Finding The Limits (The Limitless Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

Fucked. The fucker. Fucking hell.

Fuck me.

He was right. I wanted him to fuck me - I wanted to fuck him. Yes. All of it. I wanted to hit him and pummel him and open my damn legs to him, the irritating, smug, sexy bastard.

Everything he said to me was calculated to annoy me. I knew that. I could see that he was playing with me, but I fell for it, again and again. He was playing me, and I couldn't help being dragged along.

Maybe I was more annoyed with myself than with him.

But as he pulled me to him, and kissed me so hard, I melted and all my internal arguments faded away as sheer hormonal lust took over.

A passing car tooted its horn but I was wrapped up in him; I tasted the wine on his lips, smelled his musk and his skin. His hands were gripping my ass now, as bold as you please, and my pelvis was grinding against his, like we were high schoolers making out with that urgency of teenagers.

"Get a room!"

I ignored the cry but he snorted with a laugh as he released me slightly. His eyes were dark; in the glow of the street light I couldn't tell that they were blue.

"You're a jerk," I told him, though I still held on to his waist.

He half-smiled, lifting the corner of his mouth, and narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm not a jerk," he said, the wording sounding flatter in his accent.

"Well-" I started to say, but he lifted one hand, and put his fingers on my lips. He pressed warningly, and I inhaled sharply.

"I'm not a jerk," he repeated but this time his voice was low, and full of a thrilling menace. "I'll tell you exactly what I am, Jasmine. I'm a
man.
I'm a man who is in charge. I'm
dominant.
Do you understand what that means?"

"Sure," I said, my mouth a little dry as he removed his fingers and let me speak. "Hell, hasn't everyone read Fifty Shades by now? So you get off by bossing a woman around. I get that."

"Is that what you think I mean?"

"Why, what do you mean?"

"You're a cheeky little madam who needs taking in hand, that's what I mean."

"Seriously? I gotta tell you, I have literally no idea what you are talking about." Sure, I heard the words, but he could have been talking Dutch for all I understood what he meant. I had heard the word "cheeky" a few times now, but I still really wasn't sure how to interpret it.

"Then I shall show you."

Holy fuck but I thought he was going to throw me to the sidewalk right there and then, and fuck me senseless. He dragged me to the side and threw me up against the wall - this was Claridge's, for fuck's sake! Was he going to get us arrested?

He pressed me against the stone and he kissed me hard, his tongue probing into my mouth, making me think of warmth and wetness and dark, secret holes. His hands roamed my body, skimmed my curves, hunting from my ass to my tits; he cupped my breasts and I instinctively arched my back, wanting to feel his whole strength crush me.

Infuriatingly, his thumbs swept over my nipples, hard already, only lightly touching me before his hands were either side of my head, holding me brutally still.

His mouth tugged at my lower lip, kissed to my neck, nibbled my ear, and breathed on my flesh. Every inch of my skin was alive and every goose bump raised up in anticipation.

"Now we'll call a taxi and finish this."

"Where?" I breathed, my thigh pressed against his. My sex was quivering. I hadn't had a fucking in months - just me, my hand and my vibrator - and I would swear that my juices were pouring from me already.

"Let us go to your place," he said, and this is a measure of how far gone I was. Ordinarily that was a no-no. But I was so desperate to see this through, now, that I said, "Sure."

And he grabbed my hand as he stepped away from me, and within moments we had tumbled into the back of a cab, and I was telling the driver the address of my rented apartment.

As soon as the cab had set off, he pulled me onto his lap. My hemline rode right up as I straddled him, and before I could adjust my position, he clamped a hand right between my legs and squeezed. His force made me gasp but he held me - actually held me down by gripping my crotch.

"You are very, very wet," he said, pressing a finger onto my clit. He wriggled and eased it under the thin fabric of my panties, and slid it straight into my pussy. His palm was uppermost, clasping me firmly.

I twitched, which ground me against his hand, and I couldn't help but moan.

"I could make you orgasm," he said, conversationally, as he flexed his fingers.

The cab made a sudden turn and I was thrown against him. I pulled back, straightening, and he bent his head to kiss along the swelling top of my cleavage. Then, with his other hand, he pulled sharply at the neckline of my dress, and I heard the fabric tear.

"Hey, watch out," I said, suddenly returning to my senses. This was a designer fucking dress, for God's sake.

But when his mouth closed over my nipple and his tongue began to work around, my protests died. Fuck, I could always buy another dress.

His hand in my pussy worked in slow circles, and his lips pulled at my lengthening nipple. My pulse was already tripping hard in my head as I moved rhythmically against him. Part of me knew I ought to be reciprocating - touching him, pleasuring him - but I selfishly didn't want to do anything that took the focus away from the building sensations in my belly.

"Oh yes," I murmured, my face almost in his hair as my body clenched and relaxed in growing waves.

Suddenly his hand movement stopped and he withdrew his fingers. He kissed a little trail away from my nipple, across my breast, my collarbone and my shoulder, and then sat back, looking at me.

I gasped, and pulled at him. "Don't stop!" I begged.

"Do control yourself," he said, in such a smug and withering tone that I slapped him, hard, across the cheek.

The sound ricocheted around the cab and as soon as the sting began to spread across my palm, I knew I had overstepped the mark.

"I am so sorry," I blurted out. "I was so fired up and all…"

There wasn't the hint of a smile on his face.

The silence was awful. I was there, stuck straddling his legs, almost too afraid to move. I didn't know what to do.

He said, "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know. For you to say something. Do something…"

"That's better."

"Say what?"

"Let us now do this
my way
."

I wasn't sure what his way was. "Andrew-" I said, hearing the pleading in my voice.
Grow up, woman! You don't beg no one.

He shook his head at me. "You can call me Sir," he said, and before I could protest that, the cab drew to a stop. I felt the shame of a blush burn as I tried to make myself fit to be seen on a public street. He leaned forward and paid, and hustled me out onto the sidewalk.

"Andrew," I said again, wrapping my pashmina tightly over my ruined dress. "I want to say sorry for the slap. I just-"

He gripped my upper arms and pulled me close, and there was almost a tenderness in his force. "Jasmine. Listen to me. You have committed a wrong, and usually for that I would punish you. If you were my sub, you'd be begging for mercy by now. But we both understand this is a one-off, don't we? You'll take me into your flat, and we'll screw like animals, and then I'll leave. But while I am here, you will show me the respect due to me, and in return, I promise to treat you well."

His words swirled in my mind, half-understood. I led him into the apartment block and we rode up in the elevator, kissing all the way, not caring if the security cameras were on, or not. Let the night staff watch us.

I pulled him along the corridor to my door, and we fell into the hallway. This place didn't feel like home yet; it wasn't "mine" and somehow that made it easier to bring a stranger into it.

He pressed me up against the wall, and his right hand slid up to my neck, until he was holding my throat, my head tipped back. He nuzzled at my neck and whispered into my ear: "So, what are you going to call me?"

I didn't want to say it. I wanted to fight it. Fight him. I tried to remind myself that this arrogant jerk needed to learn a lesson, but my body wanted to melt into his arms.

His grip tightened - only slightly, but enough to prompt the unwilling answer from me. "Sir."

I was rewarded with a kiss and the feel of his body against him. His cock was apparent as it pressed against my thigh.

"You make me very happy when you show some respect," he said, "And it's a two-way thing. I am pleased."

Fuck knows how, but that flipped a switch in my head - suddenly all I wanted to do was please him. "Yes, sir," I said, and I meant it, in that moment.

He stepped back and clicked his fingers at my dress. "Strip."

Jeez. And yet I did, dropping my dress to the floor, and unhooking my bra and panties.

"Open your legs."

I planted my feet a shoulder-width apart.

"Now touch yourself."

"Oh," I said, half a moan, half a protest, but still I obeyed, letting my hand move over to cup my mound. "Please - sir - won't you touch me?" It felt strange to beg like that. But I had to. If this was the way to get some release, I'd play along. It was just role-play, after all.

Wasn't it?

His mouth quirked. So maybe that was a good sign that I was doing this right. My fingers slipped around my pussy lips, spreading the flesh apart. I felt empty, and wanting.

He shrugged out of his dark suit jacket and dropped it to the floor. When he was wearing just his shirt and pants, his powerful muscles seemed accented. He didn't step toward me, but he unbuckled his belt as he watched me sweep my fingers around my throbbing clit.

Oh God, oh fuck, I needed this; all the build-up of frustration at home, and work, and here -
Jesus,
I moaned to myself,
I am gonna cum like a fountain. So fuck me already.

Everything suddenly happened very fast, then. I thought he would drop his pants but instead he pulled hard, the leather belt almost whip-cracking free. I froze, unable to think, unable to move - then he was on me, but not beating me. He grabbed my hands and raised them above my head as he pushed down - a strange move, almost judo-like, which had me sinking to my knees. He towered above me and wrapped the belt four or five times around my wrists, tucking in the end. Then he pushed hard and I sprawled backward, my hands still above my head, my body stretched out painfully.

He was there, then, between my legs, and his cock was rearing up from the folds of fabric. He rolled a condom on with a sure movement. I wanted to reach out, to pull him to me, to touch his body and urge him on, but I was pinned like a butterfly and totally helpless.

I hated it, and loved it, and when he plunged down over me and pushed his cock hard inside, I stopped thinking at all.

He was thick and long and my hungry pussy clamped around him as he surged within me, stroking with firm, but slow movements; each time he was buried deep he paused, and my legs scissored around him. I was begging again, pleading, sobbing for a hard, fast fuck - just to get it out of my system, but he wouldn't oblige.

One hand gripped my breast, pinching on my nipple so hard I screamed as the pain bloomed into an unexpected pleasure and his pace increased. My pelvis was in spasm, my hips bucking as I tried to take more of him - all of him - devour him.

Then he went wild, slamming into me, suppressing his grunts as he fucked me hard the length of the hallway and my back was warm and raw from the carpet and still he fucked me, my head now against the wall and my own core exploding in a burst of orgasm that sent me sobbing, wailing, over an endless waterfall of tension and release - not once, but in a succession of tiny waves that broke me apart.

And then he pulled out of me, and tied up the condom, and released my hands from the belt. He stood and calmly threaded it back through the loops on his pants, and only once he was dressed again did he look back down at me, still sprawled on the floor.

"See what you get when you are a good girl?" he said, and before I could say anything in reply, he turned and walked right out the door.

I watched him walk away.

As the sweat cooled and dried on my skin, and my rational brain was allowed to take charge once more, I began to feel embarrassed.

No, mortified.

No - wait - absolutely fucking furious.

He walked away!

Okay, yeah, so he said it was a one-off. He said it was just sex. I get that, I really did. But still - the motherfucker walked away, and I was left there on the floor, refusing to feel ashamed of what I'd chosen to do.

So much for Brits and their politeness. He was goddamn rude.

I moved slowly, easing my body upright. It was now past midnight, but my body was thrumming as taut as a wire. I took my time in the shower, letting the warm spray embrace my body and soothe me.

I did a circuit of the apartment before I went to bed, checking the doors and windows. There was a voicemail on my cell and my heart leapt that it might have been Carlee, but I saw the missed call was from my mom, so I deleted it without even listening to it.

You taught me well, mom
, I said under my breath.
You taught me by your actions, not your words.

And then I went to bed, and did not sleep.

* * * *

I wanted to spend the next day in bed; I felt so groggy and unwell. But I had another presentation to make, that afternoon, so I rose late and moped around for an hour. After a leisurely breakfast - mostly coffee - I felt a little more human, and better able to reflect on the previous night's adventure.

An "adventure" was the easiest way to deal with it. Andrew Walker-Wilkinson was a jerk with a hot body and a way to make a woman swoon, in the old-fashioned sense of the word. There was obviously something primal going on, because I hadn't expected that I would fall at his feet. I had intended to play him - not let him play me. I had to tell myself that I'd made a choice to do so - I'd chosen to fall. It made my actions easier to understand.

With a bit of distance, this would be a tale I could tell my girlfriends back home. It would become apocryphal. I imagined Carlee egging me on, urging me to tell the tale one more time. "Hey, you remember that time I had that guy in London with the super-stuck-up accent?"

And who was he, anyway? I thought about checking him out online. But time was passing and I needed to be out the door and heading to my next schmooze-for-the-clients gig.

* * * *

I went through the expected motions. This company was smaller than I'd first thought, with a trendy open-plan layout and far too many primary colors. It felt like kindergarten. They were "hip" and "trendy" and no one wore suits. After my presentation, they tried to ask me questions that made them sound intelligent, especially in ear-shot of their managers; I was trapped there for five hours, and I was exhausted by the time I left.

I staggered out onto the sidewalk, scanning the street for a cab. A few zipped past, not even slowing down as I waved frantically. I didn't really want to get the Underground rail system. The stations baffled me and I would spend too long trying to work out the map; nothing said "mug me, I'm a tourist!" more than someone staring at the posters for ten minutes, frowning.

I started to walk down the street, hoping to find a cab rank someplace, but I hadn't gotten three yards when a car drew up alongside me, from behind. I looked, in case it was a cab, but it was a dark gray saloon with tinted windows.

The rear window slid down with a whirr as the vehicle kept pace with me. I looked nervously to the side, and saw a face that looked strangely familiar but I didn't know why.

And next to the unknown-yet-familiar face was an older man, with a neat dark suit and a good head of gray hair. He spoke first, in a rich molasses tone.

"Ms. Turner. May we offer you a lift home?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I think you are mistaken." I increased my pace to match my steadily rising heart rate. I saw a little grocery store up ahead and decided I'd dive in there.

"I rather think we are not, are we, Arthur?" the smooth man said.

"Mm, no sir, we are not."

Arthur - that "mm" - it was the Maître D' from Claridge's. Recognition bloomed. I slowed my pace
. So that was why he was familiar.

"Please, my dear, you shan't obtain a taxi at this time of night. Every man and woman in London is hurtling to the ranks to escape the fetid air for a few days of blissful weekend. Do hop in."

I suspected he was correct. And I did know Arthur, in a way.
Perhaps
this was a networking opportunity. Anyhow, I had my rape alarm and my pepper spray - I had managed to buy some on my second day in London, but I still wasn't clear on the legality of it. It didn't matter. It was a comforting weight in my purse.

My rational mind must have still half-been on vacation because I stopped walking, and when the door popped open, I slid into the vacant space on the wide rear seat. As soon as I was there, and the door closed, the outside door opened and Arthur was let out into the oncoming traffic. Someone's horn sounded - the door slammed - and we were cruising forward once more.

The suave older man slid into the space left by Arthur, and half-turned toward me, his dark brown eyes wide and warm. He smiled kindly, and I felt immediately at my ease. He was like a gentle uncle, and I smiled back.

"Welcome to England, Ms. Turner. Your company is certainly growing at a most impressive rate! Justin Acora must be very proud."

He knew the CEO?
"Yes, sir, the company's doing fine." Even though the mention of my boss's name helped put me even more at my ease, I knew I had to keep a little back. "Can I ask your interest, sir? And how you know of me, and my work?"

"Of course. How rude of me! I am one of those tiresomely active business sorts who have fingers in all the pies. I am a Member of Parliament in the home counties but I have my companies, of course - all very dreary once you get to executive stakeholder level you know - as Justin himself will soon discover. However, what excites me, of course, are people like you."

"Me, sir?"

"Oh yes. Young, ambitious, already building a name. Your company's doing well and when I heard they were expanding, naturally I did a little investigation. I was hoping to arrange a meeting with the representative that they sent over. Now, of course, it's all changed." He inclined his head, and smiled almost sadly.

I was already feeling as if I were floundering in his stream of rich, warm words -
of course, of course
- and trying to piece together what he was telling me, and spot what he was leaving out. "It's changed?" I parroted back at him, feeling stupid.

"The representative they sent is
you
, my dear. I heard about the impression you made earlier in the week. Each presentation you make causes little ripples in London's world, you know. Oh yes. I was intending on meeting with you to discuss a business opportunity but when I did some research into you and your background, I decided that I could employ you in a far more useful capacity."

"You haven't told me your company's name, sir." I had to wrestle back some control. I realized I was being seduced by this silverback's suave manner, and I fought to ignore the compliments and stay on track.
No sugary toff was going to get one over on me,
I reminded myself.

"It shan't be for my company - any of them. No, I would like to ask you to do some work for me in a private capacity, and it needn't compromise your current employment situation."

No, no, no, no, nope
. All my alarm bells set off at once, and my hand was on the door right away. "Thank you for your offer and your time, sir, but I need to be leaving now. Please ask your driver to stop."

"The recompense will be considerable."

"No, thank you."

"You will change your mind," he said, and the tone in his voice sent my heart rate through the roof. When I looked at him now, his eyebrows were lowered and his face was set and hard. How had I seen a kindly Uncle there? He was all pure hard businessman. And he screamed
danger
.

I wanted to know more - yeah, who wouldn't? A bit of cloak and dagger stuff, well sure, that sounded intriguing. But this wasn't the movies and I wasn't Angelina Jolie, and I was pretty sure that it couldn't end well. I pulled at the door handle but there was some locking thing in operation.

So I raised my voice, saying firmly, "Please stop and let me out
now.
"

"Of course," he said. "We are here, are we not?"

I squinted through the tinted glass as the car pulled up outside my apartment building. The doors unlocked with a tiny click, and I tumbled out. I just needed to get out and get away, and I ran a few steps before half-turning to look back.

He was leaning across the seats, and smiling, once more all avuncular and gentle. "Thank you so much for your company, Ms. Turner. Until we meet again."

He reached out and slammed the door closed, and the car glided away.

My hands were sweaty and I felt like I was about to snap from tension. I looked around at the surroundings and felt a strange comfort - like now I was on familiar territory again, I was safe, even though this was still a new place to me.

And then it hit me. I realized I'd never told him where I lived.

So how the fuck did he know?