Intoxicating Hunger

Avery

Heat radiated off his broad frame, trapping me against the plaster. The rich scent of his cologne—dark spices layered over warm cedar—filled every breath I took. As Declan dipped his chin, closing the last few inches between us, my heart kicked hard against my ribs.

"You actually came," he breathed.

"Mr. Pierce, what is happening right now?" A tremor ran through my voice. I lifted my palm to his sternum to shove him away, only for my fingers to meet the solid wall of his pectoral muscles beneath the crisp dress shirt.

Before I could push, his large hand closed over mine. He laced his fingers through mine and pinned my wrist flat against the foyer wall above my head. A jolt of pure electricity shot down my arm and pooled low in my belly. My lungs refused to expand fully. Tilting my chin up, I caught sight of his face in the dim hallway light—his eyes were pitch-black, the pupils blown so wide they completely swallowed the blue.

"You're really standing here," he rasped, the low vibration of his voice scraping down my spine. His gaze tracked across my features before dropping to my mouth, his uneven breath fanning across my cheekbone.

"Are you... feeling alright?" The words caught in my throat. Those impossibly dilated pupils weren't normal. Something was seriously wrong with him. Had someone slipped something into his drink?

"Better than alright." Dipping his head into the crook of my shoulder, he dragged his nose along the sensitive column of my throat, his lips grazing my skin. "You're incredible."

"I really think I should call a doctor—"

His mouth crashed down on mine, cutting the sentence short. The entire room seemed to spin. There was nothing gentle about the kiss; it was rough, frantic, and driven by a raw hunger that knocked the wind right out of my lungs. Dropping his free hand to my hip, he hauled me flush against the hard line of his body.

Every rational instinct in my head yelled at me to wrench my wrist free and bolt for the elevator. Then his tongue swept past my parted lips, and the strength drained straight out of my knees. My free hand flew up to clutch his shoulder just to stay upright, my nails biting into the tailored wool of his suit jacket.

He deepened the kiss until my head spun, robbing me of the ability to form a single coherent thought. When his tongue tangled with mine, a quiet whimper vibrated in the back of my throat—a sound I would have gone to my grave denying.

Sliding my freed hand out of his grip, I ran my palms over the broad expanse of his back, feeling the thick cords of muscle shift under his clothes. His fingers dug harder into my waist, hoisting me up until my toes barely brushed the floorboards.

Without breaking the seal of our mouths, he walked me backward down the shadowy corridor toward the master suite. We staggered through the doorway, our lips locked together, until the backs of my calves struck the edge of his massive mattress. Following me down as I fell backward, he braced his weight above me, his blown-out gaze blazing with unrestrained heat.

"Lose this," he demanded roughly, his fingers already yanking at the collar of my blouse.

Shaking with a sudden, frantic urgency of my own, I reached up to help him with the tiny buttons. The moment the last clasp gave way, I shrugged the silk off my shoulders. My breasts spilled over the top of my demi-cup lace bra, rising and falling with every ragged breath.

His expression grew fierce as he hooked his fingers into the lace and wrenched the cups down, baring my tight, aching peaks to the chilled air of the suite.

Dropping his head, he closed his hot mouth over one taut nipple and sucked hard. My spine bowed off the mattress, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat as the edge of his teeth scraped over the sensitive tip. At the same time, his broad hand slid down my stomach and shoved beneath the waistband of my slacks. The second his fingertips found the swollen bundle of nerves through my damp lace panties, a violent current of pleasure arced straight up my spine.

"Fuck," I choked out, tangling my fingers in the thick strands of his hair to hold his mouth right where it was.

In one rough, decisive pull, he stripped my trousers and underwear down my thighs and tossed them to the floor. Cool air washed over my bare, slick skin, raising goosebumps along my legs. Bracing his palms against my inner thighs, he shoved my knees wide and slid two long fingers straight into my dripping heat. A sharp cry broke from my lips as my hips bucked up to meet the thrust of his hand.

"Look how fucking drenched you are," he growled against my skin, the dark satisfaction in his voice sending another tremor through me. "I could take you right now."

He slid his fingers free, leaving me empty and throbbing on the sheets. Chest heaving, I watched him push up to his knees and tear at his belt buckle before dragging the zipper of his slacks down. He didn't even bother shedding the rest of his bespoke suit; he simply freed his thick, heavily veined cock, and my breath caught at the sheer size of him.

Settling his heavy frame between my parted thighs, he notched the broad head right at my slick entrance, dragging it slowly through my folds. I writhed against the mattress, every nerve ending screaming for him to push inside.

With a single, unforgiving thrust of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt. White sparks burst behind my eyelids from the sheer stretch of him, the initial shock quickly melting into a blinding wave of heat. He filled me completely, dragging against deep internal nerve endings I didn't even know I had.

My fingernails scored down the fabric of his shirt as he set a brutal, driving pace, every heavy stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward from my core.

Crushing his mouth back over mine in a bruising kiss, he clamped his hands around my hips to hold me in place as he hammered into me. The wet, heavy slap of skin against skin echoed across the high ceilings, tangled with our ragged panting and low groans.

"Christ, you grip me so tight," he rasped against my lips, his chest heaving. "You feel fucking unbelievable."

We moved together in a frantic, feverish tangle of limbs. A heavy, coiling pressure began to tighten low in my pelvis, pushing me closer and closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. When he shifted his weight and altered the angle of his thrusts, the thick shaft rubbed directly against that sensitive spot deep inside me. My back arched hard off the mattress as a high cry tore from my throat.

"Declan, I'm right there," I panted, raking my nails down his shoulder blades.

Hearing his name only drove him harder, his rhythm turning wild and relentless. He drove into me with enough force to slide my body up the mattress, forcing me to fist my hands in the Egyptian cotton sheets just to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation.

"That's it, fuck, take every inch," he grunted, his hips snapping with erratic, desperate power. "Let go for me."

That rough command snapped the last thread of my control. Screaming into the quiet room, I came apart beneath him, my inner walls clamping down like a vise around his pulsing length as violent tremors tore through my frame. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, yet he kept driving through the aftershocks without slowing down.

Right as the blinding white haze of my peak started to recede, his face dropped into the curve of my neck, and a hoarse groan slipped from his throat. "Fuck, Vivian."

Every muscle in my body locked up solid. The blood seemed to drain straight from my head. *Vivian?!* Who on earth was Vivian?

There wasn't even a second to process the blow because his hips never stopped moving, his thick length pistoning in and out of my body with relentless force. Overstimulated and completely raw, my treacherous body kept reacting to the heavy friction despite the shock rattling around my skull, another wave of heat already coiling tight in my belly.

"Vivian, your pussy is so fucking tight." With one final, brutal grind of his hips, he buried himself deep and came inside me with a low, guttural roar. The violent shudder of his frame and the hot rush of his release flooding my core tripped a biological wire inside me, dragging a second, unwanted climax from my exhausted body until I was left shaking and gasping for air.

As the ringing in my ears quieted, the ugly truth settled over me like lead. My boss had just moaned another woman's name while buried inside me. He had no idea I was even in this room.

When he rolled off me and collapsed onto the mattress beside me, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths, I stared blankly up at the recessed lighting. My thoughts spun wildly out of control. Who was this woman? Was she another corporate hire, or just one more nameless socialite from his revolving door? The question dug under my skin and refused to let go.

Easing out from beneath the heavy weight of his draped arm, I planted my shaky feet on the hardwood floor. Soft, rhythmic snores were already rumbling from Declan's chest as I bent down to scoop my ruined blouse and trousers off the floor. Unbelievable—he was out cold like any typical guy. Though I supposed I couldn't even get the courtesy of a generic 'babe' or 'sweetheart.' Instead, I got branded with *Vivian*.

Padding on unsteady legs into the en-suite bathroom, I flipped the vanity switch and flinched at the woman staring back from the mirror. My sleek, flat-ironed hair was a knotted disaster, and a bright crimson smear of lipstick was dragged halfway across my chin.

While I scrubbed my face with a damp washcloth and cleaned the evidence of him from between my thighs, my brain automatically cataloged the thick folders of non-disclosure agreements locked in my desk back at the office—every single woman who had ever shared Declan Pierce's bed.

"Well, at least I won't have to type up my own hush-money contract," I muttered to the empty tile room. Part of earning my hefty salary as his personal assistant meant sweeping up after his nocturnal habits, ordering diamond bracelets and two-hundred-dollar orchids for the endless line of actresses and models he discarded. Yet in all my meticulously kept spreadsheets, the name Vivian didn't exist.

After pulling my clothes back on and smoothing down the wrinkled fabric, I pulled my cell phone from my handbag. The screen read 10:27 PM. The concierge physician would still be taking calls. Flipping through my speed dial until Dr. Brennan's contact popped up, I paused with my thumb over the green icon while another deep snore drifted through the open bedroom doorway.

"Dr. Brennan? I apologize for calling at this hour." I forced my tone into the crisp, unbothered cadence I used in the boardroom—giving away zero hint that the man in question had just thoroughly wrecked me ten minutes ago. "This is Avery Sutton, Mr. Pierce's assistant."

"What kind of trouble did he find this time?" A tired sigh crackled over the line.

"Something isn't right with him. His pupils are completely blown, and he was acting completely out of character. I walked in and found him in this condition when I stopped by to deliver some time-sensitive contracts." The fabricated story rolled off my tongue without a single hitch. Way too smoothly.

"Narcotics?"

"That would be my guess. He's passed out cold at the moment, though—"

"Give me twenty minutes."

"I appreciate it, Doctor." Tapping the red button to disconnect, I slid the device back into my bag.

Stepping back into the master suite, I found Declan stretched out diagonally across the tangled sheets like some toppled marble god, his custom jacket bunched around his shoulders and his trousers still gaping open at the groin.

"Alright. Let's make you look somewhat decent." Scanning the disaster zone, I noticed the heavy oak nightstand had been shoved a good twelve inches out of alignment. A priceless crystal vase sat precarious on the very lip of the wood—how that hadn't shattered on the floor was beyond me.

Stepping up to the edge of the mattress, I glared down at his unconscious face. "You better stay dead to the world," I warned under my breath, reaching down toward his lap. With hands that still hadn't stopped shaking, I shoved the tails of his dress shirt back inside his waistband and yanked the metal zipper up. Getting his leather belt fastened was a whole different battle—wrestling two hundred pounds of dead muscle just to slide the strap through the loops took everything I had.

His chin tipped lazily toward his shoulder. "Mmm... Vivian..."

Grabbing the leather end, I wrenched the belt buckle tight with a sharp, vindictive tug. "Right, sure. Vivian. Whoever the hell she turns out to be."

A sharp chime echoed from the front foyer. *Damn it.* Brennan had beaten his own estimate.

Darting to the side of the bed, I threw my hip against the heavy nightstand and muscled it back flush against the wall. Giving the room a frantic thirty-second sweep to make sure no stray undergarments were in plain sight, I snatched a down pillow from the floor and jammed it beneath Declan's neck so it looked like he'd simply collapsed on top of the covers.

Moments later, I ushered Dr. Brennan into the suite, his black leather medical kit swinging from his fingers. "Good evening, Ms. Sutton."

"Good to see you, Doctor. I'm grateful you could make it over so fast." Stepping back, I waved a hand toward the bed. "He was just like this when I let myself in with the evening folders."

Dropping to one knee beside the mattress, Brennan pressed two fingers to the side of Declan's neck. "Do you have any clue what he might have ingested?"

"Not a clue. He was just... completely out of it." If that wasn't the understatement of the decade. "Blown-out eyes, making no sense at all."

Using his thumb to peel back Declan's eyelid, the doctor swept a tiny penlight across the dark surface. "Looks like a heavy dose of some synthetic club drug. Odd for him to take something like that with nobody else around, though."

"Do you want me to ring the building security team? Or get his chauffeur up here?"

"Don't bother. I'll camp out here until it clears his system." Reaching into his open bag, he pulled free a velcro blood pressure cuff. "You ought to call it a night, Ms. Sutton. Everything is under control on my end."

Giving him a tight nod, I slung my handbag over my shoulder. "I will. Thanks again for coming out."

Walking briskly down the hall, I stepped into the private lift. As the brushed-steel doors slid shut, my reflection stared back—mostly put together on the surface, save for my bruised, swollen mouth and the high, feverish flush staining my cheekbones.

Freezing wind bit straight through my thin blouse the second I pushed through the lobby doors, and I threw an arm up to flag a passing yellow taxi, desperate to lock myself in my apartment and figure out what the hell had just happened to my life.

"Where we heading?" the cabbie grunted as I dropped onto the vinyl seat.

"As far from this block as possible." Catching his wary glance in the rearview glass, I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. "Forget that. Just take me to Forty-Second and Eighth, please."

Watching the neon storefronts smear into streaks of color outside the passenger window, a cold knot tightened in my stomach at the thought of walking into the office tomorrow morning. Was he going to wake up with a blank slate, or would he remember every detail? And above all else—who the hell was Vivian?