by Ella James
“Fuck, I have to have your—”
A discrete buzzing noise signals the outer door to his office is opening. With a panicked scramble, James pushes me under the desk. The thing is massive, so I know I’m hidden from view, but James is forced to sit and smile as his assistant ushers guests in. He can’t stand without revealing his big, stiff cock.
I lick along the side of it, because I’m bad and want to feel him squirm. His hand tugs my hair. I wrap my tongue around his thick head, and I smile as I hear his over-hearty greeting. He shifts forward in his chair, likely to shake hands with his visitors, but also to try and dislodge my mouth.
My heart pounds as I suck my cheeks around him. I fist the base of his shaft tightly, twirling my tongue carefully around his head, digging the tip of my tongue into his slit until I feel his hips shake, and he’s forced to sag back.
God, that’s hot.
His hand spreads out on my cheek, and I take pity on him, switching the tempo to a long, languorous lick that keeps him at hard, painful attention, but not too close to blowing. His hand fists in my hair very briefly, but he gives up when I go back to the vicious and fast tempo. He relaxes, so I do, too. But I don’t stop. And neither does his hard-on.
After what feels like half of eternity, his guests get up to leave. I’m impressed by how even he keeps his voice as he says friendly goodbyes. Only when the door shuts does he jerk hard to the left and smack a button that I think must lock the door.
He shoves back from his desk, and I follow, lapping at his rigid dick as my pulse races.
“You. Fucking. Tease,” he growls roughly, and his fists are in my hair again, only this time he’s egging me on, pumping himself into my mouth, working to the back of my throat until my eyes water. I love it. I can feel my pussy drip onto my panties as I stay on my knees, sucking and licking him closer and closer to the edge.
“This is what you wanted? This? This?” His voice is hoarse. With every word he shoves in again, and I’m moaning around him, choking slightly as I feel a rush of precum on my tongue. His cock stiffens and expands in my mouth. I hum around it, feeling victorious. This is exactly what I want. I want him to take and take and take until he comes. Until he’s free and can do whatever he wants. No shields, no ruses.
“Darcy. Take it. I’m going to come in your mouth…and I want you to swallow. All of it.”
I start to fist his shaft again, stroking faster while I run my tongue around his head. A final swirl of my tongue, and then I suck his head between my cheeks. I stroke his balls and feel them draw up underneath my fingertips. Then his cock throbs hard, and it’s time to swallow.
We’re both panting when he pops free of my lips. He hugs me to his chest, where I can feel a sheen of sweat.
After a moment, he pulls me up and takes my face in his hands, brushing the hair from my lips and cheek.
He smiles, looking tired. “What brought that on?”
I nip at him. “I thought you might like something just for you. Since you’re always so focused on me.”
“Huh. I’m not going to complain. Just remember turnabout’s fair play, hmm?”
Unconcerned, I slip out of his arms and over to his private elevator, leaving him to the rest of his meetings.
I’d tell myself to remember not to goad James without warning next time, if the week weren’t almost over. As it is, I’m enjoying getting teased and prodded by him. The party tonight is even better than the last one, if that’s possible. Drinks are flowing, and things feel a little rowdy for this bunch of billionaires, but everyone’s in good spirits and reporters have been invited in for the penultimate night of festivities.
I make the rounds with James, but this time, I’m the one dancing in and out of his arms, because I can’t help blushing and gasping every time he leans in to whisper something dirty or sweet to me, or sneak a hand into the slit of my dress.
I realize we’re starting to make a spectacle, when I catch more reporters and photogs turning our way. One of them asks my name.
“Darcy,” I reply pleasantly. My first name has sufficed all this week, and James introduces me that way, too.
“Got a last name, doll?”
I hesitate only a moment before I say “Ellis.”
Snap, snap. The flash goes off twice. “Hey, thanks.”
I’m still a little blinded by the flash when I feel James’s hand on the small of my back.
“Do you feel my hand on you?” He’s whispering in my ear, and my knees feel like jelly.
“Yes.”
“You know what to do now, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, into the hallway. I think we’re slipping away to his suite, but we don’t make it even ten steps before he’s pulled me into an alcove and shoved me against the wall, his body crushing into mine.
He props me up while we kiss, pushing up my gown, and I feel his hand between my thighs, his fingers delving past the cotton of my thong.
He pulls away, but only from my mouth. His fingers are still stroking. “Allow me to make a counter-observation.”
“James…”
“Your pussy is already wet and swollen. Sensitive, yes?”
I let my mouth fall open in answer, pressing my head back against the wall.
“And I’m willing to bet that you were just this wet and turned on when you were on your knees for me this morning. Weren’t you.” It’s not a question. And not incorrect. “Sucking me, making me crazy while I was helpless. This sweet little cunt clenched up good and tight, didn’t it? But you didn’t let me service you.”
I open my eyes, but I can barely see. Stars are bursting behind my lids as he trails a fingertip between my puffy lips. His thumb works into the wetness, find my clit.
I whimper, and James presses open-mouth kisses to my cheek, and then my neck.
“Darcy, you should know there are probably fifty reporters in the next room. Any one of them will come running and catch a photo of you with your skirt hitched up over your ass and my face buried in your cunt. I suggest you keep it down when you come.”
James drops to his knees and lifts one of my legs over his left shoulder. I bite my cheek as his mouth closes over my cunt, his hot tongue teasing a slow circle around my swollen clit before delving between my lips. He laps along my dripping slit, and I can’t help my heavy breathing. When I’m worried I might cry out, his tongue finds my core and shoves inside, filling me with slick, exquisite heat that makes my knees wobble.
“Oh.” I’m panting. Must not moan.
The bastard chuckles as he drags his tongue back up, finding my clit and tracing feather-light around it for a blissful moment. Then, with no warning, his fingers plunge inside me.
“AH!”
I bite my lip as I collapse against him, moaning as my brain short-circuits and my pussy clenches hard. His hand finds my mouth, and I sag back against the wall, defeated.
Chapter Ten
He didn’t bother returning to the party. James just swept my body up into his arms and carried me to his suite, where he proceeded to fuck me senseless for the next six hours.
Later, in the very early morning, I’m drifting to sleep when I feel a light touch on my face. James is curled next to me, leaning over me. His low voice is whisper soft.
“Stay with me, Darcy.”
“I want to.”
I drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling blissfully content.
A loud noise rips me from sleep. Groggy, naked in bed, I tug the sheet to my breasts and blink around in the dark. A second later, hard, bitter light floods into the bedroom, and I see James’s form by the window.
I watch, stunned, as he stalks across the rug with fury twisting his familiar features. He glowers over me, tossing a stack of newspapers onto the coverlet.
“Are you fucking serious with this? Just what did you and that motherfucker think you were going to get out of me, you lying bitch?”
“James, what?”
“Who the fuck is Denny Ellis!”
My eyes fill with tears as I shake my head, dismayed. “Denny? Denny’s my brother. What’s wrong with you?”
“Take a look, sister. See for yourself.” He tosses a paper at me, and I blink down at it.
THE ICE KING THAWS
He tosses me another one. I frown.
BILLIONAIRE BACK FROM THE BRINK
Pictures of James and me at the party and different events this past week. Smiling, light. Is that why he’s angry? We were photographed together dozens of times. Then he tosses me a tabloid-sized paper, and I see its headline.
REVENGE IS SWEET
Under the headline is a picture of James and his wife Annette, designed so it looks like it’s been torn in two. Annette’s half is paired with a grainy photo of Denny from his college days. James’s half is paired with a photo of me.
“Why is Denny with your wife?”
“Because your brother was fucking my wife when she died! That’s why.”
“He—what? My brother Denny?”
“Your brother. Your poor, ailing brother, who just happened to be in an accident the same night my wife ended up dead! And a year and half later, his sweet sister turns up in my bed. I don’t care what sick plan the two of you cooked up, but you’re not going to get a thing. Nothing! I bought it all, the whole bullshit story you fed me. Christ, what an idiot,” he sneers. The Ice King is back, the towering, forbidding giant that almost froze me out the completely the first day, as though none of the last week even happened.
The newspapers have all tumbled to the floor. The pile on the carpet doesn’t move, but they might as well be a writhing, twisting pile of vipers.
James is livid. His inner demon is back, and this time I think the leash is slipping, because whatever it is seems to be tearing him apart from the inside out as he pants and glowers down at me.
“James, please listen to me. I have no idea how any of this happened, if it’s even true. I didn’t lie to you. I’ve never even heard of this. Denny wasn’t—I don’t think he was seeing anyone around the time that happened. He’s always been a free spirit, never tied down or anything like that.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that free spirit is what made it okay to fuck a married woman and destroy her life. Is it the same ‘free spirit’ that turned his sister into a whore?”
That word between us is a knife. It splits the room, it tears the air. It opens a thousand bleeding, hemorrhaging cuts inside my heart and stomach.
James draws himself up into ice and steel, his face pale. I can barely see through the pain and tears, that filthy word still ringing in my ears. If I breathe too deep it will hurt, and I can’t walk out of here on my own if he hurts me too deeply like this again. So, I only nod and turn my back when he speaks again.
“Go, Darcy.” His voice is hoarse. “Get off my property and get off this mountain, before I have you thrown out.”
I’ve kept the tears in just long enough to get on a plane. I didn’t bother to collect anything but my overnight case. I don’t want any of the clothes or dresses that Rina sent. I’m sure they’ll toss them out. I can’t bring myself to care.
The dam breaks somewhere over the Midwest, and when the tears start, they will not stop.
I try to tell my heart it was a job. It fell apart, but through no fault of mine. My only mistake was letting my imagination get the better of me. I tried to identify with and feel empathy for a client—the one thing Rina warned me not to do.
I say the words over and over, hold them to my chest. A client. A job. A client. A job. That’s all. The universe has a crazy and cruel sense of humor—I mean, what is this, two degrees of separation? One? None? It defies credulity—I guess I can see where James would find it hard to believe I really didn’t know. The only comfort I have is the truth. I had no idea. And unless Rina has some connection to any of this—which again, seems impossible—then the only thing that’s left is the cold comfort in knowing where I truly stand. It was just a coincidence. A miserable coincidence.
Every fiber of my body feels weary and sick, and I just want to go home. But then I realize there’s no way I can face Denny right now. But I can’t confront him either. That’s the other sick part of this: he’s still in the dark. For all my brother knows, I’m just coming back early from my ski and spa because they tried to sell me timeshares after all. Home and all its problems are still waiting when I get back, but at least there I know who I am and what my life is about.
So why do I feel empty as I think about it?
Chapter Eleven
If time heals all wounds, I’m going to need about a decade. Nothing, absolutely nothing, has gotten better in the two weeks since the fallout with James. I can only be thankful that my phone has been silent, but I realize that Rina might not know I had to leave, and I’m too broken up over what happened to call her. Which is just plain cowardice, but I’m not relishing the conversation I know we’ll have to have.
One thing is for certain: James Harrington was my first and last client. My high-end escort humiliation is over.
A call I won’t be able to avoid forever is to the rehab center to cancel Denny’s treatments. Riding high on the idea that I would have enough to cover it, I’d called and authorized the appointments for Denny’s physical therapy before I’d left for my assignment. In fact, he’s there now for an assessment, and when he rolled out the door and down the ramp to the waiting transport van the center sent for him, the grim determination and hope in his eyes stopped the words before they left my mouth. Since I’ve been home, I haven’t even thought of broaching the subject of the accident or his former…lover, I guess she was. Just one more conversation I can’t bring myself to have yet.
It’s a cruel irony that the only call I want to make is the only one I can’t: I have no number for Harrington’s Ridge, no line to James, even if I wished for it. He’s not the kind of guy you can find listed in the phone book. The compound in the clouds and the dreamland resort feel like just that: a dream I had once. Maybe this is how Cinderella felt when the slipper broke and her pumpkin was smashed to pieces in the road.
I’m trying to take advantage of having the house to myself and get three or four or five good cries in before he gets back. As I fumble into the bathroom for a tissue, I wish for my mother. She might not have known what to do, but she could always make me feel better. She nursed many of my broken hearts—would this one have been different? I realize, though, this story is maybe not something I would share, even with her. The world’s best mother might still be tested by the fact her sweet little girl got her heart broken playing hooker—and her son broke up a marriage. Maybe.
I’m a red-eyed mess. And maybe it’s thinking about my mother that finally gives me the strength to take a big deep breath and pick up the phone. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and start thinking about Denny again. Mom would never forgive me if she knew I let him get his hopes up without even trying to help.
As I dial, I form a half-brave plan. It stings a little, but in that moment I remember James. James had known he needed to climb out of his self-imposed isolation and begin life again. I’m still a broken heap at the base of my own mountain of mess, but something has to give or I’ll collapse. If I call the rehab place and hear what the actual price tag will be, maybe I can begin to figure this mess out.
If the experience with James is going to teach me anything, it has to be this.
Amazing how when I call the rehab center it takes forever to connect to a human being, but the moment you select “billing,” they answer on the first ring. I spread all the details of Denny’s hospital history in front of me and ask to speak to someone about payment. The voice at the other end of the call is pleasant and dry when they request his case number, and then I hear a series of beeps. When the voice returns, the person at the other end is considerably warmer.
“Miss Ellis. Oh, lovely, well, I’m sure you’re calling to check that your payment has been finalized and a
pplied to your account. I’m happy to share this is so!”
Payment? I haven’t made one.
“Hi, Miss, I’m sorry, but I should have been clearer. I’m calling for Denny Trace Ellis, not myself. There’s no balance for me; I haven’t attended physical therapy.”
The voice on the line laughs gently, but with a tone that implies I’m the slow one. “Yes, Miss Ellis, I know this is for your brother. Denny Trace Ellis’s account has been pre-paid in full…as of yesterday, it looks like. In fact, it looks like his entire balance in the hospital’s system has been paid off.”
For a moment I’m so confused that I pull the phone from my ear and check to see that I called the doctor’s office and not…I don’t know, the cable company; at the very least I know we’re paid up there. But there’s no mistake. This is the rehabilitation facility.
I’m afraid to put the phone back to my ear—if this is a mistake, I don’t know how to turn down the temptation of such a monumental error in our favor. I close my eyes and screw up my courage to do it, but then I hear the doorbell.
I tell the woman on the phone I’ll call right back, and walk toward the door, my heart pounding. Through the kitchen window, I see a man on our porch. When I realize who it is, my heart stops altogether.
This moment is a strange mirror of the first day I met him, after I watched him fly down the mountain. We stood staring at each other through the glass then. Now that devastatingly handsome face is peering in, framed through the screen door.
Shaking, look at him with wide-eyes, then open the inner door. We continue staring at each other through the screen, and up close, even though he’s still so handsome, I can see dark smudges under his eyes and the leanness of his lightly bearded cheeks. Like he hasn’t slept. For days.
“Can I come in, Darcy?” That familiar, deep bass voice sends chills over my skin. When I hear it, I know this moment is real.
