Purr Scent I: The Meeting (Purr Billionaire BDSM Trio, #1) (5 page)

“Please,” she bit out.

He unwrapped a condom and sheathed himself. “Why, Ms. English major, I believe you've heard of something called a complete sentence.” He slammed his length into her tight cunt and pulled out slowly, feeling her core wrapping every millimeter of his precious nerve endings.

“God!”

“Wrong again.” He slammed her again and enjoyed the delicious squeeze of his retreat.

“Oh, shit!” She tugged taut on the restraints.

“Better. Two-word sentence.” He plunged in again and withdrew in agonizing ecstasy. Damn, he wanted to take her rough and fast. “But that's still half of what you need to say.”

“Please,” she relented. “Please fuck me, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he grunted and plunged into her the final time. Again and again he pounded into her pussy, short and sweet, long and hard, grinding against her clit with each advance. She was the perfect size.

“You were made for me, Mariah.”

She moaned with each thrust of his pelvis. So tight and sweet that he groaned. He wanted her thoroughly fucked and satiated, and he needed her to know exactly who was delivering this. “Eyes. On. Me.”

She flicked open her eyes at his command. The lust he'd seen before had turned into something mutual—something softer, deeper. Liquid gathered in her eyes.

“Come,” he growled, ploughing her to the hilt and slamming into her clit. “Give it to me. Now.”

She screamed; the sound of her release ricocheted off the walls. A blast of heat shot from his balls as she milked every drop of his cum into the receiving well of rubber. Collapsing onto her chest, he kissed away her tears.

“Mariah,” he breathed, one hand clutching her around the neck and the other near her low back. She was soft and fragrant, as limp as noodles—her walls completely stripped. Yes, this was the Mariah he had seen beyond the glossy pages of Entrepreneur Now. And he wanted this—
all
of this.
Her
. More.

After their heart rates evened, he eased out of her and discarded the condom. Releasing and pocketing her restraints, he massaged her wrists and ankles. She would probably have welts on the right side where the handcuffs had cut into her flesh when she pulled at the restraints. He hoped the silk in his tie was a little bit more forgiving. Then again, he did handcuff both hands before he took her all sprawled out.

He looked deep in her eyes again, the baby blues still shedding a tear or two. Cupping her neck with one hand and her butt cheek with the other, he carried her and sat her down on his lap again in the office chair. He didn't want to break the silence, fearing that the magic of the moment would disappear. She was trembling, he realized, from aftershocks still wracking through her.

He engulfed her in his arms and held her as she shook and shed the last of her tears. He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing the feel of her arms returning his affection. In his mind's eye, what came into crystal clear vision was the look she had in her eyes right before she came. That look—that deeper, softer look—was not the look of lust but one that conveyed affection. Yes, that was it. They both felt it.

“Mariah,” he said, his voice tender. Despite his reluctance to speak, her name rolled off his tongue like honey. “I don't want this to end. We've only just begun.” Releasing his embrace, he cupped her chin. “Open. Open for me.”

“Clark,” she croaked, her flustered face framed by mussed blond hair.

Sex Goddess.

“You can start with your mouth,” he grinned and lunged into a heart-pounding kiss.

M
ariah followed the flow of Clark's demanding tongue and lost herself in the intimate probing dance. The kiss gave her a welcome focus and grounded her, making her feel less adrift. Their intense exchange before had left her raw and exposed and strangely...
safe
.

Safe? She had exploded under his care, losing all manner of reason and sensibility. Surely she was experiencing some miniature form of Stockholm's Syndrome.

Goosebumps rippled along her back in the wake of his stroking palms. Somewhere in the back of her head was reason. Perhaps even reason had abandoned her brain cells. She couldn't help but shiver.

Clark broke off the kiss. “Cold?”

“Yes,” she muttered to cover up the thoughts that had started to invade her mind.

He looked long and hard at her as she met his gaze in what she hoped would be a steady unbidden manner. What did he see in her anyway? Whatever he saw, after a moment, he lifted them both off the chair and set her down in it. Picking up her bra with just his shirt on, he said, “I'd like to dress you.”

“Okay,” she nodded, having nothing else to say. She gulped, her body limp—
spent
—with no bones left, no spine to straighten her up, and holy fucking shit! She'd never think of the Seattle Space Needle in the same way ever. He had already tainted that for her, too, in dominating her in the office—
her
office, which would never be the same either.

“Because if you dressed yourself,” he added, slipping the bra straps through her arms and securing the clasp, “I'd be lusting to undress you again.”

A small smile made its way to her lips. Yeah, he'd do that alright. Nothing seemed to stop this man in going after what he wanted, no matter what. The smile left her face. Did he really want her?
Do you need to ask?

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers gliding down both of her arms. “Flawless.”

Mariah gulped. Why was he treating her with such kindness? With his looks and the mad skills he had in bringing a woman to orgasm—not to mention the size of his wallet—he could have his choice of any woman.

He straightened up and retrieved a slim paper bag from his briefcase. In it was a new silk blouse. “The store didn't have a sleeveless white blouse in stock,” he said, “so I hope that this will suffice.”

When he held the fabric up to clothe her, she saw the collar and the short sleeves on the white blouse—both things that her retired blouse lacked. Given the circumstances, she didn't have a choice but to accept this concession. Goodbye to her sleeveless white V-neck blouse.

She slipped her arms through the sleeves and watched him button her up from the bottom up.

“Stand up,” he said.

The blouse hung loosely, one size too big on her.

“Not bad,” he murmured. “I don't want you looking too sexy with a snug shirt.”

Mariah cracked up. “So my shirt size was intentional?”

He shook his head. “I eyeballed it.” He cracked up then. “You're lucky it fits you as it does. You wouldn't want to exit the office somewhat topless.”

She shook her head this time. “You definitely premeditated this whole scenario, didn't you?”

“If anything is within my control, I spare no effort in exerting my authority.” He stepped closer with her skirt in hand. “I don't leave anything up to chance.”

When he held the skirt up for her, she cocked an eyebrow. “What about my panties?”

“They stay with me.”

“You've already got my handkerchief.” Heat rose to her cheeks.

“Yes,” he smirked. “I'm expanding my collection.”

“Even if it's limited edition?” she asked, thinking of her monogrammed handkerchief.

“
Especially
if it's limited edition,” he said, picking up on her thought.

She sighed and stepped into her skirt. He pulled it to her hips, zipped it up and secured the clasp. Standing before her, he planted a chaste kiss upon her lips.

“Your thigh highs look snag-free.” He retrieved another package from the slim paper bag. “I got replacements, just in case.”

Her mouth dropped as she eyed the thigh highs on her desk. She shouldn't be surprised that he knew what kind of stockings she wore. He had two years' advantage after all to notice her patterns. Actually, she had about that much time as well, but she didn't do what he did. “When are you going to stop stalking me?”

“Never.” A wicked smile played at his lips as he retrieved his pants from the floor.

She glanced up at him sharply. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you're mine to cherish and protect.” He secured his pants and laced his belt through the loops of his slacks.

She couldn't help but scoff. “This is just a one-time bang to scratch an itch. Don't act as if this is anything more than that.”

His voice grew cold, his face sidling into a sneer. “Is this what it is to you? A one-time bang?” He stopped at the buckle of his belt, grabbing it as if he were ready to whip it out again.

Mariah stepped back and bumped into the chair. “You can have your pick of women, Clark. Whatever you have for me is just a fascination or infatuation. Or at the most, an obsession.”

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, stepping away and turning his back to her.

“That's exactly what this was.”

He faced her again, stepping closer until she backed down onto the chair. “Is that really what you believe?' His hands balled into fists. “It's taking every ounce of my self-control not to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless again.”

“That's exactly what you got,” Mariah said. “Senseless. Now that I have some, it's time for you to leave.”

“No.” He caged her within the armchair. “I take my leave when I want to.”

“This is my office,” she said, her voice strangely steady even though somewhat trapped.

“And for your information, I fucked you to fuck some sense into you,” he said, his voice menacing.

“Goddammit!” She pushed him away. “You're not making sense!”

“You are a frustrating woman,” Clark grumbled, funning a hand through his hair.

“Well, then pick another woman who's less frustrating,” she said, leaning forward in her chair.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “There's only one Mariah Janiece Olsen.”

Taken aback by the use of her full name, Mariah sank back into the chair. All of her official documents only had her first and last name. “How did you know my middle name?”

“My secret.” A thin smile formed on his face.

“Are there no bounds to your invasions of privacy?” She'd had enough of this. Shooting a glance at the office phone, she gasped. She had fifteen minutes to make her three o'clock appointment. “You need to leave.”

He edged close to her. “Don't make me repeat myself.”

“Don't come any closer.” She snatched the receiver.

Just as quickly, he covered her hand with his and effectively kept the receiver in its cradle. “If you pick up that phone, it's to cancel your three o'clock, because we're going to arrive to a mutual understanding.”

She relinquished the hold on the receiver, and he took the opportunity to grab her hand and hold it to his lips. Heart beating fast, she realized there was no way Clark would let her out of the office without him being heard.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, brushing his lips across the back of her hand. “Do you?”

She shook her head. “You have a lot going for you, Clark.” She grimaced, then quoted her sprite friend Geneva's guy-speak, “Bazillions of dollars, mouth-watering jolly good looks and mad skills in the sack.” She shook her head again. “I'm sure many a woman would flock to your feet at beck and call, but I'm not the woman for you.”

“You don't get to determine that.” Vehemence laced his voice. “The only say you get is how you crave me as much as I crave you. You may have wit and charm but in this case your body knows better than your hard head does.”

She frowned. “
You're
the one with the hard head.”

He chuckled. “Trust the English major to go places in her head.”

She sighed, exhausted from the conversation and the slew of afternoon's events. “Okay, I get it. You want to stay in touch, is that right?”

“Yes, you're going to sign the contract and I'm going to move my headquarters to Seattle.”

Her mouth formed a grim line. “Is that all you want now, for this visit—a signed contract?”

He nodded.

“Fine, and then you'll take your leave? For now?” she hoped.

“Yes.”

“Deal.”

He retrieved the papers from his briefcase. “Here.”

The papers landed on her desk. She'd seen all of the paperwork in the board meeting, and the move made sense for both of their companies. If she hadn't been so distracted with his yummyness then, none of this would have happened. Then again, Clark didn't seem to be the kind of man to be deterred. He would've found something else to get his foot in her office, she was sure.

She noted the sign-here stickies and scribbled accordingly. “Anything else?”

Before he could speak, Charlotte's voice came on via intercom. “Ms. Olsen, Dr. Evergreen from Northwest Medical is on the line.”

Oh my god!
What was this about? She didn't recall a Dr. Evergreen. A sense of foreboding rippled down her spine. “Put the call through.”

“Ms. Olsen?” a deep voice asked.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“We have your mother here.”

Shit.
Why wasn't she at Virginia Mason or Swedish Medical, which were both closer to their condo in Broadmoor? Oh, yeah, it was Tuesday and her mother was probably on her way up to the senior center to volunteer at the free clinic. “What happened?” Mariah squeaked.

“It's best that we discuss this when you get here as soon as you can.”

Mariah's mouth went dry. “Doctor?”

The line went dead. Mariah stared at the phone. What could be so private that she'd have to show up in person to meet her mother and speak to the doctor?

“Want me to go with you?” Clark asked softly.

Mariah blinked, unaware that Clark had stayed in the room and was now fully dressed with tie and all. She licked her lips, but her tongue felt like sandpaper. “You've done enough for today,” she barked.

“You look like you've seen a ghost, Mariah.” His brows furrowed as he grabbed his briefcase. “I'm coming with you.”

“No! You are not!” She glared at him.

Charlotte's shrill voice broke through the intercom again. “Ms. Olsen, Mr. Simmons is here to see you.”

Shit!
“Charlotte, please cancel my appointment with him,” Mariah managed in a calm voice, “and convey my apologies for the short notice. I need to go to the hospital.”