You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance

by Scarlett Avery

  Yes, please.

  It’s really unfair how Barrett grows hotter and hotter by the minute. How the hell am I supposed to resist him?

  “Fuck, he’s gorgeous,” I growl.

  Frustrated, I pull down the panties to my ankles before removing them altogether and flinging them across the room.

  “Finally,” I sigh.

  Now, I have free rein to pleasure myself.

  Of course, I'd much prefer it was Barrett's tongue or his fingers bringing me to the brink. Or the way he fists his big hard cock and uses it to rub my clit until I come, screaming his name at the top of my lungs.

  Bloody hell, I miss that.

  Fantasizing about our past filthy encounters is my only salvation.

  I push two fingers inside my yearning pussy and start pumping them in and out of my wetness.

  “Ahhh,” I mewl.

  Dear God.

  I’m so bloody slippery, it’s ridiculous.

  “Ohhhhh. This is so good,” I pant, nearly out of breath.

  As my horniness kicks into gear, I spread my legs further apart. Better. Now I can take things further. I spank my dripping pussy a few times. Each slap brings a wicked tingle to my neglected clit. Barrett loves punishing me like this. Just the thought of him doing so causes my pussy to contract as if I’m sucking the life out of his cock as he releases his cum inside me. Damn. My whole body quivers when my fingers glide up and down my pussy. I alternate between pushing inside my wetness and playing with my engorged clit.

  There’s only one person on my mind right now.

  One man I fantasize about.

  One man I want so much it scares the shit out of me.

  He’s the only one who’s ever made sex a freaking out of body experience.

  Barrett.

  My impatient finger glides over my hard clit and circles its hood over and over again in a languorous rotation that threatens to make me lose my bloody mind.

  Shit, shit, shit. I’m there.

  Nearing the end, I press my middle finger with laser precision against my clit and close my fingers in a punishing pinch against my left nipple.

  “Oh, fuck,” I shout.

  I'm so loud.

  I really don't care if someone were to hear me as I chase my pleasure.

  On the contrary, I'd welcome the attention. There's nothing quite like the thrill of getting caught.

  Flashbacks of Barrett fucking me in public places with an unsuspecting audience nearby does me in.

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” I cry out as I succumb to the ecstasy of my release in a trembling heap.

  Despite the air conditioning, I’m sweating like crazy.

  My eyes roll to the back of my head as I relish the second and third wave of my orgasm. I look down at my quivering body and notice that my hand is still tucked between my thighs that are squeezed together so hard it’s nearly cutting off my circulation.

  Slowly, I pull my fingers out from my slobbering wet pussy. Wow. I marvel at how coated they are. My sleekness is so abundant it runs down the back of my hand.

  As I’ve said before, it’s been too long.

  No matter how hard I try, this man will always be my undoing.

  With a huge satisfied grin on my face, I attempt to get back up to my feet. But my shaky legs don’t cooperate and I fall back down.

  “Bollocks.”

  It takes me a few tries, but I manage.

  I take stock of my appearance in the mirror and I’m shocked by the rosiness of my cheeks. My eyes catch the sexy discarded knickers and I can’t help but explode in laughter.

  “I guess, I’ll keep these after all.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Barrett

  It’s no surprise that I wake up in an irritable mood.

  When I checked the time on my iPhone and noticed it was only five o'clock in the morning, I tried willing myself back to sleep, but to no avail.

  Why?

  Two words.

  Charlotte Wentworth.

  I want that woman so much, that my permanent state of arousal is affecting my bloody sleep.

  Who am I kidding? It's affecting everything.

  Last night I fisted my cock, thinking of pounding Charlotte’s sweet pussy. I wanked so fucking hard, I thought my cock was going to fall off.

  Did it bring me an ounce of salvation?

  Of course not.

  Even after three vigorous wanks, I still can't chase her away from my thoughts.

  Blimey!

  For the past half hour, I've been staring at the ceiling trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to work alongside her and remain professional.

  Professional?

  Fuck, I despise that word. It really translates to utter frustration.

  I roll to the side and check the time again.

  It’s five thirty-five. Still early, but close to the time I get up in London.

  “Maybe I should get some work done,” I grumble.

  I pull the sheets off my naked body, jump to my feet and hurry to the bathroom. After taking a piss, I brush my teeth and splash ice-cold water on my face.

  “Better,” I exhale as I take in my reflection in the mirror.

  Just when I think I can handle my shit, the thought of Charlotte’s silky smooth naked skin under crisp white sheets makes me hard again. She’s so incredibly vulnerable and beautiful when she first wakes up in the morning.

  Fuck.

  I throw the face towel to the floor, turn the lights off and head to the desk. I turn on my Mac laptop dead set on having a productive morning before heading off to Christos’ office.

  “Thank God I have a busy day in front of me,” I mumble.

  Without that, I'm pretty sure I would spend the entire day wanking, thinking of that woman sleeping in a bed—alone, I hope—only a few floors below me.

  I start by knocking off a series of unread emails. I'm on a roll when my phone rings. My eyes shift down to my screen and I pick up.

  "Good morning, mate," I say. "What are you doing up so early? Don't you know Greek roosters are still sleeping?" I joke.

  Derek laughs. "Good morning, Mr. Ascott. I've been up for an hour now."

  "Are you emulating my bad habits?"

  "It seems you're rubbing off on me," he chuckles.

  I can't help but laugh. "You're a smart kid. Keep it up."

  "On a serious note, I just can't shake off this case.”

  "I hear you," I say.

  "Before I continue, I should ask the important question."

  "Which is?" I inquire.

  "Have you had your fix yet or should I call back later?"

  I laugh. "Wanker."

  It's no secret to my staff that I’m barely human until I’ve had a shot of adrenaline. In my world, that’s two cups of double espresso.

  "Not yet, mate. So, proceed at your own risk," I chuckle.

  "Yikes. I've been told." It’s Derek’s turn to chuckle.

  "What's on your mind?" I ask.

  "Did you get the voicemail I left last night and the text messages I sent?"

  "I did. I just can't believe we’re still in the dark."

  "It was so frustrating, boss. Alek was fuming. No matter how many times he begged, none of the guards at the prison were willing to talk. Even though I don't speak a word of Greek, it was obvious they were hiding something, but we just don't know what. Alex and I have been texting back and forth for the past hour—”

  "He’s already at it?" I ask, surprised.

  "Yes. He refuses to give up. He certain there's more. And to be quite honest, all this smells quite fishy."

  "I tend to agree with him. We’re going to have to dig deeper. If everyone is clamping up like this, that means there's more to the story and it's our job to figure it out before it explodes in our faces," I say.

  "My thoughts exactly," Derek agrees.

  “I did a little research last night and although no one has said the word so far, the writing is on the wall. There can only be one reason why tha
t girl was sent straight to jail.”

  "We’re dealing with an unregistered prostitute." Derek says that more as a statement than a question.

  "I know the laws are very different here, but it's the only logical answer."

  "Alek was talking about that on the ride back.”

  "Let me go back to an article I was reading last night. It’ll all make better sense. Let me send you the link."

  "Sure."

  My intention was to open a browser and do a quick search, but instead I click on the tab where my Facebook page is already open. My eyes catch a headline under the trending box. Dread washes over me.

  "Jesus Christ," I say when I land on the article.

  My eyes bulge out of my skull, unable to believe the words I’m reading.

  "What is it, Mr. Ascott?” Derek asks. I can hear the panic in his voice.

  “Are you in front of your laptop?"

  "No, but I'm walking towards it right now. What's going on?"

  "Go to the Daily Mail’s home page.”

  “Give me a second.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m there— Blimey!” Derek just read the explosive news.

  “This doesn't bode well for us, mate. These shocking photos just took an already messy case straight down the gutters of hell.”

  “Holy fuck. This is a disaster,” Derek says.

  "Things are going to get very ugly today."

  "What are we going to do? How do we retaliate?" Derek asks.

  "We don't," I state firmly.

  "We don't?"

  "Not yet. Right now we’re at a deficit. We need more information and we need it fast. Until we have hard facts, we shut the hell up."

  CHAPTER 14

  Charlie

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Go away," I mumble.

  I roll my sleepy body to the side and pull the sheet over my head, forcing myself to dive right back into my X-rated dream. Yes, it involves Barrett. I start to drift back to sleep when I hear it again.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  "No seriously, go away."

  The pounding doesn't stop.

  Ugh. For fuck’s sake.

  “Miss Wentworth,” a man on the other side of the door shouts.

  Wrong suite, mate.

  "Miss Wentworth, this is Mr. Kostas Voyagis. I’m the day manager here at the hotel. This is fairly important."

  Huh?

  "Miss Wentworth, are you in there?" The loud knocking resumes. "Please open up.”

  What the hell?

  "I have a very worried gentleman by the name of Terrence Adams desperately trying to reach you. We’re told he's your assistant." Terry? “Mr. Adams has called the switchboard several times already," the man I now know as Mr. Voyagis shouts.

  Did something happen back in London? I ask myself. With my eyes still shut closed, my brain kicks into gear, trying to figure things out.

  I'm so exhausted everything is fuzzy.

  "Miss Wentworth, if you don't open up, I'm going to let myself in. We want to make sure nothing has happened to you. Mr. Adams is worried," Mr. Voyagis repeats.

  "Holy shit," I whisper softly.

  Confused and still groggy, I flip over to face the windows before pulling the sheets off my naked body. "I'm coming!" I shout as loudly as I can.

  Slowly, I stretch my legs out before jumping off of the high mattress. I quickly run to the bathroom to grab a dressing robe to cover up before rushing to the door. I fling it open to be greeted by a bald man—most likely in his fifties—flanked by two very beefy guys who look like security guards.

  "What’s going on?" I ask with a frown.

  My eyes bounce from one man to the other. The closed expressions on their faces isn’t a precursor to good news. Sheer panic washes over me.

  "Good morning, Miss Wentworth."

  "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Good morning Mr. Voyagis," I answer in a clipped tone.

  "I apologize for waking you up," the hotel manager says. "It seems you aren’t picking up your phone and we were unable to reach you via the hotel phone."

  "I silenced my mobile and I took the room telephone off of the receiver. I just needed to sleep," I explain.

  "I can understand," Mr. Voyagis smiles warmly. "It seems there's an emergency. Mr. Adams requests that you call him immediately."

  "I'll take care of that right now. Thank you so much."

  "Have a good day, Miss Wentworth," Mr. Voyagis says.

  “You too,” I answer back.

  With a nod, all three men turn around and head down the corridor.

  I shut the door behind them and rush to the desk where I left my phone. I turn it on and I nearly have a heart attack when I see the time.

  "It's nine o'clock," I gasp. "How the fuck did that happen?" I rub my hands over my eyes. Bollocks. The stupid alarm didn’t go off.

  I force myself to focus and dial my assistant’s number.

  "Terry, it's me,” I say when he picks up.

  "Charlie. Finally."

  "Okay, just for the record, you're scaring the shit out of me. What's going on?"

  "I gather Mr. Voyagis paid you a visit?”

  “Yes.”

  “You haven't seen the news yet?"

  "No."

  "Well, allow me to sum it up for you. Armageddon has descended upon us. This is the end of the world as we know it. Just when you think Hell can’t freeze over—because it’s just a bloody expression—boom, God proves you wrong."

  "What are you talking about?" I ask impatiently.

  "Jason Belvedere fucked us all up, Charlie. His dick will be the end of us.”

  "Oh, God," I exhale. I don’t know how bad things are yet, but if Terry has to call on a stranger to pull me out of bed, then whatever Jason did is a bloody catastrophe. "Is Timothy Raines already breathing down your neck?"

  "Not yet, but it’s coming,” Terry says. “It’s the middle of the night in New York City so he’s still oblivious. When he does find out, hold on to your fascinators because the shit will hit the fan."

  "Jesus Christ, Jason doesn't need a publicist, he needs a freaking nursemaid," I mutter.

  “Amen to that. Alas, you’re his only hope.”

  “I’m good, but something tells me not even my trademark white voodoo magic can work in this case. What are we dealing with here, Terry?”

  Sure I could turn on my laptop and find out for myself, but I have a feeling it’s best to ease into this news.

  "Before I answer that—”

  “Are you beating around the bush?” I ask. "Because if you are, this isn't the time."

  “No, there’s someone else you have to contend with. And he’s in a particularly sullen mood.”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “King Barrett is looking for you. And he’s furious.” Oh, no. “He’s summoned you, but you’re missing in action. He’s tried your mobile numerous times. Since he doesn't know your room number—because the hotel didn’t divulge that after they upgraded you—he's been calling me nonstop. After I hung up with him, I tried calling you, but it was impossible to reach you. At my wit’s end, I asked the hotel to intervene."

  “I’m going to be severely late for Barrett’s meeting. The man is going to have my head on a spike," I lament. He absolutely abhors tardiness.

  "Well, it's worse than you think."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know how brooding King Barrett gets when he's upset." Does he ever. "I wouldn't be surprised if you get a spanking over this."

  I have no doubt Terry is just saying that metaphorically, but my brain instantly goes there.

  I thought my solo sex session from last night would satiate me for longer than a few hours.

  I was so wrong.

  So incredibly wrong.

  "English, please," I say to get the conversation back on track.

  "Barrett moved the meeting ahead because of this shit storm."

  "What?" I yell.

  "Yeah. Th
ey’ve all been sitting in a conference room at that Greek lawyer’s office since eight o'clock this morning.”

  "Bollocks. That’s over an hour ago."

  “Exactly."

  "Bloody hell, Terry," I say. “Why on earth didn’t you get the hotel to come and wake me up earlier? I wouldn’t be this late," I snap.

  "Exhausted, I turned off my mobile at five o'clock in the morning to try to get a few hours of sleep on the sofa in the conference room. We've been at it nonstop. Along with the other publicists, I've been living at the office. And, let's not forget, we’re two hours behind Greece, which means it's only ten past seven here. In the end, Barrett called the office to leave a message and that woke me up. That's why it took so long for him to reach me," he explains.

  I feel so guilty now. “I'm so thankful you guys are giving it your all. I'm sorry for being short. You must think I'm the worst boss ever."

  "Not at all. This fucking mess has us all on edge."

  I pinch the bridge of my nose at the onset of a horrible migraine. I let out a heavy sigh and ask a question I already know I don't want the answer to. "How bad is it, Terry? Rip the Band-Aid off and put me out of my misery by telling me."

  "Let’s just say that Hugh Grandmont looks like a choirboy compared to Jason." My stomach drops at Terry’s words.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER 15

  Barrett

  I look down at my Patek Philippe watch for the nth time.

  Fuck. It’s past ten already.

  Where the hell is Charlotte?

  I inhale deeply, flaring my nostrils to calm down. The thought that she spent the night with another man and that she’s still in bed has my blood boiling.

  “Barrett, where is that publicist?” Dialina asks impatiently. Her question snaps me back to reality. "This is not very professional of her. We’re all waiting.” She drums her fingernails against the wooden table.

  "It’s unlike Charlotte to be late," I defend.

  “As if this situation wasn’t dire enough, now we have to wait around for a tardy team member,” Dialina chirps.

  "Charlotte is always extremely punctual. Something must’ve happened. I'm sure she'll be here any minute now. I've already contacted her assistant and I know him well. He'll make things happen."