Beautiful Bastard by Christina Lauren
“I was told I must . . . strongly encourage you to attend.”
Turning back slowly, I saw he was now staring at me, and he definitely looked uncomfortable. “And why exactly should you do that?”
“Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “apparently she has someone she would like you to meet.”
This was new. I’d known the Ryans for years, and although Susan might have mentioned a name in passing, she’d never actively tried to fix me up with anyone.
“Your mother is trying to set me up?” I asked walking back toward his desk and folding my arms over my chest.
“So it seems.” Something in his face didn’t quite fit his nonchalant answer.
“Why?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
His brow furrowed in obvious annoyance. “How the hell would I know? It’s not like we sit around discussing you,” he growled. “Maybe she’s worried that with that sparkling personality of yours you’ll end up an old spinster wearing muumuus and living in a house full of cats.”
Leaning forward with my palms on his desk I glared at him. “Well, maybe she should be more worried that her son will turn into a dirty old man who spends his time hoarding panties and stalking girls in lingerie stores.”
Jumping out of his chair, he leaned toward me, his face furious. “You know, you are the most—” He was cut off as the phone rang. We stared fiercely at each other from across the desk, both of us breathing heavily. For a moment, I thought he would throw me across the desk. For another moment, I wanted him to. Still glaring at me, he reached for the phone.
“Yes,” he barked sharply into the receiver, his eyes never leaving mine. “George! Hello. Yes, I have a minute.”
He lowered himself back into his desk chair, and I lingered to see if he needed anything from me while he talked to Mr. Papadakis. He held up his index finger for me to wait before he slid it over his pen, rolling it across his desk as he listened to the call.
“You need me to stay?” I asked.
He nodded once before speaking into the phone, “I don’t think you’d need to be that specific at this stage, George.” The deep tenor of his voice vibrated down my spine. “Just a general outline is fine. We need to know the scope of this proposal before we can move into drafting.”
I shifted where I stood. He was such an egomaniac, making me stand here like I was holding a plate of grapes and fanning him while he spoke to a colleague.
He looked up at me and did a slight double take, his eyes dropping to my skirt. When he looked back up, his lips opened slightly, as if he would ask me something were he able. And then he reached forward, pen poised between his finger and thumb, and used the tip of it to lift the hem of my skirt up my thigh.
His eyes widened when he saw the garter.
“I understand,” he murmured into the phone, letting my skirt fall. “I think we can agree that’s a positive development.”
His eyes moved up my body, darkening as they traveled. My heart began to pound. When he looked at me like that, I wanted to slip onto his lap and bind him to the chair with his tie.
“No, no. Nothing so broad at this point. As I said, this is only a preliminary outline.”
I slipped around his desk and sat in the chair across from him. He raised an eyebrow, interested, and then slipped the tip of the pen between his teeth, biting down.
Heat bloomed between my legs and I reached for the hem of my skirt, sliding the fabric up my thighs, exposing my skin to the cool air in his office, and to the hungry eyes across the desk from me.
“Yes, I see,” he said, but his voice was deeper even still, hoarse now.
My fingertips trailed over the lines of the garters, along skin and to the satin of my underwear. Nothing—and no one—had ever made me feel as sexy as he did. It was as if he took all my thoughts of my job, my life, and my goals and said, “These are all well and good, but look at this other thing I’m offering you. It will be twisted and very dangerous but you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me.”
And if he’d said that out loud, he would have been right.
“Yes,” he said again. “I think that’s the ideal path forward.”
You do, do you? I smiled at him, chewing my lip, and he gave me a devilish half smile in return. The fingers of one hand traveled higher, cupping my breast and squeezing. With my other hand, I pushed the center of my panties aside and ran two fingers across my wet skin.
Mr. Ryan coughed and fumbled for his water glass. “That’s fine, George. We’ll take that over when we receive it. We can handle that timeline.”
I began moving my hand, thinking of his long fingers rolling the pen, those very hands grabbing my hips and waist and thighs when he drove into me in the lingerie store.
I moved faster, my eyes falling closed and head dropping back against the chair. I tried to be quiet, biting down on my lip when a tiny moan escaped. I imagined his hands and taut forearms, muscles tensing beneath skin as his fingers moved inside me. His legs in front of my face the night in the conference room, tight and sculpted, struggling to keep from thrusting.
Those eyes, on me, dark and pleading.
I looked up to see them exactly as I imagined, not watching my hand but seeing his hungry expression trained on my face as I fell and fell and fell. My climax was both overwhelming and unsatisfying: I wanted it to be his touch doing this to me instead of my own.
At some point, his call had ended, and my breath sounded too loud in the silent room. He sat across from me, sweat beading his brow, his hands gripping the arms of his desk chair as if he’d been thrown into the wind.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked quietly.
I grinned, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I just did that to myself.”
His brow lifted. “Indeed.”
I stood, smoothing my skirt back down my thighs. “If that will be all, Mr. Ryan, I’ll get back to work.”
By the time I returned from freshening up in the restroom, I had a text message from Mr. Ryan, informing me that he would meet me in the parking garage to head downtown. Thank God the other executives and their assistants would be going to the Red Hawk meeting. I knew from our history that if I had to sit in a limo with that man alone for twenty minutes—especially after what I just did—there were only two possible outcomes. And only one of them ended with his balls intact.
The limo was waiting right outside, and as I made my way to it our driver smiled widely to me and opened the door. “Hey, Chloe, how’s work?”
“Busy, fun, never-ending. How’s school?” I smiled back. Stuart was my favorite driver, and although he had a tendency to be a bit of a flirt, he always made me smile.
“If I could drop physics and still graduate with a degree in biology, I would. Too bad you aren’t a scientist or you could tutor me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“If you two are finished, we actually have somewhere important to be. Maybe you can flirt with Miss Mills on your own time.” Mr. Ryan was apparently already inside waiting for me, and he glared at the two of us as he retreated back into the car. I grinned and rolled my eyes at Stuart before stepping inside.
Aside from Mr. Ryan, the car was empty. “Where are the others?” I asked, confused, as we pulled away.
“They have a dinner meeting later this evening and decided to drive separately.” He busied himself with his printouts. I couldn’t help but notice the way he was nervously tapping his fancy Italian oxfords.
I eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t look any different. In fact, he looked sexier than hell. His hair was its usual perfect mess. As he absentmindedly lifted his gold pen to his lips, just as he had in his office earlier, I actually had to shift in my seat to ease my discomfort.
When he looked up, the smirk on his face let me know I had been caught ogling him. “See something you like?” he asked.
“N
The eighteen and a half minutes left of our twenty-minute drive were spent trading dirty looks across the car while I tried to pretend I wasn’t fantasizing about having his pretty head between my legs.
Needless to say, by the time we got there, I was in a bad mood.
The next three hours passed at a snail’s pace. The other executives arrived and introductions were made all around. A particularly striking woman named Lila seemed to take an immediate interest in my boss. She was in her early thirties with thick red hair, luminous dark eyes, and a body to die for. And of course, the panty-dropping smile was in full force as he nearly charmed her unconscious the entire afternoon.
Asshole.
When we walked into the office at the end of the day, after an even more tense drive back, it still seemed like Mr. Ryan had something to say. And if he didn’t do it soon, I was going to explode. When I wanted him to be quiet, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But when I needed him to say something, he became a mute.
A sense of déjà vu and dread filled me as we made our way through the semideserted building and toward the elevator. The second those gold doors closed I wished I were anywhere but standing next to him. Was there suddenly less oxygen in here? As I glanced at his reflection in the polished doors, it was hard to tell how he felt. He’d loosened his tie and his suit jacket was slung over his arm. During the meeting, he’d rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt partway up his forearms and I tried not to stare at the lines of muscle beneath his skin. Other than the constant clenching of his sharp jaw and his downcast eyes, he looked completely calm.
When we reached the eighteenth floor, I let out a giant breath. That had to have been the longest forty-two seconds of my life. I followed him through the door, trying to keep my eyes off him as he quickly entered his own office. But to my surprise, he didn’t close the door behind him. He always closed his door.
I quickly checked my messages and wrapped up a few last-minute details before I could leave for the weekend. I don’t think I’d ever been in more of a hurry to get out of here. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The last time we were alone on this floor I had made a pretty quick getaway. Damn, if there was ever a time to not think about that, it would be now, in the empty office. Just me and him.
He left his office right as I was gathering my things, placing an ivory envelope on my desk and continuing to the door without pausing. What the hell was this? Quickly opening the envelope, I saw my name on several pieces of elegant ivory paper. It was paperwork for a private credit account at La Perla, with Mr. Bennett Ryan as the account holder.
He opened a credit account for me?
“What the hell is this?” I said, seething. I jumped from my chair and asked, “You got me a line of credit?”
Stopping midstride and hesitating slightly, he turned to face me. “After your little show today, I made a phone call and arranged for you to purchase whatever you . . . need. Of course there’s no limit on the account,” he stated flatly, having wiped all trace of discomfort from his face. This is why he was such a master at what he did. He had an uncanny ability to regain control of any situation. But did he honestly think he could control me?
“So, to be clear,” I said, shaking my head and trying to keep some semblance of calm, “you arranged to buy me underwear.”
“Well, just to replace the things that I—” he stopped, possibly rethinking his response. “The things that have been damaged. If you don’t want it, don’t fucking use it,” he hissed before turning to leave again.
“You son of a bitch.” I moved to stand in front of him, the crisp stationery now a mangled ball of paper in my clenched fist. “Do you think this is funny? Do you think I’m some plaything you can just dress up for your amusement?” I didn’t know who I was angrier with: him for thinking of me that way, or me for allowing this thing to start in the first place.
He scoffed, “Oh yes. I find this absolutely hilarious.”
“Take this and stick it up your ass.” I shoved the ivory paper into his chest and grabbed my purse, turning and literally sprinting to the elevator. What an egotistical, womanizing ass.
Logically I knew that he hadn’t meant to insult me, at least I hoped not. But this? This was exactly why you don’t fuck your boss, why you definitely don’t get off and give him a little show in his office.
Apparently, I missed that part of orientation.
“Miss Mills!” he shouted, but I ignored him and stepped into the elevator. Come on, I said to myself as I repeatedly pushed the button for the parking garage. His face appeared just as the doors closed and I smiled to myself as I flipped him off. Real mature, Chloe.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I yelled into the empty elevator, practically stomping my feet. That bastard had ripped his last pair of panties.
The elevator chimed, signaling that I’d reached the garage, and, muttering to myself, I made my way to my car. The garage was dimly lit and mine was one of the only cars left on this level, but I was too furious to even give it a second thought. I’d hate to see the unlucky prick who dared mess with me right now. Just as that thought entered my mind, I heard the stairwell door burst open and Mr. Ryan call out from behind me.
“Christ! Will you fucking wait?” he shouted. It did not escape my attention that he was out of breath. I suppose sprinting down eighteen flights of stairs would do that to a person.
Unlocking my car, I jerked open the door and threw my purse onto the passenger seat. “What the hell do you want, Ryan?”
“God, can you take it out of bitch mode for two seconds and listen to me?”
I spun around to face him. “Do you think I’m some kind of whore?”
A hundred different emotions flashed across his face: anger, shock, confusion, hate, and fuck me if he didn’t look delicious. He’d opened the collar of his shirt, his hair was an absolute mess, and the bead of sweat running down the side of his jaw was not helping the situation. I was determined to stay mad.
Keeping a careful distance, he shook his head. “Jesus,” he said, looking around the garage. “You think I see you as a whore? No! It was just in case—” He stopped, trying to organize his thoughts. He seemed to finally give up, jaw clenched.
The rage was coursing through me so strongly that before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked through the empty garage. With a shocked and furious glare, he reached up and touched the spot where I had struck him.
“You may be my boss, but you do not get to decide how this works.”
The silence stretched before us, the sounds of the traffic and the outside world barely registering in my consciousness. “You know,” he began with a dark stare, taking a single step toward me, “I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Oh, that smooth fucker.
“Against the window.” Another step. “In the elevator and stairwell. In the dressing room while you watched me fuck you.” And another. “When you spread your legs in my office today, I didn’t hear one word of protest out of that fucking mouth of yours.”
My chest was heaving, and I could feel the cool metal of my car through the thin material of my dress. Even with my shoes, he still stood a full head above me, and when he leaned down, I could feel his warm breath against my hair. All I had to do was look up, and our mouths would meet.
“Well, I’m over it,” I said through clenched teeth, but each labored breath brought me a brief moment of relief as my chest grazed against his.
“Of course you are,” he whispered, shaking his head and moving even closer, his erection pressing into my stomach. He braced his hands against the car
“Except . . . maybe . . .” I said, not sure whether I meant to say it out loud.
“Maybe just one more time?” His lips barely brushed mine.
It was too gentle, too real.
Turning my face up, I whispered against his mouth, “I don’t want to want this. It’s not good for me.”
His nostrils flared slightly and just when I thought I would go insane, he took my lower lip roughly between his and pulled me to him. Growling into my mouth, he deepened the kiss and pushed me forcefully against the car. Like last time, he reached up and removed the pins from my hair.
Our kisses were teasing then rough, coming together and pulling apart, hands fisting in hair and tongues sliding against each other. I gasped as he bent his knees slightly, grinding his cock against me.
“God,” I moaned, wrapping my leg around him and digging my heel into his thigh.
“I know.” He exhaled heavily into my mouth. Looking down at my leg and cupping my ass with his hand, he gave it a rough squeeze and murmured, “Have I told you how fucking hot those shoes are? What are you trying to do to me with those wicked little bows?”
“Well, there’s another bow somewhere else but you’ll need some luck finding it.”
He pulled away. “Get in the fucking car,” he said, his voice rumbling deep in his throat as he yanked the door open.
I glared at him, willing rational thought to penetrate my clouded brain. What should I do? What did I want? Could I just let him have my body like this again? I was so overwhelmed, I was trembling. Rational thought was quickly abandoning me as I felt his hand run up my neck and into my hair.
Gripping it tightly he jerked my head toward him and stared into my eyes. “Now.”
The decision was made, and once again I wrapped his tie around my wrist, pulling him into the backseat. Once the door closed behind him, he wasted no time going for the ties on the front of my dress. I groaned as I felt him part the material and run his hands across my bare skin. Pushing me back to lie on the cool leather and kneeling between my legs, he placed his palm between my breasts, slowly moving down my abdomen to the lace garter belt. His fingers traced the delicate ribbons to the edge of my stockings and back up again, moving to run across the edge of my panties. The muscles of my abdomen clenched with every movement and I tried to control my breathing. Fingering the tiny white bows, he looked up at me and said, “Luck has nothing to do with it.”