Hardcore (Filth Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  HARDCORE

  BLURB

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  BIO

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  PERV EXCERPT

  HARDCORE

  by Dakota Gray

  Copyright 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product

  of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features in any media form are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  Self-Published Edition 2017

  BLURB

  A decent man would have let her go after our one-night stand, but I’m barely a gentleman.

  Three years ago, Kennedy Mclane saw the real me after we had sex. She saw the ruthless attorney who gets clients—yes, even the guilty ones—off on technicalities. She glimpsed my heart of stone and ran in the other direction, because I’m everything she shouldn’t want.

  For three long years, I’ve waited for my good girl to turn bad. ’Cause when she does, it won’t matter if she’s ready for me, or if she can take it. Hard. We have unfinished business, and I’ve been more than fair. She'll probably hate me by the end of all this. But I don't care anymore. I’m going to get her out of my system, one way or another.

  AT A GLANCE

  WEBSITE|FACEBOOK|NEWSLETTER

  BACKLIST

  PERV

  HARDCORE

  DEDICATION

  To all my legal folks who will cringe while reading this, keep fighting the fight.

  PROLOGUE

  Before we get into this shitshow that is my life right now, I should offer up some important background details.

  Liquor mixed with lust is the root of all evil in my life.

  That one show that's been on since Moses split the Red Sea? The hospital one where everyone is fucking in elevators? Yeah. Law firms can be like that too.

  And fucking a hot redhead on your desk can lead to all sorts of problems.

  Those are the facts.

  So, let me set the scene. It's three years ago. I'm a wide-eyed, or as wide-eyed as I can be, junior associate at a top-earning law firm in Hartsburg. It's a town right on the brink of a metropolis, so this is a big deal. I was just plucked from the sea of shoulder high-cubicles and given my own office on the first floor near the bathrooms. I'm moving up in the world.

  The halls of Lance and Chase are decked with cheap plastic boughs of holly. I'm buzzing from three shots of tequila. It’s two days before Christmas and spending it at work might make me too much like my fuckwit of a father. I'm headed to my office to get my briefcase.

  The problem?

  A certain, hot redhead I work with—flirt with—has tagged along with me.

  The trouble?

  She’s leading the way, and my gaze keeps trailing down to her ass. I'm pretty sure God handcrafted it himself. Or Satan. It's supernaturally curved, and the jeans plastered to both cheeks, her hips, and everything else she put in them, should be grateful for existing.

  In case anyone could forget, I'm three tequilas in. It takes me a while to get to her tits, much less her face. I do by the time I reach under my desk to grab my case.

  The distinctive sound of a lock sliding home draws my gaze up to her. Her honey-brown gaze is fixed on me while her teeth promise to leave imprints on her bottom lip. It's that look—the one that can raise a man from the dead. It's that kind of mouth—the one that can make a man want to sell his soul for just a kiss on the tip of his cock.

  Now I'm not the guy who will clutch pearls when a woman gets an intent gleam in her eye, but this woman...

  “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  She leans against the door and tries to hold back her mischievous smile. “I thought we were having a private moment. Didn't want anyone to barge in.”

  “Private moment?” I know what she means. I want her to spell it out.

  “We were having such a good talk in the conference room, but it was too loud with too many people. You're about to head home...”

  She's so full of shit. It's partly why I like her. “Right.”

  I brace my hands on my desk and do my best to put on my stone-cold, heartless face. It's in my DNA to hold a direct dead stare no one can hold. With enough hair product I can make my strands submit.

  I'm a picture of winter—cold, fathomless and deadly. I've been carved into this and some days I pray for guilt, the warmth of shame when I do questionable shit. Those emotions never come, though.

  But tonight it's tough to do the stare justice. I didn't eat anything at the potluck. Most of the food looked suspect after five hours of sitting out in the main conference room. This is hour ten at work. I'm running on booze and bagel fumes.

  “Kennedy.” I’m trying to sound like the voice of reason but I've reached her tits and face.

  She has the kind of rack you titty fuck because if you don't, you're simply less of a man. Did I mention she's a redhead? She'll have pussy-pink nipples that turn crimson when she’s aroused. I shake my head, surprised at my mind's fast slide into the gutter.

  “Duke Alexander,” she murmurs back at me, and her normally husky voice is a seductive rasp. “You look scared.”

  “You might be confusing me with someone else. I'm never scared.”

  I'm worried if she comes any closer I'll eat her alive, and she'll thank me for it with husky moans. That won't be good. We have a decent work relationship. She calendars for the firm and has never fucked up a filing deadline or missed a drop-dead date for delivering a proof of service. We've talked enough I know she wants to branch out with her own legal courier business—doing similar tasks for much better pay. It'll cater to firms in the area mostly doing grunt work they aren't willing to pay a full-time employee to do.

  She's smart, hungry, and maybe I've flirted with her most of the night. Okay. For the past two months. We have the same coffee schedule.

  The tequila has me thinking too much.

  I try again. “Kennedy, you don't want to fuck me.”

  She smiles, and I swear to god my heart lurches. Fuck me. No. Fuck her, hard.

  “Duke, Duke, Duke.” She's wearing tennis shoes but I would put her walk up against a runway model in stilettos. I can't look anywhere but at her hips.

  “Why do you think I came to your office? Your office is a shithole. A nice shithole, but I'm not here for the view.”

  “I don't have one.” I know. That's the dumbe
st fucking thing anyone can say in this situation, but my stare has moved to the apex between her thighs. Is it me or is her pussy whispering my name?

  Touch me, Duke.

  Caress me, Duke.

  Lick me, Duke.

  No. No. I work with her. This is my first year as a junior associate. Getting a rep for fucking around is not what I want. This is a long game with a clear goal in my mind—senior partner. Half the female staff can't know what my dick looks like when I'm one of the bosses.

  See, you have to understand, my father is an attorney. His father was an attorney. My grandfather's mother worked her way up as a clerk for the United States Supreme Court. She was damn near older than god by the time she made it, but it's an Alexander thing to be a force of nature until you physically and mentally cannot.

  It was understood at a very young age that I would follow this tradition. I have, to a point. I'm playing the game. I plan to jump through the hoops. I will procure the right friendships and make the smart backroom deals.

  Kennedy could be a complication that I don't need. So...do I really want to shoot my load with her? Tomorrow when the haze of liquor has cleared, will she regret what we did?

  She runs her tongue over her top lip. Her mouth is not quite pussy-pink, but close enough I hear a whoosh in my brain as all my blood drains to my cock.

  Pause.

  If it's not clear, this moment—This One—is where things go fucking sideways for me. Before the flash of her tongue, I like to think I could have shaken off the haze of booze. I'm not drunk, but you won’t find me getting behind the wheel of a car. I’m also not the type to be led by my dick. I’ve wanted to fuck her since three minutes after we met, and that was mostly due to her smart mouth and an infectious kind of grin.

  It’s safe to say she’s wanted to fuck me too, but resisted. Alcohol plus lust is getting to her also.

  I know she had a couple of cups of bubbly. Though her walk is steady and straight as she holds my stare and struts to me, there's a flush to her cheeks. The promise of sex is clear in her gaze.

  Yet I know she’s the epitome of a good girl.

  This isn't about worrying at June Cleaver's pearls. I'm trying to do the right thing here, which for me happens about once every decade. I live and breathe in the gray area. Her, she's all black and white.

  “Kennedy, come here.”

  She picks up her pace. I do my best to not jump her when she slides between me and the desk. I ignore everything, everything, that's soft and warm about her as she sidles up to me. I cup her face and lower my head until the only place she can look is at me.

  I say, “It's clear we like each other.”

  “You make me laugh. That's hard to do. Though I worry about you.”

  My brows go up. “What?”

  “Sometimes you go cold.”

  It's something my friends accuse me of, and usually they drag me out of the office to get a taste of life. What amazes me is that she sees it. Again, we chat over coffee in the morning. Or in the hallway. Or at the courthouse if she's running a rare errand outside of the office.

  It's just the past month that it seems like I can't turn around without seeing her, but that could be because I'm looking for her. A glimpse of her red hair, her quick smile, and my insides tighten. She's a break from the nose to the grindstone life I've been living since...forever.

  Right now, that's not the point. I want her to understand when she wakes up in my bed I’m still going to be Duke Alexander, an attorney with way too much ambition and a penchant for fucking women until they forget their own names. Her eyes need to be wide open before we go any further.

  “Sometimes I'm cold because that's the man I am. Do you get that?” I’m close enough I feel the shiver that runs through her.

  She swallows, the hesitation of her answer hanging in the air. “Yes.”

  Kennedy, so far, hasn't spoken a word she doesn't wholeheartedly believe. It's hard to confuse conviction with anything else once you hear it.

  I drag my thumbs along her cheeks. “Don't just say it.”

  “I'm not,” she murmurs. “I can see it.”

  She drops her gaze to my chest before she presses her hands to my pecs.

  That should be the end of our exchange. She's unsure and being shy, when all Kennedy has been is unbidden and outspoken. Yet after a deep breath she reaches up to the top button on my dress shirt. She tugs that first one free, and then another and another. Her every exhale feathers against the bared skin.

  “I want you to fuck me.” There's no hint of doubt in her tenor. “Right here. On your desk.”

  Do I need to spell out why I don't say no and send her on her way?

  “Goddammit.”

  She laughs. There's a knowing to it—she's got me. Womanly wiles are all about confidence, not deception like some numbnuts believe. Any smart man will bow to it, and my knees ache to do just that whenever she's in breathing distance.

  “Is that a yes?” she asks. “You're a little tipsy. I don't want to take advantage of you. I need to hear your agreement in clear, consensual terms.”

  That right there is another reason why I like her and why I'm going to ignore common sense and fuck her on my desk. No one is headed to my office. Hell, half the people left at the firm are trashed out of their minds and likely doing questionable shit too.

  “Yes. I'm going to fuck you. Here. Now. How much have you...”

  She licks her lip again and I lose track of the question I wanted to ask. I'm listening to my dick, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do my best to fuck her until she walks sideways. Definitely doesn’t mean I’m not going to grab hold of control like I always do.

  I step back. “Put your hands on the desk.”

  Her brows go up at the demand. “Like that? Without a please?”

  “Did you think you’d get special treatment for being cute?” Huh. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  Yet her gaze goes soft. “You think I’m cute?”

  I lean forward to whisper in her ear. “Fucking you in my office is risky, can get us fired and a number of things that makes my blood run cold. I’m going to do it anyway because I find you irresistible.” I pull back to hold her stare. “Now get on the desk, Kennedy.”

  The blush is back. I ignore that and grip the edge of her shirt to yank it up to her belly button. She doesn't have flat abs. There's cushion for my fingers to sink into and I fucking want to. My head is spinning now. I'm not sure if that's the liquor or her. Let's be honest though, my entire focus rests on her jean's button.

  “You're beautiful.” That's the liquor talking. It’s a goddamn vortex..

  Focus, dammit.

  I make sure that my knuckles brush against her stomach as I unzip her jeans. It truly is the little things. Her tits jostle beneath the cotton tee as her breathing shifts deeper, faster. I'll get to the girls. Hopefully. Her tits are a gift that should be unwrapped slowly, not when I'm slightly off my game.

  “Kick off your shoes.”

  She doesn't hesitate.

  “Lift,” is the next direction as I drag both her jeans and her underwear down.

  She's down to her socks, bra and shirt, and I have never seen a sexier woman half-naked. Shapely legs, thick hips—all fucking woman in between her thighs. I skim my gaze over her bare pussy.

  I’ve been giving her hard demands, very little touching, and she’s been creaming in her panties over it all.

  My need for control makes her wet.

  I should have skipped two of those drinks I had earlier. My inhibitions have run to hide, and there’s just me and my need. I do no foreplay handshake. There's no teasing her slit with my fingers, whispering dirty words in her ear. Fuck, not even a kiss.

  I bury my face between her thighs and eat her. One of her legs remains on the desk and the other I absently throw over my shoulder.

  This is sloppy, and would be embarrassing, but her hips lift up to my mouth as a moan spills from hers. The urgency beating inside my
chest calms. This isn't about an end goal. This is about pleasure. Hers. I push her leg up to give myself better access.

  That simple move makes her clit sit up for me. She's not swollen enough for quick tongue flicks to send her over, so I suck her into my mouth—softly, slowly. She's sweet, tangy and perfect. I could spend the rest of the night eating her, not once getting tired of the way she flavors my taste buds.

  If nothing else, I'm going to do this right. I place a hand over her slit and tug the skin back until her clit peeks from under its hood. Since there's no point in doing anything halfway, I close my mouth over her from clit to entrance and suck softly.

  The way she gasps, the way she gets that much wetter turns my dick into steel. She's ready for tongue and I give it to her. I'm relentless. There's no part of her pussy that doesn't get lapped up.

  The tremble starts in her legs and works its way up to a full body shudder.

  “Duke. Your mouth. I love it.” She mashes the words together in a sexy groan.

  She deserves to soak my chin. She tenses. Her flavor deepens. I don't stop licking her into oblivion. She pants my name and it has never sounded so damn good. I slip two fingers into her cunt, matching the pace of the pumps to my tongue flicks.

  She shudders. “I’m coming. Don’t...oh, god. Don’t stop.”

  I curl my fingers and end any thoughts or words she has left. Her cries are sharp but low. There won't be any screaming, and that has nothing to do with the way I've made a meal out of her. I can't think about where we are. Her scent, her taste surrounding my senses is all that matters. The insistent throb in my cock is second. I’m going to make her come again so I can slurp up her cream. Nothing has ever tasted better and I’m starving.

  After she tenses a second time, she pushes my face away. Fuck. The picture she makes. While I was busy, Kennedy had tugged her shirt up over her breasts. One is partially exposed. From the erect position of her nipple, I can only assume she's been playing with it.

  I tut. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

  She moans at the question instead of answering. I drag a finger between her folds, teasing her still.