Filthy Rage (Second Chance With My Brother's Best Friend, Book Five) (3 page)

His hands roamed up my back, finding their way zipper on the back of my demure black dress.

“I hate this fucking dress,” he said, his words hot against my mouth.

He unzipped it, to begin with, but when it hit the bottom of the zipper, he simply ripped.

Hard.

The fabric tore, shredding beneath his strong fists and falling to the ground.

I was left standing before him in a black bra and pink lacy thong. He bit my lower lip. “Don’t take those off.”

“What?” My breathing was hard, and I was lost in a haze of lust.

“The stilettos.”

He nipped at my mouth again and I grinned, yanking him up against me. He slipped his hands behind my back, unclasping my bra with a single motion. It fell to the ground, leaving my breasts bare.

“I could stare at you all night,” he said, leaning down, his mouth claiming my nipple.

“I’d rather you did other things,” I told him.

He bit down hard, and I cried out, but rather than letting me pull away, he slid his hands down to the hollow of my back and made me arch against him. A growl ripped free, deep in his throat.

His black slacks and shirt felt rough against my bare skin, tiny prickles of awareness sparking everywhere it rubbed against me. Everywhere I wanted to be skin on skin, but instead, just like always, he was still clothed, while he’d stripped me bare.

It was a power play, and I knew it. He enjoyed being in control, enjoyed stripping me down and remaining in control. In sex and in our relationship, he always had the upper hand, always called the shots.

But right now, I didn’t care.

I wanted to surrender to him.

With a hand on my shoulder, he pushed me down, onto my knees. I didn’t have to ask what he wanted, I just reached for the button on his crisp black slacks, too shiny and perfect for a man so rough, so possessive. A fabric so fine somehow felt wrong on him.

His pants pooled around his feet, and his boxers soon followed.

He was hard and hot and pulsing, and as my hand found his shaft, he groaned. It sounded more animalistic than human, a roar that came from somewhere deep in his throat. His hands found the back of my head, tangled in my hair and pulled me toward him, so that his cock plunged deep in my throat.

He held me there for a long moment, my mouth full of him. I gripped his hips and sucked,
hard.

He groaned again and released me, and I pulled back, raking in a steadying breath.

As my tongue swirled his tip, he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the ground. I held him tightly in one hand, and then slid my lips down his shaft, my tongue sliding along, my hand pumping the same rhythm.

With my free hand, I slid up his thigh, until I found his balls, massaging them as I sucked harder.

“That feels so good,” he said, between gritted teeth, his words more like a hiss. I pulled back, one hand still on his shaft, and ran my tongue down his cock, until I reached his balls. As my tongue lapped against them, he groaned even louder, bucking his hips toward me. “Jesus,” He said. He moaned as I sucked on his balls, and then my tongue traced its way back up his shaft, swirling over the tip.

And then he kneeled in front of me, cupped my ass, and pulled me up on my knees, so that we were facing one another head on, our bodies pressed together as he kissed me, hard and fierce.

His fingers dug into my ass, gripping me hard.

“I need to take you,” he said, “But I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be,” I replied, my voice coming in heavy rasps. I wanted him to take me hard and fast, rougher than he ever had before. Rougher and harder than that day against the front door, or as he shoved me down on the steps. I was on fire, desperate for release.

He didn’t ask again, just grabbed my hips in each hand and twisted me around, until my backside was pressed up against his front, and we were facing the same direction. He held my body against his, his cock resting in the crack of my ass, his hand gliding lower, finding my clit.

With his knees, he forced my legs apart. He bucked against me, his dick sliding against my ass as his fingers found my slit. “You’re wet for me,” he said, his breath hot against my neck. “Do you want me here?”

He pushed his finger inside me, and I gasped. I started to lean forward, but he held me tight, forcing me to remain upright as he pushed his finger deeper. I moaned, leaning against him allowing him better access.

“God you’re tight,” he said, pushing his finger deeper, shoving a second one inside me. “I want to bury myself so deep in you…” his voice trailed off, got gruff, but he didn’t let me go. Didn’t let me bend over so he could take me the way I’d said I wanted him.

“I want you,” I said. “God I want you.” I arched my back, shoving my ass hard up against him as his thumb slipped against my clit.

“What do you want?” he asked, fucking me harder with his finger, his knuckles hitting the edge of my most tender flesh. He was driving me crazy, making me hotter and more desperate for him to just bend me over and plunge his cock inside me, bury himself to the hilt.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said.

“I am,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“I want your dick,” I said, growing desperate. One strong arm still circled around my chest, and I clung to it, my finger nails digging into his upper arm as I shoved back again, my ass grinding up against him.

I wanted him to never stop what he was doing with this hand, and I wanted him to stop now and plunge into me, stretch me in the way I craved.

A groan ripped free, a guttural sound I hardly recognized as my own, and then his finger slipped out of me, and I felt his strong hand on my shoulder, pushing me down.

My knees were sore already from the tightly-woven, rough Berber carpet, but I couldn’t’ bring myself to care.

With both palms flat against the carpet, I arched my back, looking over my shoulder at him.

He was holding his big cock in his hand, pumping it up and down and staring at me with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, his muscles taught, like he was barely holding onto this thin control.

I wiggled my hips, watching the desire burn brighter in his eyes.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“I have an idea,” I leaned back, bumping my ass against him, the tip of his cock teasing along my slit.

He groaned, his grip on his dick tightening, his hand moving to position him along my opening.

Without any warning, he shoved into me, his cock filling me, straining me, almost painful. Or maybe it was a result of all the rough times before, all the times he’d driven me to madness. But as he plunged harder, pulled back and thrust again, my skin stretched and strained, struggling to hold him comfortably.

It was like he was made for someone else, someone he could fit comfortably inside, because this angle was nearly painful.

“God I love you,” he said.

It was like a fire ignited. An explosion of emotion and lust, all rolled into one. He thrust harder into me, and I knew he didn’t even recognize his own words.

And maybe they were meaningless. He’d lost his reason, lost his logic, and had turned animalistic in his desperation to find his release.

I shoved his words out of my mind—knowing what he’d said was meaningless. But god, did I want him to mean it. Did I
need
him to mean these words, spoken in the heat of the moment, lost to the groans and the sound of our skin on skin, the sound of his thrusts.

His hands gripped my ass, one finger sliding along my backside, teasing along my
other
opening.

The tip of his finger pressed against me, and I bucked forward, not prepared for
that.

His hands gripped me tighter, not allowing me to move away.

“You said,” he fucked me harder, “You wanted me everywhere.”

My fingernails dug into the carpet, but there was nothing to grip. I was anchorless, at his mercy.

He picked me up, pulling me against his body again, his dick still inside me, the angle of it pressing into a place that made me gasp.

“Another time,” he said, as if sensing my hesitance. I’d never done
that.
And his mood… how angry and rough he was being, I wasn’t sure I could handle it. “Your pussy feels too good to want anything else.”

I tipped my head back on his shoulder, twisting so that he could kiss me. We were on our knees again, bodies pressed together.

He kissed me hard and hot, and then broke the caress.

And then suddenly I was pushed down to the floor again, but this time not allowed to stay on hands and knees. I was flat on the ground, my arms stretching above my head, my stomach flat on the ground.

He moved, his legs now on the outside of mine, my thighs nearly pressed together. His torso and chest pressed against my back side, his arms pressing my own down.

I tried to arch my back, tried to push back against him, give him better access, but it was impossible. I was face down on the floor, his entire bodyweight pressing me into the ground, at his mercy.

I knew that if I said something—told him to get off of me—that he would. But the reality of his strength, his weight, the idea that if I refused him and he didn’t listen, I could do nothing—somehow turned me on. He was too big to physically resist, if it came down to it. I was pinned to the floor underneath him.

I was his, and I trusted him, had given him control in every way. His legs straddled mine, his arms held mind down, and he plunged into me, rougher each time, the carpet raking against my skin. My nipples prickled at the sensation of the rough carpet.

His knees must’ve hurt too, but he didn’t seem to care, only seemed focused on fucking me as hard he as he could, forcing me to the edge until I cried his name.

I turned my head, resting my cheek against the rough ground as he braced himself over me on his elbows.

“You make me want to come,” he said. “I love you when you’re pinned beneath me like this.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back on the waves of heat growing in my gut. His hands slide down my arms, until they were resting over my own hands. Until his fingers slipped between mine, gripped my hand and held each one down to the ground.

He was claiming me, in such a way that I could hardly move my body. Could only accept the abuse of him fucking me harder and harder into the unforgiving floor. This wasn’t a
bed,
it had no give. No softness. My body would be raw when this was done, and I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I was pinned as he pulled back and plunged in. I gripped his fingers in my hands, struggling to hold on. Struggling not to let go, and plunge off a high cliff.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he said, his voice like sandpaper.

My breathing turned raspy and hard, and then he grunted, and his dick jerked inside me, just as I threw my head back—the only part of me that could really move, pinned like this below him.

His groan was low and guttural, filled with raw pleasure. My pussy clenched around him, milking him, taking everything he had.

Until finally, the tension in his body gave away, and he collapsed on top of me. He moved his legs, so that he held back on some of his body weight.

But he stayed there over me, his legs on either side of my own, resting on his elbows so that his arms caged me. We were both gasping for breath, our skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his lips hot against my ear.

I could only moan softly, relishing the feel of his body against mine as my breath steadied.

Finally, he rolled off of me, and cool air breezed across my damp skin. I rolled onto my side to face him, glancing down at his still swollen cock. His lips curled at my glance, and he leaned forward, kissing me softly. Then he pulled me to my feet, and we left his den.

I followed him across the house, both of us barefoot and naked. He led me up the stairs, and I could hardly take my eyes off of his tight, muscular ass. And then we were in his bedroom. I raised a brow, looking between him and the bed.

His lip curled. “Later,” he said. “Before the day is through, I’ll have you again.”

Somehow I was hot already, but he handed me a pair of his boxers, and a plain white T-shirt. I slipped into them, just as he pulled on a pair of khakis, not bothering with the underwear.

And then he stepped forward, kissing me tenderly. “Let’s go enjoy the sunset,” he said, leading me back downstairs.

I was aware of every inch of my body as I followed him--of the soreness between my legs, the raw patch of skin on my knees from the carpet.

But I couldn’t regret it.

Instead, I looked forward to another round, this one in his big, soft bed.

A
n hour later
, the sun had all but disappeared on the horizon, and my glass of iced tea was empty. I was curled up on an Adirondack chair, drawing circles in the condensation pooling on the wooden arm rest.

Landon’s phone buzzed, but unlike the last few times, he didn’t bother looking at the screen. Instead he leaned forward and put it on the glass table in front of us. Two empty plates were stacked next to it, remnants from our late lunch of fancy cheese and crackers and fruit.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, standing. He winced, rolling his shoulder as he held one hand against his sore ribs. “Maybe the hot water will help the soreness.”

The effects of his fight were slowly kicking in. By the next morning, he’d likely be stiff. But I could think of a few ways to help him out. Surely he had some massage oils somewhere in that massive bedroom of his. The image of me, straddling him as I rubbed oils all over his body turned me on.

I picked up my glass, swirling the cube around. “Alright.”

 “Join me?” he asked, his lips quirking.

 I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t resist smiling back. “I think I need a little more time.”

Now that
I’d
cooled off a bit, I could
feel
everything we’d done over every inch of my body. I thought of him with every shift of weight, every time my knee or elbow brushed against something.

Besides, eventually we would go to bed. And I couldn’t possibly lie beside him in that bedroom without peeling my clothes off and straddling him.

 “You know where to find me if you change your mind,” he said, walking away and leaving me on the deck.

On the table, his phone lit up again. I glanced up, but Landon was gone. I stared at his phone, wiling myself to find restraint. But the urge to see what had his phone blowing up was too much to resist.  I set my wine glass back down and scooted forward, grabbing his phone and hitting the button at the bottom.

Alexa, Alexa, Alexa. 

Figures it would be her. I couldn’t read the full messages, but the previews were enough to get the gist.

I’ll give you the divorce when you give me 52% of your company.

I want the house in Phoenix too.

I will get it one way or the other. U know me Landon. U know I will get what I want.

Jesus, she was insane. Alexa hadn’t sacrificed anything to help Landon build his business, yet she felt entitled to demand a controlling interest in his company. I stared at the screen, thankful that I didn’t know his password, and therefore couldn’t unlock the phone and give her a piece of my mind. She had
no idea
what kind of person she was taking advantage of, how hard he’d worked to build every brick of his empire.

“Interesting reading material?” Landon asked, and I jerked, nearly dropping his phone.

I blushed, holding the phone up to him. “I’m Sorry. I didn’t mean to— “

“Yes you did,” he said, but there was no anger in it. His voice was flat, factual. “But I don’t care. I doubt she’s saying anything you don’t already know.”

“What are you going to do about this?”

“Nothing,” he said, his voice firm… resolute. “She’s no longer authorized on any of my accounts, and she’s little more than a nuisance at the center. A fly buzzing around, making noise.”

 “She wants half your company.”

“More than half—fifty-two percent gives her the ability to fire me if she so chooses,” Landon said, as if he was discussing the weather. “It would put her boot on my neck for the rest of my life.”

“You think she’s serious, or is she just trying to negotiate to get a better deal?”

 He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. She’ll give up eventually. The lawyers she’s hiring are expensive, and without access to my accounts, she’ll run out of money. Besides,
my
lawyers are better. And after a dozen or two of our monthly board meetings, she’ll lose interest.”

“Oh,” I said, softly.

He took in my expression, which must’ve been a mixture of concern and despair.

He sighed. “I’ve offered her a fair settlement—not fifty-two percent of the company, which is ridiculous—but a fair amount. More than she deserves, certainly. I don’t care if it takes her five years to realize it’s all she’s going to get. I won’t ever give her a penny more.”

 It was like someone had taken an ice cream scoop to my chest, hollowing it out. I
wanted
him to care if this would take years. I 
needed
 him to care.

 But he didn’t. he wasn’t thinking of me as he went to battle with her. He wasn’t
trying
 to get free of her to be with me.

Five years?! I was supposed to date a married man for five years?

I couldn’t wait that long.

“So that’s the plan? Turn into Fort Knox and wait until she’s too tired to keep banging on the door?” I said.

His expression didn’t change. He was resolute. Stoic. “I refuse to give in to her. No matter the cost. Alexa has expensive tastes. She’ll run out of money, and then she’ll accept whatever I’m willing to give her.”

 My eyes stung, but I refused to cry. How could he not see that 
he and
I
 might be the cost of his refusal to budge?

I didn’t think he should give her a controlling interest in his business, but I also didn’t see how he could be so cavalier about the divorce drawing out for years and years like this.

How could he not think of me as he refused her? Maybe I could wait for him… but not if he didn’t even bother to ask me how I felt about it all. Not if he didn’t even 
recognize
 what this meant to us. Once again, I felt left behind and forgotten.

I stood up, facing him. “And what if it takes six years to get her to see reason? Or eight? Ten?”

He crossed his arms and stared at me, as if confused by my reaction. “I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t give up more of my company and my profits just to get rid of her.”

I shook my head, biting hard on my lip to keep from crying. I wouldn’t cry. Couldn’t. He didn’t shed tears over me, he didn’t deserve mine. “But you’ll give up me.”

 “What?” He said, confusion lacing his tone. “No. I’m not giving up on us.”

 “Right, you’ll just ask me to sit around for a decade or so until you’re divorced, that’s all.”

“Taryn--” He stepped toward me, reaching out.

But I jerked away. “You really think it’s so easy for me to fall in love with a married man?”

 “This isn’t about you,” Landon said.

 “Exactly!” I cried, throwing my hands up. “It’s
never
about me. It’s about you, and what you want, and everything you prioritize in life that comes in front of me. For just a second, I let myself think that there would come a day 
I 
was number one to you. But I just keep waiting, and that day never comes.”

 “That’s not true.”

 “It
is
true! You’d rather be married to her for another ten years than give her anything more. You’re choosing your own battles and your own demons over me. You did it all those years ago, and you’re doing it now, and it’s never going to change.”

Damn it all the tears brimmed, glimmering in my eyes and making it hard to see his expression. “I fell in love with a man who is never really going to love me back. Not the way I love him,” my voice broke, and I angrily wiped away the tear that trailed down my cheek. “Because I would do 
anything
 for you. I would give up 
everything
 for you, if only I knew that you’d be there for me in the end. But you know what? It’s always been a mirage with you. Every time I think I see a future, I get a little closer and it disappears.”

 “Taryn--”

 “No, Landon. This is really it. I have to move on from all of this. And if you care about me, even an ounce, you’ll let me do that.”

 And then I pushed past him, another tear trailing down my cheek. I stumbled on the threshold to the patio door, but caught my footing and rushed across his house, out the front door, and down to my car. Sobs threatened to wrench free as I shoved the key into the ignition and peeled out of his driveway.

 In the rearview mirror, Landon stood on his front porch, motionless as he watched me leave. Through the tears, his expression looked empty. Blank. As if he would accept my leaving him, rather than run after me.

 Rather than win me back.

 I realized then, as my car carried me further way, that I’d still expected him to do something. I thought somehow he’d grab my arm as I rushed by him, that he’d run out into the front drive barefoot and push the car door shut, take my keys from my shaking hands, and tell me he loved me. Tell me he’d do anything to make sure we could have a future together, a future unencumbered by his past, by his ex, by his demons.

 I hated myself for believing in him at every turn, even though he only ever gave me reasons to distrust him.

 But that had to end. Today.

No more looking in the rear view mirror, hoping to see a man that didn’t exist.