Possess (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 1) (5 page)

S
enna

T
his situation was becoming intolerable
.

Maxim hadn’t uttered a word to me in days, and I was quickly losing my cool. I missed him, wanted to talk to him, but he was having none of it. He’d shut me out, pretended as though I wasn’t even here. He’d never done that before, ever, and I hated it. I didn’t have a right to expect anything from him, let alone demand it, but I couldn’t handle this icy, silent distance.

Maybe it was time to force the issue. I stood and walked down the stairs, thinking of some reason to talk to him as I went.

When I got downstairs, the heavy wood door to Maxim’s office opened, and a woman came out.

I froze, the urgency that had driven me down toward him leaving my mind instantly as I watched her.

Tall, probably six feet in her heels, slim ankles, her short skirt covering, but only barely, mile-long legs, expensive black dress—cocktail attire that wasn’t appropriate for the afternoon—clinging to perfectly shaped hips, the deep V at her neck showing off her small, pert breasts.

I lifted my gaze up to ruby-red lips that seemed natural, though I could see she wore lipstick. I looked up farther to her rich, brown eyes, perfect cheekbones, dark brown hair that was pulled back in an elegant bun.

She was icy, put-together perfection.

Maxim’s type.

The complete opposite of me.

My chest twisted tightly, painfully at that realization, and an emotion much like envy began to churn in my stomach. I so seldom thought of myself in relation to the women I sometimes caught fleeting glimpses of. Never really thought of myself as a woman. I realized then, I wasn’t, not really.

Maxim liked me enough, I supposed, probably felt sorry for me, but what he felt for me was nothing like he felt for her. He felt nothing like the desire I did, didn’t want me like I wanted him.

The woman gave me a knowing smile and then glided toward the elevator, every step perfect, every click of her heel against the floor only further underscoring my own inadequacy.

I turned, watched her as she stood in the elevator. As I watched her, I mentally assessed myself, thought of the leather sandals, knee-length denim shorts, and loose scooped-neck T-shirt that I wore.

Thought of the body that was inside of them.

Legs long, especially given how short I was, but sturdy and not thin, hips far too wide, cleavage for days, but breasts not perky, pert like hers had been.

An average thirtysomething woman. My chest clenched again with the stupidity of the thoughts I sometimes let myself think, the ones that guided my hands over my body as I pretended they were his.

My disgust with myself was palpable, and I had turned, intent on going back to my room, but stopped myself.

Seeing him now would be good. I’d be able to see the satisfaction in his eyes, know who had put it there, and know more than ever that it would never be me.

Ten years should have been enough. I didn’t know if I’d ever understand what Maxim and I were, but by now, I should know what we were
not.
If he’d wanted me, he would have acted.

He hadn’t, so he didn’t. I needed to accept that, get the stupid thoughts out of my head that still made me hope otherwise.

I moved toward his office, feeling lower than the ground but resolved. I needed to see him, needed to be reminded, no matter how much it might hurt in the moment.

I knocked softly and then opened the door after he’d said enter.

When I glimpsed him, my heart, which had been in my stomach, dropped even lower.

He sat behind his desk, face icy, distant, but his eyes on me. He wasn’t beautiful, but he was perfection, strong, controlled, commanding.

Everything I wanted.

Everything I could never have.

Some of that hurt I felt hardened in my stomach, didn’t exactly become anger, but it did add a charge, a wildness that I didn’t usually feel.

“What are you doing standing there, Senna?” he asked.

Having him ask me that, knowing who’d just left, hardened even more of that hurt. I lifted my gaze to his face, saw his expression was stoic, almost blank like always.

Still, I searched it for some sign of difference in him, something that told me anything. Had he enjoyed her? Had he, for even a second, thought of me?

I saw nothing, and that absence sent me spiraling over the edge of reason.

“Your visitor? Was that business?” I said, voice low, tight with anger I tried not to show him, hurt I’d sworn I would
never
show him. That anger, that jealousy, was mine to carry, and my pride stung at the idea of Maxim knowing about it. But despite my best efforts, my emotion was apparent.

To the undiscerning eye, it would have looked like Maxim had no reaction to my question. But my eye was discerning, and I had spent a great deal of my life studying him. So I saw the change, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way he momentarily thinned his lips, the way his jaw twitched. Only once, but once was enough. He was irritated. At my question or the emotion with which I’d asked it, I wasn’t sure.

“Asking questions about my business, Senna?” he said after he’d regained his composure.

I, however, had not regained mine.

“Is that what you call it?” I said, feeling reckless now as my gaze locked with his.

“Something on your mind, Senna?” he asked, his voice dripping with menace and warning.

I didn’t care.

“I know what you do with them,” I said.

“You know what I do with them?” he said, mimicking my words, giving me an opportunity to walk them back, an opportunity to let this go.

No chance that was happening now. I nodded, anger that had exploded full force making it impossible for me to stay quiet.

“Yeah. I do,” I said.

To my own ears my voice sounded malignant with anger, anger that was unjustified, indefensible, and more intense than almost any I had ever felt.

“Tell me, Senna. What do I do with them?” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly for less than a split second, but his face almost instantly returning to its falsely placid default expression.

I narrowed my eyes at him, saw the slightest change in his expression. I had his complete attention now, and I could see he was curious as to how this would play out.

That was Maxim, always curious, always wondering, but rarely—never—giving anything away. That enraged me further. Why was I at the mercy of emotions I shouldn’t even feel while he got to stay distant, detached?

On any other day I would have tried to excuse my behavior, tried to smooth my momentary lapse over and go back to pretending.

Today wasn’t any other day.

I couldn’t say why, and I had no clue what the consequences might be, but I was feeling brave, stupid with my anger. So I didn’t walk the words back, didn’t try to smooth them over.

I answered.

“She was one of your whores. You fuck them,” I said, proud when my voice barely cracked over the word “fuck.”

Maxim glared at me, his icy stare enough to make anyone cower. I was in no mood to cower, and for once, I didn’t care about his displeasure. He waited, no doubt expecting me to apologize for my language.

He’d be waiting for a very long time.

“I fuck them?” he finally said, his voice deep with his displeasure, his eyes dark with the same.

I nodded, not in any mood to speak.

“How do you know?” he asked, his eyes darkening further, his expression dropping into a foreboding frown.

I swallowed, frowned, and then, finally, spoke. “I saw you once.”

He leaned forward, the curiosity overtaking his anger. “What did you see?” he asked.

I tilted my head toward his desk. “She was there, in front of you. On her knees.”

The words came out jerky with anger I wanted him to see, desire I didn’t.

“And you stayed? Watched?” he said.

I nodded, watching his expression for some sign of a change. I saw it too, a slight deepening of his eyes unlike any I’d seen before.

“What did you think when you saw that, Senna?” he asked, his voice grating out of his throat roughly.

I locked eyes with him, watched the darkness there get deeper, and decided in that moment to tell him the truth, consequences be damned.

“I wished I was her.”

M
axim

S
enna’s words
rang in my head, and I searched her eyes for some sign that she hadn’t meant them.

She had.

She stared at me rigidly, standing tall, daring me without words to contradict her.

I couldn’t contradict her, couldn’t do anything but try to keep tight hold on the control that was slipping, could do nothing but try to fight the need for her that had my cock solid.

I’d always attempted to be discreet, had not wanted her to see those things, and had convinced myself she hadn’t. Over the years, those visits had become less and less frequent. It had been more than three years since the last, and I’d only called for one today as a last-ditch attempt to burn off some of the energy that had me on edge and threatened my resolve not to go to her.

One look at the woman, and I’d sent her away because I hadn’t been able to bring myself to touch her. The woman had been beautiful, but she’d stirred nothing in me, hadn’t been able to raise a fraction of the desire that a single thought of Senna could.

I’d chalked it up to exhaustion, irritation at the situation with Santo, but looking at Senna now, I knew that was a lie.

Because when I looked at my little flower, I wasn’t thinking of Santo, the Syndicate, anything but Senna, how much I wanted her.

“Come here,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head stubbornly, but she walked toward me, and as she moved, I drank her in greedily, looking at her through new eyes.

No. Not new. I had trained myself not to look at her too closely, knew that my need might show through, the greedy desire for her might be seen, might be more than my own secret.

But though I’d never shown it, the wanting had always been there, and for the first time, through her anger, I saw some of what I felt in her eyes.

Eyes locked with mine, she walked until she stood in front of me, her knee barely brushing mine. I looked up her lush body, my palms burning with the need to touch her, until I met her eyes. Though I was seated, I was almost as tall as her.

“Why did you wish you were her?” I asked a moment later, my voice rough-edged with need. It didn’t tremble, but there was no hiding my desire for her.

Senna blinked, some of her anger softening to be replaced with shyness. But she continued.

“Because I wanted to…” She trailed off.

“Wanted to what?” I asked, keeping my gaze on hers, not allowing her to look away.

She swallowed, the motion drawing my eyes to the long column of her neck, her brown skin soft-looking, smooth, and beckoning me to kiss it.

I stayed still.

“Answer,” I said when she remained quiet.

“I wanted to do that with you, feel you against my lips, in my mouth, to taste you,” she said.

She’d struggled to get the words out, and I saw that her bravado had faded, saw her embarrassment increase. But more than anything, I saw her longing, understood it because it was so much like my own.

“Get on your knees, Senna,” I said.

She didn’t look stunned, and instead lifted her hands to rest them on my thighs. Her palms were hot against my skin, even through my pants, almost searing.

This should have been a simple thing, her touching me. She had before, countless times, something that was understandable given the time we’d spent together.

But never like this.

This touch was different, and I knew this moment would change everything.

And I was powerless to do anything to stop it.

When she was on her knees in front of me, my thighs bracketing her chest, I reached up, stroked my fingers across her cheek, her lips, pictured them opening to take my cock.

“You are here now where she was. What will you do?” I asked. I knew what I wanted, but what I wanted was secondary. This moment was entirely hers.

She glanced up at me through hooded lashes, her expression tight, intense, her brow crinkled. A breath passed, another, and then she began to move, sliding her hands slowly up my thighs, her palms gliding over the fabric of my pants.

My dick was hard, growing harder the closer she got.

When she reached the hard ridge, she slowed to a stop and then, a moment later, she brushed her fingers across, lazily at first but then a little faster.

I heard her sharp inhale, saw the way her breaths began to come a little bit faster, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what she would do.

She desired me.

Yes, she’d told me that, but I’d ignored her, instead relying on my own perceptions, which had failed me, at least in this. I hadn’t seen it before, but I saw it clearly now. But that desire didn’t tell me what she would do.

For long, torturous seconds, her fingers barely grazing my cock through my pants, I wondered if she might stop.

A moment later, though, she seemed to reach a decision and I saw her breathe deeper as she touched me again, increasing the pressure of her fingers against me. She brought her hands together and then touched me experimentally, growing bolder with each passing moment.

I clenched my hands tight on the arms of my chair, fighting back the urge to take over, desperate for her, but wanting to let her set the pace.

She reached for my belt buckle and then paused, her fingers frozen there as she looked up into my eyes.

The sight of Senna on her knees, hands on my belt, eyes full of passion, was my undoing.

I nodded tightly, and she began again, opening my belt with a mixture of deftness and nerves that made my cock harden to solid steel. After she’d opened my belt and pants, she reached in tentatively.

When her warm fingers touched my skin, I inhaled sharply and clenched the chair tighter. I kept myself still, though, as she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and then tenderly lifted my cock and balls from my pants.

She let out a deep sigh when she looked at my naked skin, but she only paused for a moment and then continued on, touching me tentatively at first and then with increasing boldness.

Her fingers against my skin made me shiver with pleasure, and I clenched the chair tighter but still didn’t touch her.

She cupped my sac with one hand and with the other, she explored my shaft, moving one finger along the pattern of veins that lined it and using her thumb to circle the crown and then stopping to gather the precum that leaked from my slit.

Her clumsy yet eager touch was the most sensual, arousing thing I’d ever experienced.

Or it was until she leaned forward slowly and pressed a kiss against my cockhead and then went lower and did the same with my sac, then the base of my cock.

I had to touch her, so I reached out, gripped her shoulders as she continued to place soft kisses here and there.

She traced her lips up the skin of my shaft and down and then back up again, over and over until I thought I might explode from the sensation.

When she slipped her tongue out to gather the precum that leaked from me, I couldn’t stay still any longer.

I moved my hands up her shoulders and gripped her head between my hands. “Look at me, Senna,” I said, my voice coming out tight.

She froze and lifted her eyes to mine.

The head of my cock rested against her soft lips, her deep breaths blowing against my skin. I stared at her for a moment and then I lifted my hips, pressing my cock against her mouth, a silent demand that she open.

She complied, and opened her lips slowly, taking me in as I pushed.

Eyes still locked with her, I fed her my cock. She couldn’t even take half of it, but half was enough.

The sensation of her tongue against my skin, the sight of her lips stretched tight around my shaft, had me teetering on the edge.

I pulled back, pushed in, did it again once, twice, but that was too much.

I started to come, the first splash of my seed hitting her tongue before I pulled myself from her mouth.

I reached out, found a handkerchief, and emptied myself into it, the climax intense, leaving me almost blind with its intensity.

When I was finally again aware of my surroundings, I looked down at Senna, saw how pleased she looked. Became aware of what I’d just done. Didn’t have the capacity to process that, process what it might mean.

I tucked my soft cock back into my pants and then stroked the side of her face.

“Go to bed, little flower,” I said.