All I Am--Drew's Story

  “Anyway,” Ava goes on. “Since we’re talking batshit, men can be, too, you know.” She casts her gaze slowly across to Jesse.

  He balks. “Me?”

  “I’ll go fetch Georgia.” And with that, she sashays off, slow and seductive, transforming Jesse’s affronted state into appreciation.

  “I’d better be off.” I leave my beer half finished. “Thanks for watching Georgia for me.”

  “Anytime.” My friend approaches me and rests his hands on my shoulders, holding tightly. He looks serious. “They call it head over heels for a reason.”

  “I’m not head over heels, for fuck’s sake. I’m just…bewildered.”

  “Right.” He kisses my forehead, the great pansy. “Shit, is that what she smells like?” He inhales my skin deeply, humming in pleasure.

  I don’t know what comes over me. I shove him away, my face bunched in disgust.

  And Jesse just grins. Because he gets it.

  Chapter 6

  I usually look forward to Mondays. Hearing how many properties we’ve had offers in on over the weekend, negotiating back and forth between the seller and buyer. Yet today as I sit at the head of the conference table, there’s only one property on my mind. Or rather, the person who owns it.

  “What about the house in Belgravia?” Andrea’s question pauses the constant tapping on my mobile on the table, as well as my sprinting thoughts.

  “What about it?” I scan my staff, finding all eyes on me as they rise from the table, the meeting obviously over.

  “Well,” Andrea’s head tilts in question. “Will they be listing with us? Did you get a sense?”

  “I don’t think so.” I stand and walk away with no further explanation, which is very unlike me. But then again, I’ve been very unlike me all weekend. I reached the conclusion last night that it’s best for everyone if Raya hires another agent, and after the way we parted on Saturday—the atmosphere awkward, me awkward—I’m certain she will. Georgia did a damn fine job of reminding me of who I am. Or most of who I am, anyway. The other part will be confirmed when I make it to Hux later this week. There’s no room in my life for anything else.

  I fetch a coffee from the kitchen and focus on the particulars of a new listing as I walk back through the office.

  “Drew?” Andrea calls.

  “What?” I lower the papers and take a sip of my coffee.

  “Someone here to see you.” She points toward the glass frontage of our offices, where I find Raya standing, her body draped in a long, black, spaghetti-strapped dress.

  The coffee cup freezes at my lips as she smiles, raising her hand in a nervous hello. Only the thought of Andrea watching goads me into movement.

  I clear my clogged throat and bully myself to life. “Miss Rivers.”

  She steps forward. “I was passing,” she explains, seeming as equally nervous. “So thought I’d pop in and sign the contracts.”

  I’m taken aback, but I fight not to show it. I walked out of her house on Saturday rather abruptly, and I know she detected my wariness. What gives? “My office.” I point the way, keen to get us away from our audience before someone picks up on the tension.

  Raya’s walk is slow, uncertain, and her eyes nailed to me as she passes. I’m forced to hold my breath to avoid her scent. It’s fruitless. Everything Raya Rivers is ingrained in me—her smell, the lingering feel of her touch, the unforgettable images of her imprinted on my brain.

  Jesse is right. I’m doomed.

  I move toward Andrea’s desk and give her a quick rundown of what details to include in Raya’s contract as she makes notes. “Two percent?” she questions when I tell her what rate I agreed to with Raya. “Our fee is three. Non-negotiable.”

  I ignore her and follow Raya to my office, opening the door for her. “Thank you.” She wanders in, gazing around.

  “Take a seat.” I round my desk and lower to my chair, going to my computer and swirling the mouse around the screen to wake it up. That swirl is exactly how my stomach is feeling.

  “About Saturday,” Raya says, lowering to the chair on the other side of my desk.

  My computer dings with an e-mail from Andrea, and I silently praise her for her promptness. I send the attachment straight to the printer. “I just need your signature on a few things.” I’m up out of my chair quickly, collecting the contracts from the printer on the side cabinet. “Here.” I lay the first down with a pen. “And here.”

  Raya stares down at the documents, the documents I haven’t even bothered proofreading. I need her out of my office before I do something stupid. Like toss her on my desk. Ravage her. Or fire all the questions still circling my head at her.

  Her hand is shaking as she scrawls her name.

  “Perfect.” I gather them up and staple the edges of each, handing her one. “We’ll need the name of your solicitor.”

  She looks at me, and I quickly glance away, damning myself for noting that sadness in her eyes and damning myself more for once again wondering what the cause is.

  “Drew…” she breathes, slight exasperation in her voice.

  “I think that’s everything for now.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her, and stand back. “One of my staff will be in touch.”

  “Right.” She slowly lifts from the chair, a weightiness to her body that even I can feel. And the loudest silence falls, a million words passing between us, none prepared to be spoken.

  I move back again, giving her a clear path to the door. “Thanks for dropping by.”

  A faint wave of emotion floats across her face, something she barely contains. Anger. “So that’s it?” she asks.

  “Well, I’ve fucked you. That’s what you wanted, right?” My words sound so cold, just as I intended them to be. But I’m not proud.

  “You didn’t fuck me at my house, Drew.”

  Refuting that would be daft. There was a beautiful and serene connection between us. It would be a major insult if I denied that. But I know I should. Yet I don’t. Instead, I ask a stupid question. “Why are you hiring me?”

  “Because I trust you.”

  Her answer gives me a moment’s pause, and I read between the lines. “You trust me? To help you forget whatever the fuck you’re trying to forget? Yeah, I can’t help you with that anymore.”

  My words sting her, her neck recoiling. “You felt something, too.”

  “I think the scene, the circumstances…” I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “It got the better of me. Clearly it did you, too.”

  Her huff of breath and her sarcastic smile speak volumes. “You’re right.”

  I am? Shit, I don’t want to be right. Fuck, what is this weird ache happening in my chest?

  She inhales, taking all of the air in the room with it. I can’t breathe as I face her.

  She pulls out something from her bag and tosses it on my desk, the clatter of metal on the glass top making me flinch. “You’ll need those to show people around.” She walks out of my office, her stride fast, and the door slams behind her, startling me again.

  As I stare at the keys on my desk, I vow I’m never stepping foot in that box of temptation ever again. My mind isn’t my own in there. Or anywhere around Raya, in fact.

  Chapter 7

  I’ve spent the past two days trying to purge Raya from my thoughts. It’s not working. I’ve seen her constantly, imagined her. Not restrained, but free to touch me, to feel me, to explore me like I never allow. And not just my body. She’s in my head, demanding to be heard. It’s getting hard to ignore her, and not even devoted father-daughter time is helping me.

  As soon as I’ve dropped Georgia at Coral’s after school, I head straight for Hux.

  I need a drink. A stiff one. And I need to come, to make a woman scream to drown out the shit swirling in my brain.

  I nearly make it to the lounge when the sounds of a woman’s pleasure stop me at the entrance of the bar. Those sounds aren’t unusual around here. But this one pierces my skin, injecting
me with a flurry of emotions, many of which I don’t recognize.

  I pace down the corridor and stop outside a closed door. The sound hits me again, and I take the handle. I’m relieved when it turns and the door opens. And then enraged at what I see.

  Kirk, one of the club’s regulars, looks up, his whip paused midway down Raya’s bare back. She’s naked, pressed front forward against the cage in the far corner, her eyes covered with leather.

  Someone else on her skin.

  The pain inside me is excruciating. Unbearable. Ripping my stare from the painful sight, I jerk my head at Kirk for him to follow me. His face isn’t pissed, more questioning, but before he paces over to me, he cracks the whip across Raya’s arse. She lurches on a cry and I wince, feeling the lash straight across my fucking heart.

  I usher him outside the room, fumbling for how to explain. “I need you to leave her alone.” I just come right out and say it. Honesty around here goes a long way. Some men get possessive, and most other men at Hux respect that. I’m hoping Kirk respects that.

  His eyes narrow a little. “She’s yours?”

  “Yes,” I lie. It’s the only way I’ll get what I want, and I really want him to leave her alone.

  “I think you need to make that clear to Raya.” He wanders away.

  God, the relief. “Thanks, Kirk.” And then I feel mad. Mad that she’s here, mad that she’s so easily given herself to someone else. And mad at myself, because I pushed her into this.

  I let myself back in the room, shutting the door silently. She’s still holding position, but her breathing is strained. She wants to forget? She’s got it. I pull my T-shirt up over my head and toss it on the bed as I pass, taking a coil of thick chains off the cabinet. The clang of links as it unravels, and then the thud as the end hits the carpet, kills the sounds of her breathing. She’s holding her breath.

  Dragging the chains behind me, I prowl toward her, my hungry gaze running tracks up and down her back, my palms sweating. Mad as I might be, I still appreciate her gorgeousness. I’m hyperaware, super sensitive. Pressing my chest into her back, I exhale, and her body melts into mine, fire and ice within me at war. Be cold, Drew. She asked for cold. Things only got distorted when you warmed up.

  I ensure her blindfold is secure before I slowly turn her to face me. Her lips are perfectly parted, revealing the pink tip of her tongue. I lay the chains over my shoulder to free both hands and take them to her neck, circling her delicate flesh with my palms. I feel her swallow against my thumbs, her head tipped up slightly. I hook my thumb into her mouth. I won’t speak any instructions; I don’t want to give myself away, so I press it against her tongue until she sucks, every muscle I possess hardening. I’m so tempted to rip her blindfold off and reveal myself. But I won’t. I refuse. I’m just a man here to distract her. A man here to fuck away whatever’s messing with her happiness. Seems I can still help her with that after all.

  I move in on her mouth as I pull my thumb free and gently kiss her cheek before biting down, eliciting a ragged breath. Hard nipples brush across my chest, and her hands fly upward. I catch them before they find me, forcing them back down to her sides.

  “Please,” she begs.

  My cock, aching within my jeans, is leaking. “Shhhh,” I hush her, pulling the chain from my shoulder.

  She gasps at the touch of the chilly metal on her skin. Smiling, I criss-cross the length over her chest, the thick, cold metal links a striking contrast against her pink, warm skin. The shackles pass between her small breasts, and I feed them down, wrapping them around her waist, through her thighs and back up to her neck. I circle once and let the two lengths fall down her front to her wrists. A pair of cuffs secures the ends, and another pair behind her, linking the chain from her back to the cage.

  I move back, in utter awe of the vision before me—my girl wrapped up in chains.

  Panting.

  Desperate.

  Mine.

  “Fuck…” I breathe to myself, a tremor shaking my very center. Those chains could be wrapped around my heart. Squeezing. My muscles giving up on me, I drop to my knees at her feet and stare up at her. Her narrow ankles, her sculptured legs, her soft tummy and perfect breasts. And her face, her eyes hidden. It’s a great loss, but one I must sustain.

  I reach up and place a palm on her hip, watching her bite down on her lip when our skin meets. I drag it softly from side to side, back and forth, over and over. Her instinct is to try to fold herself, to withdraw from my touch. The chains clink, metal against metal on the cage, followed by a desperate cry of frustration. She’s felt nothing yet.

  I slip my hand between her thighs and skim her sodden opening. More clinking, more cries, and my head falls back on my shoulders, the sounds only encouraging me. One finger inside, dragged in by her keen muscles, and another cry. Two fingers, softly moulding her, withdrawing and advancing firmly. Louder cries.

  I hold my fingers inside her, working her, building her, as I rise to my feet and remove my jeans and boxers. My mouth gravitates toward her breasts, dividing my attention between them evenly, one kiss, one suck, one lick, each in turn, all while working her cunt into a pulsing, wet mess of arousal. Her cries are on loop, her body jolting, the clanking chains reminding her that she’s trapped. That she’s at my mercy.

  I lower again, biting and pulling at her flesh between the chains on my way down, and then licking my way back up her body, starting at her pussy. She screams. I growl.

  And I can no longer endure my own torture.

  Grasping my cock, my knuckles brush the metal links between her thighs as I level myself up, and I grunt as I take that first, out-of-this-world thrust. I go limp against her, searching for strength to see me through this. It comes in the delivery of one word.

  “Drew,” she murmurs, short of breath.

  I reach up and yank off her blindfold, suddenly desperate to see those eyes. The shards of light that spill the second she blinks them open blinds me. She breathes in my face, her insides hugging my cock, pulling me deeper. So much deeper. Deeper into her body, and deeper into her world.

  Our gazes are locked as I roll my hips, reaching for the backs of her thighs and pulling them up to my waist. Her bound hands hook over my neck. There’s so much energy radiating from her eyes, I’m convinced she must be plugged into the sun. Intensity, heat, vivid color—it’s all shining on me, lighting up the room. Lighting up me.

  I rock into her gently, mindful of the harsh metal cage she’s shackled to. And with each stroke, I gasp. With each retreat, I swallow. Our ragged breaths echo around us, steeped in a craving that’s palpable. Clenching around me, she drops her head back, keeping her eyes on mine, her arms resting lightly on my shoulders as I carry us toward oblivion.

  It’s like the calm before the storm, the center of a tornado. Silent but deafening, calm but deadly. I choke when it hits me, my skin so sensitive, my teeth gritting to get me through it. Hot cum fills her and she stiffens in my hold, her thighs crushing me between them. She rides the waves of her release silently, rolling against my body, her neck losing all power to keep her head up. Our foreheads meet halfway, our eyes closing for a few breathless moments.

  My breathing still shot, I slip out of her, unable to hold back a hiss as her flesh strokes my sensitive cock. I lower her to her feet, unfasten and unravel the chains from her body as she watches me, and then drop them in a pile at her feet.

  I pull my jeans and T-shirt on, and slip my feet into my shoes, turning toward her. She hasn’t moved a muscle, her eyes watching my every move as I approach slowly and dip, placing a light kiss on the corner of her mouth.

  Then I walk out.

  Chapter 8

  The sky is gray as I head to work Friday morning, casting a dreary shadow across London, and, just my luck, the heavens open when I’m halfway from the car park to my office.

  Umbrellas spring up around me as I break into a run, dodging the puddles and people, my body instantly heavy from the water my suit is holding. I b
urst into the office and drop my briefcase. “Fucking weather,” I mutter, shrugging my jacket off. I’m soaked through, my white shirt sticking to my torso.

  “Morning.”

  I look up to find Andrea staring at my chest. Every muscle is defined through the thin material of my shirt, and though not shy of my body, I hurry to the men’s room.

  “Give me ten minutes,” I call, shutting the door behind me. I go straight to the hand dryer and turn the nozzle onto my chest, blasting myself with hot air. The mirror reflects back a drowned rat of a man, his attire crumpled, his hair sodden and falling all over his face. “Great start to the day.” I give up. I look trashed, my usually impeccable facade pretty damn shameful.

  Once settled at my desk, I stare at my phone, mentally warning myself not to. Don’t call Hux. I don’t need or want to know if Raya’s been back. “Fuck it.” I bow to my relenting curiosity and swipe up my mobile. There’s no discreet way of asking, so I just go right ahead and question Cole whether Raya’s been there again. I hold my breath waiting for his answer. And the air gushes out when he tells me no. No, she hasn’t. I don’t want to be relieved, but I’m learning quickly that controlling what I want is pointless where Raya’s concerned.

  “Thanks, Cole.” I hang up as Andrea swans in, looking chirpy.

  “I have good news,” she tells me, taking a seat opposite.

  “Good. Get my day back on track.”

  “The Georgian in West London. I have a bite. Young, single professional. Annie Ryan. She’s been looking for months. I think this might be right up her street. I’m showing her around later today.”

  “Sell hard.”

  “She’s an architect. She’ll have the vision that other buyers have lacked.”

  “Still, sell hard.”

  She rummages through the papers in her lap. “Here are the details for Miss Rivers’s place.” A file slides across the desk before me, but I barely look. I sent Andrea to take the pictures, telling myself I needed to stay away. Cold and detached.