His Control (The Hunter Brothers Book 2), Page 2

  If I ever finished the damn thing.

  No, I refused to think about how I’d been stuck for weeks. I was going to think positive. Like how getting to meet one of the premier scientists in my field would start my career off on the right foot. Or how I was going to be doing the most important work in my life. Or how this internship could possibly lead to an actual job with the CDC after I finished my thesis.

  Or how I was positively certain that I was going to be one of those people who never finished their thesis and became a failure, doomed to return to their tiny hometown and bag groceries for the rest of their life before going home to their four cats and two English bulldogs name Frumpy and Grumpy and–

  “Miss, please put your seatbelt on.”

  I looked up to see one of those obnoxiously polite smiles that professionals put on whenever someone’s pissed them off. Apparently, I was the one hold-out on the seatbelt thing.

  “Sorry,” I muttered as I buckled it.

  “You looked like you were about to pee your pants.”

  This profound statement was followed by the sort of high-pitched giggling that would’ve been appropriate coming from a child or some nattering teenager. My seatmates, however, were well past their childhood, and at least a decade and a half from anything resembling a teenager. Easily past thirty, both were wearing leopard print-halter tops and tight pants that would’ve been tacky even on someone the right age. Their makeup was caked on, but if anything, it made the lines etched into their faces stand out even more.

  I wasn’t a shallow or vain person. I was a woman of science. I understood that the way a person was put together was due to genetic programming, with some environmental factors thrown in for good measure. For example, I had the sort of orange-red curls that could be seen for a mile, and I had a long line of maternal ancestors to thank for them, as well as the freckles. My pale green eyes came from a great-aunt on my dad’s side. My nose was my father’s.

  I liked to think I didn’t judge others by their appearance, but it wasn’t easy when people went so far out of their way to change the way they looked that it was difficult to take them seriously. To top it all off, the two women in the middle and window seats had been talking about me from the moment I sat down and hadn’t even bothered to pretend they weren’t. I had a lot of practice ignoring assholes, but those two were getting on my last nerve.

  Still, I didn’t even give them a glance. I had enough on my mind at this moment.

  I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket and opened it. I had an eidetic memory, but I liked to write things down and look at them. They helped me focus. I also liked to make lists of things that I had to do and run through them over and over. I found it…soothing. Okay, so maybe it was a little OCD, but it had always kept my anxiety under control.

  And moving to a completely different part of the country without knowing a single person was certainly anxiety provoking material.

  The internship was for a year, which meant too long for a hotel stay, and limited the amount of time I could sign a lease for. Since I’d lived at home during college, I didn’t have any furniture outside of my bedroom stuff, and all of that was falling apart.

  The only logical choice had been to find a roommate. It’d taken almost the entire two weeks I’d had to prepare to find her, but I thought we were going to get along well. Her name was Dorly Mitich, and she hadn’t once said that we were going to be like sisters.

  I already had sisters. I didn’t want another one.

  The airport was huge, and I saw a lot of people staring around, looking like they didn’t know where they were going, but I went straight for the map. I didn’t understand people who didn’t use maps or ask for directions. Too much time wasted.

  Dorly’s apartment was already furnished, which meant my two suitcases were all I needed for now. The one thing I hadn’t wanted to bring on the flight were my books, so they were being shipped later this week. Hopefully. I’d probably have to call one of my brothers to go over to the house and take the boxes to the post office since the chances of my mother or stepfather remembering were slim.

  I didn’t technically need them, since I could remember every single page, but I liked to have the references. Besides, I’d color-coded passages with various highlighters. Green for my thesis. Orange for things I believed I’d eventually disprove. Yellow for random bits of information I just found interesting.

  I pulled up my GPS on my phone to look over the layout of the neighborhood. I didn’t want to accidentally end up at the wrong building. That would be embarrassing.

  “First time in Atlanta?” the cabbie asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.

  I blew out a breath. “It is.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Great. He wanted to play twenty questions. I gave him a tight smile. “Minnesota.”

  A half-hour later, I was standing in front of apartment 7B, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. A simple taxi ride had been enough to convince me that Georgia and Minnesota were worlds apart. And the accent? I could barely understand a word.

  Still, I knocked on the door, because staying here was a necessary part of me getting to work at the CDC, and there was no way in hell I was giving that up.

  Especially when it meant that I just might get to meet Cai Hunter.

  I’d hung his articles on my bedroom walls as a teenager, treasuring each rare picture. He was gorgeous, but it wasn’t his body that had me staring at him every night before I went to sleep. It was his brain. He was brilliant; and he didn’t use that brilliance to become the sort of doctor that would make six figures. He used it to try to make the world a better place.

  The door opened, and my new roommate stood in front of me. At five and a half feet tall, I wasn’t always able to look women in the eye, but Dorly Mitich was only about an inch taller than me.

  And that was where any similarity ended.

  Short, spiky dark red hair that I couldn’t quite tell if it was natural or dyed. An athletic build that made me wonder how much she worked out. And piercings. A lot of piercings. Eyebrow, lip, and earrings that ran from her earlobe all the way up and around the top. Thanks to the tank top she wore, I could see the tattoos that ran over both arms, her shoulders, and across her cleavage.

  “Addison Kilar.” She made it a statement rather than a question.

  I smiled, liking her directness. “That’s me.”

  She stepped aside and waved me in. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

  I stepped past her and set my suitcases next to the door. It was small, but not claustrophobic. The furniture was mismatched but had a funky, artistic vibe that my oldest niece, Pattie, would have loved.

  “Kitchen to the right. Living room to the left. I never needed a table to eat at, but if you want one, we can look into going halves.” Dorly headed for a short hallway directly across from the door. “Bathroom is the first door on the right. Closet is the second. My room’s right across from the bathroom, yours is here at the end.” She pushed open the door and stepped back to let me see inside.

  It was about the same size as my room back home. The bed was a queen, which was nice. The dresser was battered but big enough to hold what I’d brought. The best thing was the space against the far wall where I could put a bookshelf at some point.

  “This is great,” I said, meaning it.

  “All right. Let’s go get your stuff.”

  “Thanks,” I said quickly. “But I’ve got it.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Those two suitcases? That’s all?”

  “My mom is supposed to send my books later.”

  “Books?” Dorly stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. “You’re shitting me, right? You brought two suitcases, and your mom’s shipping books.”

  “Yes?” I wasn’t sure what was so funny, but it didn’t feel like she was making fun of me.

  Dorly clapped a hand down on my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I think we’re going to g
et along just fine.”

  Three

  Cai

  The flight had been uneventful, and I’d gotten through the airport in record time. My car was in the parking lot, right where Pansy said she’d leave it, and traffic had been minimal. I’d gotten back to my apartment a few hours ago, and I still hadn’t been able to relax. I tried reading, pacing, exercising, and none of it worked. Nervous energy hummed through my body, and there was only one way I could think to get rid of it.

  And I needed to be rid of it.

  Before I left for Boston, I’d been close to a breakthrough for a new vaccine. My bosses had understood my need to go even though most employers only gave a day or two for the death of a grandparent, but I knew they’d be watching my progress closely. We hadn’t even yet progressed to trials, but they expected a lot of me.

  The golden boy.

  Never took vacations, worked all hours, focused on a problem until it was solved.

  And, most importantly, never cracked under pressure.

  Which meant, every so often, I needed some release.

  When I was first assigned to Atlanta, a woman I’d met for a casual encounter suggested that we visit a club. I went along with her as it seemed the politest course of action. She hadn’t liked what we found, and we hadn’t stayed long, but a few nights later, I’d gone back alone.

  Now, if I was feeling this sort of anxiety, this particular need for release, that was where I went. And, tonight was no different.

  No, I thought as I paid the cabbie and walked toward the club. Tonight, was different because I now knew that Jax had similar predilections. My younger brothers and I hadn’t exactly talked about it prior to our conversation with Jax, but one of the last times the four of us had been together, Slade mentioned the name of a club in Worchester, and both Blake and I recognized it.

  Jax hadn’t been in the room at the time, and we’d never had an actual conversation about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing we talked about with each other. Except he had this time. He’d told all of us about how he’d gone to Club Privé in New York, which had been enough to shock all of us into a conversation about how it was becoming one of the premier BDSM clubs in the world. I was there just last year when a case had taken me to the Big Apple.

  I still couldn’t believe my buttoned-up businessman brother was into S&M. Slade and Blake made sense once I’d known. But Jax? I spent my entire life thinking I’d never measure up to him, and when I realized my sexual preferences weren’t mainstream, I felt it was another way I’d failed. I’d spent so many years hiding my desires, and now hearing Jax was the same way had almost made me angry with him. As if it was his fault that I’d struggled with who I was.

  I pushed those thoughts aside as I nodded to the bouncer and made my way inside. It was packed even though it was still early, and I scanned the crowd for someone who piqued my interest. I rarely lingered, and it was only now that I realized my reluctance to spend time here came from those feelings of guilt and shame.

  Tonight, wasn’t the night to explore that, however. I needed to get rid of this tension and focus on the work I’d be doing tomorrow.

  A tall brunette walked past, and my eyes followed. As always, my brain analyzed everything about her, from her height to the asymmetrical shape of her hips, and then returned an approval. I crossed the room, barely even seeing anyone else in the crowd. I stepped into her personal space, and her head immediately dipped.

  “Are you here with anyone?” I asked.

  She shook her head, making her dark hair fall forward to cover her face.

  “Would you like to be with me tonight?”

  She nodded without any hesitation, which was good. I didn’t like it when a sub was too tentative. Submissive was good. Timid wasn’t my thing.

  I looked toward the back of the club where the room information was displayed. It was still early enough that only one room was occupied. My preference would have been to take her to a hotel, but I couldn’t bring myself to justify the cost for a single encounter that wouldn’t take the whole night.

  “Come.” I held out my hand, and she put hers in it. Her fingers were long and slender, her skin warm.

  The sign-in process was quick, with each of us giving only a single name and initialing the space regarding consent and safety. In only moments, we were heading for the second door.

  Once inside, I ordered Lissa to strip, and she did so with an efficiency that pleased me. She was naked beneath her simple sheath dress, but her body was far from bare. Both of her nipples were pierced with small bars, and the right side of her ribcage was decorated with an elaborate rosebush, complete with bleeding roses. Her navel was also pierced, and a thin gold chain ran from the ring down between her legs where, I assumed, it attached to a piercing through her clit or labia.

  “On your back on the bed,” I ordered.

  She complied without a word. I was beginning to wonder if she was able to speak at all.

  “Play with yourself, but don’t come.”

  She spread her legs, revealing hairless skin that was pink and glistening from her arousal. Her fingers dropped down, spreading her lips and showing me the gold hoop through her clit. Slender digits stroked the damp flesh at a leisurely pace, and I unzipped my pants. I moved closer, sliding my hand under my boxer-briefs to grasp my half-hard cock.

  “Faster,” I said. “But don’t come without my permission.”

  Her fingers made small circles over her clit before slipping inside her body. Her movements remained smooth, a rhythm that said she’d done this, many times before, likely at the request of other men.

  The thought didn’t bother me. I would use protection, and we would go our separate ways. I could see her in another man’s embrace as soon as we stepped back into the club, and it would only bother me if she had been left unsatisfied by the experience.

  “Play with your nipple piercings,” I said. “However you like them to be touched.”

  Her free hand went to her breast, squeezing once before flicking and twisting it. A moan escaped her lips, and her eyes flew open, seeking mine.

  I nodded. “It’s all right. You’re allowed to make noise. Just no climaxing until I say.”

  She sighed, her expression almost frantic. Her hips were starting to move, seeking additional pressure, and a fine red flush was moving across her chest. She was nearing orgasm.

  I freed my erection, pushing my pants open enough for me to be comfortable but without hindering my movement. “Don’t…” I warned.

  Her gaze dropped to my cock, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. As much as I enjoyed oral sex, I wasn’t in the mood to give or receive. What I wanted was to have absolute control, and nothing accomplished that more than getting to decide when someone else climaxed.

  Without taking my eyes off the fingers working her pussy, I took a condom from the pocket of my pants, removed it from the wrapper, and rolled the smooth latex over my cock.

  I moved so that I was standing at the end of the bed, close enough to see how swollen and wet she was. I reached down and grabbed her ankles, pulling her toward me.

  “Not until I say so,” I reminded her.

  She let out a whimper, and I dug my fingers into her hips. I lifted her, bending her body until my cock was right at her entrance and only her shoulders and head still touched the bed. I held her weight easily and saw no sign of discomfort on her face, save that of a woman desperate for relief.

  I buried myself inside her with one thrust, and she screamed. Not one of pain, though I’m sure she was experiencing at least some discomfort as her body adjusted. No, that had been a sound of pure frustration.

  An aphrodisiac to be sure.

  I didn’t draw it out, although another time I might have enjoyed torturing her a bit longer. At this moment, however, I was ready to find release. I used my arms as well as my hips, lifting her and pulling her back even as I rocked forward, driving myself deep with each stroke.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop,�
� I said as I bottomed out for the third time.

  She made a sound of protest but didn’t argue as her fingers moved again, one set twisting and pulling her nipple until it was red and swollen, the other rubbing her clit in time to my thrusts.

  Her muscles began to quiver beneath my palms and around my cock. I could see the strain on her face, but she still didn’t stop or complain.

  When she finally spoke, it was a single word, her voice cracking and breaking as she repeated it over and over. “Please, please, please, please.”

  Her body shook with the effort it took to hold back, and as the pressure in my balls tightened, I finally gave in.

  “You may come.”

  She let out a wail, and her body convulsed, her pussy squeezing me so hard that my own orgasm had an edge of pain to it. I fell forward, releasing my grip on her as I caught myself on my hands. I held my body over hers, eyes closed as I enjoyed the nothingness that came with the pleasure.

  Maybe I’d actually sleep tonight.

  Four

  Addison

  I was going to throw up.

  From the moment I received the call saying I’d been chosen for the internship, I’d been dealing with butterflies, and it hadn’t gotten better. Then, yesterday, one of our neighbors brought over a letter that’d gotten into their mailbox by mistake. A letter from the CDC confirming my internship.

  And telling me that I’d specifically been assigned to Cai Hunter.

  That’s when my stomach decided that it didn’t want to hold anything ever again.

  I scrubbed my palms on my thighs, hoping they’d stop sweating when I shook Dr. Hunter’s hand. I was probably going to make a fool of myself anyway. I didn’t want to add gross to strange.

  I was ten minutes early and standing outside with the sun shining down on me was only making everything worse. With my luck, I’d end up with a sunburn to make me look like the gangly, freckle-faced, small-town geek I’d always been. I took a slow breath to steady myself, reminded myself that I’d prepared for this, and then went inside.