by Emily Bishop
I step back away from the steps and look up at all the windows. Some are grimy. I know each individual tenant couldn’t afford a housekeeper, but couldn’t they at least pool together and get one for the building?
Soon, I hear a cracking sound. Isabella wrestles with the downstairs window, then pops her head out. Her face is thunder. “What do you want, Gray? I’m drowning in paperwork.” Then, it’s as if someone flipped a switch. A new look lights up her eyes. She pulls the band that was holding her curls in a messy bun on top of her head and shakes them out. I always teased her for them in school, but they’re beautiful. She flashes me a smile. “Stalking me now?” Even her voice is different.
“I don’t stalk women. Women stalk me. Now come on, we’re going to the travel agent.”
She laughs. “What is this, 1998? Ever heard of the internet?”
Eddie’s paying for the tickets. Only until I can pay him back, of course. I thought he’d book first class, no questions asked, like he does when he travels. But he jumped on the iPad and did a price comparison, then rang all the local travel agents. He’s found some for $100 less than online, and he wants to go down there. Cheap bastard. But I’ve chosen to be the bigger man and overlook it. To be fair, we’ve spent a lot of his money drinking and buying cocktails for eager short-skirted girls, so I can’t knock him too hard. God, we’re going to have so much fun when I inherit. The world won’t know what hit it.
“We’re going now. Bring your passport and ID and hurry up.”
I see a flicker of rage cross her face and expect some heated reply. But she smoothes her face out into a smile and tucks some curls behind her ear. She ducks her head a little, her blue eyes flirtatious. “All right. Give me a couple minutes to get ready.”
“I’m not waiting for you all day.”
She really is hot. I walk back to the car, wishing she wasn’t Isabella Price. She might even then be someone I wanted to hang out with. And to fuck, of course.
“She’s hotter than the pictures,” Eddie says when I get back in the car.
I shrug then look at myself in the mirror again. “She’s all right, I guess.”
Eddie grins. “You two have a deal together. But maybe she and I can have a deal of our own.”
“You?” I look at his leering face. “She wouldn’t look at you in a million years. She’ll marry an accountant or investment banker or someone equally boring. And will keep her chastity belt locked tight until then.”
“So you’re out of luck, too.”
“Out of luck? I don’t want her.”
“She’s hot, though.”
“There are three and a half billion females on the planet, Eddie. Probably a billion of the right age. Half of those bangable, I’d say. Maybe five percent of them really really hot, so that’s… twenty-five million super-hot chicks in the world. What do I need Isabella Price for? Except this whole money game for Finky, of course.”
“I don’t know. She’s just hot.”
“You don’t sound intelligent, Eddie.” My voice comes out sharp. Why am I still studying myself in the mirror? I twist it back into place and find myself tapping over and over on the steering wheel. It sounds too silent. I turn on the radio. Some old pop trash is playing. That’s fine by me. Anything to break through this weirdness.
“Oh, shit,” Eddie says eventually. He looks toward the apartment building.
I look, too. Oh, shit. I think the same but keep my mouth shut. Isabella comes down the steps, a blue dress hugging her every curve. Her hair’s out, big and curly and gorgeous. She has aviator shades and a designer purse and low heels. God, she looks incredible. Is that really Isabella Price?
“Let’s go,” she says, stalking to the back door. She means business. “Drive,” she says as soon as she’s in her seat, before the door is even closed.
“Funnily enough, that’s what I was planning on doing.” I start the car.
Eddie turns in his seat and grins like an idiot. “Hello.”
“This is—” I begin.
“You must be Eddie, Gray’s cousin,” she says. “I can tell by the accent.”
“That’s me,” Eddie says happily. He reminds me of an overexcited dog.
They start talking, and I zone out. I steal covert glances at her in the rearview mirror. She looks so at ease. Not a trace of the awkwardness that was there before. It’s weird, like she’s morphed into a totally different person overnight.
But not overnight, really. What about that call yesterday evening? About how she’d touched herself for me? I thought it was a lie, but now, seeing her like this, I’m not sure it was. She oozes sexiness. Who melted Ice Queen? Did I? I mean, I’ve not pursued her type before. Strong women, yes. Ice women, yes. But they’re always cold-hearted bitches with no values. Ruthless career types who would tread on dead bodies to climb the ladder. They’re tough nuts, but I have what it takes to crack them. They take a lot longer than this though. A lot more effort to make them let their guard down.
And yes, I’ve had women call me to say they’ve been touching themselves and thinking of me. Even sometimes the day after we exchanged numbers. But they’re always my other type. The ones who fall at my feet right away and want to give me their pussies and heaps of adoration right along with them.
But she’s neither of those. She’s something I’ve never pursued before. Icy veneer, yes. Cold-hearted? No. Despite her veneer, I know she has a soft heart. She’s into all her values, and won’t be treading on anyone with those high heels. She’s doing this deal for her father’s legacy, not to get ahead and flaunt her wealth. I know that for sure. And she’s definitely not the second type, the type to give it all away instantly. Or is she? Maybe she is and has just been hiding it.
Let’s find out.
“You look nice today,” I say. A standard second-type response is, “Oooh, thank you so much. Do you really think so? Not as gorgeous as you, Gray.”
She gives me a vibrant smile through the rearview mirror. She looks happy. Truly happy. “I know.”
Huh? First-type response could have been the same, but not with that smile. It would have been a shutdown. A wall thrown up. A tense voice.
Just what in the heck is she?
I crank the music up to steamroll over my confusion. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll just do our deal and never see each other again. So, why do my eyes keep drifting back up to the rearview mirror? Why does my mind push that question back on me again and again—what kind of woman is this?
When we get to the travel agent’s office, I lean back in my front seat, nonchalant.
“You two go in,” I say. “I’m getting something to eat.”
“OK, Gray,” she says, as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek.
Then she gets out, and I watch her nice shapely ass as she walks into the travel agency, like she owns the world.
I vow to myself I’ll figure her out. I know women. I know how to seduce them all, to make them beg for my dick and my attention. I’ve conquered that world. If Isabella Price doesn’t fit the mold, fine. But I’m going to conquer her, too. Maybe there’s another type of woman I don’t know about. With a jolt of excitement, I realize snagging Isabella could open up a whole new world of women for me. I’d have all the techniques to draw them under my spell and have them begging for a taste of Gray.
This will be fun.
Chapter 6
Isabella
DAY 4
I consider sleeping at the office. I would, if I had a comfortable chair. It’s nearly midnight. I cranked the heat up as soon as a chill started to whisper through the building, so now it’s cozy. I have my mug of macchiato and a warm glow inside—I’m going back over all the financial papers, inserting in that fifty million dollars. Adjusting the projections gives me a kind of high I can’t explain. Like I’ve been touched by an angel.
But I mustn’t slip too far into that feeling. It’s obvious what will happen. Grayson will watch me like a fox, sniff out my gratitude, and use it in his
mind games against me. He’ll play the angel and spread his glorious feathery wings and make me worship him. Then fly away and leave me grasping at the sky. No thanks.
My phone buzzes on the desk. His name flashes across the screen, like I called him in my mind and he’s just doing the legwork. I put on my sexy voice. “You’re calling late.”
“I want to see you.” His voice is like an arrow through the phone. Sharp. Direct. Determined.
“I’m not at home. I’m at the office finishing paperwork. It’ll have to be tomorrow now.” I run my hand up my thigh to try to feel some of that intoxicating power I had when I touched myself. “Think you can wait that long?”
“No,” he stresses. “I’m coming to see you now.”
I laugh. “Come see me tomorrow.”
He’s already gone.
I know he’s probably in the BMW already. I see him in my mind. He grips the wheel. His eyes are laser-focused on the road. He’s on a mission. I could feel that in his voice. But what kind of mission?
Who cares? I have to focus on these papers.
But a nervousness creeps up in me. Why the hell is my heart beating faster? No, it’s just my imagination. Is it?
I quickly flick onto Amazon on my laptop. I don’t have my Kindle with me, but I can read my book online. I need a dose of that right now. Desperately. Digital Orders. There it is. Thank fuck. How to Play With Men’s Minds and Have Them Wrapped around Your Little Finger. I scroll down like a madwoman, trying to find something, anything.
You make the dates. You set the times. Be unavailable. If he wants to meet today, say tomorrow. Or the next day. Keep him hanging. When he’s already desperate to see you, make him wait a little longer.
So, I should get out, then. Why didn’t I think of that before? I’ll make a quick exit, and by the time Gray gets here, I’ll be on the way home. It’s only a ride away. I’ll just tidy away these papers and get the hell out of here.
But before I know it, there’s a knock on the door. Oh, shit. What the fuck do I do now? There’s no official back entrance. I guess I could hightail it out of the fire escape, but that would bring me out right on the street, where his car is parked, presumably. He’ll know I’m running away.
I guess I simply have to face it. Right. I’m putting on my sexy, in-control, yeah-you-want-this-but-you’re-never-getting-it face. I take a quick peek at myself in the mirror. Power. Power. I can do this. I can do this.
I flick my hair behind my shoulder and open the door. “Oh, it’s you,” I say casually, like he’d never even phoned me.
His intense brown eyes pierce into me. “Isabella.”
My stomach is fluttering. No way. “That’s a long drive to take at nearly midnight. You must have something very important to say to me.”
He walks forward. I have to step back inside so he doesn’t walk right into me. He makes a beeline for my executive office chair, which is where I had planned to sit to feel in control.
“You’re working too late. Do you ever have fun?”
I lean against the desk and try to hold onto this sex-queen mentality. Even though I want to snap back that I have plenty of fun, thanks, and perhaps he should try a side order of hard work to go alongside his main meal of reckless irresponsibility. “I had plenty fun the other night when I touched myself thinking of you.”
“You had the best orgasm of your life. That’s just with me in your mind. Do you know how much you’re missing out on?”
There’s a warm heat pulsing between my thighs. I laugh like I don’t have a care in the world. What else is there to do? “Oh, really? You have such a high opinion of yourself?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I think maybe you’re all talk. Maybe you claim you dump these women you conquer because you get bored and want to move onto the next one. But maybe the reality is, they drop you. You talk a big talk but can’t deliver.” I smile, teasing him. “Is that right, Grayson?”
“Why don’t you come sit on my dick and test your own theory?”
Oh, fuck. Heat pushes through my pussy. I try to keep my—and it—cool. I look down at my nails like I’m not getting wetter by the second. “Hm, maybe one day.”
“You want it now. Your pussy is wet.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Liar.”
Fuck. Does he really know how wet my new lacy panties are? I feel like he can read my mind. My body. Is he just studying my body language?
I get up and walk to the other end of the room. When I turn, he has his eyes locked on me.
“Don’t be scared. You might scream, but you won’t die.”
Why do I want to run over there and slide his cock up into myself? “Find some easy chick to scream your name. You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No, I haven’t. I can see it in your eyes. You can lie, Isabella, but I can see right through you. Do you want to see it?”
My pussy is burning now. I wave my hand like I’m not bothered in the slightest. “Do whatever you want. It’s none of my business. If you want to get your dick out, go ahead. But I won’t be doing anything to it.”
He shrugs. “OK.” He leans back and places his elbows on the arms of the chair, my chair, looking like he owns the place. “It’s obvious you’re not in a sexual mood. It’s OK. Let’s talk about something else.” He smirks at me. He knows what he’s doing. He knows I know what he’s doing. “I’d give you the best fuck of your life, but if you don’t want it, that’s up to you. So, now, talking about the flights. Do you know what the baggage restriction is on American Airlines?”
“I do want it,” I whisper. I can’t stop myself. My pussy has control over my mouth.
“Oh,” he says softly, with a smile like he’s in full control. I should hate this, but I don’t. I want to feel this, every second, because in some way it makes me feel like I’m winning. I’m beating him.
But that’s a lie, isn’t it?
His eyes are like a magnet, pulling me across the room. He doesn’t have to say, “Come over here.” I can feel it. I want to. I want it. As I walk, I feel just how wet my pussy lips are as they rub against my panties. Oh my god. I just want them off and his dick inside me.
Finally, I’m in front of him. He looks up at me, his eyes playful and serious at once. “Isabella. What do you want?”
I bite my lip. My clit quivers. “Your big dick.”
He smiles a little. “Where? In your mouth? In your hot cunt?”
I could melt to the floor. “In my hot cunt,” I repeat after him, in little more than a trembling whisper.
“Are you sure you want it?”
“Yes!” My voice comes out pleading.
“All right,” he says. “Open your shirt.”
My fingers can’t pick at the buttons fast enough. My new red lacy bra is in full view. He nods appreciatively. “Now pull it down.”
I tuck my bra underneath my breasts, exposing them to him. My nipples are sticking out, so hard.
I think he’s going to dive forward and start sucking on them, but he sits back in the chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Play with them.”
I feel shy. “I…”
“Play with your tits for me, Isabella. Then, if you’re a good girl, I’ll fuck the soul out of you. How does that sound?”
My hands are already all over my breasts. I feel their roundness. I pinch my nipples. My pussy’s flooding. “It sounds good, so good,” I half-say, half-moan.
He unbuttons his jeans, then pulls them open and pulls down his boxers. Oh my god. His cock is huge.
“Oh, fuck, Gray.”
He looks up and grins wickedly. “You’re going to love this big cock.”
“I want it now!”
“Twist those nipples for me. Feel your pussy crying out for me.”
I can’t help but reach for my pussy. It desperately needs to be touched. He reaches out and gives my hand a gentle slap. “No,” he says with a half-smile. “That’s mine. Do what
I say.”
Oh, yes.
“Pull your skirt up and turn around.”
I pull it up to reveal my red lacy underwear, which is now soaked through, my wetness all on my thighs, and turn.
He makes this low growl. He doesn’t do anything for a moment. I’m just standing there, desperate, waiting. Then in one swift movement, he pushes my soaking panties to the side and pulls me onto his cock.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I come as soon as it slides inside me. He grips me tight by my hips and growls again. His strong hands pull me up off his cock, then he rams me back down on it, pulls me off, rams me back on, pulls me off, rams me back on.
“Oh, fuck, Gray!”
“You love it, don’t you, Isabella?”
“Yes!” It’s huge. It’s going so deep. “I love that dick.”
He pulls me harder back onto his cock, so it pushes even deeper into me. I come again, wailing out, as my breasts bounce. Then he stands up, his cock still inside me, and pushes my back down flat. He grabs my shoulder and fucks me harder than I’ve ever been fucked before. He pounds that cock into me, and I can’t help but cry out his name.
“Yeah, baby,” he says. “You love getting fucked by the boss, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Who’s the boss? Tell me about him.”
I pull myself off his cock and go to grab the edge of the desk. Then I bend over.
“You’re running away?” He saunters up to me like he’s honing in on his prey, his eyes wild with excitement.
Then he thrusts his cock so deep in me I can only scream. “God!”
“Now, push back on that dick and tell me who’s the boss.”
I push against the desk, thrusting myself back onto his dick again and again and again. “You’re the boss,” I moan, loving every minute. “And I love getting fucked by the boss.”
“You love this cock. And this cock loves you. You and your tight pussy.”
Then, with one forceful pound of his dick, he sends me flying into space. I’m soaring. Soaring through the stars. “Gray!” I scream out as I come again. “Gray!”
