The Tycoon

This was the difference between no lies and truth. No lies was going to protect me.

Truth would destroy me.

“You know something?” I pushed at his chest, got enough distance that I could put my feet on the ground. “Forget it. This is a mistake.”

He was unmoveable, his body big, his strength so much more than mine so I stepped sideways, pulling up my pants, zipping up my jeans. “I’m going home.”

“No,” he said.

“Clayton—”

He turned me, my stomach pressed against the edge of the counter. My hands spread wide to catch my fall. He stepped up behind me, pressing against my body. His chest against my back. He breathed, and I could feel it, the rise of his chest.

The heat of his breath against my neck.

“Do you really want to go?” he asked, touching my breasts. My stomach. His fingers toyed with the edge of my belt. “Before I do what I’ve promised?”

I should have left. But I didn’t. I pushed back against him, just a little. Permission. Surrender.

“That’s my girl—”

“Stop,” I said. “Just…touch me…”

His hands were rough, his fingers speared down between my underwear and skin, and I gasped. Moaned.

He tried to be gentle but I pushed my ass against him. Denying him that.

“Harder,” I said.

His finger found my clit. “Like this?”

I was up on my tiptoes, my back arched, my head against his shoulder. “Yes,” I moaned. Over and over again as I climbed higher and higher.

“Ronnie,” he breathed into my ear.

He used me. Worked me. His teeth bit at my neck, his fingers squeezed my clit so hard.

And that was it. I was shattered. Ruined. I fell forward against the counter, my knees useless.

Clayton held me up, his fingers inside of me, the pressure of his body against me.

Oh, God. It was good. So good. That was all I could think.

“Yes,” I said, and I realized I was talking out loud. “You make me come so good. I need more.”

He touched me again, a sure, hard press of his thumb against my clit, and I was airborne one more time. I was aware, dimly, of my body, but all my edges were blurry. All my worries…gone. He was on his knees behind me, my hips in his hands, my legs spread wide.

And then his mouth. His tongue. It was wet and messy. Too intimate and ridiculous, but who could care? He tongued me and sucked me, and I came so hard my legs buckled. I screamed, pushing myself away from the counter and against his body as hard as I could.

And then it was done and the intimacy that had felt so good, felt sharp and awkward. I didn’t know him right now and I really didn’t know myself.

I blinked. Swallowed. Slowly pulled myself together. I pushed myself up from the counter and Clayton stood up, rested his hands on my hips.

“You all right?” His breath ruffled my hair and I was not sure of the answer.

Yes, I was great. I was the world after a good hard rain.

No, I was twisted and torn and as confused as I’d ever been.

I went with “Sure.”

His low chuckle told me he was on to me. But he didn’t push the no-lying thing and I was grateful.

The weight and heat of him at my back vanished and I turned to find him five steps away. The distance was on purpose.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m not going to touch you again. Not tonight.”

I was relieved and disappointed.

The power of Clayton to tear me in two with opposing emotions.

“Why?”

“Because I missed you so much. Because I can’t fuck you when I want to make love to you so bad I hurt.”

Oh. Oh, God. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My body or my hands.

The five feet that separated us was filled with barbed wire and crocodiles and everything we weren’t saying to each other. And I was painfully aware of his erection beneath his jeans. Painfully aware that I had gotten some release after five years of being alone and he was still…alone.

“I should go home,” I said and wished I sounded stronger. Surer.

Because if he asked, I would stay. If he asked to make love to me I would let him.

“Are you all right to drive?”

I nodded.

“I can call you a car.”

“You’ve done enough.” I sounded weirdly bitter. Weirdly angry. Because this wasn’t what I’d wanted when I came over. But it was what he wanted. To get us back to this place.

Clayton lifted his arms, his beautiful body under his beautiful clothes spread wide for my gaze. “This is me,” he said. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“And this is me,” I said, clear as a bell. “I am not the girl you knew. I am a woman who will fight you when you need to be fought.”