But long after I’m safely wrapped in bed, I lie awake, staring at my ceiling, remembering the feeling of his hot hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, his tongue circling my nipples, teasing down my stomach toward my wet pussy. I remember the way he felt inside me, so big it almost hurt, and the way he fucked me, hard and wild, like he couldn’t get enough. I start to get wet again just remembering it, remembering the way those sharp gray eyes of his bore into mine as he fucked me.
I slide my hand between my legs, touch my still-tender, swollen clit, and start to stroke myself, my eyes fluttering closed as I picture Killian beside me, his hand between my legs instead of my own.
It takes a very, very long time for me to fall asleep that night. And even when I do, my dreams remain every bit as distracting. I can tell that, no matter what I want to believe, no matter what I tell Jayne… Killian is going to be a lot harder to forget than any old one-night stand. Somehow, though I can’t figure out how exactly, that man managed to get under my skin in just one single, white hot night.
5
Tilly
I’m back in Killian’s guesthouse. He has me spread-eagled on the bed, my wrists and ankles tied by something soft but strong, like silk scarves. I struggle, but only halfheartedly, because really, I don’t mind being at this man’s mercy. I grin up as Killian studies me, taking his time. He circles the bed and strokes one hand down my side, tracing my curves the same way he did last night, his hands gentle but rough against my skin, calloused in a way that’s at odds with his put-together looks. He seems like someone who works in an office, and yet he fucks like someone who works with his hands for a living.
I remember the hand-built playground he caught me behind, during our game of tag in the backyard when we almost kissed the first time, and I wonder what more there is to this man than I know.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he tells me now, and leans in, his soft lips on my hips, tracing the arch of the bone. “Every. Single. Inch of you,” he says between more kisses and licks. Then he reaches my thighs, and he bites down gently, just hard enough to make me gasp at the sensation, pleasure mixed with pain.
When he sits up again, his eyes have gone hooded. Hungry. He positions himself between my legs, and his cock is already hard, standing at attention. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream for me, Tilly,” he murmurs, and my whole body tightens at the sound of his sure, steady voice, the promise in it.
Yes, I want to scream. Yes, yes, yes. But my voice sticks in my throat, can’t quite escape. It doesn’t matter. I nod hard enough that he knows what I want anyway. He lines his cock up with my entrance and thrusts inside me all at once, with none of the slow care he showed last night. He grips my hips and starts to fuck me, my ass bouncing against the bed as his cock thrusts into me, deep and hard and fast and—
I wake up with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. My face is flushed, and my whole body feels hot. I slide a hand between my legs, and sure enough, I find I’m soaking wet, hot with want from that dream. I groan, frustrated, and slide out of bed, padding over to my bathroom.
Under the scorching hot water of the shower, I let my fingers finish what the dream failed to do. I shut my eyes and picture Killian with me in the shower, his arms wrapped around me from behind as he runs his hands over my body, soaps up every inch of me, before he presses one finger into my pussy, then another, and a third, until I’m moaning and bucking against him, his cock hard and digging into my thigh as he holds me in place, making me come for him over and over…
When I slip out of the shower, legs unsteady, I somehow feel even dirtier than when I climbed in. What’s going on with me? I’ve never fantasized this often or this hard about someone, especially right after fucking them. Usually before I hook up with a guy I like, I might be like this. But then we fuck, and afterward, a little of the mystery has gone out of it, so I have to start fantasizing about some TV character or someone instead.
But not Killian. Him, I could picture all day, every day.
Figures. The one I can’t pursue is the one I get stuck on.
I force him to the back of my mind and start to get dressed. Only then do my eyes alight on the clock at my bedside, and I realize with a jolt of panic that I’ve overslept. I must have snoozed my alarm somewhere amid all those raunchy sex dreams. Fuck. I’m going to be late.
I finish dressing at record speed and grab my purse to jet out of the apartment. The last thing I want to do is give Tricia more reasons to be mad at me.
I pull up to our office space just a couple of minutes late. I hurry inside, waving to the security guy at the front desk as I pass. Birthday Party Princesses has only been around for about 8 months now as a company—Tricia built this empire from the ground-up—but it’s already booming in popularity thanks to her shrewd marketing skills. At the moment, the whole complex is crawling with construction crews, because we’re expanding to include an on-premises event space, which will be available to rent in addition to the princesses.
I don’t know how much more revenue that will bring in, since a lot of the parties we do are at people’s homes, but hey, that’s why I’m just a princess and not the brains in charge of this whole operation.
I skid into the main office just in time to watch Tricia—Ms. Connery, I correct myself, Tricia is just what Jayne and I call her between ourselves—step out of her office and scan the room, questioning.
Looking for me.
I jog into her line of sight and offer a smile. “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I reach her side.
She just steps back to let me cross into her office, and then shuts the door behind us, ominously silent.
“I overslept,” I babble, face red. “I didn’t mean to make you wait, sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” she replies mildly, taking a seat behind her desk and gazing up at me, hands crossed on the desk. But somehow, her words don’t reassure me. There’s an underlying hardness in her eye, an odd note in her voice, that sets me on edge.
Carefully, I perch on the edge of the chair across the desk from her, and fold my hands in my lap, smiling as brightly as I can. “I have my dress out to the dry cleaner’s now,” I say, eager to get that in before she asks me whether I’ve managed to damage it again. “It should be ready for me to pick up in time for the next event this evening. I was wondering about events after that, though? My schedule is free all week except for the Henderson party on Friday—”
“How was your last event?” Ms. Connery interrupts, still staring at me with that laser-sharp focus, her face unreadable.
My throat tightens. Normally she never asks me about past events, unless it’s to scold me for something the client complained about. Did Killian tell her something about me? But no. He wouldn’t have let on what happened between us. Would he?
“It was, ah… fine. All normal. The little girl was a real sweetheart, actually, she was so full of energy. An absolute pleasure to work with—”
“And the client?” she interrupts once more, her tone sharper than usual.
I blink in surprise. “You mean her father?”
“Was he as kind and easy to work with as his daughter?” There’s no denying the cold note in her voice.
My heart sinks in my chest. How did she find out? What’s she going to do to me now? But I steel myself, and clench my fists tightly under the table. The last thing I’m going to do is admit to anything until she outright accuses me. I’m a grown adult, after all. Whatever her ridiculous contracts say, I’m entitled to a private life. She doesn’t need to know everything I do in private. “He was perfectly polite,” I say. “He seemed pleased with how the party went.” And then some, a naughty part of my mind adds, and I can’t help it. I picture him above me in the dark again, his mouth on my ear as he bites my neck, laughing softly, the hum of his breath making my whole body hot and cold at once—
“He didn’t say anything? Ask you anything unusual?”
My heart rabbits against my ribcage. “Ms. Connery, if
there’s something in particular you want to know—”
“I’m just checking in with my employee.” She breaks into a broad smile, then, but I notice it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just want to be sure that you’re treated well, Tilly. And that our clients are satisfied with the services we’re providing. We’re a growing company, after all. We need to be very careful that our reputation remains intact, as we continue to expand.”
My cheeks could start a small forest fire right now. “Of course, Ms. Connery. I hope you know, I’m every bit as committed to making Birthday Party Princesses a success as you are.” I lean forward in my chair.
“I know that, Tilly.” She relaxes a little, and finally, the strange, tense light seems to fade from her expression. She looks normal now, almost… disappointed, in a way. I frown in confusion, but she just shakes her head. “You’re one of my best princesses. Your usual over-expensive dress mishaps aside,” she adds with a wry smile, and my cheeks flush. “But honestly, all the customers give you rave reviews, and the children always clamor to beg for you back next year.”
I start to smile in response to her, unable to help myself. I’m not used to praise from my boss. More often than not I’ve managed to piss her off. “Thank you, Ms. Connery.”
“Which is why,” she continues, shaking her head, just a little. “I am going to hate it when I inevitably lose you as an employee.”
My heart nearly stops. “But—”
“When,” she speaks over me, “your book gets snatched up by the right buyer.”
I sit in stunned silence, blinking to clear my head. To make sure I heard that right. But now Ms. Connery is positively beaming at me.
“My artist friend read the pages you sent me last week. I’d meant to tell you sooner, but with everything else going on, and this last-minute party for the client yesterday…” She waves a hand through the air, looking apologetic. “Anyway, she loved your sample pages, Tilly. In fact, she loved it so much that she offered to illustrate it on the spot. She’s a fantastic illustrator.”
“You sent me her website.” I bob my head eagerly. “I love her style. It fits with the book perfectly.”
“Well, she’s attending a conference in a couple of months, one of the big book fairs that she usually goes to every year. She plans to try and illustrate sample pages by then. If you can have a full draft of the book ready for her by then, she’ll use her art and your outline to try and sell it to potential agents and editors at the convention.”
My jaw drops. I can’t help it.
This is the kind of break I’ve been waiting for. I know my stories are good, but to make it as a children’s book writer, you can’t just be an author alone. You need to partner with the right illustrator, or be able to draw yourself—and sadly, as creative as I am with words, I have zero talent in the visual art department. But most agents and editors won’t even consider children’s book writing without sample art to accompany it. And art like this woman’s, who has illustrated a few dozen picture books in the past, and has a full website of beautiful art to display, not to mention connections in the industry…
Well. This would be a dream come true. A path toward my real goal in life.
I spring out of my seat, leaning over the table to catch Ms. Connery’s hand. Her eyebrows shoot skyward in surprise, but she lets me squeeze her hand anyway. A regular thank you doesn’t seem like enough. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” I find myself babbling. “I promise I’m going to find some way to repay you for this kindness.”
“Please.” She laughs and waves her free hand at me, dismissive. Gently, she disentangles her other hand from mine, and I let her go with an embarrassed nod. “It was the least I could do. Really. I agree with my friend—you’ve got a real talent. I guess it makes sense, given how good you are with kids, that you’d be great at writing for them too.” She winks. “But until you’re a rich and famous author, I want to see you continue to put your all into your work for me, is that clear?”
I jerk to attention, resisting the faintly hysterical urge to salute. “Of course, Ms. Connery. You can count on me, always.”
She smiles. “I’m sure. Now, there’s an evening event tonight that isn’t going to throw itself.” She glances past me at the clock. “You should have just enough time to get ready if you go now.”
“Thank you, again,” I add in a shout over my shoulder, even as I hurry toward the exit. She’s right—I only just have enough time to pick up my dress from where it’s being dry cleaned and then speedily get prepared for the next party we’re throwing. But somehow, even knowing how quickly I’ll have to get ready for this, I can’t make myself feel any concern or worry. I feel like I’m skipping toward my car, practically floating across the parking lot.
Until you’re a rich and famous author.
When your book gets snatched up.
No if. No maybe. Ms. Connery believes in me. Her friend loves my writing. Maybe, just maybe, my hard work is starting to pay off at last.
6
Tilly
I’m halfway through wrestling my way back into the dress, one eye still on the clock above my bed—an hour to go, and just a half an hour drive to the event space with no traffic, I should make it in plenty of time—when my phone buzzes. I spare it a single, distracted glance, expecting it to be Jayne, updating me on the progress of her own event. She was supposed to be running a birthday party for some billionaire’s daughter at the top of a skyscraper downtown, in a helipad he’d rented for the night and turned into his own private event space.
To say I’m a little jealous would be a massive understatement. The event I’m getting ready for is in a mall food court. Though at least I hear a rumor there’ll be a rented ball pit.
Some people have all the luck.
But to my surprise, the name that appears on my phone isn’t Jayne’s. No, it’s another name, one that makes my stomach clench in anticipation.
Killian.
I take a deep breath and, before I can think better of it, snatch up my phone and open the message.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I lick my lips and hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are already flushed. With my dress half-undone, it’s easy to picture myself as he must have seen me last night, naked and prone before him when he laid me down on his bed.
Thinking what, exactly? I reply after only a moment’s hesitation.
About all the things I wish I could do to you.
I bite my lower lip and sit down on my bed in a cloud of tulle, forgetting getting dressed altogether for the time being. You’re going to need to be a little more specific.
It takes him a moment to type out his reply this time. When it comes, it’s not just my face that feels flushed anymore. My whole body has gone hot with anticipation. Well, first, I’d kiss you as I peeled you out of whatever you’re wearing. … What are you wearing right now, Tilly?
I pull up the top of my gown, just far enough to cover my breasts, and snap a quick selfie in the mirror, smirking in the photo. Just a princess getting ready for another of her famous parties, I caption it, with a winking face. But I could be persuaded to take a little longer to get ready…
The first thing this particular knight would do, then, would be to undo the princess’s corset… one… lace… at a time… before I knelt to tug the whole thing down your hips, until I could kiss your smooth, bare stomach… Tracing your navel with my tongue.
My breath hitches in my throat. This seems a little unfair. Don’t I get to see what you’re wearing, Knight?
A moment later, his reply comes, and I catch my breath again. He’s standing in what appears to be a real bedroom, not the guesthouse he took me to last night. He’s wearing a dress shirt and a loosened tie, but the shirt is completely unbuttoned over his suit pants, which are half undone themselves. I’m afforded a perfect view of his sculpted chest and washboard abs. Not to mention that sexy, to-die-for V-cut of his muscles arching over his h
ips to point directly toward the dark happy trail there. I want to run my hands over his muscles, trace every inch of that V, follow it to its destination.
My heart beats faster as I tap out a reply. Not bad, I say. I’d keep the tie, but lose the shirt. And the pants.
His response is another photo, this time of him completely shirtless, and his pants gone. He’s just down to boxers now. Well. Boxers, and the tie still dangling around his neck. I notice him typing and wait.
I’d use my tie to wrap around your wrists. Pin you back against the bed before I finished pulling your skirts the rest of the way off.
And then what, once you have me at your mercy? I reply with a winking face.
Well, first I’d take a moment to admire the view, he responds, and my heart speeds up.
After a moment’s consideration, and a glance in the mirror, I slip the dress off further. I’ve sent dirty pics before, but somehow this makes my heart beat faster than ever. Because I can picture Killian on the other end of the phone. The way those steady, steely gray eyes of his will be waiting to devour whatever pic I send his way. He looked at me last night like he could devour me whole, and it was sexy as fuck to see on his face that he wanted me as much as I want him. Now I feel that flutter in my stomach again, just remembering how he touched me, kissed me, fucked me like he’d never be able to get enough of me.
So I slide the dress off, then reposition myself on the bed, the dress strategically draped to just barely cover my breasts, then leave the rest of my body exposed down to my hips, where another puff of tulle hides just as much as I want to. I snap another photo, and send that to Killian with another caption. Hope you like what you see enough for a round two.
The Single Dad Arrangement Page 5
