The Billionaire's Intern - Part 4
Auteur
Maisey Yates
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
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Chapter 1
Logan Black had a bad habit of turning up when he shouldn’t. He’d all but risen from the grave five years ago, and now he was here, when his social anxiety should make it impossible. The last two times he’d left the hotel had resulted in panic attacks, so of course she’d never imagined he would pursue her here in the outside world.
Unless he was a figment of her imagination.
He took a step into the bar, and Addison knew for sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to get you,” he said.
“Damn, girl,” Isobel, the bartender, said. “You’re in trouble.”
And Addison wasn’t sure if Isobel meant right this moment, or in a much broader, philosophical sense. Addison feared it was the second one. Well, and the first one too.
Though somehow the immediate threat seemed…desirable. Which went a long way in showing just how messed up she was in the head.
But oh well. Owning it. That was her new thing.
“How did you come to get me?” she asked. “I mean, all things considered.”
“It’s easier in the dark. Plus…” He looked around the room. “The bar isn’t exactly crowded.”
“I’m busy, though,” Isobel said.
Logan ignored her. “And I wasn’t about to leave you out here doing God knows what.”
“Yeah, I am a loose canon, Logan, I’ll give you that. Given my wild-child past.” She rolled her eyes. At him. At herself.
“You’re out here drinking,” he said. “Alone.”
“Are you going to lecture me on how unsafe it is? Because given that I’ve spent weeks holed up in a hotel with you, I don’t think I was much safer before I came out. With or without the alcohol.”
“Fair point, little girl,” he said, stepping down into the bar area, his hands at his sides. He curled his fingers into his fists and she watched the leather on the gloves stretch tight over his knuckles.
“I’m going to go to the back and…inventory,” Isobel said, her footsteps indicating a very quick scurry.
“I’m not a little girl,” Addison said, standing up and starting to walk past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her, the look on his face one of pure danger.
“You ran scared like one.”
“That was your goal, wasn’t it? You pushed me away. You did it on purpose.”
“Hell yes,” he said, lifting his other hand and dragging his leather-covered fingertip across her cheekbone and down her jaw, “it was my goal.”
“Then why are you here? And I mean seriously, how the hell did you manage?” She looked at him and, even in her slightly altered state, she could see he was affected by being here.
He took hold of her jaw, the leather cold against her skin. “Because I decided I didn’t want you to go. Fickle bastard that I am.” He released her, and she felt nothing but disappointment.
He was too controlled. Too contained. She wanted him wild.
“Somehow I don’t think fickle is a word often used to describe you.” She was pushing him, and she knew it.
“Not often,” he said. “But I find I want you gone. And at the same time I very much want you with me, so I’m not sure what else to call that.”
“Confusing.”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts. “The other way had a lot of profanity.”
“That is the alcohol talking. You so rarely use profanity of any kind.”
“Only around you. Anyway, could be the cherries,” she said. “That was a lot of sugar.”
He shifted, wrapping his arm around her waist, his palm warm and open on her lower back, pulling her up against the hardness of his body.
He moved his hand, cupping her chin, holding her tight. “Is that so?”
He leaned in then, sliding the tip of his tongue across her lower lip, the wet friction sending a shiver through her body. He leaned in, delving deeper, tasting her. Savoring her.
He pulled back, a low sound rumbling in his chest. “Like candy.”
She shivered, his voice melting all the cold places inside her. Making her wonder why in the hell she’d let him push her away. Because he’d been doing it on purpose, and she’d known it. But it had been so easy to just take it all and turn it into a big ball of anger in her chest. To stop feeling things for him and just let herself fill up with all the rage she’d stuffed down deep and just let it go.
Because it was the safest thing to do. It helped fortify all the walls around her heart. It made it so she didn’t care so much about a man who didn’t want her to care about him. It made her not feel pain and sorrow over a father who didn’t deserve one tear, let alone the flood of them that were building up inside her.
Her eyes filled and she squeezed them shut, shaking her head. “Don’t give me that,” she said. “I’m not sweet. I’m just a spoiled rich brat who hasn’t ever earned a thing in her life or suffered in any way at all. And you’re just letting me get away with it. Because guess what, Logan Black? You are not that scary.”
She was daring him. Daring him to get mad. So she could get mad. So she could do something with the ache that was building behind her eyes. She was daring him to get rough, because rough was easy.
“You don’t think so, princess?”
“No. Maybe if you backed up your bark with a little bite?”
He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he kissed her throat, his teeth grazing her tender skin before he shifted and bit her softly. “Something like that?”
“I made you come out of your hotel. I caused you a lot of trouble. Are you going to let me get away with that?”
He lifted his head, blue eyes glittering with intensity. “What do you propose I do?”
“Whatever you want. I trust you.”
“Oh, I don’t think you want that,” he said, his eyes glittering.
“Maybe I just want you to let go of your damn island,” she said, hoping to ramp up the blue flame in his eyes even more. Hoping to push him again. To make him push back. “Maybe I want you to lose control again. Like you did in the gym, before you pushed me away. Before I scared you.”
“You scared me? I think I should scare you.”
“Perhaps. But you don’t. I want it, Logan.”
“You think you can really handle that, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips close to her ear, his words a whisper.
She bit her lip, arousal sliding through her veins like heated honey. “I like it best when you’re rough. I like it when you stop trying to be what you think you should be.”
He moved his hand down so that he was palming her rear. “You like the beast?”
She arched backward, pressing herself more firmly against his hand. “You know I do. I’ve had enough civilized to last me a lifetime. I don’t like games. When I’m naked with you, I want you naked. Not covering it all up with control.”
“You are drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“And probably if you’re tipsy I shouldn’t give you what we both know you’re begging for,” he said, his voice rough.
“I’m not begging.”
He moved his hand slowly over her bottom. “You’re begging. But I’m not going to give you what you want.”
“Why?” she asked, annoyance spiking through her.
“Because,” he said, “you let the tiger out of the cage. And now you have to deal with the consequences. If you want me out of control, you have to deal with what that means. And it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re getting everything you want.” He tightened his hold on her chin. “Now, you get your pretty ass in that car.”
“And if I don’t?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Do it, Addison.” He dropped his hand, stepped away from her.
She obeyed, because she wanted to. Because it helped fuel the fire in her. Helped feed the beast. She needed the release he’d give. The violent surge of satisfaction. The raging, uneasy pleasure that came when she gave herself to him.
Isobel appeared from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Because I’m not intimidated by billionaires in suits who think they’re badass.”
“It’s fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at Logan. “Logan, tip her.”
“She just threatened me,” Logan said.
“So?”
Logan reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and took out his wallet, pulling out a crisp bill and setting it on the counter. “Extra. For the cherries.”
He tugged her close and propelled her out of the bar and out onto the dark street. The limo was waiting. Sleek and black, idling against the curb.
She got inside and he followed, closing the door behind them. The divider between the backseat and the chauffeur was up, shrouding them in privacy.
He pushed a button on door handle. “Drive,” he said, then removed his hand.
“Why,” she asked, “are you wearing gloves?”
“Baby, it’s cold outside.”
“You don’t even like shoes, you provocative jackass. What are you doing?”
“Provocative?”
“You should know a man in a suit is to women what a woman in lingerie is to men. And those gloves are giving me a lot of very dirty thoughts.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”
“What are you in the mood for, then?” She wanted his attention. Wanted him to look at her. Wanted to acknowledge that he’d come after her because he needed her.
He forked his fingers through her hair and drew her backward so that she was lying down on the seat, her legs spread, her dress falling up to her hips. “This,” he said, looking at her, his eyes hungry.
“Missionary position? Daring.”
“Be quiet,” he said.
She closed her mouth, her attention rapt on him. On what he would do next. Say next. She was fascinated, by him, and by the need he wasn’t doing anything to disguise.
Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry. He did need her.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her thighs. “You want me to lose my control? You want me to be the animal you know I am? Then you have to feed my appetite.” He leaned in, pushing her legs apart with his broad shoulders. “Right now I just want more of your sugar.”
He leaned down, his breath hot on her body. He slid his tongue over her slick flesh, pleasure streaking through her. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t him out of control. Wasn’t Logan, the animal, freeing them both in a violent storm of desire.
This wasn’t their nonstop, intense version of pleasure that stole her breath and hollowed out her stomach. This was slow and slick, deliberate. There was no adrenaline to blunt the need, no bite of the rug beneath her back to give her a bit of herself back.
This was a deliberate claiming of her body, of her control.
And he didn’t relent.
He tasted her long and deep, leisurely strokes of his tongue across her wet flesh. She lifted her hips, pressing herself harder against his mouth, the rush it sent through her making her feel dizzy. Breathless.
It should have been served up in a shot glass so she could knock it back fast. But he wasn’t playing that way. He didn’t stop. He went harder, deeper. Sliding a finger inside her, teasing her with his mouth and hands now.
“Logan…”
She wanted to beg him. To be hard. To be rough. To make it fast so she didn’t linger here, with all the emotions that were pushing against the barricades around her heart. She wanted him to overwhelm her with the physical so she couldn’t dwell on the deep ache of emotion radiating out from her heart.
He added a second finger, teasing her with his tongue as he thrust deep inside her. Her stomach clenched tight, her muscles tensing. She could breathe. Couldn’t think. She was sure she was going to break apart. Sure she couldn’t survive this.
He pressed his lips against her and sucked hard, the action splintering the tension, breaking it off into pieces that she was sure she could never put back together, rivers of pleasure rushing through the cracks, filling her, moving through her in waves.
She was breathing hard, utterly spent and exhausted, her forehead damp with sweat. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom again. “Keep driving until I say stop,” he said, moving his hand away, bringing his attention back to her. “I won’t have anything interrupting me.”
He reached down, undoing the closure on his pants, freeing his hard erection before reaching into his pocket and producing his wallet.
He quickly rolled a condom on and moved back to her, teasing the entrance to her body with the blunt head of his erection. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward, his thick length entering her slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He was still fully clothed, his tie tight, knotted at the base of his throat, even while he was buried in her to the hilt.
He pulled away and thrust back into her, hard, pulling her against him as he moved to her. She looked up at him, his blue eyes blazing into hers, his cock hard inside her, his hands firm on her body. It was too much. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. He leaned in, gripping her chin, his gloved fingers digging into her skin. “Look at me, Addison. I will not allow you to pretend it’s another man inside you. I will not allow you to wish me away. I’m the man you said you wanted. This is me. With nothing, no control, no civility. With all my sins. All my sickness. You wanted me to be this, to uncover this. And you’ll know that I’m the man who’s having you.”
She opened her eyes again, looked at him. “I don’t want anyone else,” she said, her words a gasp.
“Say it again.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” she repeated, steadier this time.
“My name.”
“Logan, I don’t want anyone else.”
He froze above her, his erection pulsing inside her, the tendons on his neck standing out as he gave himself over to his own pleasure. The sight of that, of this powerful man, covered in the markings of civilization, giving himself over wholly to the beast inside her, sent her over the edge, her own climax tearing through her as he spent himself inside her.
He moved away from her, tugging off the condom and shoving it into the small trash compartment built into the limo. Then he tucked himself back into his pants. And the feral, dangerous man was gone.
At least, some people would think so.
But she knew better.
Of course, she was still lying on her back recovering from two hard orgasms in a row, her panties Lord knew where in the car.
She sat up, her head spinning.
“You will not leave me again,” he said, his voice hard. Grim. Betraying more of what he felt than anything that had come before it.
“I won’t,” she said.
And she knew, right then, that she’d made a much deeper pact in her soul than she’d spoken with words.
