Break Me Page 4

  I sit back, my eyes meeting his. “Morality is always important. I value high morals. A lot. I also value trust. Do you value trust, Craig?”

  He takes a sip of his Bordeaux. “Absolutely. Trust is something I always try to instill in my life.”

  His answers sound rehearsed, but who am I to judge?

  “What about you, Pollux? What else do you value?” Craig asks.

  I stare at Katy. Her thigh brushes against mine, and I reach down and graze my thumb along it. “Long legs.”

  This makes Craig laugh. “Yes. Those are always valuable.”

  Katy’s glares at me for a moment before returning her attention back to Gabi.

  Craig leans closer to me and shoots a glance over at a waitress passing by.

  “I bet she's got great legs,” he whispers.

  I glimpse at the young blonde. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Nice and tight, I'm sure.”

  How bold of him. With his wife, not even a few feet away.

  It makes me feel awkward as he continues to ogle the girl.

  Gabi addresses the table, “I’m so glad Katy has met such a nice, well-rounded man.” She beams as the words leave her mouth.

  I nod as Katy answers, “Me too. Pollux is great.”

  And that’s all I get. Great. Not charming. Not sensational in bed. Just great.

  We finish eating, and as we exit the restaurant Craig mentions he forgot his phone.

  He heads back inside, and I watch him talk to the waitress he was impressed with earlier.

  “Find your phone?” I ask Craig when he returns.

  “Yes, it was right there on the table.”

  I smile. “It's a good thing you went back. Would hate for you to miss out on any tight opportunities.”

  He lifts his brow, eyeing me for a moment.

  “Have a great afternoon,” I cut in.

  We shake hands, and his lips thin into a half-smile.

  And as I kiss Katy goodbye, my eyes focus in the direction of Craig and Gabi. They hug, and she hails a cab as he strolls across the street to enter the Masters building.

  I grab my phone when I'm far enough away.

  “This is getting hard,” I say to Charlie when he answers.

  Charlie is my right-hand man, but more than that, he's a close friend.

  “You're getting so close. Just remember why you're doing this.”

  “Ok, send me over the report of what you found.”

  “Will do,” he says, and I disconnect the call.

  Remember why I'm doing this.

  I grab at the rosary around my neck, running my fingers over the cross at the end. I’ll never forget why I'm doing this.

  Later in the evening, the party passes by in a blur. I’m introduced to a bunch of people whose names I’ll never remember. If you want to know the truth, I’m not really trying to memorize them either. Once I acquire this company it won’t matter.

  I smile and nod, with my hand on the small of Katy’s back, pretending I care.

  She grabs flute after flute of champagne, and I finally stop her after her fifth glass.

  Making idle chit chat with a few key people Katy mentions, I realize they bore the hell out of me, and I want to get out of here.

  “My sister is an architect,” Marilyn Cooper brags. “She helped design the Wakefield Arts Building on Broadway.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” I tell her. “If you’ll excuse me.” I don’t want to engage in talk about her sister. Who cares. Your sister has a great life and made something of herself. Big deal. Mine would have too.

  We say a few goodbyes once Katy complains she’s tired.

  “I’m a bit lightheaded from all the bubbly,” she whispers in my ear as I help her into a cab.

  “I’ve got you.”

  “Where to?” the bearded cab driver barks.

  “Katy?”

  She’s passed out, in my lap. I rattle off to head to the Plaza and lean my head back. Fuck.

  Once we arrive to my penthouse suite, I help a sleeping Katy in and set her on the overstuffed sofa.

  And because she looks sweaty and not her best, I move over to the marble wet bar and dampen a cloth to put on her forehead. This is one of those times where if she asked how she looked, I'd be expected to lie. Not that she's anything less than gorgeous. But, yeah. She’s out and doesn't move as I swipe the cool towel across her forehead.

  I yank off my bowtie and toss it along the marble counter. This isn’t the way tonight was supposed to end. Running my hand through my hair, I blow out a deep breath.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I step out onto the moonlit back terrace to answer Charlie’s call.

  “How’s it going?” he asks without a hello.

  “It’s going good.”

  “Good? We should be moving on the next phase of the plan.”

  “I ran into a snag.” I glance at Katy sprawled out on the couch.

  “Please tell me this snag doesn’t involve a woman,” he says. I’m sure his nostrils are flaring, and he’s running a hand through his wavy blond hair. He reminds me of a bull when he's agitated.

  “Well…”

  Before I can finish he cuts me off, “Dammit, you need to focus. Don’t get distracted by a woman.”

  He’s right. Why am I even bothering? I need to forget about her and get on with my goal.

  “She’s my in. I’ve met all the board members, and I met him. Talked to him and everything.”

  “You’re playing with fire. Just keep your head in the game.”

  “I don’t need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. Remember who you work for.”

  “Sorry,” he pauses, then continues, “I sent you over the reports. Let me know what you think.”

  I disconnect and fire up my laptop. More reports. Reports I should read. Reports I hate again, because they aren't from Katy.

  As I take in her sleeping body on the sofa, I’m moved to touch her. I cross the short distance and lean over to slide the soft strands of hair out of her eyes.

  Her big blue eyes drift open and connect with mine.

  “How did you get that scar above your eye?” she mumbles.

  I smile. “Maybe another time.”

  Her lids flutter closed, and she is once again dead to the world.

  She stirs on the sofa, and her long leg dangles off the side of the cushion. Shit. She looks so uncomfortable. I decide to take her upstairs to the master bedroom.

  She shifts again and tumbles onto the floor.

  Fuck.

  I lift her, and her body is not having it. She goes limp, then planks. I finally haul her into my arms and make my way up the grand staircase, into the master suite, and toss her on the bed. Nothing gentle or graceful.

  She cuddles against my pillow, and I drape the heavy white comforter over her after removing her shoes. Well fuck. Where will I sleep? I'll be damned if I sleep on the couch. This mattress is large enough for both of us.

  After getting ready for bed, I crawl in beside her, wearing only boxer briefs. Normally I sleep naked, but I can be a gentleman.

  The scent of her hair fills the space, intoxicating me with its sweet smell. I toss and turn.

  After a few minutes, her body nuzzles closer to mine.

  She's such a bed hog. Arms and legs everywhere.

  I rustle the comforter, trying to cover at least half my body as I try to drift off to sleep.

  First thing in the morning, I'll deal with the reports.

  But, tonight I need to deal with this hard on she’s bringing to life.

  7

  KATY

  Mornings. I love them. Usually I'm all ‘good morning world!’ Not today. No, today, my brain clangs around my skull, and the light coming in from the window makes me nauseous. Whatever this weight is on my stomach is making it worse.

  I open one eye and glimpse down to the tattooed-covered arm strung across my body. Well, that’s surprising. I didn’t expect a man as polished as Pollux to
have vibrant ink swirling from his wrist to his shoulder. I’ve never been with a man who had tattoos; it's not exactly something the corporate world encourages. They should. It’s actually hot. I feel like a very bad girl right now. And very not myself. Why am I here and not in my own bed?

  Quietly, I try to lift the heavy weight off me to slip out of bed.

  Unsuccessful. It’s stone.

  He groans and presses his hardness against my ass, then rocks and does it again.

  “Pollux. Wake up.”

  He grumbles and continues poking me with his morning wood.

  “Pollux,” I say again, this time pinching his arm as I do.

  “Five more minutes.” He squeezes me tighter, and I study the room. Gold trimming. Crown molding. Exquisite artwork.

  The Plaza. I’ve been here before.

  “I need to get going.” I have a million things to do today.

  He pushes up against me again, and I slowly press my ass back. Ugh. I knew it. I knew I would get turned on. It’s like he’s unleashed the wild Katy.

  His fingers trickle into my hair, fisting it into his hand.

  “You smell so fucking good,” he growls close to my ear.

  “Pollux, please.” Whether that is a ‘please let me up’ or a ‘please keep going’ is debatable. Who am I kidding? It’s a please keep going. Once again, my body betrays me as lust fills my insides.

  “Spread your legs for me.” His voice is husky with need, and I oblige to his request.

  His hand finds me, and I'm already soaked for him.

  “That’s my girl. So fucking wet.”

  His girl. The endearment triggers my hips to move, and I grind into his hand before rolling onto my stomach. He spreads my legs apart, pulling my panties down my legs in a slow tease. Oh wow, the way he controls my body is scary. He knows just what to do to turn me into this wild sex fiend.

  His dick moves along my ass, and my body buzzes with electricity, stinging the tips of my eyelids.

  The foil to a condom wrapper rips in his hurried hands. He’s no longer half asleep asking for five minutes, no, he’s wide awake, about to do unmentionable things to me. My insides somersault with desire. This man, whose name I didn’t even know a few weeks ago, has now become my undoing in the orgasm department. He brings them on so easily. Like a rain dancer bringing on the storm of a lifetime.

  “Is this what you want?” He rubs his thick, hard dick along my ass, slapping it against my warm flesh.

  “Yes,” I cry out, pushing my hips up to meet him. He slides his length against my wetness, pushing just the tip in my pussy enough to tease me. And it is a tease. The worst kind. Every nerve ending stands on end, hoping, no, praying, for this.

  He doesn’t know what type of frenzy he stirs inside me. And right now, with the sunlight of a new day crashing into the room like a car out of control, I show him what he does to me.

  I reach around, cupping his balls with one hand and gently massage.

  “Oh fuck,” he hisses, running his hand up my back and into my wild locks.

  “Take me, Pollux,” I beg him. I damn near plead with him. Because, right now, it’s all my senseless brain can think about. Since the moment I met him, my usually so orderly, prim and proper thoughts, have been nothing but naughty and dirty fantasies.

  And he is just the man to fulfil them. All of them.

  He grips my hair—hard—jerking my head back so he can rumble my name into my ear.

  And then it happens. The moment I’ve been waiting for since he moaned my name. He slams into me, pulling all the way out and thrusting back in with one, controlled push. He grunts, groans, and moans my name in a hoarse, yet sexy growl.

  I am wetter than I ever thought possible. Medical journals could do studies on the amount of attraction my pussy wields for him. It’s unnatural—foreign—and not something I’ve ever experienced before.

  He nibbles on my ear as his body rocks into mine. The sheer force behind each thrust is driven by something other than lust alone. It must be. No man in the history of foreverdom has ever wanted a woman as bad.

  It’s a record in the making. Something scientists could study for years to come. But they won’t study it, because it’s all private. A moment shared only between two people. A mingling of bodies that even the God’s would be jealous of. But, even they don’t watch, for the mere fact it’s shameful.

  “You feel so good.” The tight hold on my hair is released, and he slaps my ass. Once. Twice. I moan louder each time.

  His hand trails up, fingers twisting around the base of my neck, holding me in place. He squeezes lightly, and ecstasy rushes to my pulsing heated center.

  He likes controlling me, and if I have any doubt, his next words confirm it, “This is how it feels to be mine.”

  For a moment, the thought sinks in, takes root, builds a home in the epicenter of my brain. His.

  “Do you want to be mine?” he asks, still pumping his massive dick into me. In the bedroom, definitely.

  I try to nod. I try to squeak out a yes. But, I can’t. Fingers release my neck just a bit.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  I don’t focus on what exactly I'm committing to with that answer. Instead, I steer my mind in the direction that here and now, I’m all his.

  My orgasm is close, but I push her away. Not ready to deal with her just yet. This feels too good, and I don’t want it to end.

  Knowing the awkward that will follow is too much for me to handle. So, I let the ecstasy build and build. I let his fingers trail down my body again, unzipping my dress. Right now, I'm the bad girl he wants, and it’s making me feel ten times sexier than I have ever felt before.

  A hundred times sexier. He’s all alpha and dominance, and it turns me on.

  “You’re so wet. All for me.” He pushes deeper inside me.

  “All for you,” I say, grinding my ass against his hard waist.

  This is anything but sex. No, it’s a pure fuckfest. Hot breaths, loud moans. Slapping skin and sweat mixed together in an undeniable law of attraction. A primal joining of two people who want nothing more than to reach that level of highness with each other.

  No feelings will linger. No questions of tomorrow. He lets me know what this is with each slap of my ass and with each tug of my hair.

  He fucks me with no gentleness. And it’s ok with me.

  I don't want hearts and flowers.

  Not at all.

  My body climbs and climbs, and I see sunbursts behind my lids and I ride out the best orgasm of my life while he shudders with his own.

  “Fuck,” he mutters.

  Fuck, indeed. It certainly was a fucking of high fucking. One complete with awards and grand trophies. And when it’s all over, and we are a pile of panting, sweaty bodies, all I want...no, all I can think about, is when can we do it again?

  “Can I drop you by your place?” he calls out as I stand in the bathroom, trying to smooth down my hair, trying to make sense of what I'm doing.

  “No,” I say through the door, “I’m meeting my brother in Murray Hill for lunch.”

  I need my older brother now more than ever. Maybe his level head can help me see clearly in this tangled mess.

  Tangled because, I barely know Pollux, and this is starting to become more than a business arrangement for me. He makes me laugh and smile, which I haven't done for a very long time. And my god, the sex. I'm beginning to like being around him. Which is not ok. Neither is this evening gown I'm wearing. I’ll need to swing by my place before I meet Houston. Can’t very well wear a ballgown to lunch. Maybe I'll just wear this shroud of regret that has set in.

  “I’m going to call my driver. I’m sorry about last night. I have a little problem with champagne,” I apologize, stepping into the hall where he waits, leaning against the wall.

  He pushes off and moves closer. “Are you feeling ok?”

  “Yeah, our early morning workout did wonders.” I giggle, like a schoolgirl.
What is wrong with me? I need to get my emotions in check.

  This is business. I'm a business woman.

  “You should check out what I can do in the afternoon.” He smiles, and it ignites flames low in my core.

  I head down the stairs with him trailing behind me. I should be fired from hiring fake fiancés of the world. I should have hired someone with whom I have no sexual chemistry. Maybe that’s all this is. Sexual chemistry. My mind is clouded by phenomenal sex, and once I can get away from him for long enough, I’ll get over the need for him.

  Breathe, Katy. In and Out. That’s the key.

  Spotting my clutch from last night on the counter, I fish out my phone and dial my car service.

  He crosses his arms, watching me.

  When I hang up the phone, I whisper, “I’ll see you soon. I’m going to wait downstairs for my driver.”

  My walk of shame out of this sex den is hasty, but I falter momentarily at his parting words,

  “You’re going to be begging for more. I can promise you that.”

  Let's hope he's not a man of his word.

  I spot Houston, still in scrubs, sitting at a table in Delia’s Diner. This is our favorite spot; we’ve been coming here for years. So much, they know us. I swing open the door, a wide smile on my face. No matter my mood, being around Houston makes it ten times better. He’s a great older brother and has been through more than I could ever bear. Losing a child nearly destroyed him. I don’t like to think about that dark time in our lives. Getting the call my nephew was involved in a car accident—the devastation that followed. I’ll never forget those first months, when Houston and his ex-wife, Jennifer, wouldn’t even leave their house.

  “Hey there.” He pulls me in for a hug, and then we take a seat. “I ordered for you,” he says, nodding to my macchiato.

  “On break?” I ask, pointing to his clothing.

  “Just getting off work. Marley and I have plans tonight.” His eyes soften when he mentions her name.

  Marley is a former student of Houston’s when he was a professor at NYU. I love her as much as he does. She was the first person to get Houston to smile again after his son, Nathan, died.