Tell Me You Want Me by Willow Winters

Suzette

The New York skyline is much different from the windows of Adrian’s penthouse. I’m used to feeling as if it’s towering over me, but in his living room we’re a part of it. In the heart of Tribeca surrounded by historic industrial buildings and new construction that’s all steel and glass.

It’s the epitome of New York.

It almost seems like a movie backdrop is wrapped around the entire room. Floor-to-ceiling windows that with a touch of a button, darken for privacy surround us. Every other day, Adrian introduces me to more wealth than I’ve experienced in the years I’ve planted roots in this city.

Behind me, he busies himself in the foyer answering a call. The design is open concept but so far away, I feel lost in the view. Even his furniture seems to play a part in the city.

It’s the perfect layout for a home with so much luxury. Hardwood floors shine under my feet and the neutral color scheme is fresh and strong. He has high ceilings and windows that kiss those ceilings, and beneath is a living room with sumptuous leather furniture that looks like it cost a mint.

Nothing in his home is out of place. There’s not a single ounce of clutter, which adds to the masculine energy. It even smells like wealth, if ever there was a scent, one so clean it makes me a little jealous. I can imagine the people it would take to make a home look like this. A housekeeper at least, and others to make sure the walls and furniture stay perfect. The view alone is worth millions.

I can hardly keep my mouth closed as he gives me the tour, passing quickly by his bedroom and ending up back in the living room. “I didn’t realize just how wealthy you are.” I swallow thickly, my fingers playing at the hems of my silk sleeves.

The last time I felt awe like this was when I was flying into New York City for the first time. I couldn’t believe I was finally going to live here, in a place I’d dreamed about for so long.

Adrian grins, slipping his arm around my waist. “I’m certainly not the richest man in New York.”

“How very modest of you,” I teasingly respond although my normal bite is lost.

There’s a deep rumble from his chest, a short hum. I’ve noticed him do it a few times now and with it, his hand drops lower, to the side of my hip and his thumb rubs soothing circles there.

It causes a tension, a nervousness inside of me. It’s more serious. Because I crave it. I want more of that masculine hum of satisfaction.

Being in his personal space and seeing his things and furniture is way beyond what I ever thought I’d do with him. I’m nervous to get it right and keep my cool, but I’m a strange mixture of giddy and hot. The more I learn about Adrian, the harder it will be when things end between us. I’m not sure I want things to end between us. Which only adds more to the feeling of not having the upper hand.

I certainly don’t want them to end here, in his beautiful penthouse with all his fancy furniture and Adrian in his suit from the office. Despite working all day it’s still crisp. I’d like for him to take it off, or to play the game we always play … but in his home, we don’t have to rush.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want a drink?”

I nod. A drink would be good. Something to hold in my hands and busy myself with.

“Let’s step into the kitchen, then.” In Adrian’s kitchen, which is an elegant, masculine space with dark marble countertops and tall reclaimed wood shelves, he takes down two cut glass tumblers. Light bends through them, refracting as he cradles them in his large palms. Even his tumblers reek of wealth “What would you like?” he asks.

“You choose,” I offer, not knowing what’s in his kitchen.

“Whiskey?” he questions. “I have a favorite you may not have tried before.”

“I don’t mind whiskey.”

“Chocolate cream cold brew whiskey,” he speaks clearly, opening cabinets and leaving me alone by the kitchen island, standing quite alone in the expansive space.

Once he has what he needs, the bottles lined up and large spherical ice cubes taking up space in the tumblers, he strips off his jacket so he’s just in his shirt from the office. Like his suit, his dress shirt is still pristine after a day of sitting in meetings and restructuring the company. My mouth waters at the thought of what’s hidden under the belt around his waist and the white shirt above.

How did we come to be here? How did I find myself in this penthouse, with a man like him?

“If you don’t care for it, I’ll happily drink both and get you something else,” he offers and I nod a thanks, deciding I should take that seat at the island after all.

He’s capable in the kitchen, mixing this drink like he’s made it a thousand times before. I have another flash of jealousy. Maybe he has, for some other woman, though it’s none of my business who he brings here or who he makes drinks for. It comes and goes, leaving me questioning how much he’s gotten to me. We’ve both been with other partners. And this, whatever is between us, is mutual.

Evening light glows around him as he tells me, “Let me know what you think.”

“Thank you,” I tell him as he hands me the heavy glass. The first sip goes down smooth. “Wow.” I never would have guessed chocolate and whiskey would be a combination so easy and delectable. He’s made it better than any bartender could have. It overwhelms me, how good it is.

“You like?” he questions, standing and leaning against the island.

“I do.”

“Now that you’ve seen mine, I’m wondering about yours,” he says, sipping his whiskey.

“My place is nothing like this,” I comment, a bit worried, but also blunt. I’m sure he’s aware. I don’t come from this kind of money and my position certainly doesn’t pay a salary where I could afford anything close to this in my lifetime.

Adrian sips his own whiskey, which he takes straight.

“I imagine you bring work home?” he asks.

“I prefer to stay at the office, but yes. My apartment is small. When I split with my ex, I sold off everything and bought a place in the West Village that I’d wanted for so long.”

“Hell’s Kitchen is fitting for you.” I nearly tell him I’m barely there, but then I realize what he’s revealed.

“How did you know?” I question and then answer for myself. “Did you snoop in the company files?”

“Of course I did. When I saw you that first day staring at me across the conference table, I already had your number.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” I say with a pout, although it comes out a lust-filled whisper.

“I don’t play fair.”

“So you liked me while I hated the thought of you?”

He nods. “It’s easy to hate the devil. So no offense taken.”

I laugh, the nervousness dissipating. The drink Adrian made for me is helping. His expression intensifies, though, and he takes another sip of whiskey. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re the devil anymore.” Without thinking much of it, I raise my drink and confide in him, “That name is solely reserved for my ex-husband now.”

His next question is casual: “What happened between you and your ex?”

Immediately I regret bringing Carl up in conversation at all. His name is the equivalent to an ice water bath.

I’m over that man, and I’ll never want him again, but it still causes an old pain in my heart to talk about it. Luckily, the pang of betrayal is over quickly, and I can answer Adrian honestly. “He cheated … with the company secretary.”

Anger darkens his features. “So he was a fucking idiot. Got it.”

“No. Not an idiot. He was a manipulative bastard and damn good at it.” My throat is tight as I correct him, once again feeling like a fool. “It wasn’t just once, either. He had an affair for over two years. He used her to get details he shouldn’t have been privy to.”

Adrian takes a step closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rumbling through me. “I’m sorry he hurt you and took advantage of you.” He seems to make a decision. “My last ex was somewhat similar when it came to dishonesty.”

Setting the glass down I admit to him, “I googled your name and love interest.”

“You tried to look up my dating history?” He grins at me as if it’s comical. “Did you find anything?”

“No,” I state and he chuckles at my pursed lips.

There’s almost no information online about Adrian’s love life, as if it’s been purposefully kept offline or scrubbed from the internet. There are companies that will do that for a person, and Adrian has enough money to hire them. Though most people don’t care so much about erasing their exes from history.

“What happened with your ex?”

He drains his glass and pours another, taking in a deep breath. Just then, the intercom at his door rings, stealing his attention.

“One moment,” he tells me and Adrian goes to answer.

“Food’s here, Mr. Bradford.”

“Bring it up.”

It’s quiet as he pours his whiskey, and I attempt a bit of small talk thanking him for dinner.

A doorman appears a minute later, in gray slacks with a shiny black name tag on his crisp white shirt, and two bags in hand. I cling to the tumbler, feeling out of place once again.

Adrian takes the bags out to the living room, where there’s a massive sofa and a coffee table large enough to dine on.

As I slip off the stool, he opens the bags and lays out the containers on the table.

“The view is better in here,” he tells me and when I reach the sofa, my hand on the soft leather, he peeks up at me to add, “and touching you will be far easier here.”

A blush creeps up into my cheeks and I take the seat next to him. The savory smells of basil and marinara waft toward me.

“Italian?”

“Have you had Scalini Fedeli before?”

I shake my head gently, glass still in hand. “I haven’t.”

There’s that hum again, that satisfied hum coming just before he balls up the paper bags. Rising from his seat, he tells me I’m going to love it.

As he plates the food, capellini with prosecco, porcini ravioli and arugula and buffalo mozzarella salad, my mouth waters. I do however notice that the conversation from the kitchen has stopped altogether.

Maybe he’s not going to tell me. It’s obviously a painful subject if he’s just going to move on from it. Curiosity flares again, but I don’t want to ask the question. I’d rather sit with him, enjoy this meal and wait for more of those deep rumbles from him.

“She never loved me,” Adrian says, breaking the silence after the food is plated. “She never even wanted to be with me. She was with someone else the entire time.”

“Oh my God.” My heart breaks for him. I know this feeling so well. I wish I didn’t, because it means my ex was a horrible person who wasted my time, but I know the betrayal that’s coursing through his veins. It makes you feel so sick and stupid. Like you should have known all along what was happening, but you didn’t.

“He told her to sleep with me because he wanted her to persuade me into certain deals.”

“That is …” Horrible. Worse than horrible. Devastating. It would make it hard to continue trusting people in business after that. Almost impossible. No wonder Adrian rearranges companies to such an extent. He doesn’t truly trust anyone to be what they say they are.

“We were together for nearly six months before I realized.”

“I’m sorry.” I set the tumbler into my lap, both hands cradled around it. His focus is on his plate. His fork twirls the pasta around but he doesn’t eat.

His eyes find mine and he offers me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes when he says, “Maybe it’s not polite dinner conversation.”

“It’s fine. I want to know more about you.”

He gestures at the food on the coffee table. “You must be hungry,” he says, and I know this part of the conversation is over.

My appetite has vanished, though, apart from small bites, which are delicious. We eat in relative silence. I’m sick on his behalf, and on mine. I never thought Adrian Bradford and I would have something like this in common—such complete betrayal by an ex. I guess betrayal doesn’t care if you’re rich. It can find you anywhere.

“What do you think?” he questions.

“About what?”

He huffs a small laugh, taking another bite before glancing at my half-eaten plate.

“Oh, it’s delicious. I—You were right. It’s delicious.”

He’s barely touched his plate as well. “I’m not as hungry for dinner as I thought I’d be.”

“Me either.”

A moment passes as he leans back, the sofa groaning under his weight. The plates stay where they are on the table, the empty tumblers of whiskey next to them.

“I’ll never do that to you,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting to my lips.

I turn onto my side, lifting my knees up and letting my heels fall to the floor so I can rest my legs on the edge of the sofa. “I won’t either. Cheating and lying are—”

“For assholes who can live with their misery,” he says, finishing the statement for me.

I rest my cheek on the back of the sofa, and my hand slips into his. “Yeah.”

As if he senses my thoughts, he says, “I want to get lost in you.”

I don’t have a chance to respond, only to part my lips as he crashes against them.

As soon as he touches me it’s like we’re back in the office, frantic for each other. He strips off my clothes with brutal efficiency and does the same to his own. A gasp leaves me as he lifts me, forcing my legs to wrap around his hips.

I think he might take the floor, but instead he takes me to the windows looking out over the city. He’s still fully clothed, save for the top buttons undone from my efforts a moment ago.

My stomach drops at the height of the building but Adrian murmurs in my ear, “You’re safe here, safe from everything except being my fuck toy. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

I wonder if they can see me. There’s no other building this tall, but it would only take someone craning their neck to see me bared to the powerful man behind me.

My answer is a moan. He puts both my hands on the cool glass. “Keep your hands up,” he commands me. “And spread your legs.” My breasts press against the glass as my hips are pulled against his crotch. His erection pushes against my ass.

His hand dips down between my thighs and teases up until he’s stroking my clit, alternating it with pushing his fingers inside me until I whimper for more. Then he focuses relentlessly on my clit until I come on his fingers with a cry, shaking against the windowpane. My legs nearly give out and I cling to Adrian as best I can, holding on to him to keep my balance. His lips trail down my neck as he toys with me, bringing me closer and hotter to yet another release. It’s hot and my pulse races, for the sheer force of my orgasm and from the view. The chill of the glass is at odds with how my body hums. He plays me like he knows every inch of me, and I fucking love it. I love what he does to me.

He tells me, “I think I’ll fuck you here.” His fingers slip lower, to a place I’ve only experimented with once. My eyes widen slowly and my lips part in an O. “Have you had anal before?”

I swallow thickly before answering, “Not in a long while.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he questions and I rest my head back, staring down at the city. “It was … different. We didn’t get far,” I admit. A college fling once tried … we were drunk and lube was scarce. “It was a no go for lack of … preparation.”

A deep rumble of consideration comes from his chest as he seems to consider what I’ve told him. “Are you curious?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit, my heart racing.

“And you would you trust me to do my due diligence?” he questions and I can feel his smile against my neck. His fingers play at my clit again and my “yes” becomes a moan of approval. The thought instantly makes me nervous, but I would let Adrian do anything. I trust him.

“Lie down for me over here,” he says, picking me up and taking me to his sofa. At first I yelp in surprise, clinging to him, but it quickly turns into a short laugh, smiling into the crook of his neck.

He’s gentle as he sets me down on the soft leather cushion. “Wait here.”

He comes back a moment later and puts me into position on his couch, on my belly, knees bent slightly. I’m quick to grab a pillow, laying my cheek against it and wondering what he’ll feel like … there.

Adrian kneels behind me and spreads me wide, his fingers playing at that place, cool and slick with lube. He pushes one finger inside, then two. It’s an odd pressure and it makes me tense slightly before relaxing. The simple act heats my entire body and with it, my head thrashes and I moan gently into the pillow.

“How does it feel?” he questions.

“Good,” I respond in a groan as his other hand finds my clit, his fingers still in my ass. “Fuck,” I moan into the pillow.

“Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he tells me. “This shouldn’t hurt, Suzette. It should feel good.” All I can do is nod with my eyes closed. The sensation is all consuming, tingling every inch of me. With a whimper, I swear it’s more sensitive and more illicit to be fucked like this.

He shifts us to the floor, which gives me a sensation of stability that the couch didn’t, and I feel the head of him against me. I take in a quick breath.

“Push back,” he orders, and I do. My body goes hot as he presses inside.

My hands fist the pillows and he tells me to relax.

“I want you to enjoy this,” he whispers at the shell of my ear, his warm breath and gentle kisses adding to the overwhelming sensation.

With my eyes half-lidded, my lips part and I push back. Strangled moans pour from me. “That’s my good girl,” he urges me on, slowly pulling out and then pushing back in. Adrian murmurs things behind me but doesn’t rush. It’s very slow, and it makes me all the hotter. The full sensation turns to something else, something needy and undeniably pleasurable. Inch by inch I push myself back on him until he’s fully inside me.

It’s that last thrust that seems to shock my system. My eyes go wide and it feels too much, too hot, too full. Just too much.

“Oh,” I gasp. Biting down on my lip, I utter a small grievance. “Stop, no. I don’t know.” It happened too fast, out of nowhere. He stops at once, stilling and my hand grabs the top of his.

“It’s all right. How do you feel?” he questions. Fuck, it’s just so much. I want it, I want him. I want this. It’s a sweet mix of pleasure and pain.

“Scared,” I admit to him, remembering how much it hurt before. It was nothing like this. Not at all, but with a cold sweat on the back of my neck, I swallow down the unwanted memory.

“Just breathe,” he says softly. “Give me a word that means stop.”

“Whiskey,” I say, the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m going to move, Suzette.”

He does, and it feels overwhelming to the point of paralyzing. There’s not an ounce of control left for me; all I can do is hold on. I’ve never been taken in such a forbidden way before. Adrian is slow at first, then faster and deeper. I clutch a blanket he’s thrown on the floor beneath us. With one hand on my clit, he takes full advantage of pushing me to the edge.

His thrusts get harder and deeper still and if it weren’t for his lips on my neck that beg me to kiss him, I would be writhing beneath him.

“What’s your word, Suzette?”

“Whiskey,” I whisper, feeling the pleasure build and build.

“Good. I need you to remember that.”

I almost ask him why, but he doesn’t give me enough time. Adrian holds me down and fucks me ruthlessly. With deep strokes, he takes me like I’m his fuck toy.

I come instantly, his name on my lips and pleasure like I’ve never felt before rocking through me.