Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(44)

My entire life had been about him…and a few secret longings that I had so rarely given in to.

Realizing all of this shit only made me even angrier.

Fuck Frankie.

Fuck everything.

With a hard sweep of my hand, I sent everything within my reach on Chase’s giant desk flying across the room. His laptop smashed into his bookshelf. Framed photos of his wedding, others of just Kami, and a few of Kami and Devin—their four-year-old son—flew across the room and shattered. Papers went flying into the air. I wasn’t sure where his phone ended up.

I jumped up on his desk and slid myself to the edge directly in front of him. I placed my feet on his thighs and spread my legs wide open.

Chase sucked in air through his teeth.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I growled. “You want wild *, don’t you, Chase?”

He gripped my calves and looked up at my face. “Yes,” he hissed.

And I wanted to give it to him. I had only ever been wild with Deuce. I wanted wild. I wanted free. I wanted my secret longings to become my reality.

“Then kiss me,” I whispered, leaning forward. Just before his mouth met mine, I reared back and slapped him as hard as I could. His head whipped to the right.

When he turned back to me, his cold eyes were blazing with fury.

And it turned me on.

I moved my foot from his thigh onto his bulging erection and gave him a nasty grin. Stroking him, I crooked a finger. “I thought you wanted wild *, Chase. You want it; you gotta work for it.”

His eyes widened with understanding.

“Fuck…me,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

I leaned forward and hooked several fingers in between the buttons on his dress shirt. “You know nothing,” I hissed and yanked. Buttons flew every which way, and I jumped into his lap.

Chase and I didn’t have sex, and we certainly didn’t make love. Chase and I fought. I made him work for every kiss and for every touch. This turned out to be perversely exciting for me, but what really threw me over the edge was how much I loved that final moment when he managed to pin me on my back long enough to pry my legs open and force himself inside of me.

I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs, “FUCK YOU, FRANKIE!”

I stopped fighting then.

That’s when we f*cked—sick, depraved f*cking.

Chase got off on things that would turn the stomachs of most people. He had me doing things I’d never done before, things I hadn’t thought myself capable of doing, let alone capable of enjoying.

And I begged for more.

Exhausted and sore, I left Chase’s office on shaking legs with a key to his suite at the Waldorf and an invitation to use his personal driver whenever I wanted.

I had just hit rock bottom, and I didn’t care. In fact, I didn’t give a shit about anything at all.

? ? ?

Lying on his bed, Deuce stared down his naked body at the bobbing head between his legs, shuddered, and took another long swallow of Jack. He wasn’t going to come; he desperately wanted to come, but it wasn’t going to happen. He was drunk, he was pissed, and he wanted the release too f*cking badly.

Fucking Eva. He should have left her at that party. Bitch wasn’t his, never was. She’d always been Frankie’s, and he’d been…what? A once-in-a-while distraction? A f*cking joke?

Cursing, he pushed Miranda off him, positioned her on her knees, and sank inside of her. He f*cked her until he had f*cked himself into oblivion and passed out unsatisfied.

And he dreamt of Eva. He always dreamt of Eva.





CHAPTER TWELVE


It wasn’t long before my meetings with Chase had become more and more frequent. He was calling me four times a week, making me stay overnight with him at the Waldorf, and buying me shit I didn’t want but kept asking him for, raising the price of the items each time. He started taking me out to dinner at exclusive restaurants and raunchy nightclubs—the existence of which the general population in Manhattan knew nothing about. He began making me dress up for him in the sort of clothing I never would have looked twice at—clothing even more ridiculous than what Kami wore. That was for our dinners. What he had me wearing to go clubbing was far, far worse. As were the clubs—sex clubs, weekend-long partying from Friday night to Monday morning. Booze, drugs, free sex, kinky sex, violent sex, every kind of sex imaginable, and all of it public.

Any inhibition I’d ever had quickly diminished after being f*cked in front of a club full of people—some watching, some touching, and others involved in their own public f*cking.

I stopped talking to Kami. I stopped going to the MC. I was constantly canceling my lunch or dinner dates with my father unless Chase was with me to discuss Frankie’s case.

And Frankie…Frankie was gone. I didn’t visit him, I didn’t write him, and I refused to accept his calls. Gone. I didn’t care. And I did care. Half the time I didn’t know what I cared about or what I was feeling—maybe because Frankie wasn’t here to tell me how I felt and what I should care about, and Chase couldn’t care less about anything other than what he was feeling.

My already precariously tilting world had gone and spiraled out of control, and shit was dropping from the surface and being sucked into outer space. I didn’t try to stop it; I didn’t do much of anything really, except what Chase wanted me to do, which usually involved his cock and an orifice on my body. Or several of them.