Taking Control – Chapter One

July 28, 2014  | Writing Stuff  | (13)

On September 8, 2014, the long awaited sequel to book 1 of the Kerr Duology will be released. Are you ready for Ian Kerr?

I thought I needed only one thing in my life–the money and power to crush one man. But the moment I laid eyes on Victoria Corielli, my thirst for revenge was replaced by my craving for her.

No rule would keep me away; no obstacle too large to overcome. Not her will, not our differing social positions, not my infamous past. When she lost everything, I helped her pick up the pieces. When she trusted me with everything, she sealed her fate.

I’ve convinced Victoria she can put her heart in my hands. Now I have to protect it–from her shady stepfather and my business rivals, from enemies known and hidden. I’ll do anything to keep her. And I might have to prove it, because now Victoria”s risking more than her heart to be with me; she’s risking her life.

Add it to your Goodreads shelf today. Curious about book 1? Read more here.

Chapter One

Come ti vidi

M’innamorai,

E tu sorridi

Perchè lo sai.

When I first saw you I fell in love and you smiled because you knew.

― Arrigo Boito, Falstaff, II,ii

Love weakens you. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to as I gaze down at the woman slumbering next to me. Victoria Corielli is a slip of a thing. My hands span her slender waist. In her stocking feet, the top of her head brushes my chin. While she has muscular legs due to her previous occupation as a bike courier, the rest of her is on the slim side—more due to poverty and illness than the intense dieting socialites engage in.

Despite her size and diminutive nickname, she’s powerful. With a word, a look, a gesture, she can bring me to my knees.

As if sensing my scrutiny, her body shifts under the sheet, a heady susurration forms as luxurious cotton brushes against equally luxurious flesh.

Ian.

My name on her lips is hardly more than a whisper but it’s enough to send me from contemplative to alert in a heartbeat. It was only hours ago that we fell asleep and yet I find cannot leave her alone.

I lift one of her legs over my hip and ease into her. She greets me with a murmur that is half gasp, half pleasure.

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me,” she moans.

I huff out a chuckle. “Surely reality with me is better than your dreams.”

Her lids flutter open and in the moonlit bedroom, her eyes look wide and endless. “I don’t know. I was having a pretty good dream.”

“What were you doing?” My movements are slow, almost careless. There’s no hurry and that, in and of itself, is an aphrodisiac. I can have her as many times as I need, for as long as I need but I know I won’t ever be sated.

“I was with this guy. He was tall, dark haired. Wore a big cape.” She smiled sleepily. “He pinned me down and held my wrists together and told me that I was going to have to suffer endlessly for my sins.”

“And what was your response?” I roll her onto her back and gather her wrists together, pulling her body taut beneath mine. In the recent weeks, Tiny had been too sorrowful to play with me like this.

“That his endless punishment couldn’t start soon enough.”

Dropping my head to her neck, I breathe in the scent of her warm, aroused body. We’re both drunk on each other and I inhale, wanting to take her inside me and finding it nearly impossible to get close enough. Beneath me, her body tightens like a bow string, quivering and taut.

“Now,” she growls digging her nails into my hips. “Come with me now now now.”

Her command is my undoing. Whatever idea I had about slow and tender went out the window. I took her then, hard and fast, pounding her until we both explode—her release is screamed out and mine is expelled through gritted teeth.

Collapsing to the side so I don’t crush her, I pull her limp body close.

“Sorry,” I murmur into her hair, pushing the sweaty strands to one side to expose her temple for a kiss. Her head tucks itself under my chin.

“For what? Waking me with an orgasm.” She says sleepily. “Please be sorry every morning.”

“It’s not morning yet, bunny.”

She cuddles closer and I stroke my hands through her dampened hair and down her back, this time to soothe her and soon her even breathing tells me she is asleep again.

I get up and dispose of the condom and return with a warm washcloth. She flinches when I press the cloth against her center but doesn’t wake. With a frown, I realize this is the third time tonight we’ve made love. I need to be more careful with her.

Returning to the bathroom, I toss the cloth in the hamper and then stare into the mirror. Waking her for a third time like some randy teenager with no self control is not like me, but then I haven’t been normal since I met her.

When I first saw Victoria—or Tiny as her mother called her—on the street delivering a package, I wanted her. I liked the way she carried herself—self-assured and comfortable. I thought her long, blonde hair would look tempting spread out on my pillow. I imagined her thighs would be steel-hard from the biking. She made me laugh when she kicked the doorframe of the store after realizing the shop owner, who needed to sign for the delivery, was missing.

She made me hard when she stared at my lips like she wanted to taste me.

 In those few minutes of interaction between us, I saw a panoply of emotions—vulnerability when she considered my request to play hooky and enjoy a day in the park followed by a night in my bed; frustration when her customer was absent; and iron discipline when her sense of  responsibility overrode all else. Her unfettered emotionalism was refreshing. But it was when she ran from me and my direct offer of pleasure that my appetite was whetted.

I was well and truly caught.

I hadn’t actively avoided love, but I hadn’t sought it out. Why should I? I’d spent most of my thirty-two years fixated on making money. And there were few bedroom doors closed to me. Reasonable attractiveness—made infinitely more so by the thickness of my wallet—ensured that bachelorhood in New York City was easy and entertaining.

Maybe too easy because her refusal unwittingly transformed her into an irresistible challenge. The more she denied me the more I wanted her. Her mother was ill with cancer, and Victoria believed she couldn’t juggle both my interest and her concern for her mother’s wellbeing.

My arrogant belief was that money would solve her problems, making it easy for her to slip into my bed. After all, money had solved most of my issues, except one. But the more cash I threw at her, the more barriers she erected.

Even now, I’m not sure how many walls I’ve managed to tear down, how far inside the citadel of her heart I stand which is why I probably woke her for a third time. Why I can’t keep my hands off her. I’m afraid that all I have binding her to me is the response I can generate in bed.

The world I live in is inhabited by people whose lust for more—whether it’s power or money or influence—drives them to the basest of actions. Show a weakness and someone will attempt to leverage it for their own benefit.

Tiny had only one thought in her life—to save her mother. It was a story I understood all too well, and the ending was as tragic as I’d suspected it might be. Tiny’s mother lost her battle with cancer.

In slumber, she seeks my touch, the one thing that has given her pleasure in the weeks after her mother’s death.

Some might say that I was a lucky son of a bitch—in the right place at the right time—because she needed someone, anyone, after her mom passed. But I make my own luck. Tiny’s special, and I’ll do anything to keep her.

There’s a danger that she’ll wake up from her grief-induced fog and realize that I’m a manipulative asshole who is more trouble than he’s worth, but I have time and proximity on my side. I’ve bought my way into her heart and life. I’ll lie, steal, and cheat to stay there because nothing is worth more than her.

She might not want my money, but she wants me. And I’m completely devoted to seeing that she is replete with satisfaction during every waking moment. I simply don’t know if that is enough—for both of us.

She finds me there in the pre dawn hours, still staring blindlessly in the mirror.

“What’s wrong, Ian?” she asks wrapping her arms around me waist and pressing her face into the valley of my spine. “And don’t say nothing because someone who’s perfectly at peace doesn’t stand in his bathroom looking into the mirror for hours. Is it Richard Howe?”

A sharp bitter laugh escapes me. “I hate that you even know his name. His existence should be unfamiliar to you. He shouldn’t be allowed to breathe the same air, walk the same streets, eat at the same tables as you.”

Her hand squeezes my shoulder in reassurance. I snort in disbelief. It is Tiny’s mother who passed and she is in need of comfort yet here she is trying to saturate me with the warmth and solace of her body.

“Is it me? Am I preventing you from from taking action?”

Pulling her arm around my waist, I try to answer. “It’s not you. It’s never been you.”

“Why have you waited so long to pull the trigger on him? Metaphorically speaking,” she rushes to add. “I’m not suggesting you should have murdered him or something but why the kid gloves? The man embezzled money and blamed it on your father. He…hurt your mother and because of him you had to grow up on your own. You have had the power to ruin him for years.”

Her explanation of the horror my life had turned into after my father’s death is laughably euphemistic. My father had a heart attack after being blamed for a seven figure embezzlement  orchestrated by Richard Howe, my father’s protégé. My mother killed herself in an Atlantic City jail after prostituting herself to Howe. I’d left that jail with her few effects vowing revenge…and then I met Tiny.

And somehow the need to have her in my life had superceded my desire for retribution. At least momentarily.

Tiny is correct. Richard Howe is the scum of the earth. The ironic thing is that he is the one that brought us together.

I’d been good at compartmentalization, putting each person or activity in its own separate mental file drawer. Trying to ignore the strength of my developing feelings for her, I thought to use her against Richard. But she wouldn’t remain in one area, instead, her influence crept into every aspect of my life.

I was wholly unprepared for the depth of my feelings for Tiny. Or, more likely, I had been denying them. I wanted her but hadn’t realized until the moment I saw them together, not even touching, that I’d rather burn the whole world down than have another man lay a finger on her.

I tried to swallow down the rage and allow Tiny to lure him in, but as each minute ticked by and he stood close enough to touch her, my anger was stoked hotter and hotter. And when he took her on the dance floor and placed his fucking hands on her my restraint was ripped to shreds. There would be no joy in my life without her. I wished I had realized it earlier.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Kaga had asked me at the time. “If you walk out there, he’s going to know what she means to you.”

“If I watch him try to touch her ass one more time, you’ll be visiting me in prison.” I’d said.

That he even knows her name is my own goddamn fault.

I rubbed my forehead. “When I first returned to the city, I had these grand ideas that I’d storm his townhome and wrench a confession out of him. It didn’t take long to realize that he’d never confess. I kept making money and in the meantime, I’d buy up his debt. About eight years ago, I had enough of his debt that I could have made it difficult for him but then at a party, his wife approached me. I don’t think she remembered me or she knew who I was. She just came up out of the blue and started telling me about how she’d volunteered at a woman’s crisis hotline and how empowering it was. Would I be interested in donating?”

“So she stayed your hand?”

“Yes. Every time I was in a position to do something to Howe, I’d see her at an event. She’d share her latest charitable activities with me. She was doing things that could have helped my mother. Could I be the instrument of her ruin as Howe was for my mother? I found I couldn’t. And I felt sorry for her because Richard cheated on her regularly. She had to know about his infidelity. Discretion wasn’t important to him although he rarely hunted in their social circles. He preferred the working class—waitresses, models—which are often one and the same in the city. Women he viewed as disposable. It was clear to everyone that she loved him. Her eyes would follow him across the room and now that I have you, I really see it. How deeply devoted she is to him.”

“You thought that a scandal would separate her from him.”

“Yes, even if it would be painful, if I could decouple her from him then I wouldn’t have her wounds on my conscience.” I shook my head. “I’ll think of something else.”

She presses her face close to my chest. Between my arms, I feel her trembling. “What is it?” I ask urgently.

“You’re amazing Ian Kerr.” She rains kisses on my shoulders and at the base of my neck.

“If you were another woman, I’d say you were buttering me up for something but since you won’t even take what I’m willing to give you without argument, I’m going to have to ask. Are you on drugs? Because I distinctly remember you calling me an arrogant asshole more than once.”

“That was before I realized that you needed me help to correct your character flaws. I’m here now.”

“You’re like a missionary then, to save me from myself?” I’m only half joking.

“That’s right and from all the other women in New York City. I’m sacrificing myself on the altar of Ian Kerr’s pleasure in order to prevent heartbreak and sorrow across the city.”

“You deserve sainthood.” I pulled her tight against me and kissed her in gratefulness for driving away my moodiness.

“In honor of my impending deification, will you take me to bed and make me see heaven again?”

“Mmmm,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m sorry but no. You’re too swollen and tender.”

She draws away from me although the circle of my arms doesn’t allow her to get far. “Are you feeling sick? Because I swear I heard you turn me down.”

“I’m not turning you down. I’m…delaying our gratification until later.”

“Delayed gratification is for suckers. I want you now.” She looks determined but I get my way. Always.

Picking her up, I carry her back to the bed. “I’ll take care of you bunny,” and slide down her body until I’m kneeling between her legs.

Softly, tenderly, as if she were a virgin, I stroke her delicate lips. Her clit slowly emerges, as if jealous of the attention given to her other body parts. I lick my thumb and rub it lightly across the tip.

“Ian,” she moans. My name on her lips in that breathy tone has the same effect as mainlining aphrodisiacs. My already-erect cock throbs in response. I’m starting to believe in soul mates and life in the hereafter, because one lifetime won’t be enough with Victoria Corielli.

Sliding my palms under her ass, I lift her to my mouth.

There is so much for me to learn about her body, about what she wants and where she wants it. We haven’t even started talking about fantasies. I’ll do her any way that turns her on, in every place, and in every position. I know she likes my mouth between her legs, but her enthusiasm at giving me pleasure isunexpected.

When she has me in her mouth, her eyes become heavy-lidded with desire and her juices drip down to coat her thighs. She sucks me as if my cock is the only thing she’s ever wanted  and she’s afraid it will be the last time she can pleasure me.

The memory of her excitement at giving me head spurs me on. Her voice—hoarse after I’ve fucked her throat hard—telling me how much she loves sucking me off echoes in my head, a mental soundtrack I replay repeatedly. I need to hear her screams now. Those noisy affirmations of how much she needs me are the most amazing morning wakeup calls in the world.

I’m too horny right now to lick her slowly. I need to feel her orgasm all over my face, to have her thighs clench my head in a vise grip, like nothing is ever going to separate the two of us.

I suck at her lips, separating the folds with my tongue. Placing my thumb—wet from her arousal—on her clit, I tease her with tongue and lips until her thighs are moving restlessly beside my head, bumping my ears.

The taste of her is making me wild. My cock is thick and hard and even the expensive sheets are chafing my sensitive skin. Inside her, my mental caveman grunts. Need inside her.

I thrust my fingers inside, curling them forward until I find that small, spongy spot that makes her cry out.

“Oh shit, Ian.” The hand on my head tightens and my scalp begins to protest, but the pain brings a smile to my face. She’s getting there. It’s heaven down here. I could live here, her juices sustaining me for days. Opening my mouth wide, I engulf her pussy. Every little crevice is explored and sucked until her whole body stiffens and arches in front of me. Her soft walls are starting to convulse and her thighs tighten.

“That’s it, bunny. Just let go.” I lap at her, maintaining the rhythm that brought her to the peak. She pulses her hips against my fingers and mouth. I torture her with my lips, tongue, and fingers until she’s crying out my name and pulling and pushing against me at the same time. Wrapping my free arm under her thighs and up around her waist to hold her against my mouth, I devour her as she bucks against me. A wild, keening sound erupts from her, and I suck down her come as it streams onto my tongue.

 “Have I told you that I love you?” she whispers and pulls me to her for a fierce kiss. Her teeth nip at mine and then our mouths are fused. For long moments, the only air that we breathe is through each other. Breaking away, she pants and presses soft kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

“Only once today.” I smooth her hair back. We’ve made a mess of it. The long blonde strands are tangled and matted, but she’s never looked sexier. My gut tightens at the thought that others have seen her in this just-fucked state.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, smoothing a hand across my sweat-dampened skin.

“I’m a jealous fucker.” Roughly, I kiss her as if I can brand her with my mouth. No one but me will ever get to see her this disheveled again.

“Are you just figuring that out, because it was pretty evident a few weeks ago when you dragged me out of the bar by my hair.”

“It was by your hand, but if you’re okay with the hair dragging, I can pull that off the next time we’re out.”

She pinches me lightly. “No, I’m not into the hair dragging thing. I’m not against a little hair pulling, though.”

“Is that right?” My tone is light, but her words have made my cock harder than marble.

“This can’t be comfortable.” Her hand dips down to stroke me and I shudder at the caress.

Comfortable? No. “It’ll go away if you ignore it,” I lie.

“I don’t want to ignore it. I want it inside me.”

I shake my head. “You’re too sore, bunny.” I rub a finger over her lips, shiny and plump from our kisses. “I’ll hurt you.”

“I’ll feel worse if you don’t,” she pleads.

Her gentle begging makes me even harder, and I feel a twinge of guilt that her helpless desire turns me on even more. A decent man wouldn’t feel good about hearing his woman beg. Hell, a decent man probably never refers to his companion as his woman. But since I raised myself from the age of thirteen, I’ve developed my own rules and my own code.

I want. I take. I keep.

Tiny belongs to me now, and I’m not letting her go. She’s mine to love and to care for. Right now that means controlling my own need to fuck her again, no matter how hard she begs for it.

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Prepare yourself for Ian Kerr. Add him to your Goodreads shelf today.

Curious about book 1? Read more here.