingers, tugging gently, and I grab his head to steady myself. His hair is almost too soft, at least compared to how intense his fingers feel on me.

  “Should I be coy?” I ask.

  “Hell no.” He licks my nipple again to punctuate that. “You’re not made for coyness. You’re made for full-throated pleasure.”

  He makes me sound so sensual, so seductive, as if I’m a siren come to life. I’ve never thought of myself like that, but he makes me believe it.

  “Give it to me then.” I grab his head to hold him in place, his mouth now fully fastened on my breast. The pull of his lips and tongue is driving me to full on demanding. “Give me all that pleasure.”

  There’s no answer, probably because he’s moved on to my other breast, loving it with his mouth. If he keeps up with this, then I suppose that’s my answer.

  But of course this is Mark, and he must have the last word. “You want it then? Take off your panties.” He crosses to the couch and tosses a cushion to the floor. “Kneel.”

  I remember what he said about the toys, about not needing them. I realize now that he was entirely serious. He’s going to turn me inside out with only himself.

  I don’t take my eyes off him as I pull off my panties—already soaked—and kneel on the pillow. This excites him, my complete and utter focus. I can tell from the way his breathing begins to hitch, his lungs working overtime. It excites me too.

  The cushion is too big for this, and I roll a bit as I find a position. Mark is there instantly, steadying me.

  “Okay?”

  I nod and cross my hands in front of me. “Like this.”

  “Don’t pose,” he says. “It’s not like that. Just look out the windows.”

  Not like that? Then what is it?

  I look out the windows obediently. The view is still as lovely as ever. It’s the kind of thing your eyes would never grow tired of.

  Mark crouches behind me then. I can’t see him, but I sense his posture, hear that his knees haven’t touched the floor, but his heat and power are coiled around me, almost touching me. I start to turn my head to look—

  “Straight ahead.” It’s not a command, but he means to be obeyed. “Trust me.”

  That last isn’t a command at all—there’s softness under his steel. The softness makes me melt. I look ahead and lean back, just enough to brush against him.

  His sigh is sharp with pleasure, and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. His chest is broad, and I can feel the slabs of muscle tight against my shoulders. Before me, the bay glitters in the velvet dark.

  “You feel so good.” He presses his face into my hair. “And smell so good.” The hand on my waist slips lower, dipping into my folds. “Here too. Here you smell best of all.”

  The delicious compliment washes over me, but the delight barely fades before Mark starts to explore my pussy, reacquainting himself with all the sensitive spots he found the night before.

  He’s one quick learner, because with only a few flicks of his fingers, I’m reduced to panting, rubbing myself against his hand as his arm anchors me at the waist.

  “Look at you, fucking yourself against my hand.” His words are filthy, but his tone is so warm I want to wrap myself in them. “Is this what you want? My fingers inside you, stretching you, rubbing that aching clit until you come all over my hand?”

  “Yes.” I’m practically sobbing, my fingernails sunk into his wrist as I hold on for dear life, pushing his hand deeper into me. “Please, please.”

  If I don’t come, I’m going to die. People say that all the time, but I really mean it. I can’t hold on to this much sensation. It’s going to pull me apart at the seams.

  “Hmm.” His hand slows, then comes to almost a complete stop except for the lightest strokes of my clit. He’s not letting me come, but he’s not letting me come down either, the monster. “I don’t think that will work. You want all the pleasure, don’t you?”

  He thrusts against my back, his erection sliding along my spine. I bite my lip hard, but the moan comes out anyway.

  “That’s what you want instead of my fingers, don’t you? My cock?” He thrusts again as he circles my clit.

  My pussy clenches; I’m close to orgasming only from this teasing.

  “You know I do.” I force that out through gritted teeth because I’m done with the foreplay. I need him—and yes, his cock—now.

  Through some kind of magical strength, he has me straddling him on the floor in only a few seconds. I barely have time to process he’s even moving before my thighs are spread, my hands braced on his shoulders, and his cock nestled in my folds.

  His naked cock. He’s still fully clothed, only his pants unfastened. Him being covered and me being nude somehow makes me feel insanely powerful, as if I’m the goddess here and he’s the mortal I’ve chosen to please me.

  “Condom,” he grunts, and again he performs some magic, the foil packet appearing in his hand. “So you don’t worry.”

  “Just hurry.” I rock my hips, urging him on. I could come simply from the feel of his pants against my thighs, I’m so wound up. But I want to come with him inside me, to wrest free all that pleasure he promised me.

  He doesn’t tease me this time. In fact, he finally seems as frantic as I am. That first thrust lifts my knees clear off the floor and fills me so completely every inch of me throbs. The second thrust is even wilder than the first.

  I can’t meet him in this frantic rhythm. I can only hold on and chase my own orgasm, which is coming on fast enough to have my eyes screwing closed. I can’t look right now; I can only feel.

  And feel I do. My body turns inside out as I climax, everything a sustained, throbbing spark.

  Mark comes with a harsh grunt, his body shuddering into mine.

  When I open m
y eyes, the picture window is directly in front of me, the scene as serene and splendid as ever. While I was having the orgasm of a lifetime, the bay simply kept on being dazzling. I suspect Mark has positioned us exactly so, since he was so insistent I look.

  We still haven’t fucked in a bed.

  And as he shifts under me, the fabric of his pants abrading my bared inner thighs, I realize I’ve never yet seen him naked.

  Chapter 11

  I’m in lust with Mark Taylor.

  I let my head fall back against the chair as those words roll through my mind. It’s three in the morning, and I can’t sleep, so it’s the perfect time to ponder such thoughts.

  Mark is still sleeping—I think, since I’m in the guest bedroom again and he’s not—so I’ve crept into his office with my laptop, intending to do some work. If I can’t sleep, I might as well make the most of it.

  Except that my laptop is closed and my mind is full of him.

  Lust is an interesting word. I’m in lust is an even more interesting phrase. It starts out almost sounding like I’m in love, then it takes a hard, hissing turn at the end. It’s not hearts meeting like you thought it would be; it’s bodies slapping together.

  Or maybe it’s bodies and desires meeting. Carnal, yes, but not crude. There is no romance, but it is intensely felt.

  I close my eyes and run my hands down my torso, skim them over my breasts and belly, curl them caressingly around my neck. It’s not even close to Mark’s touch, but I need something. I’ve become an addict for him after only two nights.

  Outside, the neighborhood is almost eerily quiet. I thought my place in the Outer Sunset was pretty calm, but now I’m particularly aware of how often cars and people go down my street, even in the middle of the night. Nothing moves outside here, as if even the cars don’t dare disturb a billionaire’s rest.

  I should be getting the most restful sleep I’ve had since I moved to the city, but I suppose now that I’m used to noise, the quiet keeps me awake.

  Or maybe it’s awareness of him just down the hall. Or at least I assume so. I haven’t yet seen his room.

  I feel a bit like Belle in Beauty and the Beast when she’s tempted to search the forbidden wing of the castle. Mark might roar at me, but my curiosity is a powerful thing.

  What’s his room like? What’s he hiding in there? Is he even in there? If I find his room empty, would I have the bravery to search it?

  But all those questions will remain unanswered tonight. Whatever we have, it’s not a relationship and it wouldn’t survive my invading his privacy. I know that without having to test it.

  So instead I sigh and open up my laptop. My email program tells me I have almost two hundred emails waiting for me, and my Slack channel tells me I have God knows how many messages waiting. Hopefully it’s just the ladies of Ultra quoting movies at each other rather than anything serious. Sometimes—often, actually—our work communications devolve into hilarity.

  I ignore all that. Work might be calling, but I want to take some time to recall why I’m doing all this.

  Once more, I open the files Grace sent to me. Only this time as I review them, I’m not thinking of how to stop Fuchs.

  I’m thinking of what to tell Mark. If I should trust him with this.

  This is a lonely fight I’ve chosen. I didn’t dare tell any of my team the real reason I started Ultra. Besides Grace, who is God knows where, I’m the sole holder of this massive secret.

  I want to share some of this burden, but I’m not even certain if I told Mark about all this that he’d even be concerned. Or maybe he’d be concerned but wouldn’t think it was his place to interfere.

  Mark and Fuchs are of the same breed—masters of this particular universe. Grace and I, on the other hand, are both cogs. Mark may be sleeping with me and showering me with gifts, but that doesn’t change our fundamental places in this ecosystem. Fuchs remains his natural ally.

  I want Mark to be my ally though. I want someone to finally trust in all this, someone with the strength to fight Fuchs on his ground. If Mark was on my side, everything would be so much easier. Mark can talk to people I can’t, twist arms that I wouldn’t dare to touch. And Fuchs would be afraid of him.

  Those considerations are tempting. If it were only me in danger here, they’d be enough to convince me to trust Mark.

  But there’s still Grace, out there somewhere, putting herself on the line to pass this to me.

  Grace, where are you? Are you okay?

  Of course there’s no answer. I close all the files, sighing as I do. It’s time to take the risk I’ve been trying to avoid. But Grace’s been silent too long, and I need to know she’s okay.

  I drag a program I’ve been working on into the shared secure file. It’s a simple messaging app, basically a stripped-down text messenger but encrypted up the wazoo. If my testing is correct—and I’m pretty sure it is—Fuchs won’t be able to read the messages even if he can intercept them. Grace herself will have to enter the code to unscramble them. I hope I’ve made the code obvious enough for her to figure out.

  The app itself looks completely innocuous. I’ve disguised it as a Mandarin-English dictionary. The graphics are crude, like something thrown together for a quick buck. Not at all like a supersecret messaging system. In my head, I’ve been calling it “tin can on a string.”

  If she’s caught communicating with me, she could be in big trouble. But she’s already left me the files; I’ll leave it up to her to decide if using the app is worth the risk. I close the shared file, praying Grace finds it soon and can install it. I don’t dare leave any instructions in case she’s caught accessing the secure shared file.

  I close my laptop, my nerves sparking like downed power lines. I haven’t done anything wrong, at least not technically, but the sense of sick guilt, like Fuchs is waiting around the corner to pounce on us, is horribly powerful.

  When the light snaps on in the office, my heart leaps out of my skin.

  Mark is there in the doorway, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Holy hell, I wasn’t wrong about the hours in the gym. His biceps, shoulders, and pecs are like art, and his abs… Is there something beyond art? Maybe miraculous? With the hair dusting his skin, so smooth with a hint of a tan, potency practically shimmers off him.

  He looks so solid, so strong, that I want to launch myself into his arms. I want to beg him to be on my side, to help me fight this battle.

  Instead, I swallow down my anxiety. It burns my throat as I do.

  “You okay?” he asks. His voice is rough, his eyes heavy. He must have just woken up. It’s a good look on him.

  I thank God I shut the laptop already. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how sometimes you get ideas and they won’t leave you alone?”

  “Yeah. Except it hasn’t happened to me in a while.”

  I lean over the desk, wishing he would come closer. “Do you still wish you were coding? Or is that too lowly for you now?”

  As if hearing my secret wishes, he comes over, pulls me out of the chair, then sits down, this time with me in his lap. His skin is hot, rough with hair, and he smells… I’ll forever call that particular scent “Sleepy Mark.” It’ll haunt my dreams after this.

  “There’s no point in my coding anymore.” He runs his nose down my neck, teasing me with the possibility of a kiss. “I’m too rich to waste the time.”

  My first instinct is to tweak him, but he sounds so sad I hold back. “I would think you’d be too rich to not do whatever you want.”

  “It’s a funny thing about being wealthy”—this time his lips find my skin, and I shiver even though I’m burning up—“you find that a shit ton of your time is spent managing your money or adding to it. Like a treadmill that won’t stop.”

  I tip my head to the side, encouraging him to keep going. “You can always get off the treadmill. If you want.”

  I don’t know why I’m pushing him like this. Being the master of the tech universe suits him. Except… there’s that thread of
sadness in him. It pulls at me.

  “Are you trying to get me to work for you?” He’s amused, but it’s muted. “I don’t come cheap.”

  Costs. Expenses. Money. That’s what it always seems to come down to between us. And no, I can’t afford him. This relationship will likely end up costing me more than I ever wanted it to, no matter how hard I try not to fall for him.

  “You always wanted to make things in college,” I say. “Do you make anything now?”

  “Money.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re very good at that.”

  He leans close to my ear. His breath tickles in the hottest way. “I’ll tell you a secret—once you have enough money, it just starts making itself.”

  “Like perpetual motion?”

  “Pretty much.” He’s found the most sensitive patch of skin between my ear and my neck, a place I didn’t even know existed, and he’s making that skin sing.

  “I don’t think I’d ever want to stop making things. Even if they’d only be for my own curiosity.”

  “When we sell Ultra to the highest bidder, you won’t have to. You can be a woman of leisure. Travel the world.”

  “Maybe I’ll become a VC.” I say that to hide how unsatisfying the other stuff sounds. I want my friend to be free. I want the world safe from Fuchs. Traveling the world seems selfish compared to those.

  Mark shakes his head. “You’d be miserable. There’re no puzzles to solve, no tricky circuits to design. Only twisting people’s arms over deals. And always chasing the next unicorn.”

  No, I wouldn’t like that. And the Mark I knew in college wouldn’t have either.

  But he’s clearly not the man he was in college. He’s more confident, more powerful, more dangerous.

  More attractive.

  I could say no to him then, but I definitely can’t now.

  Chapter 12

  I haven’t slept past four a.m. in years. Even on the weekends, I’m up and working as soon as my eyes open.

  In the tech world, that’s a feature, not a bug. Sleep is for the weak. Insomnia is a life hack.