“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: LEXINGTON AND DAVENPORT WEDDING?
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.
NOT EVEN ICE MAIDEN CAN RESIST THE PRINCE!
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. THE ICE MAIDEN CRACKS IN THE ARMS OF THE PRINCE!
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.
LISA AND CARLTON DAVENPORT FOUND DEAD BY SOLE HEIR!
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.