Systematic Siege: Provocative Tendencies #2 (SSPT #2)

  Systematic Siege: Provocative Tendencies #2

  SSPT SERIAL

  Copyright © N. Isabelle Blanco

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover image licensed by Shutterstock/ © Vitaly Valua

  Cover design by Coquette Graphics

  Publication Date: November 4th 2015

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Erotica

  Copyright © 2015 N. Isabelle Blanco

  All rights reserved

  17

  A lot can happen in one year. A lot of twisted, fucked-up shit.

  And if a lot of that can happen in a year, imagine just how much more can happen in seven.

  I thought I had gotten away from the darkness once. That an escape and a new life were finally within my grasp.

  In that place of fragile, hopeful naivety, I made the mistake of trusting the wrong person.

  I was alone.

  Heartbroken.

  Destroyed by the loss of a guy I’d adored.

  Stephen took advantage of that. Lured me in. Offered me friendship at a time when I’d needed it the most.

  But he doesn’t want to be my friend. He wants to own me.

  Because he “loves” me.

  Him. Someone that’s too sick to even truly understand the concept of love.

  I understand it, but only because of the very woman who he hurt to get at me—my mother. We’re all we have. Our connection gives us reason.

  Me, a reason to keep going.

  Her, a reason to continue fighting for her life.

  Thanks to Stephen, she’s sick. Laying in a hospital bed, as she has for the last three and a half years.

  He wanted me as part of his company.

  He demanded that I remain a part of his life.

  After he raped me, I refused to do neither.

  That’s when he went after my mother, infecting her with an aggressive strain of human immunodeficiency virus.

  Yes. That son of a bitch infected my mother with AIDS. Not just any kind. We could’ve gotten help from her health insurance, could’ve afforded treatment for it on our own. The strain he infected my mother with is a lab created version, one the CDC doesn’t even know about yet.

  An engineered, super-Hulk version of the virus that would’ve ended my mother’s life in months.

  I’m an idiot. I should’ve never trusted a man that was once Andrew Drevlow’s best friend. Like attracts like.

  They’re not friends anymore. As a matter of fact, Stephen despises Andrew.

  Hopefully, now that I’m here, I can find out why. Use that to my advantage.

  That’s who I am now. I don’t care for anyone outside of my mother. I don’t feel anything except the burning need for revenge.

  Stephen was the only one with enough resources to keep my mother alive. I’d had no choice but to enter into that contract and work with his company. Let him take advantage of me again.

  It was a lesson hard-learned.

  A lesson learned well.

  A lesson I thought I had down pat.

  Then Richard Drevlow came along, with a promise to get me out from under Stephen’s control. With the means to do so and the means to actually help my mother.

  Ronald Drevlow’s brother.

  The man responsible for ruining my father’s life and driving him to suicide.

  Andrew Drevlow’s uncle.

  The boy I once loved—was obsessed with—and the boy I’d wanted to give myself to more than anything.

  The same boy that tricked me, lied to me.

  The only man to ever break my heart.

  I’m only here to use him. For what he and his uncle can do for me, in return for what I can give them. I’m not here for anything else. Stephen confessed to me once, while drunk, that Andrew lives for me. That he never got over me. That he suffers every single waking moment because of me.

  I didn’t believe it then. I don’t believe it now. And none of that matters, I tell myself. I’m not here to see if any of that is true.

  But then, a roar echoes into my new office, an inhuman, hair-raising sound.

  “Berkman’s office!”

  My heart . . . stops? Oh God, what the hell?

  “NOW!”

  Fear races into my veins, chilling me, slapping me with a brutal, unforgiving truth.

  I lied to myself.

  I am here to see if it’s true.

  I do care.

  There’s an echo of Andrew Drevlow still etched into my soul, and I’m here to make damn sure I’m still etched into his.

  18

  Denial.

  We tend to make it our best friend, our constant shields. A perceived strength; a merciless weakness.

  Because, in the face of truth, it flees, abandoning you when you need it most.

  He’s coming.

  I can feel the energy that is him—an energy I was once addicted to, a rush I could never truly forget, and it’s barreling toward me.

  In front of me is a long, metallic shelf that’s built into the wall. I went through the trouble of setting up my things on it; my gadgets, a few pictures of my mom.

  I’m holding one of those pictures now. Had been staring at it, reminding myself why I agreed to come work here of all places.

  It almost falls out of my hand when I hear the pounding footsteps coming closer.

  He’s . . . he’s running to me?

  The automatic, steel doors slide open, and I have a split second to lower the frame, inhale, try to fucking compose myself.

  The running stops.

  Even before I register the sound of his rapid breaths, my knees go weak with sensation.

  I haven’t laid eyes on him yet, and I’m completely breathless.

  All those years. All that pain. How were they not powerful enough to erase his effect on me?

  Why does it feel stronger than ever, stronger than I even imagined it?

  Don’t let him see. He can’t know. He once used this weakness against me. He thought it’d be funny to play with me, use my feelings for him to lure me in. All so he could seduce me while his friends watched. While they recorded the whole thing.

  The next day, they showed off that recording. To the entire school.

  That old, buried rage and humiliation howl to life inside me. It’s a much needed reminder.

  My body might be a fool, a victim of a glitching, primal biology, but I don’t want the man behind me.

  I despise him.

  I only want what he can do for me.

  And every ounce of pain I can rip out of him along the way.

  The thought hardens me, pushing back the ludicrous response I’m having to him.

  I turn—

  And nearly stagger back into the shelf behind me.

  It’s him. Oh God, it’s Andrew Drevlow. I didn’t allow myself to keep tabs on him all these years. Didn’t look at a single picture.

  In many ways, he’s still looks the same.

  But no, he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.

  A man stands before me. One that somehow seems taller. Way, way bigger, and he’d been a tower of muscles at eighteen.

  Dressed impeccably in a dark bl
ue suit, he stands there, staring at me, his eyes eating me up.

  Like he’s been starved for the sight of me.

  A small place inside me trembles.

  His facial expression is so harsh. Everything about him is harsher, harder.

  Darker.

  A sort of madness glitters in his eyes. It scares me, but only because a part of me awakens for it.

  I’ve been walking around dead for so many years, that part of me gone, eradicated. One look at him and it roars back to life, banging inside me. A volatile storm I’m not sure I can contain.

  I hate him. Hate him, I remind myself. And I do. Regardless of everything else I’m feeling, the hate is still there.

  But . . . he’s shaking.

  So am I, can barely hide it. The emotions wrestling within me are too different—disgust. Hate. Rage.

  Sadness.

  Desire.

  Fuck. I still want him?

  Looking at him, I know the answer to that loud and clear.

  That dark, reddish brown hair.

  Those lazy, toffee-colored bedroom eyes.

  He was everything I ever wanted once. A mountain of a man I was dying to own.

  Now, I can barely stand the sight of him.

  His reaction to me is messing with my head. Why does he look like it burns him to lay eyes on me? Like all he wants in the world is to come closer?

  I swallow, struggling for calm, and finally bring myself to say his name. A name I despise. Another reminder I need. “Mr. Drevlow.”

  His expressions twists. There’s no mistaking the agony in his gaze. The agony I hear when he says my name. “Lexi.”

  A heart I’d believed to be hardened splits wide open inside my chest. Yearning hits. Hard. Fast.

  And then he starts coming at me.

  19

  No. Fuck. No.

  Heart roaring, I stumble backwards, but there’s nowhere to go. My back hits the shelf behind me.

  Everything I know, everything I believed the last seven years, every hope I had for my future slams into the floor.

  All I have is this moment.

  This very second and the horrible truth it brings. The blood rushing in my ears. The speeding of my already bruised heart. The reopening of this chasm within me, a pit of bleak, unforgiving despair I’d thought I had closed.

  And the very thing my body is pounding for coming at me full-throttle.

  He takes my air with his proximity.

  My hands slide uselessly along the metal behind me. I don’t know what I’m doing, what I’m looking for.

  A way out. I need a—

  Andrew grabs me and practically flings me into him.

  Suddenly, I’m pressed face-first into his massive chest, his heartbeat like a violent war drum against my forehead.

  His scents; it hits.

  His arms; they squeeze around me tight.

  He trembles. Inhales me.

  His cock is a hard, heavy rod against my abdomen.

  The world tilts. The core of me shifts.

  Hunger pierces me, leaking down my thighs, legs, spreading to every part of me. I lose sensation. My knees buckle.

  Andrew catches me up against him, lifting me. His face presses into the crook of my neck. Another inhale. His lips ghost my pulse with his exhale.

  I hear the sound of my voice breaking on a whimper.

  He melts around me, arms locking with all the strength of his body. A primal groan rumbles out of him—part pain, part hunger, all desperation.

  It shouldn’t send a pulse of heat through my body.

  But it does.

  It’s strong. Too strong.

  I have no choice but to hang onto him.

  His chest expands, shoulders rising, a constant growl reverberating within him. His body is coiled.

  Like an animal about to strike.

  He does.

  His teeth snap down around the sensitive skin of my neck.

  He bit me!

  Andrew doesn’t let me go. The tip of his tongue circles the skin trapped between his teeth. Somehow, his arms squeeze harder.

  He bites lower, licks me again.

  And I do the one thing I would’ve never thought I’d do; I moan his name. His nickname. “Drew.”

  Andrew groans, pushing forward, pressing me into the shelf behind me. He lets my neck go, rising his head, and I shudder at his expression.

  He looks like he’s been hit and the pain of that hit is killing him. His large, hot hand encircles the back of my neck, trapping me. His eyes drop to my mouth. That madness again. There’s something very, very wrong with him.

  This isn’t the same Andrew I once knew.

  And I want this version more than I ever wanted the other. I want the darkness I sense in him. It thrills me. I’m so wet for it.

  After everything I’ve been through. How could I want that?

  Oh God. I’m the sick one!

  I place my hands on his shoulders to push him away. He forces his large body between my legs. “Need . . . that mouth, Lexi.”

  What seems to be a sonic wave of pure energy pounds through my lower body at the thought of him kissing me. Common sense gone, I whisper desperately, “I’ll come. I’m going to come if you kiss me.”

  He groans sharply, eyes flashing, and he dips his head.

  Last second, I somehow manage to tilt my head back, avoiding his lips.

  If they touch mine, they’ll ruin me. Fucking ruin me.

  Running on pure self-preservation, I push him away, putting all my force into it. I rush away from the shelf, stumbling toward my desk.

  The sliding door to my office opens. Richard Drevlow steps through.

  I fall into my chair, shaking like an epileptic.

  Andrew steps toward me.

  Lips pressed together, I shake my head, fighting to hold back the whimpers that want to break through.

  “What’s going on here?” Richard asks.

  I can’t formulate a response, trapped by this destructive hunger. Stuck in a memory I’ve tried so hard to erase—the last time I had Andrew’s lips on me, his tongue between my legs.

  20

  I park next to Drew’s car in the parking lot. My hands are still shaking. I can’t stop replaying what happened back on that couch.

  It felt so good.

  He felt so good.

  I squeeze down on the steering wheel, my thighs rubbing together restlessly.

  Drew exits his car and walks around to my side. I’m unable to stop myself from eating up the sight of him as he saunters closer.

  His wide shoulders swing back and forth with each step he takes. He changed into a black tshirt that clearly shows off his tight mid-section.

  His other shirt is somewhere in his car. Because he used it to clean up my hands after he came all over them.

  My cheeks heat up at the reminder.

  Hunger gnaws at me.

  My slick pussy aches for him.

  Drew reaches me. Leaning down, he taps on my window, signaling for me to lower it.

  I do so, shaking at his nearness.

  “You okay baby?” he asks with that deep sexy voice of his.

  I remember him moaning for me, the things he said.

  His voice breaking on a roar as come spurted out of him and onto my hand.

  My lips part. Only one word leaves my mouth. “Drew.”

  His toffee-colored eyes flash, and his hand reaches into the car, unlocking the door. He yanks it open.

  He leans into the car faster than I can process and brings me to his lips.

  I moan at the feel of them, wet and thick, owning my mouth completely.

  He slides his tongue into me, groaning in the back of his throat.

  Nothing has ever tasted as good as Andrew Drevlow.

  Nothing has ever smelled as good. Felt as good.

  I know that nothing ever will.

  He lifts his large hand, running his fingers down my cheek while sucking on my bottom lip.

  The hot ac
he inside me explodes into that familiar, uncontrollable force—a hurricane of pure want, hellbent on ruining me if I don’t have him.

  “God, those lips.” He bites me, ripping a wild groan out of me. “You have no idea, Lexi . . . no idea . . . “ His tongue licks mine. “I’ll do anything. To anyone.”

  What is he talking about?

  There isn’t enough brain power for me to contemplate it. His hand circles the back of my neck and his kiss turns rougher, his body pushing me into the seat.

  My body short circuits. I hear my needy whimper above the rush of blood in my ears. I hold onto the back of his head, arching against the seatbelt.

  Drew shoots back, accidentally hitting the steering wheel. The blare of the horn makes us jump.

  I tremble all the way to the tips of my toes, my hands aching to pull him back to me.

  He’s breathing like he just ran several miles. The sound turns me on, because I love being the one that turns him on.

  He moves back to sit on his haunches before me, eyeing me with darkened eyes.

  I grab onto the steering wheel again since I have nothing else to grab onto.

  “You okay?” he asks again, but his smirks tells me he knows the answer to that very well.

  I respond to him honestly. “I can’t breathe.”

  His expression softens into something that steals the last of my breath. “Good. Because I can’t either.”

  Emotion suffocates me. For so many years, I missed him, my once close friend. How could I have forged such an intense connection with him when we’d been only kids?

  A better question: how did that connection survive us being separated after what his father did?

  Mr. Drevlow drove my father to suicide.

  And, yet, I’m connected to his son on a molecular level that frightens me because I know what it means. I knew what it meant the day he approached me and first spoke to me after all those years of not speaking to each other.

  “Wait for me here, okay baby? I’m going to get some things for us.” Drew motions with his head to the convenience store in front of us.

  I nod.

  Closing my door, he rises and walks into the store with that lazy, confident swagger.