STEEL: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 3) (20 page)

Chapter 10

They stared at each other quietly, and Kane finally raised the small cup to her full lips. She drank it deeply and Kane could almost feel the life being restored into her body. He held her closely to his body, the two of them shockingly intimate inside of his personal cabin. Kylie had been terrified, but she knew that he would come for her. It wasn't a question in her mind. The smell of his cabin filled her senses and made her hungry for more. She looked up into his eyes as the strength began to fill her body. A longing she had never before began to fill her, and Kane, returning her intense gaze, pursed his lips and gazed down at her, his body full of adrenaline and ready to move.

She sat up, relishing the feeling of his strong arms around her, and met his lips with hers. She moaned softly as the slick feeling of his tongue against hers sent a thrill throughout her. He lifted her on top of himself and she could feel the hard bulge between his thighs pushing intimately between her legs. She wondered briefly if he would look the same as human men down there and then had to laugh to herself again. The musical sound of her laughter roused Kane's attention and he quirked his eyebrow at her as if he could read her mind, which made her laugh harder.

The sound of her enjoying herself aroused him more, and he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, taking in the soft pale skin beneath. A soft sigh escaped her lips and he smiled sweetly at her before he took her breast in his mouth, sucking gently and eliciting a moan that drove him wild. Finally he slipped himself out of his clothes and stood naked in front of her, pulling her clothes off slowly, allowing her to take the time she needed to adjust to his touch.

Finally, she grabbed him by the waist, her legs parted and welcoming him between them. She was pleased to find that he was bigger than the men on earth, and the differences and similarities were both arousing. She gasped sharply as he made his way inside of her, and closed her eyes as he made love to her, taking the time no man on Earth had ever taken to appreciate her body and kiss everything about her that made her a unique creation in the universe.

The heat between them was undeniable, and soon she was enraptured in bliss. Her climax was immense and he gripped her hips as he buried himself deeper inside, allowing himself to be squeezed by her contractions until he couldn't take any more. His powerful orgasm erupted in an explosion that surprised them both with its sheer force, bringing her to another full climax as he held her firmly in place. Finally, they collapsed together, spent but craving one another's comfort.

Kane kissed her then, a sweet, tender kiss that she would remember for the rest of her life.

“Please don't leave me,” he whispered.

It was such a sweet, intimate thing to say. Something she would expect a woman to utter after sex, not this strong, unbelievably attractive man. The gentleness of his eyes melted her heart and she thought back to her life on earth. The only person she would miss was her brother.

“I don't know how I could,” she said. “We have a universe to save.”

And with that, they fell asleep together, drifting through space in the Legacy, each of them lost in dreams of another world.

THE END

Leela Ash

Copyright ©2015 by Leela Ash. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Thank you so much for your interest in my work!

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE: WALL STREET

CHAPTER TWO: THE OFFER

CHAPTER THREE: DAVID

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FIRST LESSON

CHAPTER FIVE: THE OFFERING

CHAPTER SIX: THE SECOND LESSON

CHAPTER SEVEN: A GIFT

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FINAL LESSON

CHAPTER ONE:
WALL STREET

It
was another day in the Wall Street boys club; a term I don't use lightly. The stock world is a testosterone driven arena where men assert their masculinity by driving through deals and collecting commissions. I guess with no more lions to kill or Spartans to battle they've gone from swords to the mobile devices they wave around like old west "shooting irons".

For those of us who were born without "Y" Chromosomes things are different. Men who push hard are deemed "tough businessmen", but when we do it we're called "bitches." We couldn't even expect support from the few women who had made it. They were too busy watching their own backs to worry about some lowly junior stockbroker in a skirt.

I was one of those junior brokers, cold calling potential clients, hoping to pull in enough commissions to make the one-year evaluation standards. Fifty percent of us would be cut loose after the first year. Seventy percent of those cut loose would be women.

I didn't deserve to be doing so much time at the lowest rung. I had graduated at the top of my class, with gleaming endorsements from my professors. But there had been one little slip up that continued to haunt me, I'll go into that later.

***

"Have you considered investing in stocks?" I said, using my best selling voice, "Currently we have a tremendous opportunity available…" but he cut me off in mid-sentence.

"Yeah, you can save that crap. I saw that Leonardo DiCaprio movie and I know all these stock calls are just scams. Don't call me again or I'll report you." And with that my latest potential meal ticket hung up.

I pulled my headset off and sat back. I’d been rejected probably fifty times that morning, and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet. One cold call, however, had stayed on the line. But I realized he was more interested in what I was wearing than in what I was selling. Maybe I should start a side business, a 976 number where you can sexually harass a marketer for ninety-nine cents a minute, I thought to myself. It would have meant a raise.

I glanced up in time to see my supervisor Jeff strutting by.

"What's up Stewart, you taking a coffee break? Come on, time is money," he said and continued on to torment the other junior brokers.

I graduated at the top of my class… and this is what it got me. 

At the eight-hour mark I headed home. Some of the juniors would stay on, cold calling during the dreaded "dinner hours" when customers were at their most resentful. I just didn't have it in me tonight.

I stepped out of the building and walked through the now empty financial district. It always amazed me how quickly Wall Street went from a swarming beehive in the morning to post-apocalyptic after six o'clock. Most of the boy's club had adjourned to the districts bars where they'd boast about their deal-making prowess and do bumps of coke in the men's room. Did you know most insider trading is just cocaine induced babbling by brokers? Sad but true.

I was coming up on the Fulton Street station when I spied a limousine cruising behind me. My first guess was a couple of drunken brokers out heckling women. The perfect end to a perfect day. The limo pulled ahead of me and stopped. The driver climbed out and stood waiting as I approached.

"Ms. Stewart?" He asked politely.

I took a moment to appraise the situation. There are two kinds of limo drivers. There are the frumpy rental limo guys struggling to appear classy in cheap ill-fitting suits. They usually have an accent from either Eastern Europe or the depths of Queens. This was the other kind, pressed, well-tailored and immaculate, someone who worked for only one discerning client. This guy stood straight and tall like a US Marine, which he probably had been at some point in the not too distant past.

"Yes I'm Rebecca Stewart. Can I help you?"

"My employer asked me to pick you up. He would like a meeting with you."

"And who is your employer?"

"Mr. Peter Drake, I believe you’re familiar with him."

"Peter Drake?" I replied in disbelief. Drake was probably the most successful businessman in America. He'd made billions, primarily as a "corporate raider", buying up businesses and then gutting them for their assets. Drake had diversified into electronics, aerospace and a myriad of other high-risk sectors, always earning a profit where others failed. I had written my college thesis about Drake, exploring the psychology that drove him to success. It was equal parts clinical analysis and schoolgirl crush. "Why would Peter Drake want to meet with me?"

The driver reached into his jacket and handed me a bound document. I stared at it for a moment in disbelief… it was my college thesis.

Without another word the driver opened the door and politely gestured for me to climb in.

CHAPTER TWO
: THE OFFER

Twenty
minutes later we arrived at
Drake International's
headquarters, a fifty story building on the Brooklyn side of the bridge. Some claimed Drake chose the location to take advantage of the burgeoning Brooklyn real estate market. Others say he just liked the view of Manhattan.

The driver escorted me through the still bustling lobby. Drake's various enterprises didn't keep to any traditional schedule.

We walked to a private elevator. The driver entered a key-code and stepped back.

"This will take you directly to Mr. Drake's private offices. I'll be waiting down here to drive you home."

My mind raced as I rode up to the fiftieth floor. Drake's private offices were legendary… in that so few had ever seen them. I've heard rumors that even heads of state were denied access.

The door opened, and I stepped into Drake's private domain. I'm not an art lover, but I instantly recognized works by Dali and Picasso decorating the foyer. Handmade bookshelves lined the walls. I studied the shelves as I passed, surprised to find priceless first editions alongside battered Raymond Chandler paperbacks. Obviously Mr. Drake's books weren't just window dressing. 

The view through the full-length windows was stunning, showcasing the priceless beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge at sunset. Beyond it lay Manhattan in all its glory. I wondered how often Drake stood here looking out… master of all he surveyed.

"Weaker men meditate on the complexities of terms like moral, ethical and legal. But the true conqueror whether in business or government does not allow these terms to impede his actions. To him these are issues to be sorted out later."

I turned; shocked to hear my own words being quoted. Peter Drake stood fifteen feet away, hands folded behind his back, his blue eyes studying me.

"Your own words I believe?" He added, "I hope I didn't misquote them."

"No," I replied, trying to sound calm, "I think you got it exactly right, actually."

"Very insightful for such a young woman," He said, approaching me, "And quite unfashionable in the politically correct world of academia. Most people frown on my tactics, but you understand and embrace them."

Up close his eyes were even more clear and penetrating. There were flecks of gray creeping into his tousled brown hair, but from his strong features it would be impossible to guess his exact age. His suit was immaculate, carefully tailored to his lean body.

"Sadly I haven't had the chance to act on them given my job," I said. I instantly regretted mentioning my mere peasant status.

"True, your talents are being wasted in your current position."

I was nervous, not only was I meeting someone I idolized professionally, but I also found Drake incredibly attractive. I'm not ashamed to admit that after long days of researching him I had occasionally let my libido take charge after dark.

"You stated that to succeed in the world of business a person had to make moral sacrifices, and that the ends justified whatever means were required. Do you truly believe that?" His gaze never wavered as he spoke.

"Yes I do," I replied, "The corporations of today are on the scale of ancient empires, and all empires were built aggressively. Any short term damage done is overshadowed by the growth and prosperity that rises in its wake."

"I've studied you very carefully," He said, turning to the full-length window, "You're a fascinating, intelligent and very attractive young woman."

The attractive part struck me. Was this about sex? I didn't mind because truth be told, I'm a power groupie. For me Peter Drake was pretty much Jagger, Bowie and Morrison rolled into one.

"Thank you Mr. Drake,"

"Please, call me Peter. Rebecca are you uncomfortable about my mentioning how attractive you are?"

"No, not really," God, was he psychic or was I just too easy to read? "But I'd assume a man like you has his choice of hundreds of eager women."

"Yes, that's true, many women approach me offering sex or sex dressed up as love. Of course they all want something in return. They are willing, but have very clear boundaries. And where's the fun in that? It's only challenging when a woman doesn't know how far she's willing to go and is ready to test her limits."

If he wanted to shock me, it wasn't working. The more he spoke of limits, the more fascinated I became.

"Rebecca I've mentored many young women who have gone on to great careers. But to do that I must ensure that they share my passion and willingness. Once they prove that to me, I know they can succeed in the business arena." He turned and approached me again, his face inches from mine. "Do you want to succeed?"

"Yes I do," I replied with absolute certainty. He was so close I could have kissed him, but I suspected that would be too simple. The tension was palatable on both our parts. He leaned forward.

"I want you to take your panties off," He whispered, his lips brushing against my ear.

It may surprise some, but I barely hesitated. I was enthralled. Of course I was still human, and so nervously I raised my skirt up a bit, and lowered my panties to the floor, wishing I'd worn a nicer pair. I stepped out of them, but he showed no interest in picking them up.

He picked something up off a nearby shelf and placed it in my hand. It was a specimen cup.

"I need you to fill the cup, but please don't spill any on the floor. Persian rugs are difficult to clean," He said in a matter of fact tone.

He took a step back. I glanced around hoping he would point me towards a bathroom. No such luck. If this was a test I didn't intend to fail. I slipped the cup under my skirt, and took a few breaths. I felt a trickle start and was careful not to let it escalate. My hand shook a little. Imagine if my biggest opportunity in life vanished because I peed on the carpet like a scared puppy. After a few seconds I deftly removed the cup without spilling a drop. He held out his hand.

"Don't worry, I have no sexual interest in urine, but you have to be careful about diseases," He said, screwing the cap back on, "I'll have this checked for STD's tonight. Meet me here tomorrow at noon for our first lesson. We will have three lessons before you… graduate."

"I'll call my boss and tell him I'm sick."

Drake pulled a cell phone from his pocket, scrolled through the contacts and pressed dial. I stood there, wondering who he was calling.

"Mr. Becker, this is Peter Drake. Yes, it is actually me."

Becker was the CEO of the firm I worked for. The man didn't even know I existed.

Drake continued, "We met two years ago at the
G8 Conference
, you had just purchased a fifty foot
Viking Yacht
and were planning a world cruise. So you do remember? Good. I have one of your employees with me, Ms. Rebecca Stewart. I'll be requiring her consultation services for the next two weeks and would appreciate your cooperation. Does that work for you? Great, thank you very much… and I hope you realize what a tremendous asset she is to your firm. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and smiled, "You are officially excused from work. Even if our agreement doesn't pan out you'll certainly be getting a promotion."

He turned and walked off towards his private living area. " Tomorrow at noon. My driver will pick you up."

He vanished behind a pair of double doors, and, as if on cue, the elevator opened behind me.