by Julia Harlow
Her hands smoothed over his hard thighs, edging near the shaft that was outlined and trapped inside his briefs. Slipping two fingers in the waistband, she slid them down and then off, freeing his cock so that it sprang proudly to attention.
She crawled up, lingering several minutes to kiss and lick his abdomen, her tongue laving his chest, his throat, and finally capturing his mouth. His body shuddered with each kiss from her wet lips and lick of her slippery tongue. When she pulled back, his eyes were closed and his head was arched back into the pillow.
“Here’s what I suggest we do next.”
His eyes popped open. He knew precisely what he wanted to do next.
“We’ve only known each other for a matter of hours and don’t know about each other’s medical histories. So, even though I’m aching to take you in my mouth, I can stroke you off, and afterwards, you can do the same for me, or we can watch each other get off. What’s your pleasure?”
His eyes glazed over, and he asked, his voice husky, “Could you repeat that? I didn’t hear anything after ‘take’ and ‘mouth.’”
She laughed and repeated the only safe options.
He raised himself up on his elbows and gazed at her. “Well, I’m pretty sure if your fingers just touch my cock, I’ll go off. But that’s what I want. And then I’m going to get you naked and give you the same delicious torture you’ve just given me.”
She gave him a sexy grin and purred. “I can’t wait.” Then she proceeded to sweep her hair to one side and lay her head on his upper abdomen. One warm hand grasped him.
“Ah, you’re killing me here, Dorrie,” he groaned.
“I want to taste you so bad it hurts.”
He almost convulsed at her words and the hot breath on his penis. Just then her soft hand firmly working him at the base of his cock stole the breath right out of him.
“Ah, Christ, that feels so fucking good.” He arched his pelvis, thrusting into her hand as she stroked him up and down, gently at first, but then increasing the pressure of her grasp and working him harder. His body grew stiff, and he threw his head back. She swirled her fingers around the tip, slippery with pre-cum, and he shivered with pleasure. His cock got harder, thicker, and longer in her hands, and he groaned. “God, I’m going to come so hard!”
Her other hand moved double-quick to cover the tip, catching the first hot spurts as she continued to pump him hard. He writhed, thrashing his head back and forth on the pillow and twisting the sheets in his palms, sweat glistening on his face and chest. Her head still on his chest, she turned and glanced at him, smiling, and then kissed his abdomen before edging off the bed and heading into the bathroom. The sound of splashing water broke through his sensual haze. When she returned with a warm washcloth, he’d recovered enough to sit up against the pillows with his fingers laced behind his head.
He watched her as she concentrated on gently wiping his cock and belly with the warm washcloth lightly scented with coconut. He was still semi-hard, and watching her attend to him, sumptuous in her black panties and bra, he quickly became fully erect again. He took the washcloth from her, tossed it aside, and patted the bed next to him. “Come here, Dorrie.”
The raspy command was loaded with carnal intent, and he felt her tremble in anticipation.
She sat on the bed beside him. He cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her brown eyes. “You’re an amazing, beautiful woman, Dorrie Applegate, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think I was having the best dream of my life. I’m so glad it was you who sat down next to me on that plane.”
His lips grazed her eyelids, her temples, and her cheeks with light kisses. Then he took her mouth and kissed her, gently at first, but his control gave way, and his tongue thrust between her lips, exploring, twining with hers, and then sucking on it. The vibration of the moan deep in her throat lit him on fire. His mouth traveled to her jaw and down the white column of her throat, licking and kissing as his hands explored the silky skin of her shoulders and arms. He breathed in the clean scent of her skin as he took his time kissing along her collarbone. When he traced his fingers back and forth over the swell of her milky-white breasts, he realized she was holding still, her eyes closed.
“You okay, Dorrie?”
“Yes, it just feels so good: your hot mouth, your big hands on me.”
“Well, everything about you feels good to me.” He grinned and reached around her back to flick open her bra, sliding it off. When he pulled back, his breath caught as he took in the sight of her, now wearing only her panties.
Golden-brown tresses curled over her shoulders. She had the most beautiful breasts, full and round and so white, her hard nipples a rosy contrast, begging to be sucked. His hands hesitated a moment before cupping the luscious mounds and squeezing them gently. Dorrie arched her back into him, and he grinned, happy to be pleasing her the way she’d pleased him.
When he bent his head to take one of those lovely buds in his mouth, she threaded her fingers in his hair and pulled. Hard. “I have really sensitive breasts. I could come just by you fondling them and sucking my nipples. But I don’t want to come that way. I want your fingers inside me.”
He dragged in air and trailed his hands over her ribs and down to her waist, feeling every little reaction from her body to his touch. He wanted to worship her body the way she’d worshipped his. He wanted to spread her legs and lick her sex until she screamed with pleasure. Then he wanted to sink his cock into her and never, ever stop.
But he’d agreed to her terms, so he halted his progress toward the ultimate goal, urged her to lie back, and moved down to kneel in between her legs. Bending one of her knees, he massaged the foot gently and worked his way up to cup her shapely calf, repeating his ministrations with the other foot and leg. With deliberate slowness, he slid both hands over her thighs, marveling at both the silky skin and firm muscles underneath. Next he slid off her panties and spread her legs wide to regard her in the dim light from the lamp on the dresser.
If he hadn’t already been rock hard, the sight of her pink and glistening, completely open to him would have made him so. As it was, he didn’t know how he could resist plunging into all that wet softness. But he followed her lead, pulled back, and rested his head on her belly. The scent of her sex was intoxicating, and he ached to taste her, to bury his tongue inside her. Instead, he swirled his fingers down over her mound and finally slid them between her folds. The second his fingers touched her there she jerked.
His head shot up. “Did I hurt you?”
Her arm was draped over her eyes, but she shook her head. “I’m just really close. It’s been a long time for me.”
He chuckled, relieved he hadn’t hurt her, and went back to the heaven between her legs. He sunk his fingers down, imagining it was his tongue laving between her hot, wet folds. His fingers found the hard little knot, and when he massaged it, her body almost came off the bed. She was a responsive lover, no doubt about that, and he relished the thought of all the ways he could stimulate and satisfy her in the future. When he slid his finger inside her and found her soaked, his cock jerked in response, aching to be inside her.
“Please, Dorrie, let me inside you. I’ll wear a condom.”
Her head thrashed “no” on the pillow. “Believe me. I want you inside me just as much as you do. But we have to be safe.”
His fingers worked inside her and over her clit. Her pelvis arched up into his hand and she moaned. “Yes, yes! Right there. Just like that. Ahhh.”
He crawled up next to her on the bed and held her against him, aware when her body stopped shuddering and relaxed into him, almost in a post-orgasmic coma. His fingers stroked the silky skin of her back and heard her soft, shaky voice. “That was so good, Henry. So good it brought tears to my eyes.”
He kissed the top of her head and pulled her close to him.
They must have drifted off, because when he awoke, he spotted a hint of dawn out the window. The goddess next to him was naked, on her stomach with her pre
tty hands tucked under the pillow. He was hard again. Actually, he’d been hard all night. He stroked his fingers down her back and caressed the full rounds of her bottom, his heart rate picking up speed. One eye peeked open.
“What time is it?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep.
“Not sure. Let me find my watch.” He rummaged around on the nightstand, pushing aside his wallet and keys until he found it. “Eight o’clock.”
“What? No!” Before he knew it, she’d bolted up and disappeared in the bathroom. When she reappeared, she was covered in a white terry robe.
“You have to go. I’m sorry. I have the meeting of my life this morning.”
“But I was counting on exploring option number two from last night, and then taking you to my favorite breakfast place.”
“No! I was supposed to prepare for the meeting last night, but we got, well, carried away.”
He slid out of bed and walked over to her, bending down to capture her mouth in a slow, hot kiss. “Okay, okay. But I want to see you afterwards. What time will your meeting be over? We’ll have lunch.”
The words rushed out. “Henry, I’m in panic mode here. I have just enough time to get ready to go. I won’t even have time to study my material on this next client.”
He casually picked up the house phone and ordered her a pot of coffee and a full English breakfast from the room service menu, giving his credit card number. Then he gathered up his clothes and strode into the bathroom.
~*~
Dorrie ran her fingers through her hair. What a freaking mess. She didn’t want him to go, not at all. Last night had been the most perfect night of her life. Dinner and dancing with him at Bumble’s had made her feel like Sabrina at her first Larrabee soiree. And she’d never had such an attentive, thorough lover before—certainly not someone so gorgeous it hurt to look at him.
The expression on his face when he came out of the bathroom, dressed in his suit and tie, almost undid her. Rejection personified.
A knock sounded on the door. Henry opened it, and a server wheeled in a cart and began to set out an elegant breakfast for her. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. After Henry palmed the man a tip, he kissed Dorrie on the cheek.
“Won’t you at least give me your number?”
“You can reach me here. And thank you for the breakfast. It’s lovely.” He turned to go, and she followed him to the door while the server set out a toast rack, a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and a lovely wedge of aromatic orange cantaloupe.
At the door, she stretched up to whisper in his ear, “I had a wonderful time last night and really wish we could spend the morning together. I hope we can get together later.” She kissed him on the cheek and watched as he strode down the hall toward the elevator.
~~~
At nine thirty, Dorrie rushed into the Entertainment Arts office suite on the twentieth floor of the Pinehurst Building, a high-rise located outside of the city of Westminster, and took a seat after letting the receptionist know she had arrived. Aware that the sleek contemporary waiting area was empty except for her, she tried to relieve the knotted muscles in her neck and shoulders by moving her head around in circles. She wore the pencil skirt and silk blouse she’d worn on the plane and hoped it was posh enough for Grant Maxwell, the highest paid male model in the world, and his entourage.
While she waited, slowly working out the kinks in her neck, she closed her eyes and allowed herself the pleasure of reliving the last twenty-four hours. She was not only in London ready for the biggest opportunity of her career, but she’d met this incredible man. Totally by chance. He’d taken her to dinner and dancing at Bumble’s, and they’d spent a sensual, erotic night together at her hotel. And he wanted to see her again. Really. Had last night been a dream? How lucky could she be?
Ten minutes later she was ushered in to a large corner office with enormous windows on two sides that offered heart-stopping views of London. She was lured to gaze out at the cityscape, but knew she couldn’t because the room was full of people staring at her. A woman who looked to be in her thirties with spiky red hair and wearing a chic charcoal gray suit stepped forward and offered her hand.
“Hello, Miss Applegate. We were expecting Miss Suri but understand there’ve been some changes at Omni. I’m Louisa Hart. Welcome.”
Dorrie clasped the woman’s hand and smiled. That was before the tall man standing with his back to her swung around at the sound of her name and she saw Henry Charles standing there, an expression of utter astonishment on his face.
Louisa smiled and continued, “Well, let’s do the introductions, shall we? We’ll start with the reason for the meeting, Grant Maxwell. Grant?”
The room began to spin. Dorrie felt dizzy. What was Henry doing here?
It was then that the earthquake that had been waiting to destroy her life hit nine on the Richter scale. Henry, Grant—whoever the fucking hell he was—hurried toward her. She backed away with her hands up, bile rising in her throat. So much for that nice English breakfast. If she didn’t find a restroom fast, it would be all over the fancy designer carpeting.
“Excuse me, would you? I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” With that she turned and rushed out the door. “Restroom?” she mumbled to the receptionist, her hand clasped over her mouth.
“Out this door and turn right.”
Once in the restroom, Dorrie raced into a stall, flipped up the lid, and wretched then gagged and wretched again. Nothing came up. She should have known that she couldn’t throw up her misfortune and flush it down the toilet. She leaned against the door of the stall and wiped the cold perspiration from her clammy forehead with the back of her hand.
What was she going to do now? How does one come back from this? Just a week ago she’d spent hours at Omni Publishing New Employee Training going through all the reasons you could be fired on the spot. Last night was probably the number one reason: having intimate relations with a client. She was pretty sure that even topped murdering your boss.
Okay, Dorrie knew she had to get a grip. First and foremost, she had to let Arianna know that she couldn’t work with Grant Maxwell. Better that it come from her than the reps from Entertainment Arts. Maybe she could just say that she had a conflict of what? A conflict of screwing-the-client interest? Oh, yeah, that’d go over real well.
She stood in front of the row of restroom sinks and texted Arianna that there’d been a bit of a glitch with the Grant Maxwell meeting. Arianna immediately texted back that her ass was fired if she didn’t have the meeting and secure the contract. Today.
Dorrie somehow made her way back to the Westbury, packed her tote bag, booked a flight back the New York, and ignored the blinking red light on the hotel phone. If she had a mallet, she’d bash the blinking red light on the hotel phone. But was it really the fault of the blinking red light that she’d gone out with a fraud who’d hidden his identity and subsequently caused her to lose her job? She’d have eight hours on the plane to answer that question and possibly the rest of her life.
She apologized at the front desk for the emergency that caused her to have to check out early and asked about a bus to take her to the airport. With uppity British efficiency, the woman at the desk directed her to the airport shuttle line.
Chapter 3
Nine dreadful hours of non-stop self-recrimination later, Dorrie dragged herself into the apartment on First Avenue and did four things in short order: turned off her phone, peed, washed her hands and face, and collapsed in bed. Fortunately, her roommates weren’t there to ask all the dreaded questions. They were both at work because they still had jobs.
She curled into a ball and thought about the brittle-voiced call from Arianna she’d gotten while on the shuttle from the airport: “Omni hired you to do a job you didn’t do. Omni financed your trip to London to do that job. You didn’t do it. You were at Entertainment Arts and left for no reason. You have just lost Omni the opportunity for one of the highest profile biograp
hies we’ve ever had. Needless to say, I won’t be giving you a reference. Personal items from your desk will be sent to your apartment. I couldn’t be more disappointed in you.”
That was so nice to hear, not that she didn’t expect it. The worst part of this whole debacle was that she had to tell her grandmother that she’d lost her job. Blanche would be devastated, of course, but Dorrie couldn’t even tell her the truth about what had happened, otherwise known as gross moral turpitude with a potential client. She had no idea how she would explain why she was out of a job without lying to her. Something she’d never done. Blanche was fairly open-minded. Maybe she could—no, she couldn’t. Dorrie was so ashamed she could barely stand herself.
How would she find another job without a reference from Omni? Before she’d landed that position, she’d scoured metro New York for anything in her field. Rolling onto her back, she contemplated her pitiful financial state, and her head began to throb.
Well, she’d just have to move back in with Blanche until she found another job.
~*~
Grant Maxwell was frantic. He’d raced out of the Entertainment Arts suite to find the corridor empty. After riding the elevator down and running through the lobby like a crazed person, he stood on the sidewalk, spinning his head in all directions, trying to catch sight of Dorrie. She wasn’t anywhere. How could she just fucking disappear?
His fingers tapped the phone number to her room at the Westbury. While the phone rang, he recalled the look in Dorrie’s eyes when she saw him, a startled expression of utter confusion that morphed into a wrenching stab of betrayal.
The phone beeped when she didn’t pick up. He’d have to leave a message: “Dorrie. It’s Grant. Listen. I’m feeling terrible about the cock up this morning at Entertainment Arts. I had no idea you were the journalist sent from Omni. But I’m sure I can smooth everything over with them. Just call me back. Please.”
His fingers raked through his hair as he started walking in the direction of the Westbury. Because it was several miles from the Pinehurst Building, his hand shot up to hail the first cab he spotted. If he could just talk to her, he knew everything would be all right. God, he’d just found her; he couldn’t lose her.
