Knox
Oh, it’s almost not even fair. She truly still thinks she’s the hunter and not the hunted, and she’s blissfully unaware of how very aware of her I am. Yes, I’ve been watching her trying to casually watch me in the club every night this week. Hell, it’s the very reason I’ve even been going every night. I hardly ever go out, and never for five goddamn nights in a row. Who the fuck has time for that? Especially if you’re a man like me with zero interest in the hangers-on and the bank-account-fuckers and club-girls who troll places like that for men like me.
But I knew she’d be looking for me there, trying to “case” me or whatever she’s been doing, and so I just kept showing up. Five nights of sipping my still water over ice with lemon wedges, everyone around me thinking I’m knocking back ten vodka-rocks without even missing a step like some kind of rock-n-roll legend.
But no, I kept my head clear, as I normally do. Because for five nights, I was there for one reason and one reason only: to let her get closer and closer, until it was too late to avoid me pouncing.
The truth of it is, this whole thing goes back even farther than you could possibly imagine. But whatever it is, she’s here now. And now, she’s mine.
She follows next to me, moving quickly and a bit wobbly on her big fuck-me heels. We head to the back of the club, and a nod at one of the other bouncers I know—the one smart enough to not try and pick up or fucking touch Simone—and he turns to press a button in the wall for us. A panel slides open to an elevator, and I swear I hear Simone swallow with a gulp as it opens for us.
“Come,” I purr, taking her hand and pulling her into the elevator before turning and pushing the button for the roof. Yes, I could drive, but tonight is about wowing her. Tonight, I want her jaw on the ground. And when we step out onto the helipad on the roof of the building to find my private chopper already fueled and ready, her jaw is most certainly on the ground.
We fly north from Tribeca over the Bowery and the West Village, over Chelsea and Gramercy, Murray Hill, and Midtown West, before we start to approach the sparse, twinkling lights of Central Park. In the back of the chopper, with our headgear on and the engines humming around us, I turn to appraise her sitting there next to me, staring in awe out the window at a view I see basically daily.
Godis she beautiful. She’s perfect, really. Sweet, innocent, and yet, somehow sultry too. She senses my eyes on her, and when she turns and catches me, she blushes. I don’t even blink. She says something I can’t hear at all, and I just smile as I tap the button on my headset and nod at her. She blushes again, touching the talk button on her own headset that allows us to talk privately over the headphones set into the gear.
“It’s beautiful.”
Yes, you are, little one.
“You don’t do this a lot, do you.” It’s ambiguously worded on purpose. Do I mean “fly over Central Park at night in a helicopter,” or do I mean “come home with a strange man you’ve never met?” I want her guessing, but I also want her knowing deep down which one I’m really asking.
At the same time though, it’s bait. I know she never does this—and I do mean going home with a strange man—which is one of the reasons I’m so entranced by her. I’ve done my homework. I know there’s never been a man. Not even a boy. Oh, sure, a boyfriend back in school before she moved to New York—Tom. But my research was deep, and diligent. And I know Tom got a few chaste, after-date kisses, but nothing else. That alone makes me furious, but I tamp it down. She’s had a boy give her kisses. She’s never had a man claim her mouth.
The chopper lands on the private helipad to my penthouse, and I help her out and then down the stairs to the elevator to my domain. My pulse is thundering, my skin tingly with raw need, and my cock is hard as stone between my legs. I’ve waited. I’ve bided my time. I’ve set things in motion to bring her right here, to me.
And now, the wait is over.
I know I could, and maybe should, wait until we’re inside, but the second the elevator doors close, the very last of my control shatters like ice. My finger punches the stop button on the elevator, and as she gasps at the sudden halt, I whirl, and in half a second, my lips are searing to hers. The growl rumbles through me, and Simone whimpers quietly as I push her back until her ass hit’s the glass wall of the entirely glass elevator. Behind her, all of Central Park West and the park itself glitters like diamonds, but I only have eyes for her. She moans softly as I cup her face with one hand and grab her hip possessively with the other, simultaneously pulling her into me and pressing her against the glass.
“Is this what you were after, spying on me like that, little one?” I growl into her lips. She whimpers in response, panting, and I can feel her pulse absolutely racing in the hollow of her neck as I cup her jaw.
“I—what do you—”
“You know what I mean,” I purr before my lips crush to hers again. My tongue pushes against them, and when she whimpers again and slowly parts them for me, I know she’s mine. My hand slides from her hip, pushing lower until it firmly cups the soft, tight swell of her ass. She moans, and her own hands which have been idle by her side—like she doesn’t know what to do with them—suddenly come up and grip my shirt tightly, eagerly. I firmly cup her ass, and when I start to tug the skimpy red dress higher, she gasps, but doesn’t stop me as it slips up over her sweet curves.
Her ass it right against the glass, for all of the city to see. Except, not really. The elevator that runs down the outside of my building from the helipad to my penthouse is only glass from the inside. On the outside, it’s mirrors. Please. As if I’d allow anyone else to see her like this or catch a glimpse of her perfect little ass. No, no one can see her. No one but me.
My hand slides to her bare ass, and I grunt into her lips as I palm that soft, silky-smooth skin. My fingers brush over the lacy edge of her thong as it dips down between her cheeks, and my cock swells at the thought of peeling that little lacy thing right off of her to get at what’s mine to taste.
To claim.
To fuck.
I kiss her fiercely as my fingers loop under the back of her thong, tugging gently and making her gasp into my lips. My hand slides around, keeping one finger hooked under the skimpy waist of her panties as I make my way to the front of her. Simone kisses me even more eagerly, moaning into my mouth and absolutely melting into me as my hand moves to the front of her panties, lingering there and relishing the feel of her heat pulsing behind the lace.
Heat, and wetness. Wetness I can feel right through her fucking panties.
“So wet for me,” I growl into her lips. She moans, eyes closing as she swallows thickly and nods eagerly.
“This what you wanted tonight, little one?” I purr quietly. “For a man like me to touch these naughty little bad girl panties and feel how soaking wet you get?”
She whimpers, but she shakes her head.
“No,” she says quietly, her eyes still closed.
“No?”