by R. S. Lively
"Whoa, what's with the goods?" Charlie asks as she follows me to the living room.
"Last night, Logan said to be on the lookout for a delivery. I forgot because it was morning and I didn't have my coffee," I explain, giving her a deadpan look that tells her she is to blame.
She rolls her eyes. It makes me think of what Logan said he would do to me if I rolled my eyes at him. My body shivers from the promise.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Daydreaming about his cock."
I blush, and this time I don't bother correcting her. I was. "Maybe."
"Girl is going to get her some tonight!"
"Okay, hold your horses. Let's see what's in the boxes first." I tug on the white ribbon, and it falls away gracefully. My hands go to either side, and I wiggle it a bit until the top comes off. I gasp. There, seated in a cushion of silk, are bright red Jimmy Choos. Carefully, I take them out of the box and set them on the floor, staring at them. What the hell am I supposed to do with these? These are a work of art. I can't wear them.
"Whoa…"
I gulp, tilting my head to Charlie. "He can't expect me to wear those. I'd ruin them. Has he met me? I trip over my own shadow all the time."
"I think you're getting better. It hasn't happened recently."
You know what? She is right. I haven't tripped or fallen off the bed. Falling off the crane doesn't count. My hand was sweating.
"Open the rest."
I go to the next box, which holds a red Gucci purse. It's beautiful. Not too big, not too small.
"He must like the color red, which is good for you."
"The dress must be red then, too, right?"
"Mmm, I don't think so. That's too much red."
The last bow is black. I tug it, watching the beautiful silk fall away. When I open the lid, I'm speechless. It's a champagne-colored, strapless dress, with glitter from top to bottom. I pull it out of the box, hanging it on the curtain rod. The sun hits it just right, making the specks of glitter detonate and explode all over the living room. It looks like a live disco for a moment.
"That might be the prettiest dress I have ever seen," Charlie says in awe as she stands, tiptoeing to the dress quietly as if the glitter will fall off if she is too loud.
It is beautiful. It has a sweetheart neckline, and it seems like it will hug my curves. It flares a bit at the end, like a trumpet, and for the life of me, I can't figure out a place that warrants this kind of dress code.
"How are you going to do your makeup for this kind of outfit?"
I'm still stunned as I glance at Charlie. She knows everything there is to know about makeup. In comparison, I’m almost clueless. "I have no idea. Something simple since the dress is so—bam! You know?"
"I think that's a great idea. Maybe a nude lip, a smoky eye, no eyeliner with a thick coat of mascara. And make sure your highlight is just as blinding as that dress."
"Earrings? Or no?"
"Long dangly ones, if you have them."
"They’ll look cheap against this dress, but it will have to do." I search for the tag and choke when I see the brand. "Charlie, this dress—it's made by Vera Wang. I thought she only made wedding dresses?"
"You're going out with a guy that has more money than God. I'm pretty sure he can afford to call Vera and ask for a favor."
This is all intimidating. I make below minimum wage with tips right now. Just what the hell is he doing with me?
And where in the world is he taking me?
Logan
I am not the kind to get nervous. I'm the owner and CEO of a multibillion dollar company. I deal with my drunk of a mother twenty-four-seven. I figure out how to keep my sister out of jail, which hasn't been too successful lately, but here I am, on my way to a date, and my leg won't stop shaking. Whitley is the kind of woman to keep me on my feet, so I would not be surprised, if she opens to door when I arrive, still in pajamas. A part of me kind of hopes she does, just for the laugh of it.
Something about the way she argues with everything I say lights me on fire. It's my aphrodisiac. Her testing me makes my cock rock hard in less than a second. It makes me want nothing more than to bend her over and make her mine. Damn it, and I can't walk up the stairs to her apartment with a hard-on. Hiding it will be too difficult, and it would be something she’s not ready for.
It's a good thing I'm in the backseat, blocked by the partition of tinted glass, because I need to relieve myself before this date. I close my eyes, blocking out the dull sounds of the tires as I lean against the headrest. I slowly rub my cock through my trousers, up and down the thick girth, before tightening my fingers around the root. Images of Whitley run through my mind. I create the best image I can of what she would look like naked. I imagine kneading her perfect breasts with my hands, twisting her light pink nipples between my fingers, making her beg for more.
I unbutton and unzip my pants, yanking my cock out of its confinements. A leak of pre-come dribbles down my shaft when the air hits the sensitive head. My other hand travels down my pelvis and past my groin and cups my balls. I roll them around for a minute, like dice. I stroke my cock faster, squeezing my balls as I chase after the image in my head. Whitley is seated in a chair, her hands cuffed to the wooden arms of it, and her hair has fallen over her shoulders, covering her breasts. I walk to her, naked, with my cock jutting out, reaching for her ruby-red lips. I'm thinking so hard I can almost smell her fresh cucumber scent wrapping around my lungs. My fingertips skim the flawless flesh of her legs, marveling at how soft her skin is. I grip her hips, yanking them forward, so her pussy is hovering off the chair, waiting for me to lap up her juices. She’s waxed bare and her delicate pearl shines, sending me into an animalistic frenzy.
While she is waiting in the chair, bound and wet, I lick from her collarbone, down the middle of her chest, and cupping her breasts along the way, until I swirl my tongue around her navel. I swirl my tongue around her clit smelling her arousal. I flick my tongue out over her wet folds, trailing my appendage over her sensitive center. She screams, already shouting her orgasm from the small touch.
My stalk jerks and flexes, and I cup my palm over the crown of cock just in time before ropes upon ropes of come shoot in my hand.
The car slows to a stop, and my entire body shakes as I come down from the best orgasm I've ever had. I lean over and wipe off my hand with a tissue, tossing it in the hidden trashcan that is behind the dark wooden cabinet by the bar. I turn on the faucet. It’s small, just enough to wash a glass or a come-filled hand. I make sure I get every drop and wet another tissue to wipe the tip of my cock clean. After everything is cleaned up, I stuff myself back in my pants and zip myself up. I have to try to gain a little composure before she sees me.
I clear my throat, wanting so bad to open that bottle of champagne and take a swig, but I want to wait until Whitley enters the limo. It's a Rolls-Royce, the best of the best. This white vehicle paired with her red hair? It's going to be stunning. I tug on the lapels of my suit and open my door. The one thing I finally won Frankford on. I can open and close my doors, especially when I have a date.
"Sir? Is everything okay?" the intercom buzzes.
"I've never felt better, Frankford. I'll be right back. Hopefully with a beautiful woman attached to my arm."
"I doubt that she will turn you down, sir."
Well, he doesn't know her very well, does he?
The moonlight shines inside the car as I open the door and step out of the limousine. I check my suit for any imperfections, and when I find none, I take the first step in picking up my date for the night. The apartment complex is okay. I know the place. It has been up for sale for years. No one wants to buy it because there is a lot of work that needs to be done. Now that I know that Whitley lives here, I might invest. It’s important to keep her safe, and this isn't the safest complex. I make a mental note to talk to my team about this.
I take the first step and cringe at the dried black gobs of gu
m on the stairs. That will immediately get replaced. What kind of stairwell is outside, anyway? This is going to get enclosed.
Luckily, she lives on the first floor. I search the doors for apartment 211. I smile when I see her floor mat: “Warning! Soul−Snatcher Inside!”
Ah, the clever myth about gingers. I'm glad she is taking her redhead powers seriously. I check my watch. Eight o'clock on the dot. Perfect. I lift my hand and knock three times. Something hits the floor on the other side of the door. I can hear a few curses and murmurs back and forth. Finally, a girl—Charlise, I believe—answers the door.
"Whoa. You must be Logan Stone. Damn, you're even better looking in person."
I dip my chin, appreciating her compliment. "Thank you. Is Whitley ready?"
"She’s touching up her face."
She opens the door wider. "Please, come in. Do you want anything to drink while you wait?"
"No, thank you. I have a bottle of champagne waiting in the car for us."
"Oh, fancy. You're trying to woo her, huh?"
"It's just two people going out for an evening. I want to show her a nice time." Like I'd ever admit to the roommate how much I wanted to fuck her friend.
I step inside, and the feeling of home wraps around me. It’s nothing like my cold and unwelcoming estate. Her apartment is painted in relaxing lavender, and while I can tell her furniture is cheap, she has done well making this feel like a real home.
"I know our place is nothing like the mansion you live in, but it’s home."
"It's lovely." Oddly, I'd take this cramped apartment over where I live any day.
The creak of the bedroom door opens, ricocheting in my chest, making my heart pound. The first thing I see is a glimpse of the red shoes I gifted to Whitley. When I saw them in the store, I was immediately reminded of her hair. So, of course, I got them. She finally strides out of the bedroom, stealing the breath from my lungs as she struts toward me.
Her hips sway back and forth, the glitter of her dress shining off the lights from the living room. The champagne color of the long material makes her skin look that much more flawless. I’m reassured that I did buy the perfect dress. It hugs all her curves, and the sweetheart neckline pushes her breasts up. Her hair is in a classic French twist, accentuating her gorgeous face, long neck, and delicate shoulders.
She looks breathtaking. Her makeup is light with a natural lip and smoky eye. The dress is beautiful, but somehow, she makes this dress even more beautiful. Whitley stops in front of me, her cheeks blushing when she roams her eyes up and down my body.
Oh, if she only knew what I did in the car moments before while thinking about her. I bend down, grabbing her hand and giving it a light kiss. "You look gorgeous, Whitley."
She does that thing where she bites her lip when she doesn't know what to say and averts her eyes. "Thank you. You look very handsome as well, Logan." Her voice comes out soft, like a light breeze ghosting over my skin.
I hold out my arm, waiting for her to take it so we can get out of here.
"Oh," she whispers with surprise as she laces her arm through mine.
"Whoa, you guys look awesome. I need to take a picture before my best friend goes out on her very first date."
"Charlie!" Whitley hisses in warning. Her first date? Is the girl that graces my dreams a virgin?
"What? I'm just saying. One photo?"
"No photos. You weirdo."
"How can you not get a picture when you look like that?"
Did they do this every day?
"I'd like to have a photo," I whisper into her hair, making sure I brush my lips over the shell of her ear.
She closes her eyes like she is taking in the sensation. Her body responds, shivering with how close I am. "Okay." She fumbles with the purse I bought for her and hands over her phone to Charlise.
"Awesome! Okay, smile." She holds the phone up, but my eyes are on Whitley. Her hand is on my chest, and she smiles, but I can't take my eyes off her face and how beautiful she looks.
Charlise clears her throat. "Yeah, whoa. That looks great."
Whitley doesn't look at it. She just shoves the phone back into the red bag. "I'd like to see that when we’re in the car," I say before I start walking toward the front door.
"And Whit?"
She turns around toward her friend. "Yeah?"
"Have fun. And I invited Kyle over tonight."
Whitley's eyes roll as she smiles. "You have fun, too," she says with a wink.
I open the door, allowing Whitley to go out first. I look back to Charlise who has her thumbs up. She starts thrusting her hips in the air. I wink as if to tell her without telling her that is my hope. After shutting the door, I hold my arm back out, and she loops her arm around mine again.
"You do look stunning, Whitley."
"Well, the beautiful dress is one of a kind. There's nothing like it. I know that helps." She brushes off the compliment.
"The dress is just an accessory. Your beauty amplifies it."
"I have a very handsome man on my arm, so—" she stops mid-sentence when she sees the limo out front.
"Cherry?" I ask while I open the door.
"Yeah?"
"Take the compliment and get in the damn car." I lean my elbows on the metal frame, waiting for her to enter the Rolls-Royce.
After the last of her dress is safely inside, I get in and pull the door shut. Frankford presses the intercom. "All set, sir?"
"All set, Frankford. Please take us to L'amour dans le ciel."
"La what?" asks Whitley.
Frankford starts the engine, and we drive off into the evening.
I grab the bottle of champagne from the mini fridge and smile while I pop the cork. "L'amour dans le ciel? It is a mouthful. It's the French rooftop restaurant downtown. It means ‘love in the sky.’ Those French, right? So damn romantic all the time."
Her green eyes widen as she takes her flute from my hand. "I hear there is a year-long waiting list even to get a reservation for that place." She thinks about what she just said. "But I guess that doesn't apply to you because, well, you're you."
"I don't know how to answer that without sounding like a complete tool," I reply honestly, pouring my flute next. The bubbles fizz and pop as I tilt the delicious liquid down my throat.
She crosses her legs and sips from her glass, leaving a lipstick print behind. "I don't know how you could answer that without sounding like a complete tool, either."
I laugh, making me snort the champagne everywhere. It gets on my suit, face, hands… everywhere. I grab a towel and wipe myself down.
She chuckles, continuing to sip her drink, looking pristine. How am I the one looking like a mess here when she constantly trips over her own feet?
"You got me there," I say, turning the glass in the towel to get the remainder of the champagne off the glass.
Whitley smirks over the rim of her glass, gazing out the window as we pull into the city. "Who would have thought that the infamous Logan Stone could succumb to a silly joke?"
"You should watch your mouth, Ms. Pope."
"Or what, Mr. Stone?" she downs the rest of the champagne and reaches for the bottle, pouring herself another glass.
"Wouldn't you like to find out?"
Her breath hitches, letting me know exactly what she wants to find out. "Nothing." Her voice is a quiet buzz, filling the air with sexual electricity.
I place my hand on her thigh, and to my surprise, she reaches for it. She doesn't intertwine our hands, but places her soft palm over mine, laying it gently like well-known lovers.
"We are here, sir."
"Sir?" Whitley asks.
I roll my eyes, dreading how this conversation will go. "I insist on him calling me Logan, but for the life of me, I can't get him to do it."
"Maybe it's because he doesn't consider you friends. You do pay his salary," she points out, holding my hand as she exits the car.
That thought hurts me more than it should. This isn't some emplo
yee. This is Frankford. He has been in our family for decades. Hell, he practically helped raised me. "I never thought of that," I admit.
"He might have boundaries, and that might be his."
"Huh, beauty and brains. I'm a lucky guy."
"For tonight."
That makes me lift a brow. If I didn't know any better, that is her way of saying this wasn't going to last longer than a night. I let it slide for now.
"Mr. Stone. It's a pleasure to see you again." Eleanor, the blonde hostess, greets us. Her tone comes out a bit flirtatious like it does every time I'm here.
I wrap my arm around Whitley's waist, pulling her close to me. "Eleanor. I have a reservation, for the roof."
She never even glances at Whitley, but nods, grabbing two menus before she spins on her heel. "Follow me please, Mr. Stone."
I don't like how she ignores Whitley. It’s very rude. I know she is a bit hurt that I've turned her down every single time. I've been nice about it, but blondes just aren’t my thing. I usually go for brunettes, tall and skinny. Which makes my attraction to Whitley even stranger. Whitley is all shape and curves with hair so different and unique. Even her personality is different. It entrances me. The little devil has latched her claws into me, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want a woman to let go. But the other problem is, this woman, the woman I yearn for, won’t just let go, but will push me away. And that is just a kick in the nuts.
I place my hand on Whitley's lower back as we walk up the spiral staircase that leads to the roof. It’s a perfect night for a rooftop dinner. The air isn't too cold, and the stars are twinkling by the billions. Eleanor leads us to a secluded table, places the menus on each side, and lingers a moment too long, rubbing her breasts against my arm when she turns to leave. Something she’s never done before.
"Excuse me?"
Eleanor turns to Whitley, a smug smile on her face before it is replaced with cheer. "Yes, what can I help you with?"
"If you could not throw yourself at my date, that would be great. He is here with me, not you. So, if you could take a damn hint, it would save me five minutes of my night that I would rather spend with the handsome guy you see here. So, tuck your boobs away, and please have another server come to us. Thank you."
