Kept by Him (7 page)

It was too much, too sensual, too much stimulation, sensory overload—his raspy breath,
his touch, his cock throbbing and dragging inside her, his thumb, his fingers.

“Oh, oh,
oh
…” She screamed as ecstasy ripped through her, sizzling along her nerves as she convulsed
underneath him. He barked out and thrust one more time inside her, and she felt the
heat of his semen in quick, successive jerks.

They convulsed for long, frenzied seconds, then Monica fell utterly still, chest heaving
for air, Daniel still inside her, at her neck, licking her like some sort of feline
who’d just mated.

It felt like they had mated. Not fucked.

She stiffened at the thought, dreading to think about it, and she thought Daniel noticed.
He couldn’t have missed it, was too ruthless and too smart not to.

He chuckled softly as he rolled her aside and dropped his face down to her, taking
a minute until their breaths settled. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep it simple.” He kissed
her temple as he withdrew, then quietly arranged himself and pulled the covers over
her, tucking her in.

“Thank you,” she said weakly as he bent over her, her heart doing a strange vault
in her chest. She cupped his face with a special tenderness she’d always felt for
nobody but him. “I’m so glad I didn’t do valerian.”

He turned his head into her hand and faintly kissed the center of her palm, murmuring
something unintelligible which she thought was, “So am I,” then he rewarded her with
a perfect view of his backside as he went to get dressed.

Her mouth watered from the sweetly stirring sight.

Perfect male buttocks, round and muscled, with those sexy dimples at the back of his
hip flexors.…

Her body stirred again, and she closed her eyes to block it. This couldn’t be. God,
she really needed to get a grip on herself.

The rustling of clothes stopped, and an odd heaviness settled in her chest. Strange.
But the thought of him leaving wasn’t truly giving her the relief she’d sought. She
parted her eyes open.

“Danny, my board meets tomorrow…” She found him finishing buttoning his shirt, and
her windpipe swelled at the sight of his mouth, a little swollen, and his hair, a
little undone. “Are … are you coming?” she said, getting back to her business.

He raked a hand through his tousled hair as though to fix it. “I already came.” He
winked, then headed for the door with a chuckle. “Of course, Monica. I’ll see you
before noon.”

She flung the pillow at him, laughing, then she laughed harder when he caught it easily
and flung it back, where it slapped her right on the head.

“Oops. Sweet dreams, princess,” he said from the door, and she could hear his laughter
in his voice.

She lowered the pillow. “You, too, sweet prince. You’re the epitome of Disney’s guys
in tights, Your Highness.”

“I hate being called goddamned ‘prince’ and you know it, Ice Queen!” he shouted from
the hall.

“It’s Ice Maiden, sir! Or at least it
was
until you thoroughly deflowered me. But all right then, good night, Mr. Lexington.
Thanks for the great service!”

She laughed since she knew he hated to be called prince and now that she’d implied
he was a male escort, he would probably like it even less. Ha ha. She snuggled into
the pillow he’d almost knocked her unconscious with and closed her eyes, impulsively
smelling it, her scent mingled with his. Now if only she could catch some shut-eye.…

*   *   *

Holy God, was he going to have a boner for the rest of his life, or what?

Daniel deeply regretted leaving Monica’s apartment at midnight. Now he lay, alone
and sleepless, in his own bed, and by three a.m. even valerian started looking good
to him.

He rolled facedown on a groan, his body tortured, the scent of Monica’s sex imprinted
in his nostrils, the scent of her skin, her hair, the place behind her ears where
she had rubbed her fragrance, spinning in his head in a heady mix that wouldn’t let
him relax a single inch of his frame, much less sleep.

He hadn’t wanted to come home.

He’d wanted to tease her all night, hear her laugh like he hadn’t heard her laugh
in so long, and then just the thought of their bantering made him hot all over again.

Even after their orgasms, he was about to explode. Monica’s naked body was embedded
in his head like a brand, and the memory of her lying on her bed after coming was
burning him at the stake. His heart raced as he remembered how good she’d felt when
he’d fucked her, and though he tried to draw in a couple of calming breaths, it was
no use.

He’d never been this hard. He couldn’t wait to put his hands all over her again. Kiss
her.

Usually he enjoyed prolonging, when it came to pleasure. Making his partners wait
in building anticipation; the barrage of hormones he made them feel obliterated anyone,
anything before him … until there was only him.

But the torture now was on him.

Her breasts … his mouth ached to suckle them again.

Her pussy lips were the prettiest he’d ever seen.

Shaking, barely able to move, he rolled on the bed, remembering how she’d begged his
name after he’d played with her with the ice. An ice for his Ice Maiden.…

Jesus, had she melted that little sucker to the ground.

He remembered crawling down her, how he’d immediately heard her breathing intensify
as he parted her thighs to lick her orgasm. He’d heard her gasp in anticipation. Her
pupils had dilated, her breasts were heaving, and he had all but stopped breathing
for he had never, ever, been so fiercely turned on.

“Daniel…,” she’d whimpered.

His balls had contracted with a need so violent, he’d almost choked. “Shh…,” he thinks
he had said, but he couldn’t remember, only knew they’d just come and needed to come
again, and he’d shoved his shoulders between her thighs and went straight to eat her
up. He’d flicked out his tongue, quickly tasting the outside of her slit—soaked, creamy—he
dipped inside her with a languid stroke, and her sweet little cunt burned around his
tongue, tight as hell and so damned slippery, his cock twitched to fill her up again.

He growled as her taste invaded him, mixing with his own, but it didn’t matter … it
just didn’t … what mattered was that her hips had been tilting desperately toward
his, and she was so worked up it took only three flicks; the third time he pushed
his tongue into her channel she’d exploded.

She came so hard her thighs closed around his face and he pushed them open again by
shoving his shoulders higher and speared her through her orgasm, doubling the pleasure,
glorying in her cries of ecstasy.

When he added fingers into her sheath, a bubbling sound erupted from her chest, and
she tossed her head, her eyes glazed with lust, her nipples poking into the air—and
she came again.

His balls strained in memory, gathered high and heavy against his cock. He felt so
full he was leaking semen from the tip, throbbing painfully for her, liquid lava rushing
through his veins.

She had still been shuddering as he surged upward and grabbed her, so full he’d almost
exploded just licking her. “I’ve still got more for you, Monica…”

She’d been extremely aroused when he took her from behind. She’d cried with passion—with
need. Blazing hot and incredibly wet for him. He’d never imagined Monica would lose
herself like this to him.

Pulsing pain radiated through his dick, his scrotum growing so much heavier he feared
he would drown her with his semen the next time he fucked her.

His mouth ached to taste her breasts with his mouth, suddenly deciding he hadn’t given
them as much attention as he’d have liked.

His back ached from places she’d scratched him and he loved it so much, he wanted
to have more of those scratches all over.

He’d desperately wanted to spend the night with her so he could only refill his load,
wake up, and fill her up with him again. But neither of them were people who slept
over. Daniel had never allowed a woman to sleep over before, and he’d never stayed
to make chitchat with them in their homes. But he’d wanted to stay with Monica. He’d
held her before when she slept, all those years ago. He bet he was still the only
man in the world who’d ever done that. The thought tangled in his chest until he knotted
with a need that seemed violent.

He considered for the tenth time helping himself to some relief, but his hand was
big and manly, not delicate and soft like hers. He could get off with her scent alone,
with hearing another of the delicate sounds that stole from her throat and made her
seem almost surprised that she’d made them.

Monica.

You arouse the hell out of me, Monica.…

Hell, she aroused him in any and all the ways a man could be aroused. Emotionally.
Mentally. Physically.

She and Daniel were similar in more ways than one. In business, they both had the
hearts of a shark. In relationships, they both exhibited cool disinterest toward their
partners and saw them as only passing entertainment, and nothing truly meaningful.
They were both media darlings, both workaholics, but in the only way that counted,
they were opposites. Male and female. And his male was wild about her. His male had
never encountered in his life a woman to even remotely resemble his reactions to her.…

He rolled off the bed and slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms, then padded bare-chested
to his computer room. The screens were up digitally on a blank wall, projected with
lasers, on the other side of the computers, a total of a dozen screens surveyed the
parking lot, the streets, others highlighting his darkened office, the elevators to
Tritech, the building.

He pressed his fingerprint to the computer keyboard, digitally hovering in the air,
and subtly murmured, “Monica Davenport.”

A female voice broke out.

Searching for …

A total of 142,321 results.

“Scan most recent, display all.”

All twelve computer screens lit up, each portraying a different article about her.
He touched a screen and zoomed in on the image of her with Roland Gustafson. Old money.
Country-club type of man. Widowed with a son already in college. Monica was a comet
compared to that dull bug-eyed toad.

Daniel loathed the man, especially the way he’d always been sniffing Monica’s skirts.
He didn’t know if the man wanted some of Monica’s solid financial footing, or if he
just wanted himself a trophy wife. But Monica had said they’d be discussing their
relationship when he returned from London.

Good luck with that, princess. I’m not letting you go back to your mummy this time.

Focusing back on the screens, he moved his fingers over the timeline, and surveyed
back in time, five years ago, six …

He stopped at an article: L
EXINGTON AND
D
AVENPORT
W
EDDING?

They’d been caught having lunch at the Four Seasons, and gossip had spread like a
forest fire. During those couple of months after the death of her parents, there were
months were there was not a mention of one of them—either Daniel or Monica—without
the other being mentioned. Press speculation had been aplenty.

N
OT EVEN
I
CE
M
AIDEN
C
AN RESIST THE
P
RINCE!

He scowled at that one and scrolled onto the next. All of the speculation had stemmed
from the funeral. He landed on that famed picture. T
HE
I
CE
M
AIDEN
C
RACKS IN THE
A
RMS OF THE
P
RINCE!

Daniel had been clad in black, his blond head bent, and he felt all over again the
impotence of being unable to shield her from all those prying eyes even as she’d begged
him not to let them see this. She’d burrowed in his arms like a bird with a broken
wing and by God Daniel had wanted to take her to his nest until she could fly again
with
him.

Heart heavy in his chest, he went back further, to the murder-suicide.

L
ISA AND
C
ARLTON
D
AVENPORT
F
OUND
D
EAD BY
S
OLE
H
EIR!

His eyes scanned the article, and they related once again how their eldest daughter
had called 911 after finding them in their bedroom, dead, with their wrists slit.

Daniel rubbed his forehead and leaned back, remembering all the drama. Monica had
breathed it, lived it, from up close, and it still pained him to think of her having
gone through that alone.

They’d been normal people, Lisa and Carlton Davenport.

Hell, he still remembered them on the Lexington’s
Queen
yacht, laughing and having a good time. You’d never imagine they would do what they
did. Apparently, Carlton had a slip, a passing affair with his flight attendant. He
confessed when Lisa found out and had begged for forgiveness. But she couldn’t, and
ended up having an affair as well. After an ugly divorce battle, it all escalated
until their
Romeo and Juliet
finale.

The autopsies had revealed Carlton died before Lisa. It could have been a murder-suicide,
or a double suicide. Whatever it was, it had rocked the city.

It especially rocked Monica.

He zoomed in on another picture of her at the funeral. In this image, she stared straight
at the camera, her dark sable hair contained, but not too tightly, her ice blue eyes
tired and vacant, her lips closed and almost turned downward at the corners. God,
she was so beautiful his heart ached. She looked like her mother, some said. Lisa
had been smart, like Monica, alive and passionate, but Monica had tried to kill every
bit of passion inside of her since the whole debacle of the divorce began.

But Daniel had awakened her passions tonight. He knew it. He’d seen it, was still,
hours later, burning to ashes from the flames they’d created.