by Kylie Parker
“I can't,” he moans. “Stop moving!” he says louder, but I can't. I have no control over my body.
“Fuck!” he shouts a split second before he plunges deeper into my body, driving forward over and over, pulling more from me than I knew I had to give.
Our bodies meld and join, his pounding into mine with welcomed force. When I have given the last drop and I feel his body slacken, I lean into him. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me with him as he falls into the couch.
Neither of us talks for several long minutes. I couldn't talk if I wanted to. Instead, I am content listening to his heart thud against me ear. As my body drifts down from that place of ecstasy, I remember we aren't alone.
“Oh my, God,” I say, rolling off of him and pushing down my skirt. I close my blouse, but without any buttons it falls back open. I glance over and see Dylan still lying exposed.
“Dylan,” I screech, demanding him to cover himself.
He looks at me and gives me a lazy smile, “What?”
“That woman,” I say through gritted teeth.
“She left. It's just us.”
“Oh, thank God. I don't know what you do to me that turns me into some voyeuristic nymphomaniac, but it has to stop. I can't be in the same room with you,” I say with disgust at him and myself. Never have I been such a sex-crazed woman. This man did something to my libido. I should probably go to the doctor and get some kind of pill.
“I do, huh?” he grinned, still not making any effort to cover himself.
I look down, he is still rock hard. I involuntarily lick my lips, thinking about the magic that wonderful rod could do. It jumps and I look up at him.
“Don't look at me like that unless you want to go for round two,” he growls.
“I don't. I just, well, can you please button your damn pants. Honestly,” I say with as much disdain as I can muster.
His eyes drop to my exposed bra.
I look at him with defiance, “You ruined my shirt. I am at least trying to cover myself.”
“Don't. I like it,” he commanded, finally tucking himself in and pulling his pants closed.
“Dylan, I can't go home like this,” I say gesturing to my damaged shirt.
“I know. You're not,” he says, standing and reaching a hand out to me.
I take it, “What are we doing here?” I ask.
“This is my hideout. When shit hits the fan, I come here and lay low for a few days.”
I nod, “Okay, but why am I here?”
“Because the shit has hit your fan, too. Your apartment is going to be crawling with paparazzi. They are going to hound you and I know you don't want to deal with that. For now, we hide. Soon enough, someone in Hollywood is going to get a DUI or knock someone up and we will be forgotten,” he explains as if it should be obvious.
“Dylan, I have a job. I can't just hide out. I have to go to work.”
“Your boss told you to take a few days off, remember?”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Well, what are we supposed to do here?”
He looks at me, grins and says, “I think I have a few ideas about how to pass the time.”
I groan. I am in over my head. This man is trouble with a capital T.
17
Dylan
“What?” I hiss. “She's in the shower,” I say in a rush.
Blake is on the other end of the phone, demanding a few minutes of my time.
“That was fast,” he says dryly.
I am not in the mood, “What?” I ask again.
“There is only one way to fix this and your reputation,” Blake says.
“No.”
“Dylan, seriously, I don't think you realize what this could mean for our future and the future of Hawke Enterprises,” he says, softening his tone a bit.
I sigh, I know exactly what it means. The photo and the gossip being spewed wasn't doing me any favors. Sequestering Alexa here in my escape home would cool the fire somewhat, but this was blowing up bigger than any of my other scandals. The press really liked her and were already pulling up details about her, like where she worked, where she went to college and so on. I can't imagine she wants the world knowing every detail of her life.
“Dylan?” he asks when I don't answer.
“I know. I'm working on it. It's been less than 24 hours. It is going to blow up and then fade away. You know that. It always does,” I assure him.
He pauses before answering, “This time it's bigger. The stories keep citing a source. Dylan,” he clears his throat, “there are some details about what happened on that couch that make it a little bigger than the last time. Our investors are convinced you are truly out of control.”
“Bullshit. I kissed a woman on a couch. I had one drink. She wasn't drunk. Can't you do something to stop this crap?” I ask, desperate to clear the air.
“You know there isn't,” he replies gently.
I growl, “Fine, I'll figure it out. For now, tell the investors to chill out for a minute. Give me a chance to straighten this out.”
“Woo her,” Blake says. “Be that charming guy and get her to marry you. It doesn't have to be permanent. You don't have to spend every waking minute together. We need to transform your reputation. How bad can it be? She's gorgeous and it is obvious you have a thing for her.”
“No,” I say more firmly.
I disconnect and sit on the sofa, staring at the wall. I'm torn. I know I am a ruthless business man who isn't afraid to hurt some feelings to get ahead or in this case, stay on top. But, I can't stand the idea I have to change who I am to please others. It pisses me off. I am too old to have to try and please others.
“Hey,” Alexa startles me as she comes around the couch.
Her blonde hair is wet and hanging loose, falling around her shoulders, creating dark wet spots on the dark t-shirt I gave her to wear. She has on a pair of my sweats that are way too big. To keep them up, she has folded the waist band over a few times and cinched the draw string tight. The outfit swallows her up, hiding that gorgeous body, but I know its there.
“Hey,” I reply, steering my thoughts away from peeling off those layers of clothing to find out if she is naked underneath. The idea has made me hard already.
She plops down on the couch, “This is seriously the most comfortable couch I have ever sat on.”
I can't help but smile. She looks so natural, sitting on my couch, fresh out of the shower wearing my clothes. I stare at her, drinking in her beauty.
“What?” she asks, running a hand over her wet hair. “It isn't like I have any of my clothes or makeup. I am au natural. Unless you will let me go home?” she asks, somewhat pleadingly.
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 goin
g 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.
18
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 deman
d 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.
