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“That’s my good girl,” I murmur by her ear and then kiss the crook of her neck, giving her more and more, faster and harder with every passing thrust. “Come on me, Darling. Come with my cock in your ass.” It’s an open-ended order. I want her to come as many times as possible. Punishment by pleasure might be my new corporate motto, but only for her. Only for Raven.
I put my hand around her neck. I don’t squeeze, but I do hold her down as I thoroughly, deeply ass fuck Raven, thrusting in and out hard enough to make my sofa shake and the frame groan in time with my hips.
“That’s it, take it like a good girl,” I grunt as her ring tightens perfectly around my shaft. Another small orgasm runs through her, and I’m on the edge, but I hold back by sheer force of will.
“Please, Dylan, I need it,” she pleads, and I speed up, my hips slapping against her spread open, violated ass. As she starts quivering, I give myself over to the floodrising within me.
My climax hits hard, making the whole world go silent and fall into a blur. And then she comes.
Raven tosses her head from side to side, her mouth wide open as she scrabbles to grab something. She finds the edge of the couch and grips it with one hand, her other going to cover her own mouth to muffle her cries of ecstasy.
Panting, spent, I slowly let her down onto the cushion as her high eases and we both catch our breaths. I run my fingertips down her throat, then lower, circle one nipple and then the other, and trace down her belly to right above her clit. She moans, unable to take more, but that’s not what this is. I simply need to touch her, feel her, to have her at my mercy.
There were times this weekend when I thought I’d built this thing between us up in my head. It’s stupid, I know, but there’s a scar deep inside me that started whispering in my head late at night when I was wondering where Raven was and why she wasn’t right there with me.
“Where were you?” I ask again, the vehemence fucked out of the words, exposing the hurt lurking behind them.
“Home, just home all weekend. Working on the side project and hanging with Maggie and Ami.”
Staring at her, I search her eyes for any sign of dishonesty, any shred of deception. I wish I didn’t feel this way, this fucking insecurity. Hiding her and keeping her a secret doesn’t help. I don’t fucking like it.
“I missed you too,” she adds in my silence, and then my beautiful Raven smiles before letting her head fall back.
I believe her. She’s too vulnerable at this moment, her defenses down after what we just did. Plus, I don’t think Raven has the deep ugliness it’d take to lie to me.
I’ve been wrong about that before… and I haven't forgotten.
I move to get up, and she squirms before settling uncomfortably on the couch while I go over to my washroom to get a warm cloth to clean us up. Gently, I clean her ass before gettingrid of it and the condom. When I come back, she’s adjusted her skirt, pulling it back down before putting her breasts back into the cups of her bra and buttoning up.
Her chest still rises and falls like she’s catching her breath, and her eyes close as she hums softly. Fucking beautiful. Raven Hill is so damn beautiful.
I do the same as her, zipping up my slacks and rebuttoning my shirt. It feels like putting up walls between us. Maybe I should’ve asked these questions while I had her beneath me?
“Why?”
“What?” she asks innocently, but her eyes flash and I know she knows what I mean.
“This weekend was different. What happened?” I press.
She starts to shake her head, and I stop her. “Just tell me, Raven. I don’t have time for games.”
Tears appear at the corners of her eyes, and I fear the worst. She’s figured out that I’m a bastard whose only real value is in his bank account, so she’s leaving me. It’s not the most rational reaction, but it’s also not illogical considering it’s mostly true.
“At the bar on Friday,” she starts, and my stomach drops. I was right. Something happened. I’m silent as she continues, “I was having a great time. I felt like everything I dreamed of was finally right in the palms of my hands. The job, the guy, the friends, the future… all of it.” She holds her hands in front of her symbolically, staring at their emptiness but obviously seeing much more.
I can hear it coming. “But?”
“But then, I was talking to Shanna and she said…” She takes a steadying breath, “That she thought I was the girl getting ‘Sharped’.” My brow furrows in confusion because I don’t know what the hell that means, and she huffs in exasperation. “Don’t you see? They all know. I thought I’d gotten away from the rumors after the fundraiser when no one here mentioned them. I thought the friendships I was building were real. But they’re talking about us, about me. They might not know for sure, but they suspect. And I don’t want to be Dylan Sharpe’s ladder-climbing slut.”
Anger grows in my chest at her calling herself that because it is nothing like when we say it while fucking. She’s insulting herself, and I won’t stand for anyone putting her down, not even Raven herself.
She holds up a hand, telling me that’s not the point with a roll of her eyes. “I told you before we started this. I want to earn my way through my business skills. I don’t want people thinking I did it through my oral skills.”
“You’re better than that. You know it and I know it, so don’t reduce everything you’ve accomplished down to that.”
“What about everyone else?” she asks, fire in her eyes as she throws an arm toward the door, indicating the rest of the company. Or maybe the whole fucking Financial District.
“One, who the fuck cares what they think,” I snap, not giving two shits what my employees or anyone else think of my personal life. “Two, Tamara says they’re calling you some sort of investment phenom.”
