That’s what I’m thinking about when Eric sits down on the leather couch and pulls me into his lap. If my posture is stiff, I blame it on the view. Blame it on the reminder I got in the conference room of how decisions are rarely mine to make.
Why then do I like being manhandled by Eric so much?
Isn’t his authoritative treatment the same as being told what to do?
How can I loathe one and crave the other?
“Greta,” Eric says, threading his fingers into my hair and gently tilting back my head. Holding me just like that, gaze on the ceiling, his breath in my ear. “I don’t want to make you agree to anything against your will. How do I make you mine? How do I make you need to be mine?”
“You can’t.”
He growls against my ear, that thick part of him pulsing between the split of my bottom. “Explain.”
Dare I? Open up to this man like that? In surrendering to him physically (mostly) I’ve already given up so much ground. Telling him what’s in my heart seems like a risk. What if he gains ground there, too?
That said, I can’t help but be grateful that he wants to listen. That he postponed the signing of an eight-figure contract to have this discussion when he probably could have strong-armed me into agreeing to his terms. And so I find myself confessing to this multi-faceted man. This man who defends me in a club, kisses me with violent passion, makes demands, then gentles his tone. I can’t seem to predict him for the life of me. They say the same thing about him on the basketball court. You never know which move the Silent Assassin will make next.
“My parents got divorced when I was eleven.” I swallow, feeling his gaze on the movement of my throat. “I’d barely seen my father growing up. He was always coaching. Always on the road. So when they split, it was only natural that I’d go to live with my mother. But my father was worried about his reputation being hurt. So he…paid her off. He basically purchased me to avoid a custody battle and to make himself seem like a dedicated father.”
I don’t realize my eyes are filling with tears until Eric swipes the moisture away with the warm pads of his thumbs.
“It hurt. Being abandoned like that, just because a man desired it. Since then, I’ve watched money buy men whatever they want, making the women in their lives…commodities to trade. I swore that would never be me again, so I vowed to stay away from athletes. And what happened in the conference room is exactly why. You’re proving me right, Eric.”
“No.” His voice is a harsh scrape of sound. “I only want to make you happy.”
“You want to make yourself happy.”
He throws me down on the leather couch and climbs on top of me, caging me in with his forearms and pressing our foreheads together. “I can do both.”
Don’t rub against him. Don’t do it. “I’ll never be happy in an arrangement I was forced to make.”
His breath pelts my mouth, his thick, athletic body vibrating with intensity on top of mine. For the second time since we’ve left the conference room, I’m pinned, unable to escape, and he seems incapable of not trapping me. It’s like he can’t help it. And the visible display of his infatuation with me is exciting when it shouldn’t be. My legs shouldn’t be eager to wrap around his hips, I shouldn’t be so breathless for another kiss. But I am. I want him to drop his weight completely and rock his hips into the cradle of mine. Want him to call me little girl again.
Once again, he makes a move I wasn’t anticipating.
“I want you to be with me of your own free will, Greta.” He tugs down the strap of my sports bra, exposing my right breast, touching my distended nipple with the very tip of his tongue and shooting a jolt of lust down to my toes. And when he laves it more thoroughly, looking me right in the eye, a moan breaks from my throat. “I won’t force you to be my wife. Not when it’ll hurt you and cause you not to trust me. Jesus, angel. That’s the last thing I want.”
Did I hear him correctly? “Really?”
“Really.” He pulls down the opposite bra strap, stripping the entire garment down to my waist. “I’m asking now, Greta. Not demanding.” He saws his tongue gently over my left nipple, sending wicked tingles to my core, making me restless underneath him on the couch. “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Just a chance.”
I can’t believe it.
He listened to me and…and changed course.
My words mattered to him. They made a difference.
It’s such an unusual occurrence in my life, I’m almost suspicious.
“What does that mean?” He rubs the flat of his tongue over a hard bud and I whimper. “G-give you a chance?”
Eric lifts his head, blue eyes brilliant with hunger. “It means come home with me, tonight, of your own free will. It’s my challenge to keep you there. Make you want to stay forever and be my wife.”
“And you’ll sign the contract regardless?”
He nods once, grudgingly. “I hate leaving this up to chance, but I want your trust too badly. I don’t want you to put me in the same category as the rest of the men in your life. I can’t expect you to believe I’m different if I don’t walk the walk.”
I’m suddenly so turned on, I can barely form a coherent sentence. “It’s, um…hot. It’s so hot that you listened. What…who are you?”
Eric leans down and speaks flush with my mouth. “I’m the man who is going to ride you ragged tonight.” He charts a path down my throat with his tongue, licking across my chest from one peak to the other, capturing the bud and sucking it noisily. “And we’re going to find out why you love being called little girl so much, aren’t we? Never called anyone that in my life. But you…that’s your name. Isn’t it, angel?”
Flushing, I nod, unable to give him anything but the truth when I’m looking him in the eye. “I’m a virgin, Eric.”
The way he pauses, tongue mid-lick of my nipple, hair falling into his eye, might be the sexiest vision available on all of planet earth. “A virgin.” He visibly turns that piece of information over and over in his head. When he speaks again, his voice is threadbare, deeper, resonating in my tummy. “I’m still going to ride you ragged, little girl. No help for it.”
I start to tremble.
Not in fear. No, I’m overcome by his words. What he’s doing to me. The flex of his thighs on mine, the way we’ve begun breathing in tandem, that promissory bulge wedged between my thighs, pulsing, elongating.
“I want to go home with you now,” I whisper, my fingers gathering bunches of the front of his shirt, knees scooting open, inviting him to press deeper. “Eric…”
“You’re horny,” he grates softly in my ear.
My nod is embarrassingly eager.
His groan raises goosebumps everywhere on my flesh. “One fuck and you’re going to be whining for it all the time, aren’t you?” He yanks my knees up around his hips and bears down, giving me one rough thrust and I scream into my closed mouth. “Yeah, I’ll be bringing you on the road with me, won’t I? Banging you before and after games. Halftime if you need it. Going to walk out onto the court smelling like your sweet little pussy and I’m going to love it.”