Promise Me Forever: Manhattan Ruthless

I force a laugh, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’m faking it. It’s not that Jacob isn’t funny or that he’s not a great guy. He’s just not Drake James, which really isn’t his fault.

“So how are you liking New York?” he asks as he tops up our wine glasses.

“Well, I was born and raised here,” I remind him. I told him only last week that I’d moved back here from Philly to be closer to my mom.

He coughs awkwardly. “Of course. I remember you mentioning that now. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so forgetful. But damn.” He uses a napkin to mop his brow. “First dates make me nervous as hell. Especially with someone like you.”

That makes me laugh for real. “Someone like me?”

He smiles, and the dimple in his chin pops. “Yeah. You know—drop-dead gorgeous, funny, intelligent. Did I already say drop-dead gorgeous?”

Before I can reply, my phone vibrates on the table, shocking us both into a nervous giggle. “I’m sorry, Jacob, it could be my mom.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

I flip the phone over, and the mild hammering of my heart turns into a full-blown gallop as I read the text from Drake.

That’s bizarre. I was super careful to make sure everything was up to speed before I left the office today. We’ve both been keeping our distance while being polite and professional and have put a lot of effort into maintaining whatever equilibrium we have left. So if Drake says there’s a work emergency, I better not piss him off by ignoring him. The truce is fragile.

“Is everything okay?” Jacob asks.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I do need to make a quick call though. If you’ll excuse me? I’ll just be a second.”

“Of course, go for it.”

Jacob might be a little forgetful and he might be cute rather than panty-melting, but the smile he gives me as I stand up is warm and genuine. This is a man who would have realistic expectations of what I could give him, unlike the demanding man who has just messaged me. Jacob is here, he’s emotionally available, and he’s way more in my league. Plus, he thinks I’m drop-dead gorgeous.

I walk to the ladies’ room, figuring I’ll freshen up while I contact Drake. I don’t want to end my date and go to the office if I can avoid it.

I quickly tap out a message.

I stare at the screen and wait for a reply, annoyed that the man can exert so much power over me without being present. I’m imagining him as he texts, maybe with that slightly annoyed scowl he gets when things don’t work out exactly how he wants them to. The one that says he’s right and you know it. I chew my lip as I wait, looking at myself in the mirror.

I’m flushed and my eyes are bright and my hands tremble as I tidy my hair. None of that, unfortunately, is because of the man I’m here on a date with.

How the hell does he know I’m on a date? I mean, it’s not like it’s a state secret, but I also didn’t advertise it. I didn’t want it to appear like I was maybe rubbing his nose in it or taunting him. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want me in any serious way, but there’s still a history between us, a tension, and I didn’t want to poke the bear.

But if he does know I’m on a date, then why the hell is he harassing me like this? I start to entertain a sneaking suspicion that he’s only demanding my attention because I am on a date. Which is ridiculous, but also maybe a tiny bit satisfying.

My phone vibrates again, signaling another message. A kaleidoscope of butterflies has taken up residence in the pit of my stomach, and I hold my breath as I glance at the screen.

Is he stalking me? How does he know I’m in a restaurant? I look around nervously, then laugh at myself. It isn’t like he’s lurking here in the ladies’ room.

I watch the little symbols that tell me he’s typing a reply, and my anger starts to build. There is no damn work emergency! He just doesn’t want me out having fun with another guy. He’s a conceited, controlling jackass. Sadly, he’s also a hot, possessive, makes-my-panties-want-to-self-combust jackass who I can’t stop thinking about.

My cheeks burn with heat, and I splash my face with water. Ignoring his message, I emerge back out into the restaurant and glance around, paranoid. Does he have spies? Is he here himself? What the actual fuck is going on? This is crazy. I look back at the screen. I’ll end it for you. What does that even mean?

“Are you okay, Amelia?” I’m back at the table, and Jacob’s voice snaps me from my thoughts about our asshole boss. I’m being rude, not giving him my whole attention, and that’s not like me. But Drake has a way of making me act like a person I don’t recognize and, in this case, don’t especially like.

I tear my eyes from my phone and blink at him.

“You look a little upset. Is it your mom?” He nods toward my cell phone.

I press the backs of my hands to my cheeks, hoping to cool them, but it doesn’t work. It’s like my skin is on fire. I shake my head, my phone vibrating in my hand again. “Everything’s fine. I just …” I take a deep breath. “Um, you know what, I’m not feeling great. Would you mind giving me a few more minutes? I think I just need some fresh air.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, no, I’m good. Why don’t you order dessert for us both, if that’s all right?”

He nods and assures me that it is. Turning around, I try not to make it obvious that I’m scanning the packed room, looking for Drake or maybe for a suspicious-looking dude wearing a T-shirt that says Drake James’s Minion.

It’s crowded in here, but I don’t see any sign of him. That should be a relief, so why am I disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s Drake James. He’s made it clear he’s not interested in relationships, especially not with his employees, which I one hundred percent understand. So why is he bothered about my date? Or am I overthinking this? Maybe there really is a work emergency. It makes a lot more sense that Drake would be upset about that than he would about my social life.

I head to the stairs that lead to the ground floor. At this point, I really do need some fresh air. And possibly a brain transplant.

I’m so deep in my own thoughts that I don’t notice the man in the suit standing near the fire escape until he opens the heavy metal door. The rest all happens quickly, an unreal blur. I look up at the sound of the door opening, then feel a warm hand on the small of my back, and a hot, sexy-as-hell mouth is at my ear. “Why did you ignore my instructions, Amelia?”

“Drake?”

“In the flesh,” he says, his voice terse. “We need to talk.”

He bundles me out onto the cold stairwell, letting the heavy fire door slam closed behind us. One second I was in a busy restaurant, and the next I’m trapped out here, alone with a very pissed-looking Drake. I want to be pissed right back, but I’m not doing a great job of it.

Still, I fold my arms over my chest, gathering all the indignation I can muster while staring up at his impossibly handsome face. “What the hell are you doing?”

He glares at me, his jaw twitching and his mouth tight. Goosebumps break out all over my flesh, and I know it’s not from the temperature because it is perfectly balmy out here. “I think the more pertinent question is what the hell are you doing, Miss Ryder?”

“I’m on a date.”

“Yes, I can fucking see that,” he growls.

I shake my head in astonishment. “What does that even have to do with you?”

He draws a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He inches closer, and I retreat until my back hits the cold metal door we just came out of. “It has everything to do with me. If he touches you again, I’m going to send him to the Chicago office. If he’s lucky. I might open an office in Siberia to get rid of him.”

“Touch me? He barely brushed my hand.”

His tongue, his wickedly sinful tongue, darts out, and he runs it over his bottom lip. “I. Don’t. Care.”

Anger simmers beneath my skin. Just because he gave me the best orgasms of my life, the kind that usually only happen in movies and books, doesn’t mean he gets to act like a psycho. “So you don’t want me, but no one else can have me, is that it? You don’t want to touch me, but nobody else can either?”

He steps forward until his body is barely a millimeter from mine. The slightest movement from either of us would have his chest flush against mine. “You think I don’t want you?”

I tip my jaw and try my best to maintain a semblance of composure. “You made that very clear.”

He bangs his fist on the steel door beside my head, making me jump. “Goddammit, Amelia, I wish that I didn’t fucking want you. Life would be so much easier if that were true. But every second of every goddamn day, all I can think about is how badly I want to touch you. How I want to kiss you and taste you and bend you over my desk and fuck you!”

Oh sweet baby Jesus. I’m going to melt into this door. I’ll be stuck to it forever. “You do?”

A low, dangerous growl rolls in his throat. “Every. Fucking. Second.”

I need to get out of here. I need to get very far away. My body is too treacherous. There’s no way I can resist him, especially not when he’s looking at me like he is right now. “We can’t do this,” I whisper.

“You think I don’t know that? You think that every time you walk into my office and I picture you naked in my bed and remember how fucking beautiful you looked when I made you come that I don’t realize how completely fucking wrong it is?”

My body burns like my blood is on fire. He’s still my boss, still a playboy. He’s still a man who could destroy me in every possible way. It’s still wrong. So why does it feel so right?

Or maybe it just feels good. And perhaps that’s why my body instinctively leans into his and my hand curls around the back of his neck. Maybe that’s why I don’t stop him when he takes my mouth, claiming it in a hungry, bruising kiss. I moan, parting my lips. He tastes of bourbon and sugar and Drake. He kisses me like I’m the oxygen feeding his fire, like he’ll die if he doesn’t consume as much of me as possible.

I have never been kissed like this in my life, not even by him. It is all-consuming and intoxicating, and it might burn me to the ground. One hand fists in my hair as he tips my head back, giving him the perfect angle to dominate me. And all I can do is let him. He explores my mouth, all tongue and teeth and lips, brutal as he takes what he wants from me. I rock my hips forward, pressing against him. A surge of triumph hurtles through me when I feel how hard he is. He wants me as much as I want him.

He finally breaks our kiss, leaving me gasping for air and grinding himself into me. “That’s all for you, Amelia. You have me walking around this city with a permanent fucking hard-on.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowed as they rake over my face. “Is the feeling mutual?”

“W-what?”

His free hand skates over my ass and down the outside of my thigh. He tugs at the fabric of my dress, pulling it higher. “Are. You. Wet?” He punctuates each word with a kiss on my neck that has me squirming.

“N-no,” I lie.

He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling as he pulls my dress higher. “Shall we see about that?”

I press my back flat to the door. I should say no. I should shove him away and run. I’m not the kind of woman who lets a man slide his hand between her legs on a fire escape outside of an upscale Manhattan restaurant while my date waits for me at our table. Except I don’t say no. I don’t slap him and I don’t run, because my body is screaming yes. When his fingertips brush over the fabric of my panties, my body wins out and I whimper shamelessly.

I feel him smile against my skin. He knows he’s won, but I’m too far gone to care. He tugs my panties to the side and runs a thick finger through my center. He groans. “You lied to me, Amelia. You’re fucking soaked.”

Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I close my eyes and drop my head back against the door with a soft thud. “Oh god.”

He rests his lips against the shell of my ear, his warm breath dusting over my neck. “Is this all for me? Don’t lie to me again.”

I screw my eyes shut. “Yes, Drake. It’s all for you.”

He chuckles darkly before inching the tip of his finger inside me. “That’s my good girl.” My eyes fly open, and I grab onto his forearm, holding him still. We can’t do this here. Someone could come out at any second and find us. He arches a dark eyebrow. “You want me to stop? Or do you want me to make you come while your date’s checking out the dessert menu and wondering where you are?”

I swallow, loosening my grip on his arm, and he sinks a little deeper inside me. Oh god, why does everything he does to me feel so good? My legs tremble. He runs his nose over my neck, growling when he inhales. “What’s it to be, Amelia?”

“D-don’t stop,” I murmur.

He groans and seals his lips over mine at the exact same time he sinks his finger all the way inside me. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sounds, stealing the breath from my lungs while pleasure coils deep in my abdomen.

My head is spinning, and I feel like I’m going to pass out, gulping for air when he eventually breaks our kiss. “W-wait, are there cameras out here? What if someone⁠—”

“There are no cameras. Trust me.” He adds a second finger and rubs his thumb knuckle over my clit, making my legs buckle as sensations swoops through me. Resting his forehead against mine, he says, “I’d never let anyone see you like this. So fucking desperate for me.”

“Am not,” I protest, even as I snake my arms around his neck and grind into his fingers.

“Yeah you are. But make no mistake—I’m just as fucking hungry for you, mi rosa. If I had any protection with me, I’d be balls-deep in your wet cunt right now.”

Oh. My. God. That’s it. My panties just melted. “You have the dirtiest mouth.” I breathe out the words.

He buries his head into my neck and hums against my skin. “You remember what else this mouth can do though, right?”

Hell yes, I do. Euphoria shuttles through my body as he drives his fingers deeper inside me, all the time massaging my clit so expertly that I’m already hurtling toward oblivion. I fist my hands in his shirt, gripping tight as my climax builds to a crescendo, washing over me and threatening to take me under its swell. But he keeps me on the edge, never quite letting me tumble over it. He wraps a hand around the base of my throat, his forehead still pressed against mine as he talks me through it. “That’s my girl. Let go for me. Soak my fingers.”

“Drake, please,” I whimper.

“I wish I could get my mouth on you right now.” He sinks deeper, curling the tip of his finger and rubbing a spot deep inside me that has my orgasm slamming into me with the force of a freight train. My eyes squeeze closed. My chest heaves as I try to drag in a breath, and I bury my head in his shirt to muffle the sounds of pleasure that are coming from my mouth. My knees tremble and my body sags, trapped between him and the door.

Drake pulls back, his gaze still locked on mine. He lifts the fingers he just had inside me to his lips and places them in his mouth. My throat works nervously as I watch him suck them clean, murmuring carnal sounds of satisfaction as he does. He releases them with a wet pop and grins wickedly. “Best pussy I ever tasted.”

The heat from my cheeks races down my neck. I can’t believe we just did that. In a stairwell. I can’t believe I let him take all my control.

“I h-have to get back to my …” I press my lips together, not wanting to say the word because it makes this seem even more wrong.

Drake’s brow furrows, and he quickly fixes my dress, all traces of humor now gone. He takes my purse from the ground and presses it into my hand. “Go tell your date you’re leaving. My car is outside. Constantine will take you home.”

I am a shaking wreck, and I don’t especially want to go back inside that restaurant and carry on with my date anyway—but that’s not the point. How dare he order me around. How dare he play with me like this. I am not a toy put on this planet for Drake James’s amusement.

“You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t date.”

He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing the sides just enough to restrict my blood flow. I should hate it, but of course I don’t. “You have two options, Amelia. You can have my driver take you home, or you can sit back down with that jackass out there while your cum, the cum that I pulled from you, soaks your panties. And if he so much as grazes you with a fingertip, I will follow him home and break the hand he put on you. And then I’ll send him to Chicago.”

Surely he’s not serious. Would he actually hurt Jacob just for daring to be my date? Why the hell does he even care so much?

There is nothing in his demeanor which suggests he’s not serious, though, and I hate how good his possessiveness makes me feel. Not that I will admit that to him. “And what about you?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes burning into mine. “I’ll take a cab.”

My heart bottoms out of my chest. Of course he will. Heaven forbid he should get in the car with me. That we should spend some time together. Never mind talk and try to figure this mess out. It’s yet another reminder that I’m nothing to him, nothing other than an itch he occasionally needs to scratch. He’s right about one thing though. I do need to leave. I suck in a breath and roll back my shoulders, glancing at the keypad on the door beside us. “How do we get back inside?”

Drake bangs three times on the door with his fist, and a second later, a man on the other side opens it. “Mr. James,” he says with a polite nod, not making eye contact with me. Huh. Money sure does talk. Has he been waiting there all this time just to open that door? Did he hear everything that happened between us?

My cheeks flame hotter than the sun, and I look to Drake, but his face is unreadable now. He is once again every inch the coldhearted lawyer, all traces of the passion he showed a moment ago now gone. Is he some kind of machine?

Swallowing down the thick knot of shame and anger in my throat, I stride back to the table. My date’s face is a mask of confusion and understandable annoyance, and I feel so awful about what happened that tears spring to my eyes. He’s a nice guy who doesn’t deserve what just happened to him, even though he has no idea about it. Drake James has ruined me for nice guys like Jacob.

When he sees my teary-eyed state, he pushes back his chair and stands. “Amelia, what’s wrong?”

I force a smile. “Nothing important, honestly. I really don’t feel well is all. I think I’m going to head home.”

“Let me get the check and I’ll take you.”

I place my hand on his arm. “That’s really sweet, but I’d rather just grab a cab and go straight to bed.”

His eyes fill with concern, and his genuine consideration makes me feel even worse. I fish in my purse, pull out a wad of twenty-dollar bills, and place them on the table. “I think this should cover the check.”

He glances at the money. “That’s not necessary, Amelia. This was meant to be my treat.”

“Please, let me.” I can’t bear the thought of him not only sitting alone while I submitted to my boss but then also paying for the meal.

“Okay then,” he says, nodding. “Next time it’s on me, okay? Let me know you get home safe, and I’ll see you in the office?”

Oh god. I’ll have to see him every day at work. Tears are burning behind my eyes now. Why did I think this would be a good idea? “Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll save you a bagel.”

I mumble something that’s half apology and half thanks before I rush out of the restaurant. Now I actually do feel sick. I just allowed my boss to finger-fuck me in a stairwell. What am I, sixteen? What if someone saw us? What if I lose my job? What if⁠—

“Miss Ryder,” Constantine says, interrupting my catastrophizing. He gestures toward the sleek black SUV.

I shake my head. I want nothing from Drake James. “I’ll take a cab.”

He places a hand over his heart. “My life won’t be worth living if I let you leave here in a cab.”

I glance behind him at the busy street. “That won’t work on me this time, buddy.”

I whistle for a passing cab, and one pulls to a halt.

“Miss Ryder, please?” Constantine implores.

I walk past him and pull open the taxi door, my chin held high. “Tell your boss he doesn’t need to give me a ride home to make himself feel better about being a coldhearted asshole. I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”

Before he can reply, I jump into the cab and give the driver my address. Drake James can go straight to hell. That is the last time he’ll play me.

Ever.