Losing Control: A Look Don’t Touch Prequel Read online

  Losing Control

  A Look Don’t Touch Prequel

  Tess Oliver

  Losing Control

  Copyright © 2017 by Tess Oliver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Look Don’t Touch

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers: I’m so excited for my next novel LOOK DON’T TOUCH, a full-length romance novel. I loved writing it and I’ve decided to give readers an early look into the complex and insanely sexy story of Nash Archer. I am releasing the first four chapters for free in LOSING CONTROL. This is a prequel to LOOK DON’T TOUCH. The full novel releases January 14, 2018.

  1

  The hot water stung the scratches on my back as I dunked my head under to wash away the long night of drinking and sex. The shower door opened behind me, and a rush of cool air swept over my wet skin.

  Kimberly's soft lips pressed against my shoulder. "Hope you don't mind if I use some of your hot water. The plane is waiting for me at the airport." Her fingers touched the scratches. "Oops, did I do that?"

  "Sometimes I think you have them filed sharper to inflict the most damage."

  "More fun that way."

  I reached forward and turned on the second pair of water jets. I'd had the shower built big enough to accommodate four people, but it had only ever reached capacity twice. I'd discovered two women could be a treat but three required way too much organization on my part.

  I turned to look at Kimberly.

  She reached up to smooth her hair back under the water. The hot water cascaded over her puckered nipples as her plump tits jutted forward. "Besides, you left some damage of your own." She twisted at the waist to show me the red marks on her ass.

  "As I recall, you kept yelling 'harder'." Thinking about the spanking she'd begged for the night before made my balls tighten. My cock surged into a rod of steel. I closed the gap between us. My chest grazed her hardened nipples as I reached behind her and grabbed hold of her long, wet hair. I tugged it just hard enough to lift up her face. Her lips parted, and I swept my tongue between them.

  Kimberly and I had what I considered a perfect arrangement. It was a cock and pussy trade off, pure and simple. She came for cock, and I invited her for pussy. She was a wealthy heiress who spent her entire life traveling between family estates and her own posh houses. Whenever she was in California, and more specifically, next door at her family's Malibu Beach house, she stopped by for what she referred to as her 'friendly neighborhood spanking, rough play and fuck fest'.

  Kimberly's fingers wrapped my erection. She slipped the fleshy head between the folds of her pussy. I yanked her hair back farther and sucked the shower water off her long throat.

  My mouth trailed along her skin. "Are you sure you need to leave for France so soon? I was hoping for one long fuck session tonight to celebrate the investment deal I'm locking down today. The deal that's going to earn me a partnership."

  "Ooh, baby," she said with a fake breathy tone. "You make me so damn hot when you talk about investment deals while I have your cock pinched between my thighs." She laughed and squeezed my cock hard enough to make me wince and release her hair. "Sounds like you're going to miss me." She pushed her breasts against my chest.

  "I'm definitely going to miss certain parts." I took rough hold of her wrists and yanked them up above her head.

  "Damn, Archer, we sure are a couple of damaged fucking people." Her tongue flicked out, and she licked the water off her bottom lip. "Make me scream or you'll have to start all over." Her hair slapped me as I spun her around and pressed her hands against the tile wall. Water jets pulsed at us from every direction as the massive shower filled with hot, soapy steam.

  I grabbed her hips to yank her ass toward me, but Kimberly was way ahead. She jutted her fine, round bottom at me and spread her legs wide. "You better make this worth my while, Nash Archer. I want my pussy to be aching for you all the way to Paris."

  I knew exactly what she liked. She wanted to be punished when we fucked, just as badly as I wanted to punish her. She was right. We were truly damaged. It was one of the reasons I'd had more than one night of sex with the woman, a rarity for me. The madman who raised me, namely, my dad, had drilled into me that friends and longtime lovers were useless soul suckers who screwed with your focus. And without focus, you were screwed. He was an asshole, but the rules he forcefully instilled in me had made me a cutthroat businessman.

  I jammed my cock into Kimberly. Her groan echoed off the glass. Something told me it was more from being tender after a long night of pleasure. I dug my fingers into her flesh and held her firmly as I pumped into her.

  "Damn," she purred. "What have you done to my pussy with that oversized cock of yours?" Her weak laugh stretched into a breathy moan.

  "Should I stop?" I grunted, thinking it was the last thing I wanted.

  Kimberly's fingers curled. She kept her fists braced against the tile. Her knuckles were white, but instead of withdrawing, she pushed her ass out farther, wanting more.

  "Have you heard me scream your name yet, Archer?" she said through the clenched jaw of pain.

  "Not yet," I growled as I ground my cock into her.

  "Then don't you dare stop." A whimper left her lips as I thrust into her harder. When we fucked, it seemed to rip open every raw emotion the two of us had locked away in our dark souls. But it had nothing to do with passion or an intimate connection between us. Our relationship was purely physical. The pain she craved seemed to stem from a life where things were too easy, so easy that there was never fulfillment. My dad had accumulated nearly as much wealth as Kimberly's family had been pushing along from generation to generation, but nothing came easy for me. The only thing my dad ever bought for me were things I never wanted, like tuitions to pretentious private schools, piano lessons and custom suits. What kid wanted a fucking three piece suit for his thirteenth birthday? I sure as fuck didn't. And just like our vastly different upbringings, Kimberly and I used each other for uninhibited, no strings sex for different reasons. Kimberly always took sex to the extreme because she was looking for that sense of achievement, that satisfied feeling of completion. But my needs had nothing to do with fulfillment. I couldn't pinpoint what they were. All I knew was that I was happy to give it to Kimberly in every way she wanted. It was a sexual release, but I wasn't kidding myself. The pleasure I got from punishing her came from an anger that was so deeply buried in my soul, I didn't always recognize it. Like right then, as the shower heated our skin and my pulse pounded through my veins, I dug my cock into her again and again. There was anger in it. Anger, not at the beautiful and equally dark-souled woman in my grasp. It was an anger that I couldn't define, but it was there. It had been there since childhood.

  Kimberly's legs grew shaky. I wrapped my arm around her and slid my fingers along her pussy to her clit. I stroked her gently, the way she liked her clit stroked, the only part of her body she liked me to treat in what she called a 'gentlemanly manner'.

  A frustrated moan rolled out from her lips. "You've broken my pussy, you bastard. You're going to need to fuck me in the ass. And don't you dare come first."

  "You're asking a lot of me. That tight ass of yours always milks me to orgasm fast." I pulled free of her pussy and gritted
my teeth as I pushed into her ass. "Fuck, darling, you're going to kill me this morning."

  "I sure—am—if you don't—get this done, Archer." Her words were punctuated with quick sharp breaths.

  "Laser—focus. Ignore the p—pain. Win at all—costs," I muttered between groans. Some kids were told to say their prayers before bed, I had to repeat my dad's chant ten times before closing my eyes.

  Kimberly stopped rocking back against me for a second and looked over her shoulder. "You aren't seriously reciting your dad's stupid fucking credo in the middle of ass play. Is that pep talk for you or me?" She faced the wall again and pushed against me, taking my erection in farther and pushing me torturously close to coming.

  "For you," I grunted. "Trust me, I don't need a pep talk right now. I'm right fucking there."

  I flicked my thumb over her clit and had to concentrate on my hand between her legs to keep my mind off my cock. I was at the brink of exploding.

  Kimberly legs suddenly regained strength. She rocked back taking in more of me as my fingers strummed her clit to orgasm.

  "Fuck! Yes! You fucker!" Kimberly's screams pierced the air.

  She stayed braced against the wall as we both caught our breath.

  "I never once doubted that you could do it, Archer." She said on a long sigh as she straightened and stepped under the showerhead.

  I bowed my head to finish the performance. "Just like I always say—failure is never an option."

  2

  The heavy rain clouds were spitting just enough drizzle to make everyone slow to a snail's pace. Weather was so rare in Southern California, everyone went into full panic mode when the asphalt got wet and the wipers went on.

  I slipped my Ferrari into fifth gear. The engine hummed as I dashed in and out of traffic on Pacific Coast Highway. Kimberly had hopped around for ten minutes, shimmying into her tight jeans, sweater and boots and scolding me for making her late to the airport. I threw the blame on her, reminding her that I held off on coming to wait for her to finish. She blew me a kiss and left behind a cloud of expensive perfume and strands of pale pink cashmere as she raced out the door.

  I was late too. I'd planned to hop on my motorcycle to lane split and race along the carpool lane, but a rare fall rainstorm had moved on shore. The Ferrari would get me there fast but not nearly as fast as the motorcycle. I had a video conference lined up to finalize the deal, and I only had an hour to go through my numbers for Rad Video. Rad Video was run by a group of highly creative tech people who had come up with a subscription channel that was targeted toward the video game and comic book obsessed crowd. They had set up a booth at the last Comic Con, and the line to sign up for the six month subscription snaked around the building for the entire convention. They had everything but the right capital to make their channel a monumental success. I'd gotten my offer in early and I'd made it one that would be hard to turn down. It was one of my top strategies. When something red hot was on the investment market—move in fast and give them what they want. This was a no-brainer. Rad Video was going to be the new darling of Wall Street by this time next year. And Morris Grant, my boss and the man who owned MG Enterprises, a man, who, much like my dad, had always been married to money, would be handing me that partnership.

  I was back on the brakes. "Fuck, come on, people. It's just rain." I touched the screen on the dash to call my assistant but as often happened, she read my mind and called first. Kelly was a hard-working, single mother of three, and she was nothing short of amazing. On my recommendation, Grant had offered her an account executive position, but she chose to stay in her current position. She claimed that I'd fall apart without her, and she didn't need the extra stress. She was probably right. And after being my executive assistant for four years, she knew me better than any other woman in the world.

  "Hey, Kel, I'm on my way."

  "Are you driving?"

  "Yep, until I figure out a way to fly in from Malibu, I'm stuck driving in traffic. What's up?"

  There was a long enough pause from her end that I glanced at the monitor to make sure the call was still connected. "Kelly?"

  "Damn it, Nash, where the hell were you last night? I must have called a dozen times. Don't you ever check your messages?"

  I grabbed my phone from the front of my briefcase. It had been tucked inside there all night. Kimberly had met me in the driveway as I pulled up from work. Without a word, she had walked straight into the bedroom leaving a long trail of designer clothes in the hallway. I dropped my briefcase on the entry table, followed the trail and never looked back.

  "Sorry, I was unplugged for the night."

  A terse laugh shot through the phone. "Oh, I think you were plugged in all right, just not into the real world. Rad moved the phone conference up two hours. You weren't here, so they signed off. George Stockton looked mad as hell."

  "What the fuck do you mean? When—"

  "They called about an hour after you left work. I called and called, but you know what? Sometimes I've got to take care of things at home. You should have answered your damn phone." Kelly's voice wavered. She always kept her cool but not this morning. "I hope she was worth it." She lowered her voice. "Because Grant is walking around the building with fire shooting out of his ears. He tried to call you too. You better get in here fast and make nice."

  I smacked the steering wheel hard. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I glanced ahead to the wall of brake lights in front of me. "If you know a secret way to get around California traffic then please let me know, Kel, because I'm not getting there anytime soon. There's a fucking layer of mist on the road that has everyone freaked the fuck out."

  "Hey, don't snap at me. This is on you."

  "Yeah, I know. Sorry." Another call beeped through. "Shit, Grant is calling. I'll see ya later, Kel."

  "Morris, I just got the message—"

  "And why the fuck is that? You are working with multi-million dollar investment deals, but you can't answer your goddamn phone?"

  I knew Morris Grant well enough to know that it was easier to let him vent than to interrupt or step in to defend myself. Not that there was anything to defend.

  "When I hired you, you were a solid, no-nonsense young man. I know your dad, and I know you had a very strict upbringing. I was young once and I understand the whole sowing the wild oats thing. But you're out of control. You need to step back and reflect on your lifestyle, Nash."

  "Yes, sir," I said, and thought back to the million times I'd had to say the same damn phrase to my dad. I never called him dad. Ever. He would not have allowed it. "Don't forget, I'm the one who lured Rad Video to MG Enterprises. I'll make this right. I'm going to call—"

  "I've already stepped in to try and fix this huge mistake. You have one more shot at this. George Stockton is in the desert at the Palm Desert Motorcycle Raceway. Apparently, even tech nerds like to race motorcycles. He said you could meet him out there to finish up the details. He'll be out there until noon, so you'd better hurry."

  The traffic was moving at ten miles per hour, and Palm Desert was at least a hundred miles east. "I'm heading there right now." I was finished with the imbeciles tiptoeing through the light rain. I pushed my foot down on the pedal and slalomed through the maze of brake lights.

  3

  There was more activity than I expected at the raceway, which was basically a massive oval track lined by shorts stacks of spectator stands in front of a trailer selling hot dogs and drinks. At least a dozen multi-colored easy-ups dotted the grounds. Trucks and trailers of every shape and size were parked near the shade tents. Three riders were geared up and hauling ass around the track while others stood by watching and timing them. These weren't the big bikes, the chrome monsters that roared easily past two hundred, but the riders were racing at a respectable speed on their modified, tamer versions of the professional bikes.

  I headed toward the shiny black trailer with the lime green stripe. They were the same colors as the Rad Video logo. Rather than scold myself and reflect, as Grant
had suggested, I'd spent the long drive working on my sales pitch. I wasn't going to leave the raceway without the deal sealed. I'd fucked up, but I was damn good at smoothing out rough spots.

  I reached the bright green easy-up in front of the trailer. A guy a few years younger than me, early twenties, with dyed black hair and snake tattoos running up both forearms, had his focus glued on his phone. Even under the goth hairstyle, I could see a resemblance to George Stockton, my main contact for Rad Video. It seemed I was looking at junior.

  "Excuse me," I asked, finally drawing his attention away from the phone, "is George around?"

  He pointed out to the track just as three riders raced past. One of the riders was wearing the Rad Video logo on the back of his helmet.

  He blinked up at me. "Judging by that suit and tie, you must be that investor dude?" He turned his attention back to his phone.

  "Yep, I'm the investor dude."

  "They just started warming up, so he'll be out there for ten to thirty minutes." The snake on his right arm wriggled its tongue as the guy's thumb swiped across the screen.

  "Ten to thirty? Great. I'll just follow the scent of those hot dogs. I'm sure they are awesome."

  "Wouldn't know," he muttered. "I don't eat animal flesh."

  I nodded. "Probably should have guessed that." I headed back to the trailer where the smoky aroma of charred animal flesh billowed out from the two serving windows. A splintered and scarred wooden picnic table was proudly wearing three hot women on its wobbly, half-rotted bench. One of the women, a blonde whose hair was shaved off on one side, was licking the mustard off her finger, a gesture that grabbed my attention for a moment. The other two women were sipping blue ice Slurpees. All three women turned back to give me a bold and greatly appreciated head to toe survey before returning to their drinks.