by Kylie Parker
I sigh, “Alexa, we have to talk.”
“No, we don't. Jessica gave me the rundown. I'm a hussy, you're a womanizer and we did some kama sutra tango on that couch. Right? Is that what you were going to tell me?”
I laugh, “Basically. I want to protect you from all of that out there.”
Her face softens a bit, before she nods, “Thank you. I can't stay here, Dylan. I have a life. We hooked up. That's it. I need to go back to work and I'm sure you have about a million things to do. You don't have to protect me.”
I feel the moment my brain clicks. It's like being on a train and the track suddenly splits and you are on a different course headed towards a destination you never wanted to be headed towards without having any say in the matter.
“Take the week off,” I blurt out.
“What! I can't do that!”
“No, I mean, work from here. I have some contracts I need fixed and drawn up. You would technically be working, but not in the office,” I say, the wheels in my brain spinning, hoping there is a need for some contracts. If not, I'll make some up.
“Dylan,” she starts.
I hold up my hand, gently shake my head, “I'm your top and probably only client. I am demanding your undivided attention this week. Your boss will understand. Just think of all of the billable hours you are going to rack up. What do they call it? Making it rain?”
She laughs, “Something like that. Dylan, shacking up with you isn't going to help either of our reputations.”
“I don't care. Nobody has to know.”
I can see her pondering the idea. I want to demand she accept my offer, but this new course I'm on tells me to tread softly.
“Fine, if you can get my boss to go for it, I'm all yours for the week.”
The words do something funny to my body. I feel like there is a little piece of me that has grabbed onto those words and is holding them tight. She' s all mine. I grin, damn straight she is.
“Great, it's settled. Now, I am going to order some dinner and then jump in the shower. We can watch a movie or whatever,” I say, suddenly realizing I have no idea what this woman likes. I don't even know what she likes to eat. “Uh, Chinese? Italian? What would you like for dinner?”
She laughs, “Dylan, I eat ramen noodles most nights. Just order what you normally would. I'll eat just about anything,” she says, winking at me.
Again, my cock jumps to attention. She notices.
“Sorry,” I choke out heading out of the living room before I take her right there on the couch—again. I need to practice a little more finesse. No more couches.
13
Alexa
I don't want to get out of bed. Like the couch, this bed has got to be the most comfortable mattress my body has ever had the good fortune of resting on. This is what money can buy, I muse. This is why I need to get it together and climb the corporate ladder. I want the finer things in life—on my own dime. I lay in bed, alone, replaying the events of last night. I had expected to sleep with Dylan, in all ways.
We watched some documentary on television while we ate, sipped wine that of course, went perfect with the lasagna he ordered and then talked. It was weird. He suddenly seems like a normal guy, a real gentleman. Last night could have been chalked up as a date—except we were in his house and I have no clothes.
I look at the clock and realize it is way early. I consider my options, get up and see if there is some coffee in the house—I really hope so or I will have to leave my posh prison and get some. That is non-negotiable. Or, I could lay in the pillow a.k.a my bed for the week and chill. That is actually a very appealing option.
I need coffee. Considering I have no clothes and those sweats are ridiculously big, I pull the t-shirt over my naked body and call it good. It hangs mid-thigh, making me reconsider the ugly sweats. Technically, it covers more than my dress did the other night, so why I feel a little self-conscious about it I don't know.
I pull open my bedroom door, pop my head out and listen. Absolute quiet. Good, he's still asleep. I walk bare footed down the hall and into the kitchen where the sunlight is pouring in the bank of windows on the east side. I take a moment to soak it in. It is stunning. The appliances are reflecting the sunlight, which makes me blink a few times, but as soon as my eyes adjust, I continue on my mission.
I see a Keurig and practically hoot with glee. Thank God. I can manage to put a cup in the thing and push a button. I start opening cupboards, looking for a cup. I find one and prepare to make my coffee. My eyes widen when I see the carousel filled with K-cups.
“Oh my, God,” I mutter. I am in coffee heaven. It's like having my own little Anna right in my kitchen. Every flavor of coffee imaginable is on display. My mind is reeling, trying to decide what flavor I want. I lean an elbow on the counter and spin the carousel around and around.
“Fine,” I say out loud.
I give the carousel a good spin, close my eyes and put out my finger. Whatever cup I land on I will go with. Hell, it isn't like I'm going anywhere today, I can have a second or a third cup!
With my choice made, French Vanilla, I pop it in and wait.
“Good morning,” his husky voice cuts through the sound of the machine whirring.
He's right behind me. I suddenly feel very exposed. I'm wearing only his t-shirt and nothing else and I mean nothing! I'm sure my ass is hanging out with my bent position on the counter. I quickly stand up, take a deep breath and brace myself.
I slowly turn around, only then realizing my hair is probably sticking up and out in every direction, “I, was, I was, um,” I can't speak. He is wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and it is very obvious he is very happy to see me. Or maybe it's morning wood, but there is no denying it's there. His stomach—holy hell. It is like something out of the movies. He has rock hard abs. Clearly, he works out. I want to run my hands over that large expanse of tan skin. Yesterday I hadn't bothered to open his shirt. That was a mistake. I missed out on all of that.
He steps closer, closing the very small distance between us. My eyes drift up to meet his. He doesn't talk, he only stares. It is an unnerving gaze that feels like he is staring into my very soul.
“God, you're beautiful,” he mutters, grabbing my hips and yanking me forward.
My initial reaction is to laugh in his face. I have seen myself first thing in the morning, beautiful isn't a word I would ever use, but I can't laugh. His response is guttural. He isn't lying. I can tell by the look in his eyes he believes it. The thought sends a hundred vials of hot lava pouring through every vein.
He moves one hand up to my face, brushes my mussed hair away and slowly kisses my neck. I know I'm a goner. He found the spot. It's the spot that guarantees the kisser a free pass to fuck me any which way he pleases. I can't stop the moan that escapes my lips as he gently licks, kisses and then suckles the sensitive area.
His lips move up my neck to my ear where he lavishes it with the same attention he gave my neck before kissing down my jawline. By the time he reaches my lips, I'm more than ready to feel his tongue against my own.
Of course, he doesn't disappoint. Our past two makeout sessions I have always felt he was holding back. Not this time. This time he is a savage beast. The gentle kisses have turned into an intense onslaught of my mouth, to my neck and then back to my lips. His hands are running up my shirt, down my legs and covering as much ground as they will reach.
I can't keep up. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. I yelp when he puts his hands under my butt and lifts me. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around him.
“No panties,” he murmurs.
I shake my head to answer his question. Talking is not possible as he walks and his dick rubs against me. He deposits me on the massive center island, scoots me forward so I am right on the edge. His hands run up my sides, under the shirt and find my bare breasts. He is in a fervor and isn't gentle like last night. There is what can only be described as a snarl a second before I feel him yanking on
the shirt, trying to get it over my head. I comply to his unspoken demands and lift my arms.
He takes a quick moment to look at me before running his hand between my breasts, down to my flat tummy and stopping just above the place I really want that hand.
I look at him, waiting, anticipating what he will do next. I don't wait long. He uses one hand to free himself and another to push my legs open before he pushes in. The invasion takes me by surprise. I'm so wet he glides in with no resistance. He pulls out and slams back in, the force pushing me back a couple of inches on the island.
“Stay!” he shouts, continuing to pound into me.
I scramble to do as he orders and drop back to my elbows, giving me better traction on the smooth granite counter.
“I want to fuck you long and hard,” he says, not slowing down.
I can't answer, but nod my head. I want that too, but for now, for now I need this. I need him driving into me with such force my body slides across the counter despite by best effort.
He growls, pulls me forward and grabs my hips. His fingers are pressing into my flesh to the point I know there will be bruises, but I don't care. I'm not moving away from him now. He has me in a vice.
I can feel the little spiral of ecstasy starting deep in my belly. I don't get the chance to relish in it for long, before I can demand he slow down, I am up and over the crest, tumbling down the other side of one of the best orgasms I've ever had.
He shouts something unintelligible and I can feel his body buck involuntarily against me with his own release. I pull him in close, nestling his face against my bare chest. I don't know if this is basking in the afterglow in a traditional sense, but it sure feels good.
“I'm sorry,” he mutters against my boobs.
I gently push him back, “For?”
He grins, “Fucking you on the kitchen counter. Not exactly my most suave move.”
I smile, drop my voice to a low whisper, “I liked it.”
He groans and I can feel him growing hard inside me again, before he steps away, leaving me feeling empty and very exposed.
I reach around trying to find the shirt. He picks it up off the floor and hands it to me, “Thanks,” I mutter, quickly sliding it on and jumping off the counter.
“Did you make coffee?” he asks, walking around the island to where the Keurig sat.
“Yep, do you want me to make you a cup?”
He looks at the machine, “I can have someone bring us some.”
I roll my eyes, “Or I can put a little thingie in there and you will have a cup of coffee in hand within a minute.”
He smiles, “I guess that may be a little easier.”
I grab my cup and am pleasantly surprised to discover it is just the right temperature. Note to self, push button, have a quickie and then drink coffee.
“So,” I say, sipping my coffee and leaning against the counter, “Any plans to get me some clothes? While this is a very comfortable outfit, I don't think it is conducive to us getting any real work done.”
His eyes drop to my bare feet before slowly making their way up, “I like it. In fact, I want you again,” he says in a low voice.
A jolt of electricity tickles my nerve endings. I want him again. The man is worse than crack. I'm addicted. I need an intervention.
“Don't worry,” he interrupts my thoughts. “I'll behave.”
I smile, but deep down, I'm crushed. I don't want him to behave. I want him to ravish me.
Want More? Click here to read Man Candy Book 3
14
Alexa
It's Monday morning and I am in a shit mood. I spend a little extra time getting ready, making sure I am completely frumpy. I want to hide away and by disguising who I am, I can do that. I spent the entire weekend bemoaning my terrible judgment. I didn't leave my apartment even once. Instead, I went on a cleaning tear. You could eat off my damn floor and lick my bathtub and not have to worry about a single speck of dirt.
I am on a mission, today. I know Dylan is going to have his little minion demand I go to his office for one reason or another and I am not going to comply. I will be buried under a mountain of work or in meetings. That will teach him to play with me and toss me out like last week's trash.
I hesitate before going into the coffee shop, not sure if Anna is still totally freaked out by what I said. Fuck it, I need coffee and I no longer care what anyone thinks of me.
I get in line, waiting my turn, when Anna sees me, she smiles, “Hey! I think you're on time! This has to be a record.”
I am so relieved she isn't being weird.
“I know,” I smile back. “I think I have turned over a new leaf. I have had some kind of aha moment or whatever the hell Oprah calls them,” I giggle.
She punches in my order without me having to tell her. I pay and move to the side, like a good little customer. The whole scene is ridiculous. We humans get in line, wait up to 15 minutes to get our coffee order, exchange a few pleasantries and then move to the side without being told. We are well-trained.
As I stand there waiting, those little hairs start to stand at attention on the back of my neck. I sense him. My body starts this slow burn, knowing he is near.
“Oh no,” I groan, afraid to turn around. I will absolutely die if he is standing behind me, staring at me like he did just a few short days ago.
I decide to ignore it. I'm not going to turn around. When my name is called, I rush forward, grab my coffee and beeline for the door, averting my eyes from where I know he is sitting.
I keep walking, full speed ahead. I am not going to look back. I get to the corner, violently smash the button, demanding the light change. The others who were already there standing, waiting to cross look at me like I have lost my mind. Obviously, they had already pushed the button.
I sip my coffee and scan the newspaper machines lined up on the sidewalk. My eyes bulge and I spit coffee all over as my eyes land on one of the gossip rags. I quickly look left and right to see if anyone recognizes me. Judging by the way they are looking at me, they think I escaped some facility. They don't know I'm the girl on the couch.
I step forward, staring at the picture in horror. There are two pictures, side by side. The first, is Dylan practically mauling me the second is moments after the orgasm that rocked my world. The pictures are in black and white and very grainy, but my face is visible. That is my O-face. Someone captured me at my absolute most vulnerable moment and splashed it all over the cover of some shitty paper.
I can't stop staring at the images. My eyes finally move away from the picture of my face to the headline. “Most Eligible Bachelor Caught Making Out with Mystery Woman: Is He Off the Market?”
I roll my eyes, before muttering, “Hell no.”
“I wanted to talk to you before you saw those,” a voice cuts in. It was the voice I had been dreading and dodging.
I groan and look at him, standing there in his expensive suit, perfectly tailored to fit his wide shoulders. He looks a little embarrassed, but not nearly as mortified as I am.
“Can't you do something?” I say in my haughtiest tone.
He shrugged, “You're the lawyer. You know this is all perfectly legal. Freedom of the press and all that.”
I shake my head, “I see it as a violation of privacy.”
A thought popped into my head and I panic. I start fishing in my purse for change. I have to get that paper. What if the cover photo isn't the only one that was taken.
“Relax,” he says, gently putting a hand on my arm. “The story is vague and there aren't any other pictures. Whoever took that picture followed us outside. They saw you leave with your friend. We didn't leave together. The story will die down. It will be old news by tomorrow.”
I nod, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying. No more pictures. There aren't any pictures of him with his hand up my skirt. Thank God.
I can't take my eyes off the paper. If my boss or anybody I work with sees this, my reputation is going to be ruined. I w
ill look like a hussy, sleeping with the wealthiest man in the city or possibly the world, to get ahead.
“Don't give it another thought,” he says, cutting into my downward spiral.
I look at him, “That's easy for you to say. You don't have to work your ass off to prove you are more than a pair of great legs and even better tits. I have to dress like this,” I say, waving a hand over my atrocious outfit, “to hide my body so the men at work will look at my work instead of wanting to bend me over the closest desk.”
He looks down at his feet, then meets my eyes, “I wanted to bend you over a desk the first time I saw you in that get up. You aren't fooling anybody with those hideous clothes and ridiculous glasses. You are a beautiful woman and it doesn't matter if you put a paper bag over your head, men are going to want you.”
I look at him. I don't know whether I should be pissed or flattered.
“Whatever. I have to get to work—if I still have a job that is,” I mumble. I turn to walk back to my corner only to find the light has already changed. Everyone has already crossed and I have to wait another cycle. “Dammit!” I shout at the world before attacking the big silver button on the pole again.
“Alexa, I am sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position. I sent you home alone to stop the gossip,” he said, standing beside her again.
“You what?” I ask, flummoxed by the real reason for him denying me that night.
He shrugs, “That stupid bitch from the dance floor, the one that took that picture, she followed us outside. My security took her phone, but it was too late. She had already uploaded the picture to her Instagram.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
So, he wasn't a complete jerk. It didn't change the fact he was still a little bit of a jerk or the fact he may have cost me my future at the firm. He was dangerous. I needed to get some distance between us—literally.
