by Liz Crowe
“Oh baby, I’ve been wanting to fuck that mouth all night.” He’d figured out how much she loved serious dirty talk and used it with that rough, naturally sexy voice to perfection. She cupped a palm beneath his balls, loving the hard, hot contraction of them in her palm. She slid her mouth off, licking around the edge of the head, lapping at the slit at the top, making him moan and thrust his hips faster. Her finger slid down, caressed the soft skin between his balls and ass. He was so sensitive there. She loved taking him to the edge with it.
Arching back over his magnificent rod, she sucked it down once more, letting it bump against the back of her throat before relaxing and taking him all the way.
“Holy shit, Turner. Do it. You know what I want.”
She released him, stared into his eyes and slid her finger into her mouth. He watched her, eyes narrowed, breathing shallow then groaned in earnest when she slid her slick finger around the edge of his ass, stopping just short of insertion, wanting to hear him. Needing it.
“Bring that mouth back down, baby. I need to fuck it.” He clutched his shaft, groaning while she teased the tight, puckered hole. “Oh shit, yes!” She slid her finger in, slow and deep, and lowered her mouth back onto his cock. She pulled out, then back in, just the way he liked it, all the while sucking, releasing to lick, then swallowing him all the way once more.
“Fuck my ass, that’s right. Like that. I didn’t bring our special new toy, but that finger is, holy shit, baby, I’m gonna—oh God!” His ass clenched around her finger and his whole body arched and contracted. Hot liquid shot down her throat.
After a few seconds she pulled her finger out slowly and released his cock with a quick lick to the still-swollen head. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” He sucked in a deep breath.
“Nope.” She wiped her lips. “Just me still.” She fell down beside him. “But I still won’t marry you.” She wondered why she kept saying this. Realized that part of her wanted it more than anything. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
He tugged her close, kissed her, his eyes hooded and body relaxed. ”It’s okay. I’m persistent, remember? I’ll ask again.”
After about ten more minutes the car stopped and he climbed out. They’d emerged in front of the most exclusive bed and breakfast in the state, on the shore of a small private lake. He draped his arm around her shoulder as they walked to the front door. “I’ll ask again,” he reminded her.
She pushed him away. “I heard you the first time, dammit. Now let’s get inside. I think you owe me.” She smacked his ass and bounded up the steps, unwilling to let him see the longing in her eyes, hoping he would ask again so one day she could say yes.
Dustin sat, sipping coffee and watching the sun rise. He’d slipped out from under the soft sheets and Helena’s warm embrace, smiling as she mumbled and flopped over on her other side. After a freezing five-mile run along trails and beside the lake, he’d come back, gotten coffee from the smiling B&B owner and managed to observe Helena asleep for a few minutes. After deciding to let her rest, he took his coffee to the adjoining room with a giant floor-to-ceiling window.
Memories of the one disastrous meeting he’d arranged at the country club for her with his parents crashed in on him, making him wince and flush with anger. His mother was such a cold bitch. He knew that. But seeing it through Helena’s eyes had really made him realize how bad she was. His father had been polite, if noncommittal, drinking his way through dinner as usual. But his mother had pulled out all the stops, asking questions about Helena’s parents, her “schooling”, where she “vacationed”, and all sorts of shit she already knew the answers to.
Helena had kept a tight grip on her temper but the even tighter grip she kept on his leg under the table didn’t bode well. By the time they’d said their awkward goodbyes over dessert—his mother’s parting shot about “I think you should consider the fruit plate, dear” while eyeballing Helena’s cleavage ringing in his ears—she had been nearly apoplectic with rage. Her silence spoke volumes as she was not the kind of girl to stay quiet when she had an opinion. It scared him frankly and he hoped he had not ruined everything by putting her in such a shitty situation.
He’d been shocked when she turned to him as he walked her to her apartment door, resigned to a perfunctory good-night kiss and a night alone. Her voice had been low, her eyes dark and stormy. “I want you to come in here and fuck me so hard I can forget what just happened. Think you can manage that?”
And he had, hard, as she liked it. But it was bitter and ugly and the fight afterward had not been fun. Finally, as they stood, chests heaving in anger, staring at each other across her small kitchen, he was ready to agree to anything. So when she said, “Don’t ever put me in the same room with those people again or I will kill you,” he agreed, sweeping her into his arms with apologies and kisses, hoping he could manage it, considering he was bound and determined to make her his wife.
To say that life as Helena Turner’s boyfriend was tumultuous constituted understatement in the extreme. He sipped, smiling to himself as his body reacted to what he wanted to go inside and do to her as she woke. The extremes of her moods were wide and at times breathtaking. She lived and worked with a passion matched only by her enthusiasm for sex. But she expected a lot of the people around her, and when someone disappointed her at work, or in his case, at home, there was hell to pay. But he loved it. Absolutely fucking reveled in it, using his own much calmer nature to cool her, to temper some of her more egregious outbursts of anger and frustration.
And “home” was a misnomer as well. She refused to move in with him, keeping that shitty apartment like a badge of honor, staying over at his condo on the weekends but insisting on sleeping “in her own bed” during the week. So he stayed with her, mostly. And since he’d never been a guy who gave much thought to his surroundings as long as his basic needs were met, he didn’t care. Because she met every single one of his needs, physical, emotional and mental with her constant questions and challenges about brewing, his company and how to make it better. And her body matched his in a thoroughly perfect and sometimes scary way.
“Dustin?” Her voice behind him made him stand and stretch, his cock already tingling in anticipation. “I’m lonely…where did you go? Jesus, what is it, six a.m.? Get your ass back here.”
He grinned at the sight of her. “Think you can just boss me like that, woman?” He leaned on the door frame, drinking her in with his eyes. “Because you can’t.”
“I’m not bossing, dear. Just suggesting…” She let the sheet fall aside, revealing her completely naked body. Bent one knee and reached down to touch herself. “You know, suggesting that you get your sweet ass back here and help me out.”
He grinned, yanked off his shirt and shorts and dove into the warm nest of sheets and Helena. The frustration at her recent rejection already forgotten in the amazing smell of her skin and the lovely sound of her moans as he did what she suggested, for an hour or two before they emerged for the “breakfast” part of the bed and breakfast weekend.
*
“By the way,” he mentioned as he drove back to the Grand Rapids in a rented SUV. “I want to interview you.”
She tucked her sunglasses up on her head and stared at him. “Why? You a beer blogger now? God help me.” She slid her Ray-Bans down and leaned back.
“No. For a job.” His heart pounded. It was part of his new plan. If she kept insisting on not marrying him then he wanted her to bring her marketing magic to his company. Together they could make Prufrock the number one brewery in the state, hell, in the region, and he knew it.
“I already have a job.” Her voice was even, but he sensed tension behind it. He put a hand on her bare thigh, pleased at the way she relaxed at his touch.
“Yes, but you hate it. You said yourself you wanted to interview across town with Ryan’s outfit.” He glanced at her, knowing his mention of a rival, larger distributor would get her going.
“Oh
shut up about that already. I told them no, remember?” She slumped down in her seat.
He grabbed her hand and kissed it, threading his fingers through hers. “Okay then. I want you to work for me. No, scratch that. With me. As Marketing Director.”
“You don’t have a marketing plan, Dustin. Why do you need a director? Your sales guys are good, mostly. We’ve discussed this.”
“I want you to create the plan with me. Hire better sales guys. Fire the ones who are lame. Be the fucking boss. You’re ready and I need it.”
He could feel her eyes burning holes in him even though he kept his own gaze trained on the freeway. He let her stay quiet for about five miles, then released her hand. “You have to interview though. I’ve posted the job and have two or three pretty impressive resumes already.”
She smacked his leg. “Asshole.”
“Yeah. So you’d better study up and impress me. I hear I’m hard to please.” He looked at her, happy to see the wheels turning in her head. “Call my secretary. She’ll set the appointment.”
She stayed silent the entire rest of the way home.
Chapter Nine
Helena stared at herself in the mirror the following Friday morning. Her color was high, her hair perfect, her body crammed into yet another too-expensive suit. Terror froze her like a deer in the proverbial headlights. She had her interview today. With Dustin, her boyfriend of the past year—the man whose parents despised her and without whose voice and touch she would likely die most days. Not that she let him know that. She ran shaking hands down the skirt, admiring the way her classic hourglass shape gave her a sort of Marilyn Monroe-like stature.
“Better go for the fruit plate, dear,” that bitch of a skeletal excuse for a mother had whined at her the first and only time she’d been subjected to Dustin’s parents. She’d been mortified, embarrassed beyond belief, and swore to break up with him the second he got her home. But had been overcome by a different kind of need. The kind whereby she needed him to prove that he didn’t care that she was a size-twelve career girl from the wrong side of Grand Rapids. He had, and then some, but she’d picked a massive fight with him later, for reasons still beyond her. And yet he remained. Stubborn bastard, always asking her to marry him and now, this crazy bullshit. An interview—all formal like. To be the marketing director of one of the most successful craft breweries in the Midwest?
She sat, her feet seemingly frozen and unmovable. She had several appointments before making her noon meeting with Dustin in his office, a place she’d never seen before. He claimed it had a panoramic view of the brewing floor, just like he wanted it. Professed no need to have her near his parents again, just as she demanded. Claimed he loved her, wanted her forever. What was her ever-loving problem? She’d fought his pull exactly one week before letting him fuck her. Thinking that would be it, he’d consider the challenge risen to and be on his merry way. But he’d stuck. Gotten her expensive gifts, like Coach bags and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Taken her on romantic B&B vacations and even threatened a trip to Germany in the fall for Oktoberfest, for “research” he claimed. It made her insane. But every day the thought of not having him around, of not seeing his sexy text messages or flat-out raunchy emails, of not knowing he waited for her nightly made her slightly ill.
Her phone buzzed with a text. She glanced down to make sure it was him. Good morning, glory. I look forward to our meeting today.
She smiled in spite of the vise that seemed to grip her chest and shot back, Well, I have a busy morning. I’ll try not to be too late and mess up your afternoon golf game.
Yes, good plan, he wrote back nearly immediately. Wouldn’t want to upset your future boss.
Keep calling yourself that, Prufrock. And see if I even show up.
She grinned and shook her head at his next message: I realize I am a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen with you but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. If you are.
Tell you what, she bit her lip, wondering for the millionth time what had possessed her to get this deep with him, Maybe I’ll let you harass me, as long as you promise to do it the way I like it.
Oh, I know how you like it, baby. See you at noon.
*
Her morning passed in a blur of nervous energy and she found herself standing in front of his secretary’s desk, sweaty-palmed and pissed off that she was so uptight. The woman looked her up and down, slowly, and pointed to a chair. “I’ll tell Mr. Prufrock you’re here.” Helena sat, took in the various awards for brews and packaging and whatnot. Tasteful photos of Lake Michigan, lighthouses, farmland and of downtown Grand Rapids graced the walls. She jumped when the massive wood door opened and Dustin strode out clutching a stack of papers dotted with colorful charts. His green eyes snapped with anger as he slammed the papers on his assistant’s desk. The woman gave him a look, then nodded toward Helena.
The smile he shot her made her fillings melt. Damn him. She was like some kind of drooling Pavlovian dog whenever he as much as looked at her. But she stood, tossed her hair back and held out a hand. “Mr. Prufrock. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Of course, Ms. Turner. Please. Come in.” He put a hand in the small of her back and it felt perfect. “Oh, and Mrs. Richardson, you can take the rest of the afternoon off. Enjoy your Friday!”
Helena gasped at the huge room. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling books, photos, trophies, medals and other awards. Plans for what looked like expansion were spread out on a huge antique drafting table alongside a giant industrial-looking steel desk that sat in front of a huge glass wall. His laptop was open there, with a small printer, a cup of coffee and a small framed photo. It was the two of them at a recent beer festival. She gulped, ignored it in favor of gazing out over the expanse of the busy brewery floor. The hustle and bustle was breathtaking. The huge stainless steel fermenters, large brew house and what looked like twenty people walking to and fro, laughing, carrying out their duties. Music breached the window barrier. The Clash. She smiled.
“So.” She turned at the sound of his voice. He sat, fingers tented together in front of his lips. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. He was clad in dark denim, and a soft-looking button-down white shirt. “Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Turner. Tell me what you would bring to the marketing effort here at Prufrock?”
She slid into a soft leather chair opposite him and crossed her legs. He wanted to play this little game, no problem. She’d come loaded with pertinent questions, a few facts about his recent sales slump and ideas for a new line of lagers that would cost a shit load to add to his lineup but could be a whole new niche for the company. She gave her background, slowly, turning a little back and forth in the chair, letting her hand slide down her neck as she spoke. Satisfied with the way his eyes darkened, she let her fingers trail down to the tops of her breasts, exposed just enough in the vee of a silky camisole under her suit jacket. She uncrossed her legs and let him get a good look at her bare legs then re-crossed them, sat up and glared at him.
“Tell me the truth, Prufrock. You tell me why I should leave a job that is about to make me sales manager of the largest beer and wine distributor in the state to come here so you can ogle me every fucking day.”
He startled, straightened up. Sat back and crossed her arms, pleased at the way he squirmed in his seat from what she knew damn good and well was a giant hard-on. “Well?”
“Jesus, Helena, do you really think I’m doing this so I can ogle you?” He stood, walked over to the large window. “You have got a giant inferiority complex. Can’t you just accept that you are awesome? You are the most creative, assertive and perfect person for this job.”
She watched his jaw clench and felt her heart go along for the ride. Dear God, she loved him. “Well then, you’re going to have to make a few commitments.” She stayed seated, fighting the urge to go to him, hold him, let him do whatever he wanted including pull out that damn engagement ring again.
He turned, eyebrow raised in question. “Like what?”
Dustin grinned, stuck his hands in his pockets, looking like the adorable man she kept resisting.
“And one last thing.”
He nodded but stayed quiet.
“I get to come in this room anytime I want and do this.” She rose slowly, took the five steps between them, slipping out of her jacket and into his arms.
“Well, I’m not sure about the budget thing but this last request…” He laughed as she tried to pull away. “I’m kidding, Turner, Jesus. You know I’m gonna turn this whole shit-pile of marketing over to you, gladly, and you will have carte blanche to do whatever the hell it is you need to do.”
She smiled, molded into his long, lean body and kissed him, loving the smell and taste of him. The way he knew all her buttons to push and which levers to pull to calm her down when needed. He parted her lips with his tongue, maneuvered her back until her ass connected with the drafting table. Reaching up under her skirt, he broke from her lips and whispered, “My only requirement, Ms. Turner…” He found her clit, pressed against it while sliding some combination of fingers into her dripping wet pussy. “Is that you always come to work like this.” She groaned, gripped his shoulder as he pressed in deep, kissing her with an intensity that she loved.
“Dustin,” she whispered as he pulled his fingers out of her and slid them into his mouth. “I want you, right here.”
“Oh believe me, that is on this meeting’s agenda.” He grinned, unzipping his jeans and spinning her around, yanking her skirt up in one quick motion. She spread her legs, tilted her hips. “And I plan on doing it to your specifications. A lot.” He slid into her in one long, smooth stroke, fisting her hair and making her back arch, forcing a moan from her lips. They’d forgone condoms several months ago after exchanging health reports. She took a birth control shot, and had for years.
