by Holly Hart
“No underwear?”
Harlan grins. “I pack light.”
“Didn’t seem to stop you having a wardrobe full of women’s clothes…” I grumble good-naturedly.
“Scout’s motto,” Harlan replies, “‘always be prepared’, or have a killer assistant.” He winks at me. “I think I updated it.”
I can’t contain myself a second longer. I lean forward and kiss his cock, right on top. I’m fascinated with it. None of my boyfriends ever had anything close to Harlan’s size.
After them, I didn’t bother much with men. There didn’t seem to be much point.
Then again, if I’d known men came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, maybe I’d have had a different opinion…
But it’s this particular shape and size that I’m going to make come, if you know what I mean.
I reach out and close my fingers around Harlan’s cock. They barely fit. In fact, I can’t reach all the way around, not without both my hands. It’s hard to believe that something this big could possibly have fit inside me.
But it more than just fit…
“It’s not a work of art,” Harlan chuckles. But even he can’t disguise the slightly labored nature of his breath.
“Maybe not to you,” I reply. “But to me it’s fucking gorgeous.”
Harlan’s skin is boiling hot. I can’t resist it any longer. I lean forward and let the tip of his cock slide into my mouth. He lets out a deep, delighted sigh as I envelop him.
“Fuck…” He groans, “…that feels good.”
I lift my lips from his meat for a couple of seconds. Just long enough to say: “I told you so…”
And then my mouth dives back down. I don’t want to be parted from Harlan’s cock, not even for a second. I want to make up time, make up for all those years I spent denying myself this type of exploration.
Harlan digs his fingers through my hair as if he’s preparing to hold on tight and never let me go. He needn’t bother, because I’m not planning on going anywhere. Not if it means leaving this thing behind!
I swirl my tongue around the tip of Harlan’s cock, and graze my fingernails up the skin on the top of his thighs. I feel his ass cheeks contract, and his hips buck up a few inches, involuntarily. I smile with pride at the effect my attention is having, and take a couple more inches of Harlan’s incredible length into my mouth.
“I’m not going to come, though,” Harlan warns me – even if he sounds a little less sure than he did a few minutes ago. “We made a deal, and I’m not going to break it.”
“Whatever you say,” I… say. At least, I try to. With Harlan’s cock in my mouth it’s more of a confused mumble.
Part of me is doing this because of it’s a game, and the other part because it’s getting me seriously turned on. I’m so wet I know Harlan could fuck me without as much as a drop of lube. But now, that’s me getting ahead of the situation…
…And way, way, ahead of myself. All I want to concentrate on is this moment – right now. Hell, I’m not even doing this in the expectation of something in return. It’s just nice to do something for a man who –
“You’re incredible, Skye,” Harlan pants from up above me. “How did you learn to –?”
“– To what,” I end his sentence for him, tearing my lips away from Harlan’s cock for a few long seconds. “Suck cock like this? Just call it woman’s intuition.”
“I’ll call it whatever you want … ” Harlan growls with glassy eyes. He digs his fingers into my hair and pushes me down, “So long as you never stop.”
I do as I’m told. If Harlan wants to give me orders like that, then he’ll find I’m a very willing student!
I keep going until my jaw is sore. Harlan’s fingers tighten around my head, and I reach up and play with his balls. He jerks when I do that, and I think I have him – I think he’s about to come, but I should be so lucky.
Harlan groans as I pull away for a second time. I look at him with daggers in my eyes.
He throws his hands up in the air. “What?” He protests. But he’s got a twinkle in his eye that tells me he knows exactly what I’m mad about.
“You’re not going to, are you?” I spit. Not angry, more irritated.
“What?” Harlan winks. “Come?”
“You know,” I growl.
Harlan shakes his head and shrugs. “I told you so…” He says.
“Yeah, but…” I grumble, climbing up and off my knees. “I didn’t think – ”
“– think what?” Harlan grins back. “That I was serious? Or was it that you didn’t think I’d be able to resist your charms…”
Yes, that – the second one.
I stay silent. Harlan picks up both our champagne flutes, and hands mine to me. I shoot him yet more daggers as I raise the fine glass to my lips and take a sip. I gladly let the bubbles run down my tongue.
I might like Harlan’s cock, like it a whole lot, but the after taste? Not so much.
“I told you, Skye. I don’t get to come before you do. That’s a promise.”
I scrunch up my nose, “Ass.”
Chapter Eighteen
Harlan
By the time we arrive in New York, I’m a different man. But as it always fucking does, real-life hits. Sometimes, as much as I suddenly hate the idea, the business has to come first. My plan to change Skye’s life has to be put on hold for a couple of days.
At least until I’ve got my plans in order…
My PA walks into my office, and suddenly I’m catapulted into the real world once more. Just last week, this company was the most important thing – other than Poppy – in my life. Now… now, all I’m dreaming of is the look on Skye’s face when I finally coax her to orgasm.
However, since I can’t do that right now, I glance up at my assistant, and decide to do something else in the meantime. Perhaps … plans to take Skye out to dinner.
I’ve got a place in mind, and I know she’s going to love it. This girl deserves the finest things in life, and I’m going to treat her to them.
“Hey, Jen – get me a reservation at Mabel’s, will you?” I ask.
Judging by the look on Jennifer’s face, she knows as well as I do how hard it’s going to be to meet my request. Mabel’s is the hottest new brasserie in town, and as far as I know, it’s booked solid for months.
Then again, there are some perks of being Manhattan’s richest man, and not having to worry with mere details like that is one of them.
“Sure thing, boss,” Jen replies, hesitantly. “But –”
I let my head tip forward, until my chin’s resting against my chest. I can feel the heat of Jen’s worried stare on my skin. I run my fingers through my hair, rest my knuckles on my forehead, grimace.
“Ah, screw it,” I mutter.
“Sorry, boss?”
I flick my fingers irritably. My mind races. Skye and I made a deal (even if she did her best to distract me from that particular agreement by getting down on her knees) we made a deal that I was going to stop trying to control her life. I guess this is part of it.
No more springing surprises. No more dinner reservations out of the blue.
We’re in this as a team.
“Don’t worry, Jen,” I say, shooting my assistant a smile. “I just need to ask my friend first. Hold tight.”
Jen’s blonde hair shimmers as she nods her agreement, but I catch her staring at me before she leaves my office. I know what she’s thinking. The Harlan Wolfe that she knows – the one I was before I went away with Skye – isn’t the kind of guy who asks anyone, well…
…Anything.
But I guess I’m not that guy anymore. He’s buried inside me, somewhere deep down – and that’s where he’s got to remain. Locked away, locked away with the man I used to be – a killer, a man who would do anything for his country.
I reach for my cell phone. I chew my lip, wondering whether Skye will be annoyed if I disrupt a session with a patient by calling. I decide to text.
I type: “What do you w
ant to do tonight?”
I guess Skye isn’t in the middle of a session, because I get a reply in just a couple of seconds.
“Since when does Harlan Wolfe ask little ol’ me anything?”
That’s easy. The answer is just one word. “Yesterday.”
This time I wait longer for Skye’s reply. In fact, she doesn’t text me back at all. Instead, a phone rings on my desk – my private line. I stare at my cell phone screen, prepared to ignore it as I wait for her response, and then I remember that I gave Skye my personal number.
I reach up and snatch for the phone so fast my hand leaves a trail of smoke behind it. I press it to my ear, suddenly cursing my eagerness. I should have played it cool…
“I like this new you,” Skye says without as much as a hello. “He’s different.”
“Yeah, well,” I grumble good-naturedly. “A little bird told me that I had to change my ways.”
“I’m not little,” Skye teases back down the line. “I’m curvy in all the right places.”
“You sure are,” I agree. “So, tell me then. What do you want to do tonight?”
“I want to cook for you…” Skye says without pausing, “…my place, at seven?”
I growl happily down the line. “It’s a date.”
Skye giggles happily down the line, as if she can’t quite believe the conversation we’re having.
“Okay,” she says. “Wait, what about Poppy? Will she be okay on her own?”
“Still on her trip,” I reply.
My mind flicks back to my daughter. She’s barely been out of it for a minute all day. I wonder what she’s doing. I know she’s in safe, capable hands – hell, I’ve got one of my own private security men shadowing the school party at all times, just in case – but I can’t help but worry. I guess it’s just what dad’s do…
“Where is she, anyway?” Skye asks curiously. “Isn’t she a bit young for a school trip?”
I cringe in my seat. “Okay, don’t laugh at me when I tell you this…”
“Why would I laugh?” then there’s a pause. “Wait… Are you telling me –?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Poppy’s on a school trip down in Lake Tahoe. Fancy school, I guess.”
I hear something rustling on the other end of the line, and my overactive brain decides it is Skye’s fiery red hair brushing against the microphone. I wish it was brushing against my face.
“That’s why we went there to your cabin, isn’t it?” Skye accuses me, but in a joking tone of voice. “So you didn’t have to be half a continent away from her. Stalker…”
“I’m hanging up now…” I say, unable to hide a grin. “Besides, I shouldn’t take up so much of my employees’ time – especially when I’m paying for it!”
“Tell yourself what you want –,” Skye says, but I put the phone down before she gets the chance to spit out the rest of her sentence, shaking my head with amusement.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. All I can think of is spending time with Skye, in her apartment, and having a normal couple’s night in. I haven’t had anything like it in so long that the idea’s beginning to feel like a vacation. A staycation, anyway.
Hell, I feel like I’m going to be an awkward teenager!
Just as I’m about to leave my office and head to Skye’s the phone on my desk rings. Unfortunately, it’s not my beautiful girl on the other end, this time. I think about not picking it up, but I haven’t changed that much. Wolfe Capital’s still my baby, and as long as I’m in charge, I won’t be able to tear myself away.
“What is it?” I grumble.
“Hey boss,” Jennifer says anxiously. “Sorry to interrupt –”
“You’re my assistant,” I say, relenting – and softening my tone – so that she knows I’m not mad with her, just the interruption. “It’s not interrupting when you do it.”
“Um, okay then,” Jen says, hissing with relief. “I’ve got a Mister, uh, Garibaldi, on the line. He says you’ll want to talk to him, and, I guess he had this number, so…” She tails off.
I know why. I told her if this particular gentleman was ever to call, she had to put him straight through, no questions asked.
My blood runs cold as Jen’s information hits home. I lean back in my chair and suck fresh air through my front teeth. What the hell does this mean? If Garibaldi is calling me now, then today is going to turn into a really bad day.
Why would he ring me now, after all this time?
I made him his money. The deal was he’d leave me alone. But apparently the terms of that deal have changed.
“Boss –?”
I snap back to reality, realizing that I haven’t said anything in a few seconds. I know that Garibaldi isn’t a man who will take a cold shoulder from me lightly. In the circles he runs in, loyalty is prized above everything.
But I don’t have any other choice. There are some things in life that are more important than money – a lot more, and Skye Warren is one of them.
I made a promise, and I’m not going to be late.
“Tell him I’ll call him back…” I say, thinking it through slowly. My teeth scrape across my lower lip as I practically wince with the pain I know this decision is going to bring down upon me, “…Tomorrow.”
“But – ”
“Jen, he can wait.”
I step out of my limousine a block away from Skye’s flat. I waved my driver to stop after I saw a small flower stall manned by a single old lady. Honestly, it’s not the kind of place that I would ordinarily shop in, but I think – know – that Skye will prefer it this way.
“That’ll be eight seventy-five,” the kindly florist says, smiling at me as she hands me a bunch of long-stemmed daisies. Simple, but elegant.
The woman must be in her mid-60s, but she’s got a twinkle in her eye as she asks: “I imagine a good-looking young man like you must have a hot date tonight?”
“You could say that,” I grin, handing over a twenty. “But I’m nothing, you should see her!”
She nods. “You’re like my husband. Never could take a compliment, bless his soul.”
“You just got to keep trying,” I wink, waving away the change from my bill. “Keep it.”
“Oh, thank you, young man,” the wrinkled florist says, her eyes witnessing a kindness. “But my Frank’s been dead a couple of years now. The cigarettes took him.”
“I’m – I’m so sorry,” I reply. “I wish –”
“Don’t fret,” she says, shaking her head and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You couldn’t have known an old woman’s sorrows, could you?”
“I guess not,” I say softly. I really feel like I’ve wedged my foot about as far into my mouth as it will fit.
She shoos me away, flicking her fingers good-naturedly. I get the sense the old lady is feeling about as awkward with her sudden display of emotion as I am.
“Now go on, don’t let an old woman bring you down. Go see that lovely lady of yours. And loosen your tie, will you? You look like you’re heading to a funeral!”
“Thanks for the advice…”
I smile, and make my departure, finger reaching for my knotted necktie. I get a flash into my future, and hope that Skye and I get to live an equally long, happy life with each other. Then I wonder how I would cope if she was snatched from me, like the florist’s Frank…
… or Ashley.
Easy there, tiger.
How am I thinking that far ahead already? I’ve only known Skye what, a few days? However, I’m already picturing this white picket fence future for us – a happily ever after, when we haven’t even had our happy for now.
A harried-looking businessman rushes past me in a fifty dollar suit, with an arm full of papers that threatens to scatter in a cloud behind him. I have a bright idea.
“Hey!” I yell, flagging him down. “Stop.”
He squints at me, his face lined with stress. “Did I drop something?” He asks, looking around wildly, as if expecting to see a flurry of
paper flying out in a trail behind him.
My fingers loosen my tie knot, and I pull it off my neck, holding it out toward him in offering. “Friendly piece of advice, buddy – dress for the job you want, not the one you’ve got.”
The man glances down sheepishly, looking at his ill-fitting suit – at the way the hem of his pants swallows up his square-toed dress shoes hole, instead of breaking neatly on top.
“What are you?” He mutters, “Some kind of Brooks Brothers Santa Claus?”
I struggle to contain a laugh.
The businessman squints at me, rearranging the stack of papers swaddled in his arms. I see the gears of recognition turning over in his mind, “Hey,” he says. “I know you.”
I shake my head and start to turn away. “Not today, buddy,” I reply.
“No – you’re that guy! Wait – do you have any advice for me? It’s just, I’m in a bad spot, and –”
I spin back and toss the necktie toward my unexpected confidant. It flies through the air like a gymnastics ribbon, and lands neatly on the man’s shoulders.
“I gave it to you, buddy. Dress for the job you want. Then you might want to think about making the new you match the way you dress, inside as well as out. Think about it.”
A few minutes later I turn up outside of Skye’s front door at precisely 7 o’clock on the dot. Not a minute early, not a minute late. I realize that I’m so desperate to see her I’m almost trembling.
It’s a good sign, I guess. It’s my gut telling me I made the right decision by following my heart.
I ring Skye’s doorbell, and hear the tinkle as it rings out in her apartment. A second later, I hear a squeal, and the sound of running feet – first heading one way, then the other, as though she’s panicking about what to do next.
I hear the slamming of a closet door, and then a rumbling, thudding noise as she tosses something – or things – inside.
And then, finally, after I’ve been waiting there at least a couple of minutes, Skye finally opens her front door.
“You’re early!” She spurts, a few strands of her hair flying messily around her face. “I’ve barely even started –”
