by Alexis Angel
But to our surprise, there’s no one there. Not a soul is standing on the other side of the door, and it’s dead silent. It’s the opposite of what we expected.
We hear a random gurgle coming from the water cooler, and we see a frightened, red-faced intern, all young and naive, hiding behind it.
He looks at us, and then immediately looks away, and scurries off into a nearby office—one that I’m sure is not his.
I notice as he tried to escape that he was hiding one of the largest tents in his pants I’ve seen. I swear, a whole squadron of boy scouts could fit under there.
I close the door, and Tanner and I burst out laughing.
“We almost made an intern come in his pants,” Tanner says, trying to catch his breath.
“That’s damn impressive,” I add.
We look at each other and nod, feeling a sense of pride in what we just did. Once again, the Lingerie Lovers have a satisfied customer.
Tanner looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fucking starving. Care to join me for lunch?”
Not what I was expecting him to ask, but what the hell, I am hungry. And if I can pretend to fuck him and be fake-engaged to him, what’s one lunch going to do?
“Yeah, sure,” I say, and I head over to the mess under my desk to find my purse.
We make our way to the lobby, and we see only a few other employees. Weird. I wonder where they all went.
“Oh, Monique!” I call for her as we pass through the hallway where the elevators are.
She’s engrossed in a conversation with another woman. I think it’s Kate from the marketing department. She stops talking and turns towards me, her cheeks turning pink.
“Hold my calls, will you? I’m going to lunch.”
“Will do, Elsa.” She nods and turns back to Kate, trying her best to avoid any eye contact.
While we wait for the elevator, I hear them whispering about who knows what.
But my ears perk up when I hear Tanner’s name.
“Kate, they’re into some freaky weird shit. I heard Elsa saying Tanner wears his own lingerie!”
They both gasp and giggle in shock.
The elevators doors close, and I smile. Mission accomplished.
Chapter 14
Tanner
Damn, I’m feeling good.
Riding high on endorphins and drunk on tequila, I feel like I can conquer the world; even though what I’m really interested in is conquering her, the fucking woman who hasn’t stopped teasing me since I paraded into her office this morning.
Our impromptu lunch was supposed to be a friendly one—no strings attached. Instead, it turned into an all-day tour of Mexico’s finest agave. One celebratory shot blurred into three, and the day turned quickly into night.
But I’m not complaining. I had Elsa to myself and tequila to wash her down with. It’s been a great fucking afternoon and evening.
And now, we’re continuing this lunch back at my place. This day couldn’t get any fucking better.
I smile as I watch her stride in front of me, swaying her hips like she’s walking a runway. Once a model, always a model. And like always, I’m mesmerized by her.
The way she moves is like a fucking angel—yeah, the pun doesn’t escape me. She glides with such grace and little effort, and it looks like she is floating on fucking air. She always has and continues to own a pure exquisiteness that is undoubtedly one of the most alluring sights I’ve ever seen.
I’m not the only who’s affected by her presence. I watch both men and women do a double-take as we pass them. She makes anything and everything her damn runway, forcing heads to gawk at her.
“Could you imagine wearing your red corset?” she asks, slightly slurring her words.
The out-of-the-blue question distracts me from her show, and it takes a minute for me to respond. “What the hell?”
She laughs, a whole-hearted belly laugh, and I smile in response. Her amusement is contagious.
“Why in the hell would I wear a corset? I definitely don’t need one.” I look down, waving my hands over my body to show her the goods.
She rolls her eyes. “I can picture it now. You look quite dashing if I do say so myself. It looks even better on the floor of my office though.”
She winks, and I can tell she’s feeling extra good.
I grab her waist and pull her to my side.
“Well, who am I to deny a girl what she wants?” I smirk my most charming smile, and her eyes light up in delight and then shock.
She couldn’t get me in women’s lingerie if she fucking paid me to do it, but what can I say? I like it when my woman is enjoying herself, so I play along.
“I’m sure Monique would love to see it as well.”
“What?” I stop walking and let her go.
She turns around to look at me but doesn’t do anything. She only shrugs her shoulders and continues to take a jaunt down the street.
Though I’m still confused by what she meant by that, my care gradually dissipates as we enter my building and ride up the elevator to my floor. I’m sure whatever she’s talking about isn’t as important as what’s happening right now: her coming home with me.
The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, and Elsa slightly stumbles when she makes her way out the doors. I grab onto her waist from behind and gently guide her through the foyer.
“How’s that tequila treating you?” I ask her sensually.
“Hmmm, it feels great.” She tilts her head back toward me, and grabs onto my hands. “You know I can walk by myself.”
Her quick wit is back in record time.
“Is that so?” I avoid laughing at her, knowing I’ll be at the receiving end of a tongue-lashing if I do.
I let her go and watch as she raises her hands and twirls in the middle of the floor.
God, she’s fucking beautiful. Her dress lifts around her, like a halo around her waist. And she’s beaming—it’s a fucking feast for the eyes.
I love drunk Elsa.
Sober Elsa is great, too, don’t get me wrong. But Elsa, when she’s all loosened up, introduces me to parts of her that she would never show me otherwise.
It’s when her guard goes down that the little imperfections behind that powerhouse image shines. That’s what drew me to her in the first place. And it’s what keeps me captivated by her now.
“See, I’m fine!” She smiles at me, sticking her chin up in the air.
She falls back on her heels, seemingly dizzy from her spin, and I run catch her in my arms.
“Fine or not, I’ll make sure to catch you if you do fall.” I wink at her.
“Ugh, what a line. Is that how you got my models? You smacked the one-liner down and they came drooling after you,” she says, standing up and releasing herself from my hold.
She reaches for the table in the center of foyer and lifts a leg to take her heels off.
“Now that’s a hell of a stiletto,” I say, pointing out the obvious, not stopping my hungry gaze drinking in her long toned legs. “I know how much you like them.”
She fumbles around with the buckle, still unable to catch her balance.
Watching Elsa fumble is quite amusing and not in a deprecating way. Rather, it shines a light on some of the dormant feelings she had left in me. It’s her innocence in this moment that tugs at me.
She stands up, frustration getting the best of her. She turns towards me and eyes me like I’m a fucking piece of meat. It’s definitely not the first time that’s happened, though it makes me feel ten feet tall when Elsa does it.
“Remind me, do you like them over your shoulders or digging into your back?” she purrs.
She glares at me, but her eyes follow her finger as it travels down my chest. She traces the curves of my abdomen with a finger, and I watch as her eyes become heavy with lust.
I smile and step toward her, wanting to give in to her cravings and to my own.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she says, pushing me back with that same damn finger.
I grab onto to her hand and pull her against me.
A gasp falls from her lips.
“I prefer the stilettos on the floor, but your legs over my shoulders is something I would never deny.”
The desire in her expression grows dark, and the electricity between us sparks, setting me aflame.
She shakes her head and bends down to finish taking off her shoes, pushing against my chest for balance.
I run my hands through my hair, sighing in exasperation and sexual frustration. Her body feels so fucking amazing in my arms, and I actually recoil as she leaves me.
But she wobbles again after successfully taking the first shoe off, and falls backs into me, igniting me all over again.
This time, her head is in line with my cock, and her hand lands on my upper thigh. It takes everything in me not to take my throbbing cock out and fuck that smart mouth of hers.
“Do you need help, Elsa?” I ask, wanting her to get away from my growing need despite actually wanting her there.
“I got this.” She tightens her grasp on my thighs, and I instinctively groan.
She looks up at me, and her mouth slowly forms into a wicked grin.
Fuck, this is all a part of her plan, isn’t it?
“When was the last time you had me here?” Taking off the second shoe, she slowly glides up my body.
“In this position or in my apartment?”
Fingering the hem of my shirt, she pulls me closer. “Here.”
I reach for her and cradle her head in my hands.
To my surprise, she lets me, but she keeps her hands on my chest, pushing on it for distance.
“It’s been too damn long, angel.”
I look at her intensely. Our breathing becomes erratic, and my heart pounds aggressively against my chest.
I stare at her lips and then at her eyes, and I can see that she feels the same way. Her body shudders against mine, and my cock pulsates in response.
“Let me show you something,” I say, hoping to distract us from what is inevitable—me fucking her.
That’s not how I want this to go. As agonizing as it’s going to be, I need to take this slow. I need to show her that what we had and what we have means more to me than she assumes.
She tilts her head and lifts her brow inquisitively, but I remain silent and smile at her reassuringly. Taking her hand in mine, I guide her up to my rooftop.
The view of the city is one of the many reasons I paid as much as I did for this penthouse—it’s fucking spectacular. And I didn’t try to emulate the night at the restaurant’s veranda, but I did use it as inspiration.
Luckily, I have assistants who can do things—magical things—for me at the drop of a hat, seeing as I texted them on our way back. And they fucking delivered.
Instead of decorating the rooftops with a shit ton of flowers, they lined every inch of the space with a candle. The wavering flames glisten in tandem with the sparkling city lights, and I watch as Elsa’s eyes twinkle in amazement.
Damn, I’m becoming really fucking good at this romantic thing. Maybe I do have a knack for it after all. Or at least, I’m becoming impressively good at knowing who to contact to do it for me.
I hear Elsa snort, and I turn toward her. She’s fucking laughing! What the fuck?
“Is there something funny?” I try not to take offense and chalk it up to her being drunk off tequila, but it pisses me off.
“It’s beautiful. I’m sorry, but...” She exhales, trying to stop herself from laughing more. “But I’ve been here many times, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” I have no idea where she’s going with this.
“Well, Mr. Romantic, if you do remember, tell me what did we do on that swing. Or behind that pillar? What about when I leaned over ledge as you fucked me from behind? Or over there, on a blanket, wine drunk, and surrounded by very similar candles?”
I smirk at her, recalling all the fucking orgasmic moments, and I make my way to her side.
“Oh, I fucking remember ever one of those times like they were yesterday.” I emphasize each word, desire overpowering me.
Her smiles fades, and her eyes resemble my need.
I take her head in my hands, holding it like before, and I stroke her cheeks and finger her lips.
She bites down on her bottom lip, and I peel it away from her hold, wanting it to stay open and inviting.
“I’d love to refresh my memory and revisit each one of those spots. All. Over. Again,” I whisper, never keeping my eyes from hers.
She grabs onto my shirt and pulls me against her. Our breathing shallows in anticipation, and the magnetic pull becomes overwhelming strong.
I kiss her gently, gradually intertwining my tongue with hers. Our kisses grow firm, and we fall into a slow, passionately heated rhythm.
The need for her burns every inch of me, but I force myself to pull away. I have to have her tonight.
“Elsa, will you stay with me tonight?” I plead.
But she stills, and I’m met with a blank stare.
The Capitalist Chronicle
Wedding bliss and a bridal line for the Lingerie Lovers
By Lis Langley
New York—Imagine a crystal clear blue day; the sun shining, birds chirping, and doves flying overhead. Sounds like a scene from a fairy tale, does it not?
Though this might not be the backdrop for Elsa Blakely and Tanner Sharpe’s press conference this afternoon, they looked more than picture-perfect as they announced their own lingerie-inspired fairy tale.
It’s official—the Lingerie Lovers are engaged, and wedding bells are imminent, in a record three months’ time.
Dirty Little Angel’s CEO Blakely glowed as she stood next to her fiancé, Sharpe, the CEO of Pretty Little Vixen, and every inch of the soon-to-be newlyweds radiated love.
Blakely looked stunning as she held her fiancé’s hand. Being the successful designer that she is, her romantic Dolce and Gabbana Cady sheath dress, decorated with a delicate pink rose design, perfectly complimented their announcement. It’s a dress made for such occasions and seemingly for the lingerie royal herself.
Sharpe never strayed away from his lover as he emitted both a sense of pride and excitement. His navy-blue Ralph Lauren suit, paired with an unbuttoned white shirt, had every woman envious of the future Mrs. Sharpe.
We’ve had our doubts, but it looks like the two are a match made in lingerie heaven.
Adding to their engagement and impending nuptials, Sharpe announced that there will be a collaborative DLA/NLA bridal line.
He declares: “In celebration of our wedding and the love we have for each another, we’re thrilled to announce a new line of bridal lingerie. Dirty Little Angel and Pretty Little Vixen’s collaboration has been a much-anticipated endeavor, and this seems like a perfect time for us to come together and share our joy. We can’t wait to begin what will hopefully be a long and successful partnership. Don’t you agree, Elsa?”
On queue, Elsa continues to express their enthusiasm. “Yes, of course, I do. And we’re eager to see what else will come of our collaboration in the future.”
But, wait, there’s more.
Blindsiding the press—and admittedly this reporter—Tanner outed Elsa and her return to modeling.
Beaming from head to toe, Tanner states: “But what’s even more exciting than the bridal line is that Elsa will be modeling it.”
A quick glance passes between them, and as I am the go-to expert on these Lingerie Lovers, I did detect a moment of hesitation.
From what? We can’t be sure. However, one can speculate and pin it on her nerves.
Coming back to the world of high-fashion modeling after a lengthy hiatus is never a simple feat. But Blakely needn’t worry. She’s a professional—well sometimes—and her model body is still intact.
Nevertheless, when a reporter asks for her statement in response to this news, there’s not an ounce of nerves to be seen. In a bold and confident move, she lets go of
Sharpe and stands stoically in front of the microphone, centering herself before the horde of reporters.
“We were hoping to keep it a surprise, but I can see my fiancé’s excitement is getting the best of him today. But yes, it is true. I will be returning to modeling, and I’ll be doing it with the release of our bridal line, right before I’ll walk down my most anticipated runaway, the aisle, in a less revealing white lace of course.”
Her playful response answers all questions and concerns regarding the sincerity of their engagement.
This reporter, however, has some lingering thoughts as to why there’s a need to fast-track their nuptials. One can’t help but wonder if this arrangement and their many announcements today are all for the sake of their respective businesses?
Regardless, the coming three months will be busy and, I’m sure, very entertaining.
So dear readers, to stay up to date on all things Blakely and Sharpe, and the future wedding that’s shaking the lingerie industry, always refer to Lis Langley.
Chapter 15
Elsa
I wake up to someone pounding loudly on...what, a wall? A door?
Ugh, no. It’s coming from inside my head. That pounding is the unmistakable throbbing of too much tequila.
I pull my silk duvet cover-up to burrow under my bed a little longer before facing the world. Only this isn’t my duvet cover, or my bed, or my bedroom.
Wherever I am, it’s luxurious. The bed that forms around my body, the crystal lamp on the mirrored nightstand. The room is certainly professionally decorated.
And then it hits me. I’ve been here before. Many times actually.
I’m in Tanner’s bed. I hate the idea of moving one inch of my aching body, but I turn enough to confirm my suspicions: I’m completely naked.
Without even seeing a mirror, I know my hair is not in its normally perfectly coiffed state. Nope, I look—I feel—like shit.
The first priority, however, is finding my clothes. I start scanning the room for clothing and maybe some clues as to what transpired after we left the rooftop.
