Frozen Heart Page 5

  “Let me guess. Something your dad used to say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Ugh. Well, I’m sure it’s a really nice suit, Alex. But it’s also totally armor. You ever just chill out around the house in a t-shirt and jeans?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Geez. You never let down those walls, do you?”

  I let my arms tighten on his waist.

  “I think they’ve fallen quite a ways down since you walked in,” I said softly.

  He looked at me and flashed his wide, happy grin.

  “Let’s keep working on that,” he answered.

  Chapter Seven

  Nash

  I admit it. When Alex pulled the Mr. Snow thing on me, I was pissed.

  Intellectually, I got that he had a lot of baggage. His dad had obviously kind of fucked him up as a kid, and his ex-wife had, I suspected, finished the job. He was repressed as hell, and scared to death of his own desires. And on top of everything else he seemed to be carrying around a shitload of guilt about his divorce and his sexuality. I understood all of that, really.

  But treating me like last night was somehow all my fault was still kind of an asshole move.

  Fortunately, I’d figured out that Alex was all bark and no bite. At least the threats to fire me seemed to be ringing kind of hollow this morning. Before I knew what I was doing, I had him down in the big chair in his desk, and I was exploring his throat with my lips. And he definitely didn’t seem inclined to fire me.

  His skin smelled like pine forests and clear, fresh country air. Some fancy-ass cologne, maybe, or possibly just his bath gel. Either way, it probably cost hundreds of dollars per ounce, but it was totally worth it. He smelled incredible.

  I still wasn’t all that used to playing the dominant role, but Alex seemed to like it. At least he wasn’t objecting. At first he seemed a little passive, a little unsure, but before long his arms wrapped around me more tightly, making sure I didn’t get away.

  If only he weren’t wearing so many fucking clothes.

  I sighed, and started unbuttoning his vest. A vest. Who the hell wears a three-piece suit these days? Alexander Rutherford Snow III, that’s who.

  It was a nice-looking suit, silvery-gray with a subtle herringbone pattern, and I tossed the vest and jacket right onto the floor, as carelessly as if they were sweats from Wal-Mart. Getting him undressed took some effort, but I guess worthwhile things usually do. Before long I had his torso stripped down to a plain white t-shirt.

  He looked good in it. Damn good. Like a graying James Dean, kinda. I wanted to strip it right off him too, and run my hands all over the muscles that bulged beneath it, but I was a little worried he might freak out on me again. So instead I looked down at him, admiring his incredible pecs (which were plenty visible despite the shirt) and noticed his nipples were hard. You could see them right through the soft fabric, standing erect.

  The sight made something deep in my balls tighten.

  Almost without thinking about it, I reached out and brushed a finger over one of those hard little nubs. He jolted and gasped, looking as wide-eyed as if I’d given him an electric shock.

  “You like that?” I brushed it again, and his eyes fluttered shut. His lashes, I noticed for the first time, were as dark as his hair.

  “I definitely like that.”

  His voice was lower than I’d ever heard it, pushing at the edges of the baritone range and sliding right on into bass, a low rumble that brushed over my nerves and sent them all into a jittery frenzy. The heated tension in my balls twisted tighter, and I had to struggle not to press up against the obvious bulge in his slacks and dry-hump him like a horny teenager.

  He deserves better, I reminded myself.

  This was his first real time with a guy, and in a way that kind of made him a virgin, despite his years of marriage. He needed it to be slow and gentle, needed someone who’d build the pleasure carefully and deliberately, until he was begging for release.

  “I didn’t lock the door,” I told him, teasing at his nipple, running a forefinger around it in slow, deliberate circles. “Anyone could walk in on us.”

  He groaned. Loudly. Which confirmed what I’d suspected last night, that he had a little bit of an exhibitionist streak. I couldn’t blame him. The poor guy had been keeping his secret under incredibly tight wraps for years now. It was no wonder that the thought of being exposed might excite him on some level.

  I also figured that if anyone actually walked in on us, Alex would probably die of a heart attack on the spot. But the truth was that no one was about to walk into the CEO’s office without an appointment.

  Even so, if he wanted to fantasize about being caught, I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him.

  I took his nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed, kind of hard, and his hips jerked upward, his spine arching, a gasp escaping him. He was obviously pretty sensitive there, so I squeezed the other one too, and he moaned again.

  I lowered my head, and brushed my lips over the fabric, and the pebbled nipple beneath. He made a sound that was almost a whimper, and his hand lifted, and dug into my hair, pulling me toward him. I obliged him, taking his nipple between my lips and sucking on it.

  Despite the fabric in the way, he seemed to like it. His whole body shuddered.

  “Fuck.”

  I suspected that wasn’t the sort of word he’d been brought up to utter on a regular basis, so I was pretty sure we were making progress. The walls of ice were starting to crack, if only a little.

  I suckled harder, and his hand twisted in my hair so much it almost hurt. I didn’t think he was really aware of what he was doing at this point. A glance upward showed me that his eyes were closed, his face slack with pleasure. He looked transported with bliss. I switched my attentions to the other nipple, and he whimpered, his hips spasming beneath me.

  At last I reluctantly lifted my head and stripped off the undershirt. He helped, lifting his arms over his head. I flung it aside and stared down at him.

  And yes, he was every bit as gorgeous as I’d imagined.

  His chest, his shoulders, his arms, his abdomen—all of it bulged with finely toned muscle. He looked like he lived in the gym, and I wondered if he exercised as a way of dealing with the pent-up sexual energy he must have been dealing with for years. Anyway, he was beautifully ripped, with not an ounce of fat anywhere, and the sight of him shirtless made my mouth water.

  “Oh, my God, Alex. You’re incredible.”

  His mouth dropped open, like he needed to suck in oxygen, and those long, dark eyelashes fluttered open. He looked at me almost shyly.

  “I’m just… healthy.”

  For the second time, it occurred to me that he didn’t really know what he looked like, or how hot he was, and all at once it seemed very important that I make him believe that he really was sexy as fuck. I looked straight into his eyes, and spoke as firmly and convincingly as I could.

  “You are gorgeous. One of the most beautiful guys I’ve ever seen. I could stare at you for a week straight and not get bored with looking at you.”

  Unlike me, he wasn’t cursed with the redhead skin that turned crimson at the drop of a hat, but I saw a dull flush suffuse his cheeks. He obviously wasn’t used to being complimented. It made me wonder about his wife once again, and what sort of person she might have been, but I decided to keep my curiosity to myself for now. Bringing up his wife while I was trying to seduce him seemed like, well, not the best idea.

  I lowered my mouth to the bare skin of his chest and began brushing kisses over his warm skin. The woodsy fragrance of him filled my nostrils, making me dizzy with lust. I’d never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him—and that was kind of strange, considering I’d only known him for a week, and until yesterday I’d sort of loathed him.

  I’d been with plenty of guys, but in all my relationships—whether long-term, short-term, or exceedingly brief—I’d never met someone who made me as breathless as he did.
I’d never met anyone who made my dick stand to attention like he did. And it wasn’t just his spectacular body, either. It was something about him—the oddly touching vulnerability that lurked beneath his chilly alpha male exterior, maybe. Or perhaps it was the way his icy walls shattered into a million shards at my touch.

  I wasn’t sure quite what it was I found so appealing about him. All I knew was, I wanted him with a desperate, aching need I’d never felt before.

  I let my lips touch him everywhere—his collarbones, his nipples, the sharply hewn line of his jaw—until he was writhing beneath me, soft noises of submission rising from his throat. His fingers dug into my hair again, so tightly it almost hurt. But I didn’t mind. I liked knowing that he needed me as much as I needed him. I liked knowing that I was making him feel.

  I was pretty sure that he hadn’t let himself feel anything for a long, long time. And the idea that I might be helping him change that was a heady thought.

  Even so, I was acutely aware that he wasn’t ready for anything too intimate yet. He needed me to go slow, to take my time, or he’d almost certainly panic and freak out on me again. I remembered the dirty suggestions I’d whispered to him last night in the darkness, though, and I thought maybe, just maybe, he might be ready for…

  But the moment my hands slipped down his toned, taut abdomen toward his belt, his hands caught my wrists, holding them fast. I looked up, and saw his pale blue eyes staring at me, as cold and expressionless as two chips of ice.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  His voice was as chilly as his eyes, and I fought back a shiver. When he activated CEO mode, he was scary as hell. But I refused to let him intimidate me. Yeah, he might be the boss… but right now, I was on top.

  I spoke evenly, making sure my voice didn’t shake in the slightest.

  “I was going to unbutton your slacks. Obviously.”

  His eyes slitted suspiciously while he considered that.

  “You told me we wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do,” he said at last.

  “That’s right. And we won’t. I just thought you might not want to walk around for the rest of the day with a giant woody.”

  He snorted like he couldn’t quite hold back his amusement, and some of the ice in his gaze warmed and melted. “So you were going to…”

  “Take a hands-on approach to the problem,” I said softly. “That’s all, Alex.”

  He gazed at me for a long moment, and I held my breath.

  “Okay,” he said at last.

  I let out all the oxygen in my lungs in a giant relieved whoosh, and reached for his belt. He leaned back in his chair and watched, his hands gripping the armrests of the big chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. But he didn’t seem inclined to stop me. Slowly, so as not to freak him out, I unbuckled his belt, then carefully unbuttoned his slacks and lowered the zipper.

  Beneath the expensive gray herringbone, he wore plain white briefs, pretty much the same as any ordinary guy. I was sure they weren’t anything as plebeian as Fruit of the Loom, and probably each pair cost as much as my car—but, well, one pair of underwear looks a lot like another, and no one really could’ve known these didn’t come from Wal-Mart, same as mine.

  But beneath the white cotton, I saw the bulge of his erection.

  And all at once I stopped breathing.

  I’d guessed he was eight inches long, but all at once I revised my estimate upward. Even through the fabric I could see that he was huge, long and thick and—wow. Just wow.

  There was a damp spot on the fabric, where he was leaking precome, and as I stared I swear I saw his cock twitch.

  “Well?” His voice was hoarse, but when I glanced up at him, there was an unmistakable glint of challenge in his eyes. I blinked, confused.

  “Well what?”

  He spoke in his cold CEO voice, but I could hear a hint of humor lurking beneath. “Are you just going to stare at it all day? Or are you going to do something about it?”

  Oh. Oh, right. All at once I remembered my own words: A hands-on approach to the problem. Yeah, I should really do that, instead of gaping at him like I’d never seen a hard-on before. Which I had. Plenty of times.

  Just not, you know, this hard-on.

  Carefully, I eased the white cotton down over the impressive bulge, and then I stared some more.

  He was amazing to look at everywhere. His cock was cut, and the smooth, broad head glistened with slick moisture. It was incredibly long, incredibly thick, and the thought of touching it, kissing it, sucking on it, was practically enough to knock me to the floor.

  Almost hesitantly, I wrapped a hand around it, feeling the heat and the hardness of it against my palm, testing the weight of it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned his head back against the leather chair and gave a heartfelt moan.

  “Does that feel good, Alex?”

  “It feels amazing.”

  Encouraged, and reassured that at least for the moment he wasn’t about to freak out, I tightened my grip on him, and stroked him slowly. His hips jerked upward, and he uttered a long, shuddering groan.

  He was the most powerful man in the city, one of the most powerful men in the country… and he was totally at my mercy.

  I liked it.

  Chapter Eight

  Alex

  The feel of Nash’s hand wrapped around me was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Of course I’d masturbated countless times, and of course I’d had sex with several female partners. But somehow this was completely different. The strength and power of Nash’s hand, the way he touched me with such breath-stealing expertise, the way his brilliant eyes studied my reactions with such intensity… it all combined to transform a simple hand job into something incredibly hot.

  His gentle yet firm touch rapidly took away my ability to think. All I could do was feel. All I could do was want.

  He caressed me lightly for a few moments, then removed his hand and spat in his palm. Then he was stroking me again, a little more firmly. His hand was warm and wet against my skin, and he continued, slow and relentless, while the pressure deep in my balls built slowly into desperate, aching need.

  Before long I heard myself moaning, sobbing, all self-control lost. No one had ever brought me to my knees, metaphorically speaking, so easily. I suspected that if he wanted me to, I’d fall to my knees quite literally, and give him anything he wanted. Anything at all.

  But he didn’t seem to want anything from me, at least right now. In fact, if I hadn’t been so entirely transported by the pleasure he was giving me, I might have felt a flicker of guilt. I’d never been one to take from my sexual partners without providing pleasure in return. But at this breathless, heart-pounding moment, there was nothing whatsoever in my mind except the urgency building low in my gut.

  “Open your eyes,” he said, his voice low.

  I realized my eyes had fluttered shut, and I forced them open, even though my lids seemed to weigh a thousand pounds apiece. I looked at him straddling me, his eyes bright as they observed me. He was still wearing all his clothes, even his tie, and a stab of guilt hit me.

  “If you want me to take your clothes off…”

  “What, now? Nah, don’t worry about it, Alex. Right now we’re just focusing on you, okay? Look at my hand, all right? I want you to watch.”

  He’d made me watch last night, I remembered. Told me to keep my eyes open as I brought myself to orgasm. I want you to look down and watch as you touch yourself, okay?

  But this was an entirely different situation. The sight of his hand wrapped around my cock was intensely, gut-wrenchingly erotic. The way his hand was so obviously slick with his spit and my precome made my hard-on give a hungry twitch.

  “Unnnhhhh,” I said, conveying my need as articulately as possible. Not very, in other words.

  “You like that.” He stroked downward, and I watched as the head of my cock practically gushed precome. I felt myself growing impossibly harder, until the pleasure was almost
impossible to bear.

  “More,” I ground out. “Faster.”

  He laughed at me. “Alex, maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re not in charge here.”

  “Goddamnit, Nashville, if you don’t—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ll fire me. I know.” He stroked me again, with that same maddening, deliberate slowness, and I heard myself whimper.

  “Nash—please—I have to—”

  “Relax,” he said softly. “No one ever died of wanting to come.”

  I was pretty sure he was wrong. I was going to have a heart attack and die, right here in this chair. I imagined the headline: BILLIONAIRE CEO DEAD AT 31 DUE TO ASSISTANT’S FAILURE TO PROVIDE SEXUAL SATISFACTION.

  Well, that would certainly make the tabloids very, very happy.

  My cock was flushed red, dark against the pale skin of his hand, and I could see it twitching and spasming now. I was mere moments away from a climax. If only he would move his damn hand a little faster—

  But he didn’t. He continued to jerk me off in exactly the same way, the movement of his hand slow, methodical, and incredibly frustrating. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back any more sounds of need that might escape, but I was aware that I was failing. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop the frantic whines that escaped me on every downstroke.

  “This is your first time with a guy,” he said, like he was making idle conversation. I was falling apart, collapsing into a puddle of hot need, and he was just yammering on like the two of us were chatting about the weather. It was maddening. “I want it to be really good for you, Alex. So tell me, what do you want most?”

  “I want to come,” I gritted between my teeth.

  He laughed again, his teeth flashing white. “Duh. I got that already. But I mean, how do you want to come? Just a hand job? Or something more?”

  Despite myself, every dirty, filthy, sinful thing I’d ever seen while furtively watching gay porn flashed through my brain. I felt my skin flush with embarrassment and guilt.