Code of Control

Code

of

Control

Code of Control

Jevenna Willow

Code of Control©

Jevenna Willow©

Full copyrighted work of fiction ©2015

J. Willow

All rights reserved.

At no time shall any content in this
book, or use of its cover be used for gainful purpose, including but not
limited to print, digital, audio and any another forms,  unless having written
permission from the author and producer of this work, Jevenna Willow.

Cover Art Romance Novel Center, in
cooperation with JY Creations

All characters, names, places are
fictional and made up in the mind of the author. No known are represented
herein, or is it suggested that the characters are anything but fictional. This
is a work of fiction only.

Dedication

To those who can’t control themselves, have
no desire to control themselves, and have no excuses for loss of control…this
one is for you.

Chapter One

An empty bottle
of Bourbon on the nightstand was not the worst thing to encounter when waking.
The aspect of this bottle being full only six hours ago was the problem.

Charlotte Raven
slid aside the silk sheets, glanced at the man snoring behind her back, and
wanted to throw herself out the window.
What the hell! Am I insane?

A lot of people
claimed insanity to ward off misguided deeds and inevitable consequences.
Unfortunately, Charlotte had full use of her faculties, so the man behind her
back was quite the surprise.

He rolled over
and her heart leapt into her throat. Instinct said she should throw her body
onto the floor and pretend she already left. Screw instinct. Of course, he
would know she was still here. Her clothes lay scattered over an unfamiliar room;
a colorful explosion of silk panties, nylons, and the tightest body-molding dress
money could buy.

Think, you idiot
think.
One
quick glance at…
Oh, hell, what was his name again?
A lousy look would
not give her the answers she needed, but it certainly gave her failing memory a
splendid view of his firm ass. Their heated sex fest had gotten a little
creative, and he was now lying exposed to her viewing pleasure, tiny bite marks
still visible on the Glutinous Maximus.

Jay? John?
No, it was Jake…wasn’t
it?
Jake M-something. Or had he used an alias?

N. Miller?
Charlotte put
her fingers to the bridge of her nose, pinching tight. Jesus! Why couldn’t she
remember? She wasn’t stupid.
N.J. Morgan?
The bells rang clear in her
head this time. Yeah, that’s it. N. J. Morgan.

Oh, God!
No!
No! No! This is so not happening to me. Not now.
The blood rushed out of
her head in a dizzying pace.
Holy mother of…

Charlotte was to
report to a man named N. J. Morgan first thing in the morning for her new
assignment. She’d worked her ass off to procure a final interview. Top of her
field, they had asked for her specifically, very little interviews, an almost
free ride to the top. Being able to hack any code made her a sought commodity…
and
I screw that up by, well, screwing my future boss?
What an idiot!

Fourth floor of
the Federal Building, she was to meet up with the esteemed man at precisely
nine-thirty, corner office. Mr. Morgan headed the Outgoing Securities Homeland
Investigative Tactical Ops. Yes, it did spell
OSHIT
, and if
OSHIT
ever found you, very likely you were knee-deep into criminal hacking, prison
clothes with your name on them, one size fits all.

Drawing her
thoughts back to Prince Charming, aka Mr. Morgan lying naked on the bed, she hurried
a look at the bedside clock. Seven a.m. Oh, thank God! She had plenty of time
to make an official appearance if it only seven in the morning, but how
coincidental would it be to find another man with the same name as her future
boss? There must be at least a few N. J. Morgans in this world, probably a
whole boat-f of J. Morgans. Still, how many N. J. Morgans, looking like him,
would be in this city? Ten? Twenty? Nah. Couldn’t be the same guy.
Could
it? Her muscles clenched, head to toe, her eyes detailing the perfect form of the
slumbering demi-god. His finely chiseled jaw covered in thick, dark stubble.
His smile, even while asleep; he drew her scattered thoughts to what they had
done to each other into the realm of no return.

It must be nice
to be able to sleep without nightmares after hooking up with a stranger for a
one-night stand.

Her gaze locked
on corded muscles up his back, the small scar on his left shoulder, tailor cut hair
by assumedly an expensive barber…
Holy crap, what if this is the guy?

There was only
one way for a woman in her position to find out, other than asking. She cautiously
slipped off the mattress, avoiding dipping his side and perhaps waking him. She
did not dare take another glance at his nude form, while she practically dove
for his suit pants lying on the floor. He should have a wallet. She remembered
seeing him pay for at least four of her drinks in the hotel bar last night. Was
this one of the hotel rooms? Her attention riveted to the blasé dresser and
side chair, darting to the mini-fridge and closed drapes. Okay, so she’d had a
rough day and four drinks turned into a measly drop in the bucket to wanted
mind-numbing, with added potential for zero nightmares.

She rushed her
gaze back to him. Great sex was always a plus warding off pesky ghosts if the
both still naked. He’d wanted her drunk and she’d played along, lamb to
slaughter. So what if he became the lamb when it all said and done? Remorse to
deception did not feather into the equation.

Pursing her
lips, she gently eased potential identification out of his suit pants, hoping
the deafening staccato in her chest was not audible, while she secretly partook
in snooping through his clothes. She cautiously split apart the smooth leather and
groaned aloud at the sight of the more-than-identifiable badge.

Ah, hell! I fucked
a Fed? Am I crazy?

What was the
worst that could happen to her at this point? She arrested for stupidity,
losing her interview, and sent back to square one, waitress job on the wrong
side of the tracks that would not pay the bills. She fell back on her ass, wishing
the worn carpeting would swallow her whole. Shocked could not describe how her
innards revolted against her. The bile rose and she nearly puked, closing her
eyes to ward off the surging feeling for as long as she could.

“Done stealing
from me?”

Charlotte yelped,
her one hand thrown over her heart, the other over her mouth, the wallet
falling to the floor. His gruff voice had scared the crap out of her.

Her eyes met his.
This would have been so much better had he been smiling.

“I—I…wasn’t…,”
she sputtered, giving him a bluffing look as she lowered her hand from her
heart. She pushed to stand, facing the naked man with the quarterback shoulders
and eyes that were looking at her as if he wanted to lay her down and lick every
inch of her from the soles of her feet to the innermost recesses of her mind.
She shivered, praying he hadn’t seen this reaction to her thoughts.

“I wasn’t taking
anything…” she tried again

His sudden grin threw
her completely off her game. “I know. I’m just giving you shit.” Never
expecting it to happen, his smile widened. “Come back to bed. You and I have
unfinished business.” He threw off the remaining covers that were trying to
stay on the mattress. She’d have to be blind to miss the come-hither look in
his devilish dark gaze, his eyes unerringly assessing her; or miss the almost
erect cock, a waving red flag in front of the enemy. Okay, yes, she might have
given his well-endowed anatomy a good workout throughout the night, equally why
she was so sore this morning. That much she remembers of her night, even if the
rest of it was a bit foggy. Go figure.

His ample grin then
lowered, shrouding his dimples.

“Maybe you
should not think at all and just do what needs doing, sweetheart?”

Oncoming mutiny held
in check, Charlotte’s fists settled on her bare hips. “Excuse me?” Had she missed
something, other than most of a reason to live, and that moot point almost
settled once her stomach did?

“I paid for a
full night. This needs attention.” He pointed at his erect penis, as if she
could not see it, or he needed to make certain she
did
see it. Good
Lord! How could she miss it? There was a massive ten-inch man-shaft used by the
utmost of sexually creative ability, and looking readied again.

“I’m not sure
what you thought I…”

He quickly sat
up in bed, forcing Charlotte to take a firm step back. At six-feet-four, about
two hundred fifty pounds, an all-beef patty to a rather scrumptious meal
practically devoured during the wee hours of a very long night, the sun was
shining, fun’s over, and she had an appointment to keep. Climbing back into bed
when sober was not an option for her. Then again, she’d have to be sober, and a
mocking Bourbon bottle on the nightstand said otherwise, that and a pounding
headache right between the eyes.

“I don’t usually
hire a hooker, but sweetheart, when I do she should be able to know when it’s
time to leave,” he taunted, “and when it’s not.”

Charlotte’s eyes
widened. She could have sworn he called her a hooker. “Excuse me?”

Making his way
out of the bed, once standing, and the ten-inch
General
pointing at her,
every molecule inside her went screaming for cover.
He thinks I’m a hooker?
Bookish,
shy, passive with strangers, unless in the right situation or provoked, she was
no more a hooker than her grandmother was, and that was saying a lot. Grandma
Raven practically invented the chastity belt.

He took a huge step
forward before she could react. Gathering her wits, she took at least fifteen
tiny steps back before he could stop her. Nothing between them, he could easily
lunge for her and she would have no recourse but to put him in his place—on his
knees, a chokehold, begging for mercy. Instead, he purposely strode past her,
awkwardly stepped into his suit pants, and then held out his hand. The huge grin
he gave her was so unnecessary as he tried to control an unused erection.

“My wallet, if
you please?”

Humiliated, she
did an about face and picked up the dropped wallet. “Here. And again, I was not
stealing from you.”

He grabbed the
wallet, shoved it into his back pocket, and then rushed the zipper on his
pants. Charlotte’s eyes glued to that general vicinity out of spite.

“Since you don’t
look ready to continue with last night, I think it high time I leave.” His
voice a thick rasp to her ears, his huge palm extended out to her.

She had no clue
what he desired of her.
A handshake?
After what they did to each other
over their long night? Surely, a handshake was a bit tame. Ten seconds later,
his palm burned the flesh on her forearm. He drew her forward, she stumbled
into his embrace, and his mouth lowered to hers. He then gave her a kiss she might
never forget.

They’d barely
kissed last night, doing um, other things, but this kiss…? Probing deep into
the recesses of her soul, his tongue danced inside her mouth, controlling the
outcome of the kiss, stunning her speechless. He was placing her into easy submission—massive
man to weak woman.

“Stay, leave…either
way I’m late for work. It’s a paid-for room until eleven. Make sure you’re out
of here by then.” Arrogance thick, he winked at her. “See ya around, toots. It
was fun while it lasted.”

She watched with
horror his hasty exit from the far side of the room, the door closing deafening
in her ears, leaving her dazed and confused.

Fun while it
lasted? Good Lord! Perhaps two bottles of Bourbon would have been better to get
over the hurdle of making another huge mistake with a demi-God of a man, but
then her hangover likely would have been so much worse.

She threw her
face into her hands and crash-landed on the now empty bed, little dignity left
inside her at this point.