Kept by Him (3 page)

The fact that she was naked on his lap and he was still dressed made her especially
eager to strip him. Her voice came out breathy. “Can I take your shirt off, Daniel?”

“Do whatever you want with me, Monica.”

As she frantically pushed it over his shoulders, he stopped touching her in order
to be able to jerk it off his arms. Monica’s heart almost stopped, her sex throbbing
emptily as a ball of need gathered at her throat.

She watched the sensual flex of his muscles when he tossed his shirt aside, and she
stared avidly at the elegant
BORN FREE
tattoo over his heart. She’d been staring dumbly at his spectacular chest when she
realized with a jolt of pleasure that he’d returned to what he’d previously been doing,
using his thumb to roll her clitoris in sensual little circles while a second finger
pressed into her pussy along with the first. She was blown over.

Her eyes widened over the sudden contraction of her entire body. Every muscle, just
like her sex, had seized; even her hands had gone motionless on his shoulders. Nothing
moved in her body except her galloping heart and those fingers inside her. In, out,
in, out. God. Those
fingers.

He never stopped watching her, his eyes missing nothing. His voice, deeper still,
elicited a fresh wave of heat between her thighs, as he said, “Do you like being touched
like this?”

“I … yes. It’s hard to think … of anything else.”

“Good, then I’m not as bad as they say I am,” he purred, his voice full of depth and
authority as he increased the thrusts of his fingers, caressing deep into her channel.
She moaned, and she barely realized it was she who made that sound.

Daniel was motionless, his thighs like iron beneath her, frighteningly tense as his
hands moved swiftly, powerfully, and she mewed softly and stroked her fingers along
his shoulders, his collarbone, his pecs, a fever breaking along her flesh. “Daniel?”
she asked uncertainly, as her body tensed in instinctive rejection of what was coming.

“I’ve got you, Monica. It’s all right. Have you climaxed by yourself before…?” he
asked, those intent green eyes still on her face, still watching her.

She nodded because she couldn’t even speak the “yes”.

“Then this will be just like it. Except it might take you even higher. Feel this spot
here…?” He pressed deeper, and somewhere inside her, almost against her stomach, jolted
her with pleasure. “That’s your G-spot. Do you like it when I touch you there?”

She almost bucked when he stroked again, shooting arrows of pleasure to her toes.
She held him like a lifeline as her hips swiveled to his hand, desperate for more,
for the release she could feel building, building, higher, higher. In the tiny part
of her mind that remained working she noticed his breathing had also changed, almost
matching hers. For a brief moment, she caught him staring down at her breasts, his
eyelids halfway as he surveyed the swells, before he lifted his eyes to hers.

He was inhaling roughly, his powerful chest rising and falling, and when he leaned
closer and his lips brushed her ear, his voice became the sexiest thing on the planet
to her. “Now I want you to think of how you feel with my fingers inside you. Think
of your breath, Monica, how fast it is.… Do you feel the way you’re rubbing your nipples
against my chest? Do they hurt?”

She noticed her nipples, hard as pencil erasers, poking against his chest, and a fresh
wave of desire rushed through her.

“You’re so wet and tight around my fingers, I bet those little nipples hurt. I bet
if I seized them and pinched, you’d like it. I bet when I roll my tongue over them—”

Her cry of bliss silenced him as she exploded with his seductive words in her ear,
his touch, his heat, convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her
while his fingers relentlessly pushed in deeper.

Even after the shudders subsided, she found herself still slightly rocking, not wanting
to stop, never wanting to stop, but having to when his fingers withdrew from her.
She fell still, and then an awareness of her surroundings gradually settled on her.

Her pussy felt sore and hot. Daniel was very quiet, breathing hard and fast beneath
her. She reached between their bodies and lightly stroked her fingers over his zipper,
caressing the impressive bulge she’d seemed to dampen with her juices. Tentatively,
she pressed her hand tighter against him and asked, “Do you want me to…”

“Jesus!” He came apart with that touch, convulsing beneath her, and Monica watched
him, shocked, instinctively grinding down with the heel of her palm as he jerked and
pumped against her.

The sight of his orgasm, his muscles bulging, his body bucking, his hips pushing to
her hand, his face contorted, eyes closed, sent a fresh new wetness between her thighs.
She didn’t think she could get aroused again after the orgasm she’d had, but she did.
Too much.

Her nipples jutted, her body still hungry. Hungry for another cataclysm like the one
he’d given her. But … could men do so many in a row? She’d never watched any want
her so soon. It usually took them days to recover.

Suddenly, Daniel pulled her against him and nuzzled her as he struggled for breath.
“Tell me I didn’t just go off in your hand,” he murmured.

The reminder made a fresh wave of heat crash over her. Of him coming like that, his
big body overtaken.… The mental replay caused a tightening deep in her abdominal wall.

This was too much involvement for her brain.

The sight of him coming would be permanently embedded in her brain now.

She already wanted to go back to her apartment and to bed, where she wanted to relive
it just one more time. Or two.

God, this was too exciting. But then this was why Roland had been such a perfect man
for her. He was a great man, used to the same kind of lifestyle as she was, but Monica
would never be wildly in love with him. He would never really know her vulnerable
parts, he would never hurt her to the point of driving her mad like her parents had
driven themselves to death.

Searching for the remains of her strength after that mind-boggling orgasm, she knew
Daniel wasn’t a man to hand-hold, and if she stayed, he’d want more. She couldn’t
handle any more. These strange throbs in her body were completely alien and discomforting
to her—and they were shockingly intensifying every second she remained on his lap.

She had to go.

Hating to leave the safe little nook in his arms, she looked into his eyes, her lips
curling. “I think that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” she said honestly,
feeling a strange heat flow to her cheeks.

He laughed and swatted her butt as she untangled herself and went for her dress, then
she called a cab from her cell phone, issuing out his address. She clicked off her
phone and noticed he had not taken his eyes off her, and she still needed to put her
dress on. “Mmm. I could fly home now, I think.” She smiled, shimmying back into her
Vera Wang number, and he leaned back on the sofa, his eyes hooded.

“Seems to me the only lousy thing about you is your taste in men. You’re a little
vixen to get a man with my record to … lose it like you just did. I’m not too happy
about myself right now,” he said.

She laughed, wondering if he truly meant it or merely wanted to appease her ego.

He’d always been protective of her. Especially after what happened with her parents.
When he went to change his clothes, Monica received an alert that the cab was outside,
and she wrote him a text that read:
Thanks. I needed that. MD

On her way home, she stared out the window at the twinkling city lights, feeling like
the entire weight of Chicago had been lifted off her shoulders.

And was now sitting strangely in her throbbing, still-wet sex.

Chapter Two

Daniel hit the gym with particular relish the next day. He was sleepless, grumpy;
every muscle in his body was tight with tension as he rammed his duffel into his locker
and hung his suit on the hook inside the door. His cock hurt, his chest hurt, his
fucking pride hurt.

He needed to kick the shit out of himself, and might even need a good run after his
swim. He was so fucking wound up, he couldn’t imagine going to Tritech, sitting in
his fucking CEO chair, in this fucking state. Tritech was a massive conglomerate headquartered
in Chicago, which controlled a diverse range of businesses from pharmaceuticals to
tech innovations and electronics.

A typical day in Tritech was busy as hell, including meetings with the board, his
chiefs of operations, and managers. A company Tritech’s size was either in expansion
mode, or contraction—and Daniel always tried to make sure it was the former. But it
would be pretty damn hard to keep his head in the game when every muscle in his body
was wound as tight as a coiled spring.

He glanced around, grateful he was alone. A group of billionaires reserved exclusivity
in the premises, an hour in the morning, another in the evening, so he was thankfully
solo as he hopped into his swim trunks before training in the Olympic-sized pool today.

“Rough night?”

Daniel raised his head to find Luke Preston grinning. He was in running gear, his
diamond studs glinting. “I saw you leave with the Ice Maiden last night,” he said.

Daniel’s chest tightened. Monica.

Daniel’s and Monica’s parents had been close. Too close. They’d grown up together,
even went to Cannes and St. Moritz together. Monica could’ve been another sister to
him and yet, he’d never seen her like a sister. She’d been … Monica.

Completely unique to Daniel.

Not compartmentalized into a sexual partner, a sister, a friend, she seemed to be
the entire gray area of his life … somehow blending into every aspect, but never fully
there. But last night he’d had his fingers in her pussy. Holy God.

He slammed his locker door shut. “Yeah. So.”

“Peyton said she’d never actually seen Monica Davenport drool. She was looking at
you, dude.”

Because she wants me to be her fuck buddy,
he thought in annoyance.

“I can’t see why you haven’t slept with that woman,” Luke said.

“Because we’re friends.” His instinct to protect her was too great to tell anyone
about last night.

“So?” Luke prompted.

“You’re my friend, Luke. Do you see me trying to get in bed with you?”

“Ignoring the fact that I hail from Mars, dude, I happen to be
male.
”

“I don’t want Monica like that,” Daniel lied.

But his chest cramped painfully once again as he remembered the way she’d looked last
night at the ballroom. God, she was as stunning as a star. Monica had always appealed
to his protective side. Hell, to
all
of his sides. But last night, the sight of her walking into the party without anyone
attached to her had filled Daniel’s roiling chest with unexpected relief.

She’d been dressed impeccably in an ivory gown that only enhanced the lovely sable
shade of her hair, and she’d worn it drawn in a classic bun to reveal her patrician
features. Her skin had been as flawless as the large and precisely round ivory pearls
she wore on her ears. There had been nothing about her—there never was—that was out
of place. The Ice Maiden, the press called her.

But she was never cold with
him.

All during the night, Daniel had replayed the way she’d walked inside and looked straight
at him as though he were the apple of her eye. The warmth in her gaze when she saw
him would have alerted to anyone looking that there was more to this woman than ice.
But that smile, that warmth, was only for him.

Even now, he could still feel the delighted shock of her hand slipping into the crook
of his arm. His entire system had zapped in recognition when he heard her light, airy,
“Hey, you…”

Just that small touch of her hand had made him want to pull her closer. At five foot
seven, Monica was not a petite woman, but compared to Daniel’s six foot three, she
was fragile and delicate.

Rarely did either of them venture out alone to these sorts of black-tie events. It
caused too much speculation, and having someone on your arm always made the evening
more bearable. But she’d been alone, like him, and suddenly it had felt predestined
as they kept searching each other out across the room. Daniel had barely been able
to take his eyes off her.

Ever since she’d grown up, his cock didn’t seem to be getting the message that she
was a friend. Still. She was his only female friend and as valuable to him as his
male friends. Hell, as valuable as Chloe, his sister. She was smart and poised and
as hardworking as anyone he’d ever met, and during those times growing up, when things
had gotten hard for the Ice Maiden, a strange trust had been forged between Daniel
and Monica.

T
HE
I
CE
M
AIDEN
C
RACKS IN THE
A
RMS OF THE
P
RINCE!

The press had had a field day with that headline. Monica had been in the eye of the
storm when her parents’ divorce became the ugliest divorce in worldwide history. Even
worse than any Hollywood movies had ever depicted such dramas, they’d ended up killing
themselves, leaving Monica at barely eighteen to have to testify as a witness in court.
The War of the Roses
had nothing on the Davenports’ famed divorce.

She hadn’t batted an eyelash saying how she found them … when … what they’d shouted
at each other …

Daniel still got chills remembering. Monica hadn’t wept. Hadn’t broken. Not while
the jury saw. The press had been stunned, and the Ice Maiden had emerged, Monica’s
poise exceeding even that of British royalty.

But the press didn’t know Monica had been unable to go back to her home and had been
staying with the Lexingtons for several weeks as she got a new place ready. They didn’t
know how every night before the hearing she would slip into bed and cry softly into
her pillow. They didn’t know how Daniel could hear from his own room, and he’d quietly
go to her, slide into bed beside her, and let her cry on him.