Page 41 of Defiant Queen (Mount Trilogy 2)
Mount grips my hair and turns my face to the side to study me. He shakes his head, his gaze black and his smile arrogant. “You were fucking made for me.”
With that shocking declaration, he fits his cock against my entrance and pushes the head inside.
“Oh my God.” My voice comes out a harsh whisper at the intense fullness, but Mount’s groan covers my words as he pushes inside another inch.
“My cock barely fits in your tight cunt with that plug. Jesus fucking Christ.”
I’m losing my mind, pleasure overtaking any rational thought as Mount fills me slowly and proceeds to fuck me thoroughly, bent over my desk, until I’m a mess of pleas and moans.
My orgasm rips through me moments before he comes, and then the only sound in my office is the mingled sound of our labored breathing.
Keira
I expected to enjoy the afterglow from one of the most powerful orgasms of my life for longer than two minutes, but no, that’s not how things worked out. Instead, I fume the entire way back to Mount’s compound.
After the crazy, intense encounter in my office, he walked me out to the car and shut me in the backseat without another word of explanation beyond Plans changed. I have business.
Plans changed because he already fucked me and now he doesn’t need me again tonight? I want to beat against something, but the back of Scar’s seat isn’t going to satisfy me.
“I wish you would freaking talk, because maybe you could help me understand how his head works. If he thinks tossing me in the back of the car is somehow a good move, he’s beyond wrong.”
I hate how my voice shakes, and tell myself it’s anger and not the threat of tears.
How can I want him so badly? How can I possibly think he’s the one who can give me everything I’ve ever needed physically? Well, he’s missing an important freaking piece of the puzzle, because he doesn’t know how to give a damn about anyone emotionally.
When Scar delivers me to Mount’s suite, I storm inside, heading for the bathroom, ready to wash off the scent that I can’t get out of my head. A noise from the closet catches my attention, and I spin around with a screech.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand.
A gray-haired older man with a matching moustache and wearing a pinstripe suit stands in the closet holding the handle of what appears to be a clothes steamer. “Oh, so sorry. I was informed you’d be away for the evening, and I had time to situate things.”
That’s when I realize what else has changed in the closet. Instead of being full of Mount’s suits and shirts, evenly spaced across all the bars, it’s been reorganized. A third of the closet now contains women’s clothes. Dresses, skirts, blouses, slacks, and more.
My shock must be evident on my face because the older man hangs the steamer handle on the machine, leaving a gorgeous black dress partially wrinkled.
“I’m G, Mr. Mount’s tailor. And I suppose if we were in England, maybe something of a valet. I attend to his wardrobe, and now yours.”
I blink a few times, staring at the gorgeous clothes hanging in Mount’s closet. The man, G, continues speaking, even though I don’t respond.
“I apologize if I frightened you. That was not my intent. I’ll just get out of the way and be off for the evening.”
He packs up the equipment with efficiency, like he’s done it dozens of times, and heads toward where I stand in the doorway. Somehow, I have a feeling he doesn’t norma
lly use the regular entrance, but instead some secret one I still don’t know about.
I haven’t found words to respond to him yet, but I back away so he can pass. Instead of striding out, he pauses in the doorway of the closet.
“Miss, are you okay?”
I nod, but his look of concern stays in place. I can tell he wants to ask again, but he picks up the machine and exits the room. I don’t move until I hear the outer door close.
Once I’m sure he’s gone, I walk into the closet, reach out a hand, and run it along the edges of all the sumptuous fabrics. They’re all beautiful, but that means nothing.
Up until this moment, I’ve gotten one outfit at a time. One day at a time. Everything about that equated to a temporary situation. This full wardrobe doesn’t say temporary. It says something completely different.
My entire body shakes as I slide down the edge of the center island in the closet until my butt hits the carpeted floor. I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to stop the trembling, but it’s impossible.
All the emotions of tonight rush over me in a tsunami that I’m not prepared to handle.
