Hostile Takeover, Hill, W [recommended books to read .TXT] 📗

from home had been hell. But Cass always said you couldn’t enter into a challenging negotiation without believing a hundred percent in what you wanted. Marcie had needed to prove it to herself before she could prove it to Ben. And she had, in spades. Nearly seven years, and she’d never wanted anyone else to touch her. Every time a boy had, something inside her turned off, and she could only imagine Ben. She’d made herself do those dates, though. While she tried to avoid the emotional entanglements that might hurt the male in question, she needed a certain level of experience to achieve her goal. Those dates had been a testing ground for this, a game with very real stakes.

“Do you remember our slow dance, at my home prom?” He was still wearing his suit jacket, additional armor against her, she was sure. Rather than putting her hands on his shoulders, she slid her hands inside his coat, along the firm, heated skin over his ribs, separated from her touch only by his thin dress shirt. He stilled, but she stepped closer. He gripped her upper arms, but she kept coming, until her palms were against his back, fingers stroking his shoulder blades, the male muscle beneath the shirt. Ben was over six feet, so it was easy to lay her cheek on his chest, just under his jaw.

He still had his hands on her arms, but as she sighed, let her body melt into his, he muttered an oath against her hair. She closed her eyes, triumph sweeping through her as he slid his arms around her. One at her waist, his palm against her hip, the other staying at her face, cradling it where it lay against him. He slid his thumb along her throat, touching that collar, his fingers playing in her hair. They swayed together to Jennifer’s song, Ben’s sure footwork keeping them moving in a slow glide.

“I put my hands under your coat, just like this. The other guys were grinning at you, knowing you were trying to figure out a way to push me away a little bit without hurting my feelings. You knew I was too old for you to dance with me like a little girl, too young for us to dance that close. Isn’t that odd, how that change happens?”

When she lifted her head, Ben still had his hand on the side of her face, his gaze intent upon her. His grip on her tightened, and she knew from his expression he was done letting her dodge and retreat. His mouth had that firm set, his eyes pinning her in place. But she still had a couple key seconds, and she wasn’t going to lose them.

“You’d started to get hard when you pushed me away. You covered it in your usual smooth way, but I remember it.” Had dreamed about it.

Particularly when she brought herself to climax in her dorm room at night. She’d lean back from her laptop, think of Ben. She’d imagine him coming up behind her, his fingers sliding around her throat, tipping her head back against his abdomen. He’d whisper to her, tell her to spread her legs. He’d command her to put her fingers down her panties, and then watch her get so aroused she was begging him. Begging for permission to come.

She’d had submissive cravings for a long time, but it wasn’t until she’d read between the lines, picked up on what she’d overheard and seen between Lucas and Cass and the others, that she’d understood what she was. Why her sexual desires were different from the vanilla sex fantasies of a high school or college girl. Her dreams had to do with her being on her knees, being spanked, restrained. Tortured and tested. By him.

She wanted to say all of that, wanted to be that brave, but something about his look now, the tightening of his fingers on her face, kept her silent.

“You’re asking for trouble, little girl.” The hard tone was different. It wasn’t the Ben he’d always been with her, and though she knew he was trying to warn her off, it speared need and hope through her vitals. This was the predator she wanted. Hell, she’d bathe in raw meat if that was what she had to do. It gave her the courage to answer him.

“I surely hope so. I don’t think I could be any plainer about it.”

“Marcie, cut it out now, or your internship is over. Got it?”

“I don’t care about the internship. We’re close to Club Progeny. Just a cab ride away. Why don’t you take me there, do everything you want to do to me, that I can feel you wanting? I’ve been to clubs, I’ve—”

“Stop.” The word was a knife, cutting her off. Taking her arm, Ben led her back to her chair, this time going through an opening in the iron fence that required them to wind past the other closely placed tables. He motioned to the waiter as he held her chair, pressed her back down into it, his fingers gripping her nape in a way that made her shiver.

“A chocolate torte to go, and the check.”

“Yes sir.”

He sat back down. Before, with the bistro table being so small, and the other tables so close, his knee had ranged alongside her crossed legs, his other foot placed beside hers. Now he set the chair back toward the rail, putting a more circumspect distance between them. She was losing ground fast, but she’d made enough progress this battle wasn’t a complete loss. Picking up her wine, she took a bracing swallow, regarded him. She’d been on the debate team in college, she knew how to hold her own. That is, if she imagined him as anyone other than Ben, who was looking as if he could eat her in three sharp bites.

“You’re in over your head, and you need to quit this.”

“If you think that, take me to the club and show me what