Before my brain registers his raunchy words, his hips thrust toward me as uses his hold on my hair to yank me against his crotch. My mouth isn’t open so my face mashes against his shaft. Breathing is getting harder.

  “If you want to keep The Whitney, you’ll open your mouth… now…” he growls.

  Survival instincts kick in as I open wide, taking his hard length so deep in one thrust that I gag. Even as I sputter around his flesh, he pulls back enough to allow me a deep drag of air through my nose. I push with my palms against his muscular thighs, trying to put distance between us, but he’s too strong. What begins as a sporadic thrusting of his hips quickly escalates to a fast and furious blowjob, with each drive moving deeper down my throat.

  Waves of humiliation wash over me as I hear the obscene slurping and gagging sounds I’m making in the otherwise quiet room. It’s a toss up if my unwanted tears or my spittle spewing from around his cock are making a bigger mess as they drip down onto my now-heaving chest. He may have a front row seat to those embarrassing fluids, but I’m grateful that at least he can’t see how wet my panties are getting as my body betrays me by flooding my pussy.

  In between his thrusts, I taste those drops of pre-cum I’d admired earlier. The masculine scent of him surrounds me, flaming my own growing need. As the tangy taste grows stronger, Dex’s grasp on my head tightens, holding me in place as he truly fucks my throat for his pleasure. I’m not sure if I’m more lightheaded from the lack of air or from the sexy growls now emanating from above me as he chases his orgasm. A wave of sick pleasure courses through me as I acknowledge my effect on him.

  It’s a toss-up between my throat and jaw for which is sorer by the time his thrusts start to lose their steady rhythm. Thanks to the barrage of tears and phlegm, it’s getting harder to breathe because now my nose is running. I do my best to push down my rising panic.

  “Oh shit… sorry man.” Simon’s apology comes from the doorway behind me.

  I want the floor to open up and swallow me. That Dex has a front row seat to my humbling embarrassment is bad enough. Having Z in the room as a witness is too much.

  My palms pound against Dex’s legs as I try my best to pull away from him so I can stand. He only doubles down, yanking me back against him, his rod filling my mouth and throat.

  “Don’t leave, Z. I’m almost done teaching Katja an important lesson in consequences. Considering she’s been giving you so much trouble, I think it’s only fair you get to enjoy watching.”

  In my panic for air, I entertain the idea of biting down. Oh, the satisfaction I’d get from castrating the asshole. Just in time, a deceivingly gentle stroke of his thumb across my cheek, swiping away some of my hot tears, calms me enough to allow a gasping breath.

  Dex’s thrusts resume, hard and fast. His primal growl is the only warning I get of his impending climax. I taste the first drops of his cum just before I feel my mouth filling with the first hot rope of his seed. I swallow again and again, trying my best not to choke on the thick liquid and when I fail, I feel a line dribbling down my chin, plopping a glob of wetness onto my chest.

  His shaft is starting to shrink by the time he finally pulls out of my mouth, allowing me to finally flex my aching jaw. My knees hurt almost as much, and I fall back with a whoosh to sit on my heels. I train my eyes on the floor as I try valiantly to catch my breath, fighting back the urge to burst into humiliating sobs.

  I feel his fingers below my wet chin, lifting my head until I’m forced to crane my neck backward. There is no escaping his heated gaze. I slam my eyes closed again, squeezing more hot tears out.

  I feel his thumb smearing the mess down my cheek just as I hear his quiet, “So beautiful.”

  Not trusting my voice, I bite back the urge to call him a liar. I’m a hot, humiliated mess, but then again, that was his goal all along, wasn’t it?

  Before I push to my feet, Dex uses his fingers to scoop up a remaining blob of his cum from my chin. Instead of using a tissue or napkin to clean the wetness, he instead moves his hand lower, smearing his spent seed across the exposed skin above the neckline of my prim and proper business dress.

  “There… that’s perfect.”

  “Hand me a tissue,” I finally croak out of my sore throat.

  “No tissues. Not until you get back to the penthouse. It pleases me to see my mark on you.”

  Furious, I struggle to push to my feet. Like the gentleman I know he’s not, Dex lends a stabilizing hand up. I try to push away from him as soon as I’m standing, but he hugs me against him, forcing our faces only a few inches apart.

  Flustered, I finally whisper, “I hate you.”

  We’re close enough I can feel his warm breath on my cheek as he lets a slow smile play at his lips. Of course, he’s enjoying his victory over me.

  “No, you don’t. You may want to hate me, but I can smell the proof that at least a few parts of this luscious body of yours are far from hating what we just did.”

  One of his hands slips lower, cupping my ass and yanking me harder against his body. Conflicting emotions rage through my mind. I’m desperate to leave… to put distance between us… to try to regain even a small measure of my dignity.

  I force a deep cleansing breath before speaking again. “I hope you’re happy, Dex. It must make you feel like a big man turning me into nothing more than your whore, forcing me to trade sexual favors for money. Our fathers would be so proud.” I’m grateful that my sore voice doesn’t quaver.

  I hear his sharp intake of breath as his eyes turn a shade darker. My words hit home.

  Dex releases me as fast as he’d grabbed me. I stumble back, struggling to stay on my feet as I spin around, desperate to escape the room. Unbelievably, I’d forgotten Z was still there. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, blocking my exit. Our eyes meet just long enough for me to see his sick satisfaction with his boss’s treatment of me.

  Asshole.

  “Move!” I shout at him, trying to tamp down my growing panic that they might want to put me through another round of fucking consequences before I can escape. What scares me the most is acknowledging that at least a fragment of me craves just that.

  Mocking me, Z steps aside, waving his arm gallantly as he allows me to pass. I’m almost out the door when I hear Dex calling after me.

  “I’ll be by later to finalize the new contract.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dex

  “You’re flying too close to the sun,” Z says, shaking his head with a smirk on his face.

  Collecting the papers that I was working on before my… meeting with Katja, I say, “I don’t need your opinion on this.”

  “No? Just my audience?” He takes a few steps around the table so I have no choice but to see him. “That was fucked. I really don’t want to see one old childhood friend sucking off another, thank you very much.”

  I shrug. “Bad timing on your end walking in.”

  Z leans forward on the table, his fingers splaying across the expensive wood surface. “Keep your head in the game, man. We have a lot of shit to deal with and address. We’re growing faster than expected and struggling to keep up. The last thing I need is to lose you to a haze of pussy.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Really? Because what I just witnessed…” He sighs heavily. “You and Katja are messy to begin with because of the ghosts haunting your past. And you’re making it even messier.” He waits until I lift my eyes from my busy work and look at him directly. “I’m a damn good cleaner, but even I can’t clean up the mess you both have the potential to make.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You’re gambling with The Whitney,” he warns. “Being vengeful can make you stupid.”

  “Who says I’m being vengeful?”

  “I see you,” Z says. “I see this sick game of revenge you’re engaged in. But you’re underestimating your opponent and the hold she has on you.”

  “She doesn’t hold anything over me.”

  Z rolls his eyes. “Tell yourself whatever you want. I know what you both had in the past, and I can see it now.”

  “Bullshit,” I snap. “I’m focused on The Whitney. Business. Nothing more.”

  “Listen man—”

  “Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about Katja. I got this under control,” I say, grabbing my file and leaving the room without saying another word or looking at my friend who’s shooting daggers of judgment from his eyes.

  I can’t focus on his words right now. I can’t…

  After spending some time cooling down in my room, I know I’ve kept Katja waiting in the penthouse long enough. I need to act while submission is still running through her veins. Sure, she’s going to be pouty, pissed even, but the fact of the matter is she just had my cock resting heavy on her tongue, and her body will still respond to me even if her mind wants to rebel.

  When I walk into the penthouse, not bothering to knock, and using my key instead, I prepare myself for whatever battle is about to come my way. I have the upper hand, and for that I’m grateful. Katja is a mighty opponent, however, and I need all the advantages I can get.

  “You can’t just march in here like you live here,” she spits as she wraps her robe around her body tightly.

  I can see she’s recently taken a shower, no doubt to try to calm the storm raging in her body. She’s running her fingers through her damp hair that lays wavy on her shoulders. I like seeing the natural and vulnerable side of her, but I can see she’s uncomfortable with her state of appearance with me being in the room.

  “I just did,” I say casually. “We weren’t done with our meeting from earlier.”

  She fidgets with the rope around her waist. “Alright then,” she says, taking a step toward her bedroom. “Let me get dressed, and we can meet in the conference room in ten minutes.”

  “The penthouse will be fine,” I say, walking over to the dining table that is covered with papers and past due bills. I can see the red final warnings bleeding all over.

  She scurries to the table and begins cleaning up, trying to shield my eyes from just how bad her reality is.

  “Give me all those bills,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m going to pay them all.”

  She pauses, her heavy lashed eyes lifting to mine. “You want to pay all of them?”

  “That’s what I just said.” I wiggle my fingers to show that I’m waiting for them.

  “In addition to the money you’re giving me?”

  I extend my hand even further. “Yes. Hurry and give them to me before I change my mind.”

  She piles them up, her fingers trembling as she does. “Fine. I suppose now is a good time to discuss your leasing fee for the thirteenth floor as well as the rooftop.”

  She hands me the bills and our fingertips connect for the briefest of moments. I watch her soft features harden right before my eyes and she clears her throat, stands up straight, and the cold ice queen facade quickly returns.

  “You actually haven’t been loaning me the money,” she begins. “You haven’t paid me your leasing fee yet, so the money you’ve been giving me is actually what is owed. I’m aware we haven’t agreed to a price, and no contract has been signed, but considering what you once paid—”

  “Yes, what I once paid,” I interrupt. “But that was then. The past. Things are going to be different this time. There won’t be a leasing agreement.”

  Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back. “Excuse me? Of course, there’s going to be a leasing agreement. Our fathers had one, and—”

  “You’ve proven to me that you and I will never have what our fathers had. The minute you kicked me out on the street going against everything our fathers built, you proved to me that you can never be trusted again.”

  “And we’ve agreed to rectify that.”

  “Yes, we have. But not by signing a leasing agreement. I’m not going to risk repeating history and giving you the power to sever the agreement and land me back on the street once you get back on your feet or get a chip on your shoulder again. I’m not a fool. I’m not going to let that ever happen again. I’m in The Whitney, and I never plan to leave it again,” I state, keeping my voice calm and even regardless of the fury raging inside me at the memory of what Katja did to me and just how helpless I was.

  Never again.

  I will never be that man again.

  “I gave you the thirteenth floor. I gave you the rooftop—”

  “And you’re going to give me a percentage of The Whitney. A true partnership.”

  “Never. Nonnegotiable.” She crosses her arms and stands her ground. “I’m not signing any contract with those terms.”

  I look around the room and smile. “I also want the penthouse.”

  She laughs. “Absolutely not. I’m not moving.”

  “I’m not asking you to move,” I say. I point to the room that is across from hers. The room that belonged to her dead husband. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” she says, her eyes darting to the empty bedroom. “I’m not living with you.”

  “You managed to cohabitate with your loser husband. Therefore, you can do it with me.”

  “No.”

  “The thirteenth floor is already full. We need my suite for a paying guest.” I hold up the bills she just handed me. “Clearly we need paying guests.”

  “Dex,” she says as she licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “The penthouse is also off the table. This is not up for negotiation.”

  I put down the pile of bills and clear the distance between us so that I’m standing inches from her. I can smell the fruity essence of her shampoo, and my fingers itch to tug on the rope around her waist. I know there’s nothing beneath the robe, and it would be so easy to…

  “I’m standing here offering to fix everything for you,” I say, my voice low but firm. “I have the means to take all this debt away. You deserve to go one day without the worry of money hanging over you. But in return, you have to accept I’m here to stay.” I lean in even closer. So close that I can kiss her if I want. “Forever.”

  “I’m not asking you to leave The Whitney,” she says on an exhale. She takes a few steps away and turns her back to me. “But what you want in this new contract is unacceptable. You aren’t my business partner, and you are not my roommate.”

  “Yet.”

  She spins to face me with fire in her eyes. “Ever.”

  “But you want my money.”

  “I needed a loan. A loan and nothing more.” I watch the courage and fight return to her body as if an injection of strength is being given through her veins. “And I don’t need you to fix everything. I can fix it myself.”

  I walk over to the wet bar and take it upon myself to pour a scotch. I can feel Katja’s eyes burning the back of my head, but she doesn’t say a word as I take my time preparing the drink.

  I finally speak after a long, awkward moment of silence. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us in the penthouse, just as there is plenty of room for us both to own The Whitney,” I say as I take a sip from my drink.

  “When I agreed to let you come to The Whitney—”

  “Correction,” I cut in. “When you needed me to come to The Whitney.”

  “At no time did I ever consider living with you,” she continues. “So, you can get that thought right out of your arrogant and delusional head.”

  There’s a knock on the door, and I take the opportunity of Katja walking to answer it to head over to the couch to make myself comfortable. I don’t bother to even look over my shoulder to see who’s at the door.

  I already know.

  I hear Katja ask, “What is this?”

  “Mr. Cohen has asked for all his belongings to be moved to the penthouse,” the voice of the bellman answers.

  “What? Dex!” The screech that comes from such a usually composed woman amuses me.

  I finally glance over my shoulder and motion for the bellman to enter. “Bring everything to the room across from Ms. Belov’s.”

  The bellman moves past Katja and pulls the cart with the beginning of my belongings into the room. He’s a smart enough man to know to do as he was originally asked and to act oblivious to the tense energy in the room.

  Katja storms over to me and whispers between clenched teeth. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I love the fact that she doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the staff. It’s keeping her in check. Otherwise, there’s a chance she’d try to claw my eyeballs out.

  I kick off my shoes and lean back fully into the fluffy couch pillows. Smiling, I say, “Moving in.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Katja

  This is ridiculous. I’ve been standing in my closet, making tiny changes to my outfit for thirty minutes. As meticulous as I am with my appearance, even I’m not normally this indecisive.

  I’m hiding.

  There. I admitted it to myself, except it doesn’t make me feel any better because it just means I’m letting Dex Cohen have the upper hand in this little game we’re playing.

  He barged his way into living in the penthouse four days ago and while we may technically be living in the same suite, we’ve barely seen each other, which suits me just fine. The problem is that even when he’s not here, the threat of him returning at any moment hangs over my head, keeping me on pins and needles. It’s like having to be battle-ready at all times.

  I hate it.

  This is my home. I shouldn’t have to worry about running into my enemy when I’m just grabbing a cup of coffee or getting a book from my library. Thankfully, my bedroom has a sitting area so I’ve been able to stay closeted away for the most part when I wasn’t up to going to war, but this isn’t sustainable.

  Worse, the asshole went behind my back and canceled all of the normal services I had arranged with the staff. No more morning coffee delivery. No more nightly turndown with Francesca, or afternoon housekeeping touch-ups. Hell, Dex even canceled my standing dinner order with Chef, forcing me to either leave the penthouse or phone for service each time I need something.

 

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