King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 5

Stella

“CORA. CORA!” I snap at her as I approach her at the bar. I grab her by the elbow and pull her away from Murphy’s brothers. “I’m about to do something really fucking stupid.”

“Great! I always knew you had it in you.”

“I’m serious. This guy is all kinds of intense and he’s a total jerk. But I’m kind of totally into it?”

“Okay, so?”

“So…I shouldn’t be leaving with him right now, right?”

She laughs. “Are you asking me for permission? Or are you trying to get me to talk you out of it or what?”

“I don’t know. He’s just…he’s everything that I hate but everything that makes me horny all wrapped in one asshole package.”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

I sink a little at the thought of it and nod.

“Go fuck him, Stella. Fuck him and dump him. He’s only here for another night. Give him a night to remember and send him on his merry way.”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah, you’re right. Why am I so in my head about this?”

“Because you haven’t been railed in like, six months.”

“Jesus, don’t remind me.”

“Stella,” Murphy suddenly barks from right behind me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back. I jump when he startles me and my pulse hums beneath his touch. “Are you coming or not?”

“She’d better be coming tonight,” Cora says to him with an expression that is far too serious.

I tilt my head and lift my eyebrows at her. “Bye, Cora.”

“Send me and Josh a text with the address when you get there.” Josh is her on-again-off-again boyfriend-slash-roommate.

“I will. You be careful, babe. Call Josh to walk you home later, will you?”

She nods. “Yep, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Stay safe.”

Is any of this safe?

I yank my wrist from Murphy’s grip so I can blow her a quick kiss, which she returns, before I stride right on past him to the door. I told him I was walking in front of him, and I meant it. This little power play with him is unlike anything I’ve experienced with a guy before, and I’ve messed with my fair share of assholes. It’s not so much that he’s an asshole…he is, but I just get this feeling there’s more to him than that.

And for some reason, I kind of like the power he exudes. It’s sexy when it shouldn’t be. It makes me want to keep up this fight for control between us because I want to see how far I can push him before he snaps, before he takes the lead for good and dominates me.

Shit, I can’t remember the last time I was this stupidly horny.

I reach the exit and stop, starting to turn so I can wait for Murphy to catch up, but he’s right there beside me. He hooks his arm around my waist, his fingers digging into my side, and pulls me against him. He drags me out the door and onto the sidewalk. His strides are long and quick, and I struggle to keep up.

“Slow down,” I tell him.

His fingers dig deep into the side of my waist, bruising me. “Keep up.”

“I hope this rushing isn’t a preview of how the night’s gonna go. You’re not a three-pumps-and-done kind of guy, are you?”

He stops us abruptly beside the curb and moves to stand in front of me, his arm sliding along my back as he shifts to grip my hips with both hands. He stands close and his energy pulses through me from his palms. “Do I give you that impression? Does anything about me make you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I mean, how should I know? I just met you.”

“That’s right. You have no idea.”

His arms move around my waist to tug me close. Then his lips land on mine. He kisses me, but it’s not hard like the first time he kissed me inside Serendipity. It’s soft, warm, deceptively so. This kiss is a tease because I know this softness will be absent once we’re alone. His strong aura radiates rough, hard, and wild. I really need that tonight. I need him to wrestle the fight out of me and take me.

Does that make me a bad feminist?

Well, fuck me if it does, because I’m doing this tonight, anyway.

He hails a cab and his hands are all over me the entire ride. I don’t even know where we are when we tumble out because he’s already got me so worked up. I’m sex-drunk from nothing more than simple, mostly innocent touching—he was stroking my thigh, running his fingers down my arm, brushing his nose along my jawline.

It’s not until we hit the luxurious hotel lobby that I realize this guy is way out of my league.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask as he leads me along to the elevator bank with his hand on the small of my back.

The sound of water splashing from the fountain as we pass it draws my attention, and I turn my head toward it to take in my surroundings. Marble floors, elegant fountain, terrible soothing piano music echoing from the corridor.

“I run our family business. We do well.”

“I’ll say.”

We get on the elevator, and he has to use his keycard to access a top-level floor. My heart flurries with excitement, not just for getting laid for the first time in half a century, but for getting laid by a hot older man with a sexy accent in a fancy hotel.

Living the dream.

“How old are you?” I ask as he backs me into the corner of the elevator.

“Thirty-five. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Hmm,” he hums, slamming his body against mine and bending to kiss the side of my neck.

I let my head fall back into the corner as he licks a line along the curve of my neck, but then I jolt when he sinks his teeth in—not playfully but fucking hard.

“Hey, easy!” I put my hands on his chest and push. He does it again. I yelp and shove until he takes a step back. He looms above me, looking down at me with narrowed eyes as he licks his bottom lip.

“You wanna leave?” he challenges me.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. He walks backward off it, cocking an eyebrow and waiting for me to choose—stay on the elevator and go home, or get off the elevator and get it on with him.

I get off the damn elevator.

“Twenty-three fifty-two. Lead the way, I wanna watch you walk,” he commands.

The breath I take in is shaky at best. Part of me wants to rebel, stand my ground, let him drag me to his room kicking and screaming like he had promised. But I decide to give him this one and stride forward.

Room twenty-three fifty-two is the last room at the end of the hallway. I stop when I reach it to pull my phone from my bag.

“Hang on,” I tell him.

I snap a quick picture of the door number, then take a quick candid shot of his face without warning and bring up a text. “I’m sending the hotel name, room number, and your face to Cora and Josh. If you were thinking about murdering me and cutting me up into little pieces…well, you could probably still do it, but I’d think twice if I were you. They’ll know exactly who did it and they’ll send you to prison. I’m willing to bet some guy would make you his bitch within the first week.”

I tap send and shove my phone into my bag, looking up at him with a cheeky grin. His expression nearly matches mine, his energy nearly matches mine…his vibe, his aura, the electric hum of his beating heart.

I feel him under my skin and the intensity of it is pure, clean, sparking lust.

I step aside and let Murphy unlock and push open the door for me. I barely step over the threshold before I’m attacked. The door clicks shut, and he grabs me from behind, wrapping his arms around me, and molding to my backside.

One of his hands slips down as the other roams up, reaching between my legs while he squeezes my breast. I gasp, folding forward, my insides coiling around his touch. He bends over me, folding with me as he cups his hand between my legs, and my excitement swells.

“God, I need this,” I whimper.

He jerks me back, lifting me upright as his hand slips from my breast to my throat. His hand is large, big enough to snap my neck like a twig if he really wanted to, and a pulse of fear shoots through my veins—but right behind the fear is desire. The rings on his fingers dig into my flesh. I want to feel the metal drawing lines across my skin as his hands touch me everywhere.

He marches me forward across the enormous suite, turning us left and forcing me to a half-shut door. His hand leaves my body for as long as it takes to shove the door wide, and he pushes me inside roughly, but not rudely.

I spin around to face him, dropping my bag onto the floor, shrugging off my coat, peeling my shirt up and over my head, and tossing it away. He saunters toward me. His eyes, which seem to change color with the lighting, are a misty gray-green as they zero in on my mouth, and they look…transcendent.

He reaches out, grips me by the side of my neck, and drags me against him. My body collides with his and he kisses me with aggression. It’s like the kiss in the booth from before—rough, consuming, almost painful.

I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed this way, not even by a man who once claimed he was in love with me. I don’t know if I can handle this much testosterone, but fuck, I want to find out.

This kiss is dangerous in the way it takes hold of me. It demands control that I’m not entirely sure I want to give up. It’s so insistent, it could convince me that I want to give it up and that’s what scares me.

Give up control to a stranger?

The little twinge of fear is intoxicating, even if it does make me stupid, and the tension of it tugs at something deep, waking me up inside.

Murphy backs me up, rushing us toward the bed as he kisses me, breaking away just as the backs of my knees hit the mattress. He shoves me and I fall back onto the bed.

He steps back and smiles at me, removes his overcoat and blazer, and works at the cufflinks on his wrists. “Take off your clothes.”

“A please wouldn’t hurt,” I reply, though I instantly reach for the button on my jeans and start to pull down the zipper.

His cheek twitches as his head falls to the side. “Do you want me to be polite or do you want me to make you come?”

I laugh, pushing myself off the bed to stand. I reach behind me and unhook my black bra. “I have to choose?”

“With me, you do.”

“That’s such bullshit.” I remove my bra and toss it dramatically, then shimmy my jeans down my legs, step out of them, and kick them aside, grateful I took Cora’s advice and removed my granny panties earlier.

I have no shame, and I proudly stand naked in front of this stranger. Though I have to say, the extra pulse from my heart shoots a brief ripple of nervousness through me.

I want him to approve of me.

Why do I care if he approves of me?

I only want to fuck him for one night.

He sets his cufflinks on a dresser and turns to face me, his fingers working the buttons of his shirt. When he sees me, we both freeze, still as statues. Our eyes lock and there’s a tick of connection there before he scans my body. My eyes fall to his broad chest as his fingers move again to open his shirt. He’d have to physically force me to look away right now because I’ve been itching to see the ink on his chest since he walked into my shop.

He slinks toward me as he works his buttons and I feel hotter the closer he gets. When he’s finally in front of me, my eyes are wide on his artwork. A skull sits on the center of his broad and muscular chest, detailed to perfection with dark, sunken eye sockets and drawn with a technique that almost makes it look three-dimensional. Two skeleton hands, one coming down across each pec, hold the skull from either side, as if presenting it to the viewer. An ornate crown sits atop the skull.

The image itself is black ink only, and I’m glad he didn’t put color there—it would only hide the beauty of the detail work. But surrounding the image are drips and splashes of purple. The color is added brilliantly, framing the shape of the image without overpowering it.

“Finish undressing me, Stella,” he demands.

“That tattoo is incredible.” My hands move to push the open shirt from his shoulders, and he lets it slip from his arms to fall on the floor. He has tattoos everywhere, over his shoulders, down both arms all the way to his wrists—mostly black ink, but there’s color where it counts.

I want to know who did this work.

I want to look at every image, trace my fingers over every line.

I can feel him looking at me as I draw my fingers across his skin.

“I was beginning to wonder where yours were.”

“Huh?” I lift my chin to look up at him, but his eyes scan my body.

His fingertips gently graze my hip, finding the end of the cluster of black-drawn flowers that are splashed with shades of blue and purple watercolor. “I wondered where I would find your artwork hidden beneath your clothes. Your long sleeves and jeans made it hard to guess.”

I draw my finger across my collarbone. “You didn’t see this one?”

“Aye, I saw it. The cursive is difficult to read. What does it say?”

“Lost soul.” I put my hand on his chest again, pressing my palm to the skull. “What does this mean?”

“It’s personal.”

“So is mine.”

It’s personal, yet we’re both obsessing over each other’s ink, touching each other, tracing lines, and exploring with our eyes. He draws over my artwork, his fingers gliding sideways across my stomach, angling upward over the floral and lace design that wraps across my mid-section, curving around my side and ending just beside my breast. I shiver as his knuckles graze the mound, fingers brushing over my nipple.

I breathe out, and suddenly, I’m frantic. My fingers find his belt buckle and work quickly to unlatch it. I push his pants down to his ankles and drop to my knees with them, letting myself come face to face with his cock hidden behind gray boxer briefs. He steps out of his pants and kicks them aside. His hand lands heavily on the top of my head and his fingers curl, digging into my scalp as he grips my hair and jerks me straight up. I clamber quickly to my feet, my hands shooting up to reach for his wrist.

When I’m on my feet again, face to face with him, he pulls my head sideways. “You’re not ready for that yet,” he practically growls.

And I fucking believe him.

But I also don’t because I’m literally dripping, and we’ve hardly begun.

His eyelids droop as his gaze intensifies. For a moment we just stand and stare, and I feel like I can’t breathe. My lips part with my ragged breaths and his free hand falls gently on my cheek. His thumb brushes over my chin and moves upward, touching my bottom lip, running across it, and tugging it down.

He pushes inside and drags the pad of his thumb down my tongue. The way he presses down and swirls his thumb in a slow circle over my tongue makes me tremble with hope that he’ll repeat the motion over my clit.

He pulls his thumb out gradually, scraping over my bottom teeth, hooking inside my mouth, and tugging my lip down. When his thumb falls away, my lips remain parted, and I’m panting.

He drops his forehead to mine, staring into my eyes. “You might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

My heart hammers. I don’t need a man to affirm my beauty, and my appearance doesn’t define my worth. But the knowledge that he thinks I’m beautiful sends warmth rolling through my belly. I want him inside me like this, pressed against me, faces close, and eyes on mine. He penetrates my soul with a single look, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable or bare in my life.

Who the hell is this guy?

I press my eyes shut and lick my lips, moving my hands to his waist. When a heated breath and a groan rushes out from him at my touch, it relaxes me. I sigh as I dare to slip my arms around his hard body and hug myself to him. I raise my chin and our lips meet for a kiss that isn’t urgent, but sensual. Our tongues taste and push and swirl, and we melt together.

He releases his grip on my hair and brings both hands to my face, holding my cheeks as he arches me backward, bending over me to deepen our sensual kiss. It lasts for minutes this way, tongues softly tasting, skin brushing skin, our bodies sinking and molding together as something electric builds between our writhing flesh.

I didn’t expect this bold sensuality from him.

I expected instant fucking, roughness, and a mixture of pleasure and pain.

I suppose there is some pain in this with the way my body hums, my skin burning and prickling with the need to be touched, to fuse with him, and to do nothing but feel.

My knees sink and he dips with me to hold onto our kiss as one of his hands trails down my throat and over my chest. His palm rubs across the mound of my breast. His thumb follows, quickly swirling around my nipple, making me jolt. My lips part with a gasp and it breaks the kiss against my will.

“Open your eyes, look at me,” he groans.

I blink them open, though they want to flutter shut. His thumb continues to move around the hardened peak.

“Murphy,” I breathe his name.

He growls, a primal noise that rumbles from his chest, and the next thing I know, I’m on my back. I wiggle myself up the bed as he pauses to remove his socks—thank God, because no girl wants to be fucked by a naked man with only his socks on—and he casually slips off his underwear like it’s no big deal.

It’s a big deal.

It’s a big deal.

“Oh, my God.” I press up onto my elbows as he climbs over me. “Where do you think you’re gonna put that?”

“Shut your smart mouth or I’ll shove it down your throat.” I can tell he’s serious, but the twitch of a good-humored smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Promises, stranger.”

He settles over me, thick thighs touching the insides of mine as he nudges my legs apart. “You want a promise? Just know, I don’t make empty ones.”

He lays down on top of me, trapping me between his hard body and the soft mattress. I feel every inch of him touching every inch of me, his heat merging with mine, his inferno meeting my blaze and igniting a flash fire over my skin.

His hand finds its way between my legs, his fingers skating across my opening. “Are you this wet for all the lads you let take you home? “

“I’m never this fucking wet—”

I’m cut off by my own gasp as he drives his hips forward and slams inside me, his monster cock nearly splitting me in two as he fills me completely. My mouth drops open and my eyes snap wide at the thoroughly unexpected intrusion. My hands shoot up against his chest and press, the instinct to fight him off me sends waves of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Shit. Do you have a condom?” My good sense finally returns to me. My dry spell has apparently turned me in to a moron who didn’t even think of this until he was inside me.

He sits back on his knees as he rears up, dragging his cock out and slamming it back inside. “Do we actually need one? Aren’t you on birth control or something?”

“I am, but…” I trail off as my belly clenches against the way he shifts inside me.

Shit, this feels so good.

“Then it’s fine, Stella. I’m clean.” He pulls out, thrusts inside me again, and my spine tingles.

I struggle to wrap my mind around what the hell is happening.

Do I want this?

Am I okay?

There was no foreplay, no lead up, no warning.

He groans from deep in his gut as his hand lands on my knee, bending my leg, and pushing it back. His other hand falls to my stomach, splaying across my tender flesh. His thumb scoops downward. It only takes him seconds to find my clit and…

Oh, my fucking, God!

“Yes!” I gasp, arching my back.

I’m bewildered, mystified, stunned beyond belief. He was inside me before I had any time to mentally prepare for it, but he moves with precision and touches me with perfect, swirling strokes. Everything within me coils around my center.

And shit, the way he looks down at me—his hazy, gray-green eyes scanning every inch of me—makes me feel wanted.

I want him to want me.

I comb my fingers into my hair from my forehead and grip the strands, needing something to hold onto as he fucks me.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says through gritted teeth. “So fucking good.”

I feel like I can’t breathe. He’s on top of me, inside me, everywhere. Every sense is filled from the heat of his touch to the gruff sound of his voice and the peppermint candy scent of his beard. And the way he looks at me, with narrowed eyes in scrutiny, watching me as if he’s discovering something brand-new with me here right now.

The only sense unfilled is taste.

“Kiss me. Let me taste you.”

I’m almost shocked when he bends and immediately opens his mouth against mine, giving me exactly what I asked for. I move my hands to his hair and grip his ashen, strawberry-blond locks between my fingers.

Everything between us feels warm, wet, filthy, and perfect. Then he thrusts into me with an almost painful stroke and pauses, buried to the hilt inside me.

He lifts his head and looks at me as one of his hands sneaks up to wrap around my throat. The curve of his hand mashes against the underside of my chin and his fingertips push in on my cheeks with bruising force as he tilts my chin skyward.

He smirks. “Tell me you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

Shit, I hate that word.

I told him I hated that word before we left the club…and he told me he’d have me saying it before the end of the night.

I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction so easily. I try to shake my head against his grip, but it’s no use because he keeps me still. He dips, runs the flat expanse of his tongue across my closed lips, and it makes me shiver. My hips buck and rock beneath him, trying to make him move, trying to get him to fuck me, but he holds firm to his position, pinning my hips with his weight settling over my midsection.

“Tell me. To fuck. Your pretty. Little. Cunt.”

His fingers on my cheeks loosen enough for me to form the shape of words with my mouth. “Fuck my pussy. Fuck it hard. Destroy me,” I dare.

He groans, punching inside me a little deeper, but still unwilling to stroke. His face drops beside mine and he runs his nose along the back of my jaw, toward my ear. “I didn’t say pussy. Tell me what I wanna hear. I’m not moving until you do.”

“Fuck you. I’m not saying shit I don’t want to say. Fuck me or don’t.”

He pulls out gradually, every thick inch of him scraping along my insides before he violently shoves back inside. I gasp and whimper, my body convulsing around a lightning strike in my core.

“Say it,” he says. His free hand wanders between us and I sigh as his fingertips brush over my nipple, but then he takes the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger and tugs, twisting painfully.

“Fuck!” I hiss, hating and loving the pain at the same time.

His face is right in front of mine, the tips of our noses touch and his eyes slice into me, deeper than I imagined they could. “Fucking say it, Stella.”

That gruff quality to his voice twists inside me. It makes me want to bend over for him and let him do whatever he wants.

“Fuck me,” I manage to say. “Fuck my pretty little cunt.”

He releases my nipple, rears back, and slaps the side of my breast with a thwack, the metal of his rings biting into my flesh. Then he pounds me. His fingers rub my clit quickly, aggressively, in a way that almost hurts while it also drives me up that mountain side faster than anything in my life. I know my poor lady bits are going to be raw and sore after this, and I don’t even care.

This is how I like it. It’s how I need it. It’s how I touch myself to get off—rough and hard and fast. He knows what he’s doing. He does it almost too well, almost well enough to have me fooled that maybe, somehow, he sees me, gets me…knows me.

I swear to God, it’s only seconds later when I feel it pulsing, when I feel that heavy rush between my legs that crashes against the dam wall until it shatters. I split right down the middle, a tsunami bursting from inside me and splashing pulsing waves throughout my body.

My back arches, hips rising off the bed, and my body is shocked into stiffness as the climax takes hold and doesn’t let go, wave after wave after wave.

“What the fuck…” I mutter as it finally recedes and my ass hits the bed again.

I dig my fingers into my hair as I pant through the drop-off. It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s holding still inside me, watching me with a sickeningly sexy half-smile on his face. When I calm enough to blow out a heavy breath, he pulls out of me and I whimper.

Empty.

Hollow.

A missing piece.

I suddenly don’t feel right without him inside me.

Talk about an orgasm high, I’ve lost my damn mind.

He moves his legs to straddle my waist and shimmies higher, coming up until his knees are beside my breasts. I reach my arms around his thick, muscular thighs and slide my palms up to cup his firm, perfect, absolutely splendid ass cheeks.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” His massive hand slips up my throat, moving to cradle my cheek as his thumb presses up against the bottom of my chin.

He tilts my head back as I give him what he wants, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue drop out. I curl my fingers, digging my nails into his flesh, and he sighs as he grips his cock with his free hand, stroking himself rhythmically.

That’s it.

I’m in love with his cock.

It’s never really been that big of a deal to me before, but his monster dick is sexy, masculine, and challenging—just like him.

“Give it to me,” I tell him. “Come on, let me taste it, come on my tongue.” I open wider for him, stick my tongue out farther.

His chest rises and falls, faster and faster, and his nostrils flare as his expression turns dark, clouding with intensity that shoots right through me, making me wish I could reach around him far enough to rub my clit again. He groans, low and long and deep. His lips part, his eyes shut for a moment, and then instantly snap open again. His entire body shudders as he comes hard, his ass and thigh muscles twitching beneath my touch. He angles his cock down, spilling all over my tongue.

He tugs his cock until every last drop is spilled and then he scoots back, his knees moving down to straddle my hips again. He leans over me, bringing his face down to mine as he presses his palm lightly to my throat.

“Swallow it.”

As soon as I gulp down the sticky fluid, his lips are on mine, kissing me deeply, tasting himself on my tongue. It makes me moan. It makes me want more of him. I squirm beneath him, aching to be filled again, though I know he won’t recover for a while. I whimper.

“You want to come again?” His thumb softly strokes along my jaw and over my chin, brushing my bottom lip.

“Yeah,” I manage, swallowing again.

“Good. Because I wanna taste your cunt.”

I don’t even care anymore what he calls it, I just want him to put his tongue on it.