“What’s it say?” Bella peers over my shoulder.
“Says I have a flower delivery. They left it inside. I guess they didn’t want me to freak out or forget to place them in water. That was nice.” I crumple the note and shove it in my pocket.
“Flowers? Who sent you flowers? Oh, wow. You think?” She laughs and nudges me to let her in.
“Settle down. It’s probably my Dad. Maybe, he finally realized I was angry and wants to apologize. Now, hold your tits and prepare to feast your eyes on the sweetest bachelorette pads in Morningside Heights.” I turn the key and swing the door open.
Our mouths fall open in unison.
“Holy shit!” Bella drops her purse and scrambles to grab a stray lipstick rolling on the wood floor.
“What the hell is this?” I slap my hand to my mouth and crease my brows in disbelief. My living room looks like a goddamn flower shop.
It’s unbelievable. It’s ridiculous. And oh Lord, will this trigger my allergies.
My itchy eyes scan the landscape and desperately try to count the number of vases littered across the floor. Pink roses cover my coffee table. Pink hydrangeas are peppered across the kitchen counters. Beautiful orchids lined up across the bar wreak havoc on my sinuses. Last but not least, a line of white vases filled with peonies have been strategically placed on a path into the bedroom with the prettiest arrangement saved for my nightstand.
What was he thinking?
“This ain’t your Dad.” Bella shouts from the kitchen.
“No shit.” When I spot a card, I tiptoe through the peonies and dart into my bedroom before Bella reads it first.
Pretty flowers for the prettiest girl in Manhattan. None are nearly as beautiful as you. I enjoyed meeting you, today -- Declan
Butterflies hum and although that’s one of the cheesiest lines I’ve ever heard, a tiny fragment of my my heart melts away. It’s a nice gesture. I don’t think I’ve been showered with flowers since high school graduation, but it’s a hollow display of affection from a man who could buy up every flower shop in the city. A single hand-delivered daisy would have moved me more.
“Is that card?” A flash of red hair flies through the air, across the bed, and rips the card out of my hands.
“Declan? Oh, my word. This is just like a novel I read.” She holds the card to her chest and then carefully sniffs it for the scent of cologne. Weirdo.
“What are you doing? What novel?” I snatch it and pad back into the kitchen.
“Please, they’re all like this. A cute meeting, flowers, a meddling best friend and then lots and lots of sex.” She sniffs the roses and falls onto the couch. “Holy crap, you got the pink one. How did he know you like pink? That’s a bold assumption. I hate the color.”
“I don’t know. I wore a pink suit this afternoon. Maybe, that tipped him off.” I march across the room with a vase in my hand as I attempt to rearrange the botanical garden that has unbalanced my Feng Shui.
“Are you calling him? You should call him.” She waves Declan’s business card and sets it next to my phone.
“No, I don’t think so. This was lazy. This is decadent and obscene. He’s got billions. The expense is nothing to him. This is not the way you win a girl’s heart. I already have one man throwing money at me instead of giving me valuable time. Thanks, but no thanks.” I grab the card and stare at his name.
“What the hell do you want Declan McCormick?” I stew as I watch Bella grab her purse and haul two vases back to her apartment.
“Text him to say thanks. Stop being a baby. You know you want to see him again. You don’t fool me, lady.” She yells just before she shuts her door.
“I do not.” I slam my door and stare wide-eyed at my living room. Was this vulgar display supposed to turn me on?
Like hell I’m texting him.
I don’t care if it is a nice gesture. I’m not playing this strange game. If he found out my address, chances are he has my number. Perhaps, I’m overthinking this, but the way I see it, he’s not putting in minimal effort for maximum rewards. There was no mention of calling or texting him. If he wants to communicate, he’ll need to be a little more direct than sliding his card into an envelope.
On my way to bed, I lift the card to my nose and inhale. Fuck, that’s good cologne.
9
Declan
Five days. It’s been five days since I sent her sixteen bouquets of pink flowers. According to her social media, it is by far her favorite color. Five days and no calls. No texts. No innocent drop-by to see her Dad. Not even a quick note to say thank you.
Nothing.
I don’t give a shit about gratitude. I want to talk to her. I want to see her. I opened the door and made the first move. I hardly expect her to chase me. All she has to do is give me a small sign and I’ll do the rest.
I scroll through my phone and open her Facebook page. I have it bookmarked for easy access. Most of her information isn’t available to my prying eyes, but a few photos have kept me on the edge of my seat, salivating like a hound dog at dinner. She’s stunning. Remarkable. Adorable. I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t give us a shot.
What do we have here? This is new. A photo of my angel in a white and pink polka dot string bikini. Her hair is wet and messy. Her suit clings to her body. Strategically placed dots highlight her tight nipples as she walks out from the water. When I zoom in and run my trembling fingers across her chest, lingering on the hard flesh jutting out, my cock rises from the dead.
Fuck, it’s only 2:00pm.
I lock my door from a button under my desk. I just discovered it two days ago and I’m finally putting it to good use. This is a place of business. It’s not the appropriate time or place to pull my hard cock from my trousers, but that doesn’t stop me. Lately, nothing does. My crush has transformed into a fixation and now, I’m in danger of falling aimlessly into a full-on obsession.
I need to think of something. It’s too weird to text her now. After those flowers, I crossed into stalker realm. And I’m not that guy. I can’t be that guy.
What am saying? It’s mid-afternoon and my penis is in my hand. You are that guy.
I use my fingers to enlarge her photo, focus on her face and position my phone to stand upright. Her page is my new pornography. It’s the only inspiration I need to abuse my body in hopes of spending my seed with her name on my tongue. It’s the first thing I check when I wake and the last thing I look at before I fall asleep.
There’s no need to glare at her breasts or the faint cleft between her thighs, only visible to perverts like me. Her eyes, lips, and dimples are enough to make me leak drops of pre-cum onto my fingers as I slide my hand up and down my shaft.
I imagine gliding my length between her drenched lips, letting her juices coat me, inviting me in as she wraps her legs around my hips. I ease in ever so gently, stretching her walls, listening intently to each sigh and moan until I root myself deep inside heaven.
There’s no going back, my angel.
She wails with sweet agony as she learns to milk my cock. Her grip is fierce. With every pass of my hand, I envision thrusting harder and faster, building an insurmountable friction that sends us climbing heights neither of us have ever reached. Her hips rock against mine. My hands knead her breasts and my mouth ravenously inhales her pink nipples until she cries out for me to slow down. But, I can’t. The caged animal has been set free and I won’t ever return to the man I was before I met Ava.
Accepting defeat, she moans, winds her fingers in my hair and tries to catch her breath. It’s no use. I can’t get enough and my desire grows exponentially. Overcome with lust, I spread her legs wider and change my angle. I want to delve as deep as I can go. I want her thinking about my cock throughout day. I want her to crave the feeling of being full with my cum because I’m going to mark my woman every chance I get.
When I near the end, she squeals, rides me harder and demands I fuck her. With lusty zeal, I squeeze her voluptuous ass and ram my dick as hard as she can
take. She takes it all. She wants it all and I don’t fail her. This is greater than ecstasy and deeper than desire. This girl is mine and every part of me belongs to her. With one last thrust, I see stars. Growling against her skin, cherishing her taste on my lips, I erupt deep inside her, spilling rope after rope of sticky cum into her battered pussy. My need for her has become unbearable and I’ve reached the point of no return.
Fuck, I came on my pants.
Is this who I am now? Is this what I’ve become?
I’m CEO of a Fortune 100 company and I’ve spent the last five days trolling a teenager’s page, loitering outside her building and jerking off in my office. That’s it. I’m not waiting another day.
I buzz my assistant. “Holly, I have an appointment uptown. I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.”
“Seriously?” She sounds confused. I never leave early.
“Yes, seriously. Take messages, don’t forward my calls. I don’t want to be interrupted.” I grab my jacket and reach for the door. As it creaks open, the sudden feel of moisture brings me back to reality.
Goddamn it. My pants.
10
Ava
Me: Thank you for the flowers. They were lovely.
Oh no that’s all wrong. Backspace.
Me: Hi Declan, thanks for the lovely flowers.
Jesus, that’s even worse. Backspace.
Me: Howdy…
Howdy? Who the hell says howdy? Backspace.
This is ridiculous. It’s been five days. If he wanted to see me, he would have contacted me for a date. I’m the girl. I expect a little elbow grease. Some hard work. A bit of thought and charm. Flowers don’t make up for trying to sweep me off my feet. If you want me, you better act like it.
Oh, screw this. Enough sulking.
Fuming with renewed rage for believing someone like Declan McCormick wanted anything more than a quick and easy conquest, I roll off my couch, march through a field of wilting flowers and head into my room. Screaming on the inside, chastising my idiocy, I tear into my closet, throw on my jeans, pull on a sweater, stomp into a pair of boots and head out for coffee.
Men are all the same. And the richer they are, the more entitled they become. What did he expect would happen? Did he conclude that all those flowers would magically remove my good sense and panties would fly? Not these panties, mister. I haven’t held out just to give in to a pair of green eyes, washboard abs and big masculine hands... uh, where the shit was I? Never mind. Declan McCormick blew his chance.
Billionaire romance, my ass. Stupid, Bella.
I’m going to kill that girl. She’s been filling my head all week with one romantic scenario after another, based strictly on her nighttime reading material. Why did I listen? This falls entirely on me. This isn’t a romance. This won’t have a happy ending. In fact, this isn’t a book at all. This poor excuse for a courtship is like a letter to Dear Abby. I’m the girl who grows old waiting for the guy to make the first move. The loser who makes excuses and pisses everyone off because she won’t listen to Abby’s advice. Everyone who reads my story will share it with their friends as some pathetic cautionary tale, and then one day someone will repeat that story to me.
No. No way. This ends here.
I tiptoe out the door, slowly turn the lock and quietly pad through the hall towards the elevators. If Bella catches me leaving, she’ll want to tag along, and I can’t bear another one of her pep talks. To my surprise, I make it. With no one in sight, I rush into the elevator and head downstairs. Before I reach the ground floor, my phone pings.
Damn, that girl is psychic.
Unknown: Come to your window.
Ava: Who is this?
Unknown: You know who this is. Let me see you.
The butterflies return. Could it be him? I make a quick stop to fix my hair in the lobby mirror. With nothing but money and lip gloss in my purse, I comb my hair with my hands and dab on a bit of gloss. Damn him. I appreciate the spontaneity, but twenty minutes notice could’ve brought this look together.
Me: Where are you?
Declan: I’m outside on the street, in front of your building.
What in the world? No, you asked for this. Bella predicted this part.
Me: I’m on my way down and headed for coffee.
Declan: Good, I’m buying. Come out, angel. You can’t miss me.
11
Declan
Ever since the day we met, I’ve had men posted on her street. A few minutes ago, I relieved them and said I’d take this shift. I take one every night. I need to feel close to her and sitting in my car beneath her window is the closest I’ve come.
In five days, I’ve devolved from a confident man to a lovestruck teenage boy too frightened to tell a girl how he feels. For five nights, I’ve parked, pleasured myself and thought about letting this go. But I can’t. This is real. This is more than lust and longing. I want this girl’s heart. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win it.
But if my lady wants to be wooed, I can woo her. It’s been years, I’m out of practice, but I can court her the way a man should court a woman he desires. She deserves words of praise, declarations of love and a long courtship with dates, dinner, and dancing.
Would that be so outrageous?
Yes, I’m a coward. There’s no denying she’s too good for me. I’ve done my homework. I didn’t spend every night strictly looking at photos. She wants to work with children. She wants to write books for kids. Can you believe that? I struck gold. She knows what she wants in life and she’s not afraid to chase her dreams. It will be my privilege to help her however I can. I just hopes she takes it.
And I hope she still has room in her life for me.
I’ve come full circle. The first day, her age bugged the shit out of me. A nineteen-year age difference is no laughing matter. But by the end of the day, I fell asleep with those icy blue eyes on my mind and made peace with my decrepit needs.
On the second day, my loathing returned. I spent most of the day talking to myself, arguing the merits of marrying a much younger woman. I want a big family and her age coupled with my money gives us a chance to have it.
On the third day, I pushed it all out of my mind. I knew what I was doing, and I didn’t want to think about it.
That didn’t last.
Now, I wallow in my very own swamp of depravity. Instead of feeling shame, the thought of sinking deep into her nineteen-year-old flesh gets me hard as a fucking rock.
I can hardly think of anything else.
Surely, she wonders what I want, and the shortest answer I can think of is everything. I want it all. This is only the beginning and there will never be an end. She may not realize it yet, but this is bigger than both of us and I’m not taking any chances. I waited too long to feel this. Too long to fall in love and I’m not waiting anymore.
I scroll through my phone and find her number. I should have used it earlier. Now, the wait is too much. I need to speak to her. She needs to know what this means. I’m not sure what I’ll say, but I need to convince her to give us a shot.
I lean against my car and send her a text. Her quick reply makes me feel lighter than air. She’s on her way down.
A figure appears at the door. She’s obscured by darkness, but my heart races when I see the outline of her body. For four nights, I waited for this moment. I hoped there would be a tiny chance I’d catch her leaving her place. Every night I was disappointed. But not tonight.
Sweat trickles down my forehead. My stomach churns. I squint, lean forward and see her diminutive figure move past the doorman and onto the sidewalk. She’s tiny, much smaller than I remember. When she smiles and takes my hand, my heart leaps to my throat. She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice trembles, but her soft smile returns.
With her hands in mine, I swallow hard and push out the words that have lingered in my thoughts all day. “I’m sorry. I had to see you. I can’t stop thinking about yo
u.”
I stare dumbstruck. She’s perfection. A work of art. While my heart thunders, I follow the angle of her cheek down the curve of her chin and rest my eyes on the glossy pink lips that have driven me to madness since the day we met.
I can’t blow this.
“Me?” Her blue eyes beam in the moonlight and a blush blooms on her cheeks.
“Why me?”
“Why not you? You’re the most beautiful girl in the city.” My voice cracks and I cringe when I hear my words. I had better game in college, but that was different. There was nothing at stake. There’s never been anyone like Ava.
She covers her mouth and stifles a laugh. “Who says? Who have you been talking to?”
“I say and I make the rules.” I pull her close, slide her into my embrace and wrap my hungry arms around her. I’m hard as fucking steel and I don’t even care if she knows. She should know what she does to me. She should know what’s waiting for her.
“Mr. McCormick!” She’s so lovely, I can hardly believe my eyes.
“Stop that. Call me Declan. Do you know I’ve been down here every night since Friday?” Moved by lust, my chaotic words tumble out before I’ve considered how she’ll respond. She’ll think I’m crazy.
And not in a good way.
She shakes her head. “Don’t you think you should ask a girl on a date before you stalk her?” Her sweet, seductive whisper transforms into a brittle grouse with a clear petulant huff. She’s adorable.
“Is that what you want, darling? Are you free tomorrow evening? I promise I’ll come to your door with flowers and take you out for the time of your life.” I close the space between us and watch her blue eyes grow to twice their size.
Her lips part and her breasts rise as she takes a shaky breath into her lungs. “Really?”
I nod and bring my lips to her forehead. “Anything to spend the evening with you.”
When I lean in, the scent of her perfume awakens my senses and drowns me in bliss. My mind spins with desire, hurling me towards emotions I’ve never felt. Every muscle clenches with restrained anticipation. Every nerve is on edge. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back the fire kindling inside.
Filthy Rich Page 3
