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“Get on the bed, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.” The look of surprise on his face was priceless, and I took a photo in my mind. I didn’t know if it was shock, or curiosity that caused him to instantly do as he was told, but he did, and that was all that mattered.
“Lean against the bedhead.” Again he followed my instruction without hesitation.
I mirrored his movement up the bed, and when he came to a stop, I slid into his lap. He opened his mouth, I guessed to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance, I slid my lips over his, pressing hard. I’m in control. Mr. Cavanagh.
He didn’t resist, kissing me with his trademark ferocity. He wasn’t going to relinquish control without a fight. We kiss-fought until we were raw and aching for each other. Tension and built-up frustration pulsed through Drew’s body, and I loved that I had the power to make him feel that way, and the power to stop him feeling it too. Not that I wanted to.
Instead, I dragged my mouth from his, and began rotating my hips in a slow, circular motion, grinding into his stiff, angry cock. The friction alone was enough to make me come, but I held back. Not only did I want to delay the inevitable, but I wanted to drive Drew half out of his mind too, and if the way he was looking at me—like I held the key to the world’s secrets—and squeezing the tops of my arms as I ground harder into his waiting dick—was anything to go by, I’d definitely achieved my aim.
“Condom.” As much as I wanted to torment him, my own restraint was waning.
He grabbed one from the nightstand, and I lifted up a little while he slipped it on.
This time, as I started to settle back into his lap, I lifted first one, then the other leg to rest on each of his shoulders—another position made possible by my extreme flexibility, and another deep-penetration favorite. Then I lowered myself further, while Drew followed my lead, aligning the tip of his dick with my entrance. Once he was in place, I grabbed his neck to push myself down even harder onto him. He was so deep inside me that I had to take a few moments before carrying on.
“Jesus Christ, Angel, you’re fucking killing me.” Good.
He wasn’t alone.
I kept my thoughts to myself, instead, maintaining eye contact while I started to ride him. Clearly not a patient guy, and despite my assertion that I wanted to be in control, also began thrusting his hips, pushing into me deep, hard and increasingly fast.
The feeling was on the border of pleasure and pain, and annoyingly addictive. I wanted more, harder, deeper, faster. I wanted everything he had to give, and then some. As we fought our way to climax, each thrust pushing us further toward the summit of our arousal, I banished the thoughts that tried to bubble to the surface of my mind—the madness and stupidity of what we were doing—not only were we playing with fire, but we’d stripped our clothes off and were cavorting naked in it. It didn’t take a genius to see that it was only a matter of time before one of us got burned. Badly.
Then when my orgasm took hold, and pulled him with me, there were no thoughts, only feelings. Sensations almost too big for our bodies to hold, and pleasure like I’d never known. We came hard and angry, then passed out in a mess of interwoven limbs and bedclothes.
I came to with a start, sometime later, instantly aware of eyes on me.
“Jesus. What the fuck? Why do you insist on acting so skeevy? What are you even looking at?”
“Is that a trick question? I’m looking at you, obviously.”
“Okay, I got that part when I woke up to your creepy eyes on me. What I meant was why?”
“Why, indeed. Among other reasons, I was just thinking that as much fun as this back and forth, and exquisitely hot hate-fucking with you is, it’s going to have to come to an end, sooner rather than later. You need to stop these childish games.”
What the hell? I propped myself up on my elbow, my position on the bed now matching Drew’s as we lay on our sides facing each other. For a tiny moment I felt self-conscious to be relaxing naked with him, but I pushed the thought away. He’d seen me in way more compromising positions.
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever you think you have on my father, I can assure you you’ve got nothing. But even if you did, it will come to nothing. You’ll never get the upper hand. My father will win—he always does. The sooner you drop the idea of blackmailing him, the better it will be for everyone—you more than anyone else.” Jesus. The extent of his delusion was next level. Note to self: stop sleeping with crazy boy.
“Are you still carrying on about this blackmail business? Is that what you tell yourself to make yourself feel like less of an asshole when you’re hounding me. How deluded do you need to be? I guess blackmail does have a way more sinister ring to it than class action suit, doesn’t it? Does calling it that help to ease your conscience about terrorizing me? Assuming you even have one. A conscience, that is.”
“What class action suit?”
I didn’t know him well enough to be sure, but his reaction seemed legit.
“Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know?” He shook his head slowly, and I believed he genuinely had no idea.
“I’m not blackmailing your father. I never was. But I am putting together a class action suit on behalf of my father, and everyone else whose life has been ruined by that company. My dad worked with chritonium for years before they had enough information on it to be using it the way they were. But they knew that my dad and others like him, were young and keen, and would do pretty much anything to progress.”
Drew was all ears, and while I had his attention I wasn’t going to stop talking.
“Then, when murmurs started to hit the industry that chritonium was a health hazard, it looked like they were going to do the right thing. There was talk of compensation packages, for those affected, healthcare, all sorts of things. But then, right at the time when it was all coming to a head, Maclean Enterprises was bought out by Cavanagh Corp, and overnight the situation changed.”
Drew hadn’t said a word the entire time, and I was starting to get a little freaked out by his silence.
“Documentation disappeared, people too—never to be seen or heard of again. It was practically a sackable offense to even think about chritonium, let alone talk about it. And even though, in reality, they were still secretly using it, Cavanagh Corp went on an internal and external PR spree—pretty much denying they’d ever worked with it, apparently even altering records and documents to back that story up. Anybody who tried to say any different was there today, gone tomorrow. I think they were threatened or paid off, or a combination of both.
