Money Man (King Maker 1)

He froze in place and groaned. “Spread your legs wider. You’re too fucking tight and I’m going to hurt you.” I did as he asked, feeling him slide deeper as I did. “There, lass.”

I sputtered, “I, I—” as he began to move in and out. The experience was like no other. All my nerve endings were on red alert as every stroke hit that magic button deep inside me. So much so I’d lost any ability to speak.

As the sensations grew, I tightened my legs around his waist, digging my heels in his back. I was shoved into a wall that wouldn’t give, but it didn’t matter. Especially not after I hit orgasms two and three before the faint Muzak in the background changed to the unmistakable midnight countdown.

Ten, his rhythm became erratic. Nine, he plunged in and out of me faster. Eight, he sucked hard on my pulse point, still pounding into me. There would be bruises. Seven, another orgasm quickly built inside of me with no words to explain the how of it. Six, “fuck,” he gritted out near my ear. Five, my fingers fisted in his hair, guiding his face to mine. Four, I bit him on the mouth, crazed by lust and desperation. Three, he pumped into me hard, my back taking a beating. Two, he sucked in my lower lip then took it between his teeth. One, he came, sending me into the wall with a final shove, pushing me over the edge one more time. A guttural sound so primitive left his mouth I had to see if he was still human.

Happy fucking New Year.

For the longest time, we remained molded like that. The heat we’d created cooled far too quickly as we remained locked together, my stilettos pinned to his back. Unfortunately for both of us, he eased out of me and I relaxed my leg lock, allowing him to slowly set me on my feet. My back slid down the wall before my four-inch heels hit the ground. Still, at my height of five feet five inches, I was much shorter than he.

“Aye, lass,” he said, smirking, reminding me it had been my request for him to call me that. “Happy New Year,” he finished, holding my gaze. His eyes were as green as the forest of Scottish lands, a place I’d longed to go. Staring into them, I could imagine myself there riding astride a horse with him chasing after me. I squeezed my thighs, sure I would combust by the sheer fantasy.

Only my brain chose that moment to come back online. Immediately, I was overcome by mortification at what I’d done. Good girls didn’t have one-night stands with strangers. What would my mother think of me, not to mention my father who hadn’t totally accepted that I’d left our community?

Unable to look at the stranger any longer, I closed my eyes, still caged by his massive arms, and smoothed down my skirt in the process.

“You like to scream, don’t you, lass? Or was that just for me?”

I popped my eyes open as mortification stained my cheeks and caught sight of his smirk. Without a second thought, he picked up something from the ground—probably his wine glass—and left, not giving me a backwards glance.

Alone, I wondered ashamedly what I’d just done as a memory of my father’s reprimanding glare formed in my head.

“Put your clothes on,” he’d commanded after he’d sent Turner away.

Boys would be boys. I was the sinful Eve that had dangled the forbidden fruit.

He’d averted his eyes as I’d donned the neck-to-toe dress the women in our community were forced to wear.

“If I hadn’t been the one to catch you, you’d be branded, or worse, excommunicated.” Disgust filled my father’s voice.

I felt one foot tall. I might not have liked the rules where women were considered little more than breeding stock, but I didn’t want him looking at me like I was one of those worldly women we were warned about.

“The shame you’ve caused our family and put on your sisters if he tells his father.”

I hadn’t thought about my sisters. They would be branded for my sins and would be lucky to be chosen as sister wives if the truth came out.

“He won’t. He loves me,” I pleaded.

“You better hope they will consider a wedding.”

Then my father had turned, dismissing me much like the stranger had. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t married or that my mother had gotten me out. I still felt that scarlet S burning in my chest and I ran out of the bathroom. I wanted to put as much distance between me and my sins as I could.

How could I have let him have me after only knowing him—how long? Minutes, an hour tops, maybe?

I was desperate to leave and needed to find the friend I’d come with—rather my best friend—the one who hadn’t stopped me from making this colossal fuck-up.