by Lauren Rowe
There’s movement in the hallway again. Footsteps, as plain as day. I hold my breath and wait. And pray. But the brief footsteps are followed by the distinct sound of a door opening and closing at the other end of the hall. And that’s that. The house is silent now. Apparently, Georgina decided she’d rather punish me, than fuck me, tonight.
Chapter 7
Reed
At a quarter past eight, wearing cycling shorts and nothing else, I greet two deliverymen at my front door, lead them upstairs, and direct them where to unpack their big box. Most mornings, I get up quite a bit earlier than this to fit in my workout, but after yesterday’s marathon day that began in Manhattan and ended with me jizzing against my bedroom window, I fell into a deep slumber until about twenty minutes ago—which was when Owen called and woke me up with the news that my delivery was about twenty minutes away.
I rap on Georgina’s closed door. “Wake up, Bobby Fischer,” I call out. “Rise and shine.” Georgina moans softly behind the door, sending arousal streaking through me. Because, apparently, any moan from this girl, no matter the context, registers as something sexual to my brain. “Wake up, Georgie girl.” I knock again. “Even if you hate my guts, you’re going to be my shadow today. And right now, I’m heading into my gym for a workout.”
“I’m up,” she croaks out. “Just give me twenty minutes.”
“You’ve got five. Throw on workout clothes and meet me in the gym.”
In the gym, I do core blasters and plyometrics for a full twenty minutes before Georgina finally appears, her form-fitting short-shorts and sport bra instantly making me forgive her completely for keeping me waiting so long.
“Sorry, I...” she begins. But the second she notices a second Peloton bike set up next to mine, her words trail off. She rushes to the sleek stationary bike and grips its handlebars, like she’s confirming it’s not a figment of her imagination. “This wasn’t here last night during the tour! How did this get here?”
I smile. “You said you wanted to try one. So, I decided to get you one. This way, we can ride together.”
Her jaw hits the floor. “This is for me?”
I chuckle at her adorable expression. “Yes. It’s my gift to you, with an assist from Owen. I know you don’t have a place of your own yet, so I’ll have it delivered to your father’s place after this week, if you like. If not, you can leave it here as long as you need, until you get a place of your own with enough room for it.”
“Thank you!” With an effusive squeal, she breaks into an effervescent happy-dance—a sexy, jiggling display that makes me want to give her a month’s worth of exercise equipment, if it will guarantee I’ll get this same reaction every time.
“I’ve only got one request,” I say. “I’d like you to be my personal spin instructor this week.”
“Hell yeah! With pleasure!” She shakes her ass with glee... but then freezes. “Shoot. I don’t have any—”
“Shoes?” I point to a shoe box on the floor next to her bike. “Put on your new shoes, saddle up, and let’s sweat.”
Like a kid on Christmas, Georgina tears into the shoe box while I get my own cycling shoes on, and soon, we’re both clicked into our pedals and ready to begin.
“Let’s get warmed up,” she says, and we both begin pedaling at a fairly easy pace. “So, how hard do you want to work this morning?”
“A ten out of ten,” I reply, without hesitation. “Annihilate me.”
Georgina snickers. “Careful what you wish for. I taught advanced spin for the past two years. I’m pretty good at this, if I do say so myself.”
“Hit me with your best shot, Ricci. Make me pay.”
“There is a God.”
She cues up a thumping playlist, barks at me to gear my bike up to twenty-two, and then proceeds to lead me in a solid hour’s worth of torturous sprints and savage climbs and relentless anaerobic drills that leave us both gulping for air and dripping with sweat. Well, correction: we’re both dripping with sweat, but I’m the only one gulping for air. Somehow, Georgina’s not only performing every drill and maneuver alongside me, she’s also barking nonstop orders at me in a clear, smooth voice—something I couldn’t pull off right now, if I tried.
Finally, Georgina declares our private spin class over, and I crumple over my handlebars in relief.
She giggles. “Wimp.”
“You’re the devil... The devil with perfect tits.”
She laughs. “Of course the devil has perfect tits. How else do you think she gets stupid mortals to sell their souls to her? Now, pedal at a ten for a few minutes to get your heart rate down, Old Man. And then I’ll lead you through some stretching on the floor.”
Gratefully, I gear down as instructed, and slow my pedaling to an easy, cool-down pace.
“Seriously impressive, Georgie.”
“Back at you. You kept up with me the whole time.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t also barking orders the whole time. I’m only the Fred Astaire of spin. You’re the Ginger Rogers.”
She looks at me blankly, and, immediately, I know she’s as clueless about Fred and Ginger as she was about Bobby Fischer.
I flick the end of my towel at her in mock annoyance. “Are you trying to constantly remind me how young you are?”
“No. Just how old you are.”
I laugh. “Would it kill you to occasionally know one of my pop culture references?”
“Would it kill you to occasionally make a pop culture reference that someone under fifty would know?”
“Everyone knows about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They’re way before my time, too. They’ve transcended their era to become cultural icons. You should know about them for your writing.”
“Okay, Obi Wan Kenobi. Educate me.”
I give Georgina a quick primer on Fred and Ginger as we continue pedaling slowly, including the fact that, in modern times, Ginger is generally credited with being the bigger badass of the duo. “And you want to know why everyone says Ginger was the bigger badass?” I pause for effect. “Because Ginger did everything Fred did... only backwards and in high heels.”
Georgina laughs uproariously, without holding back in the slightest. And that’s when I know she’s truly ready to move on from the crushing disappointment of last night. Yeah, I’m sure she’s still hugely disappointed things didn’t work out the way she’d hoped, simply because she loves her stepsister and wants the world for her. But thanks to the belly laugh Georgina is gracing me with, I know for certain she’s ready to put last night’s fiasco behind us. And I couldn’t be more relieved about it.
After a little more chatting, Georgie orders me off my bike, and begins leading me in some stretches on the floor. But a few minutes in, as Georgie is leaning over one of her legs, she shocks the hell out of me by whispering three little words I never expected to drop from her sultry mouth in a million years.
“I’m sorry, Reed.”
At the sound of her whispered apology, I don’t flinch, even though I feel like I need the crash cart. “Sorry, did you say something?”
She clears her throat. Exhales. “I said I’m sorry. About last night. For how emotional I was.” She winces. “And for flipping you off.”
“It’s okay. I kinda like it when you flip me off.”
She leans against her bike. “I couldn’t sleep last night for hours after I came back up from the pool, so I had plenty of time to think. And I realized you gave me your honest, professional opinion. And no matter how wrong and stupid it was, I should have respected it.” She shrugs. “I had a tantrum. Plain and simple. And I’m sorry.”
Holy shit. Who the hell is this humble, contrite woman before me? I don’t recognize her, except for the part where she called my opinion wrong and stupid. Whoever she is, she’s making my heart squeeze, every bit as much as the fiery, tempestuous, bird-flipping version of her makes my pulse race.
“I understand why you got so emotional,” I say. “You love your stepsister and want the best for her. P
lus, obviously, your feelings regarding Alessandra are tied up with your feelings about other things, too.” I touch her shoulder. “I’m deeply sorry about your mother, Georgie.”
“Thank you.” She pauses. “Honestly, until I started melting down like a lunatic last night, I didn’t even realize how interconnected certain things are inside me. But, regardless, I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. That was crazy-pants and bananas and unfair to you, and I promise I’ll try never to do it again. No promises, but I really will try.”
Oh, my heart. “Hey, lose your fucking mind, if you need to, baby. Let your freak flag fly. I certainly didn’t help matters with some of my harsh word choices. When it comes to doling out my professional opinions, I’m used to being brutally honest, without a filter. But I should have appreciated the unique context a bit more. I’m sure it was confusing to you to have me turn into Business Reed on you, while we were lying in bed together in our underwear.”
She flashes me a crooked smile that tells me she appreciates my concession. “So, we’re good, then?”
Every atom in my body sighs with relief. “We’re good.” I open my mouth, as if to say more, but close it.
“But... ?” she prompts.
“Before I let this moment pass, I just want to address something. At the stadium last night, you said you hoped I’d want to help someone I love, the same way you wanted to help Alessandra. You said if I don’t have that same impulse regarding the people I love, then I’m an even bigger dickhead than you thought.”
She grimaces. “Sorry. Wow. I really do fly off the handle sometimes, don’t I?”
I chuckle. “No need to apologize. I’m only bringing it up because I want you to know that I do have that impulse, Georgina. I won’t compromise my business judgment for anyone—as you’ve learned firsthand—but, other than that, I truly would do anything for the short list of people I love.”
Her face softens. She touches my hand. “I don’t doubt that for a minute, Reed.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
I sigh with relief. “I’m so glad.”
She takes a long sip of water. “Let’s keep stretching.”
We hit the floor and she directs me into a runner’s lunge.
“So, tell me,” she says, bending over her bent front leg. “Who’s on this ‘short list’ of people you love—the ones you’d do anything for?”
And there she is. The Intrepid Reporter has re-entered the building. But it’s an innocuous question. One I don’t mind answering, actually. So, I do. “Well, my family, of course. My mother, sister, nephew, and brother-in-law. Also, Josh and Henn. I consider them family. Their wives and babies, too. CeeCee, as well.”
“CeeCee said the same thing about you. She said she loves you.”
“She did?”
“Yep. She said she loves you and would never want to trick or trap you in relation to your interview.”
I nod, feeling touched. “I love CeeCee, too. She gave me my first big break and changed my life. I’ll be grateful to her forever.”
Georgina instructs me to sit on my ass for a new stretch, and I comply.
“How did you and CeeCee meet?” she asks.
“I crashed CeeCee’s black-tie birthday party. I knew a guy who knew a guy working the door, so I bribed my way onto the list, rented an Armani tux and a limo, and then waltzed into the party like I was the goddamned guest of honor.”
She giggles.
“It was the embodiment of ‘fake it till you make it.’ I even posed for photographers on the red carpet outside, like they were all there for me.”
We laugh together.
“So, what’d you say to CeeCee that made her want to give you that first big break?”
“Nothing particularly ingenious. I told her about Red Card Riot, and I guess my genuine passion was evident. She said, ‘Send me the album and I’ll give it a listen.’ And the rest is history. I think the main thing was we just genuinely liked each other. There was an instant connection.”
“I felt that with her, too,” Georgie says. “When I had coffee with her, I immediately felt like I’d known her for years.”
“Yeah, CeeCee has that effect on people. So do you.”
She blushes. “Thank you.” She draws her knees up to her chest. “So, is that everyone on your short list?”
I pause to consider. “No, I’d put Amalia on the short list, too. Also, Owen. I’d take a bullet for Owen, but, for the love of all things holy, don’t put that into your article, or he’ll demand a massive raise.”
Georgina looks surprised. “Oh. I wasn’t thinking about the article. I’m just enjoying getting to know you.”
Oh, Georgina. She’s such a liar. A beautiful one. But a liar nonetheless. “Isn’t everything we talk about this week fair game for your article?” I ask. “Are you saying this conversation is off the record?”
She ponders that. Or pretends to, anyway. “No, I can’t promise that. I guess I was just thinking I’d get to know you this week, organically, and have faith the article will take care of itself.”
I take a sip of water. “Sorry, I don’t think that approach is going to work for me. At the end of this, I don’t want to open the special issue and read something I thought I’d said to you during a private, intimate moment, like during pillow talk or whatever. If you really want to get to know me, then I’m going to need the ability to designate certain conversations as off-limits.”
She sighs. “Aw, Reed. So sure everyone is out to get you.” She crawls like a cat across the floor, opens my bent legs, and crawls between them onto her knees. She shoves her gorgeous face into mine. She’s so close, I can see every pore in her smooth, olive skin. The gold flecks in her hazel eyes. She puts her hands on my cheeks. “Reed Rivers, I hereby promise I’m not here to trick or trap you. I’m here to get to know you and use whatever I learn to write an amazing article about an amazing man that will blow you, and everyone who reads it, away.”
I shake my head. “Georgie, you have to understand, I haven’t read a single interview or article about me that got everything exactly right. There’s always something that gets lost in translation. Every time.”
“Well, that sucks.” She twists her mouth, considering. “All right. Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll promise that anything you say to me this week, and whatever I might observe, will be fair game for me to write about.” She puts her fingertip to my lips, silencing me. “But I promise to let you see my article before showing it to anyone else, even CeeCee. And if there’s anything you don’t want in there, anything I’ve gotten wrong or you don’t particularly like, then I’ll take it out. It’s as simple as that.”
I squint. “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one. This way, you’ll feel free to say whatever you want around me, no matter how stupid or arrogant or condescending it might be.” She winks playfully. “And you won’t have to worry it might make you look bad later.” She slides her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. “Now you have no excuse not to let down your guard with me.”
Let down your guard. I can’t believe it. Normally, when a woman says this sort of thing to me, I get hives. Or feel the urge to run away. Or shut down. But hearing those words from Georgina, I’m feeling nothing but excited and turned on.
“My only request?” she says. “When you read my ultimate article, just remember I’m not out to get you. Give it a chance. Please.”
I pause. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I kiss her, and, just like that, those damned butterflies are going to town inside my belly again. Rippling and flapping like crazy. I smile. “Now that we’ve got that figured out, let’s celebrate.”
She motions to the massive bulge behind my shorts. “Gee. Do you have a particular kind of celebration in mind, Mr. Rivers?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” I grin wickedly. “You mentioned you like being weightless...”
“Oooh, after last night’s torture, you’re dying to fuck me in your p
ool, aren’t you? I’m definitely in favor of that.”
“Yes, but another time. I’ve got something else in mind right now.” I jut my chin over her shoulder, toward a harness hanging from the ceiling in a corner. “I was thinking you should slide into that contraption right there and let me fuck you into oblivion.”
She turns around to look where I’ve indicated. “What is that thing? Some sort of yoga swing?”
I stand and pull her up. “No, little kitty. It’s my sex swing.”
Her eyebrows ride up.
“And, I promise, you’re going to love it.”
Chapter 8
Reed
I’m naked and hard as a rock, standing before Georgina’s naked, suspended body. Her thighs, calves, back, and ass are supported by the hanging straps of the swing. And, thanks to my meticulous adjustments, her hips are now positioned at the precise height and angle to ensure maximum G-spot stimulation with every thrust. Which means, before I’m done with her, Georgina is going to get a huge, wet, and incredibly pleasurable surprise. An orgasm like nothing she’s experienced before. And I can’t wait.
I take a deep breath to control my spiraling excitement. “Lean back and relax,” I coo, trying to keep my voice soothing and calm, even though my cock is already seeping with wetness.
Georgina leans back and visibly melts into the harness. “Whoa. This is wild.”
“Comfortable?”
“Very. Although I’ve never felt more like a fly in a web.”
I make another minor adjustment. “You’re not a fly in a web, sweetheart. You’re a butterfly in a net.”
“Oh, well, that’s so much better.”
I stroke her thigh and she shudders with anticipation.
“It is. The spider only wants to destroy the fly. But the butterfly hunter wants to possess and admire the beautiful butterfly.”
“Yeah, and then tack its wings to paper and enclose it in an airtight frame.”
“The price of beauty, baby.” My cock straining and wet, I open her thighs and stroke her slit gently. “You’re about to discover there’s incredible freedom that flows from being trapped like a butterfly in a net. When there’s no option but to lean back and surrender to the pleasure, when there’s nowhere to go, mentally or physically, when you can’t pull away from the intensity of the pleasure you’re experiencing, you’re forced to let go completely and surrender. And it’s in that moment of complete surrender that you’re finally able to experience a new level of pleasure you had no idea existed.”
