Men were usually too afraid of me to take the reins. They wanted me because I would dominate them. Just like Ivy League Prick, they had some fantasy in mind of me whipping them or being aggressive.
What they didn't understand was that I was in control all day, every day. Being the head bitch in charge all the time makes a gal want the simple pleasure of being fucked ragged by a guy who's stronger, bigger, and rougher. I was willing to bet Lincoln understood that simple fact. The way he'd already showed his dominance excited me, made me want him more each second I was subject to his touch.
He rubbed his fingertips against my skin in a light circling motion. Every nerve ending in my body was focused on those slight movements. The constant stream of thoughts and plans that ran through my mind at all hours came to a screeching halt as his fingertips took up every inch of my consciousness. Circle, circle, more pressure, less pressure, warmer, mmmmm.
He watched the road ahead but never stopped his movements, that light smile still playing along his lips. I wanted him to move his hand higher. Wanted him to feel what he'd done to my panties. But he just kept rubbing my leg, sending jolts of warmth straight to my pussy.
It was a short drive to my building. We strode past the doorman and into the elevator. As soon as the door closed Lincoln was against me, cornering me into the unforgiving metal wall at my back. His cock was a hard length against my stomach. Even in my heels, I had to stand on tiptoe to get a taste of his mouth. He refused me.
"Not yet, angel."
The pet name again. That was a new one on me. Sure, I'd get a random "honey" or "babe" from men who didn't really know me. But something told me Lincoln had heard about me, about the way I operated. Jonesy had made clear that I was a popular subject at the courthouse and in the federal bullpen. So why would this guy still think to call me an angel? I didn't have time to ruminate over it, because he took my hand and placed it on his cock.
The thickness of it beneath the fabric of his pants made my mouth water. It was large enough to make me wonder if I would be able to take all of it. Didn't matter, I was dying to find out. I ran my hand along it, imagining what it would feel like in my mouth. He clenched his jaw at the friction and leaned his head back. I took the opportunity to bite his neck above his stiff collar, leaving my mark. He groaned. The elevator dinged at the penthouse, and the doors opened.
He lifted me by my ass, his large hands splaying out and easily mastering me. I wrapped my legs around him as he stumbled into the unfamiliar territory of my home.
"Lights," I said. The audio/video system was just another plus to the high-rise life in Manhattan. Low lights came alive along the living area and in the kitchen.
"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice lower and even smoother.
I pointed to the black door at the side of the room. Never hesitating, he strode inside and dropped me on my bed. I lay back on the white duvet as his eyes roamed greedily over me. He looked hungry. I wanted to feed him.
He kicked off his shoes and socks. Then he loosened his tie and pulled it off before working on his dress shirt buttons.
"Strip."
The gruff command thrilled me. The desire in his eyes was a singular turn-on, like the ignition button in a sports car.
When I didn't move, he stopped unbuttoning and stalked on top of me. The heat from his body had my nipples standing at rigid attention. He fisted my hair, eliciting a surprised yelp from me, and spoke in my ear.
"Strip, angel. I'm not going to ask nicely again."
The slight touch of his lips sent goosebumps down my neck. I realized then that he was dangerous. The scars were not just for show. No, there was something inside him that spoke of violence, of heat. My pussy grew even wetter at the thought of what a man like him could do to me.
He rose back up and pulled his shirt off. I took a breath. He was the perfect V-shape. Wide shoulders, a fine dusting of dark hairs at his chest, and an alluring goodie trail leading down into his pants.
But that wasn't the best part, oh no. His torso was a gorgeous canvas of dark, entangled tattoos. They played against his tan skin, marking him. All in black, the swirls and filigree covered his chest, making a tangled knot over his heart. Beneath that, a Latin phrase in stark letters: audentes fortuna iuvat. He was a stunner in a suit and tie. Naked and inked, he killed.
"What does it mean?"
He didn't answer, just gave me a hard stare that tightened my pussy even more, the anticipation thrilling through me. I wanted my mouth on everything he had to offer all at once. He unbuttoned his slacks and let them drop before pulling his boxers down. Oh, my. His cock was smooth, slightly veined, and large. His hair was well groomed, clipped short around his tight balls. The head was shiny and slick, primed. I wanted to taste him.