Filthy Gorgeous

by Knight, Jodi

  She bites her lip and smiles. It’s beautiful. “You’re insatiable, Slade. I don’t think I could take any more of your tongue. Okay, you’re number one. Happy now?”

  I twirl a wisp of her hair around my finger. “I don’t know. Maybe. Tell me why I’m number one. I mean, I already know, but it’s always good to hear it from somebody else.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I guess because, in a roundabout way, you saved me from my future. You’re alright, Alex.”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Alright? Christ, Ella. I’d fake blindness to touch you inappropriately, and you tell me I’m just alright?”

  Talk about ego bruiser.

  She hooks a long, silky leg around my waist. I rub my hand along her thigh and squeeze her bare ass cheek. Just lovely.

  “You’re … I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind. I mean, when I saw you for the first time in your office, I thought to myself, he’s cute. Charming, too. And then you were a real jerk.”

  I lean in and kiss her. It’s a slow, deep, lingering kiss—one that she won’t forget anytime soon. Snaking my free hand inside her gown, I grope around for that warm, familiar flesh and gently knead her left breast. I’m about to dive in and suckle on her perky peak, when she grabs my hand.

  I brush my nose against hers. “I’m not a jerk, Ella. I must be doing something right to have built a harem of eight women.”

  Her smile dims to apathy. “Seriously?”

  I see where she’s going with this. She wants reassurance that not all guys are like Jockass. That would be a lie. If I enlighten her to the dark reality of the male mind then I’ll never taste that beautiful pussy again.

  Sighing, I roll onto my back. I wish those frigging rubbers would hurry the fuck up so we can get back to business.

  “You may not agree with the harem, but know that it’s a respectful arrangement. I’ve always been honest with the Sladies,” I pull her in closer. “Things are different for guys. Tyler was an asshole; a real shit. But you can be an awesome girlfriend—a dream girl even—and the only reason a guy inevitably tires of you is because you don't have the ability to morph into a different woman every night.”

  I don’t expect her to understand. I’m being honest when I tell her, “I don’t want to be that guy. That’s why I prefer to keep things simple. Uncomplicated.”

  She’s silent for a few minutes. I can tell she’s trying to process what I’ve just said. Finally, she asks, “When was the last time you dated a girl exclusively?”

  Good question.

  “When I was in my early twenties.”

  “And how long did it last?”

  I give a low whistle. “Two weeks.”

  “Two whole weeks,” she says sarcastically. “I’ll get my colleagues to add a health warning disclaimer to the article. I don’t want some unsuspecting female winding up in therapy. What happened to break off such a long term romance?”

  Spring Break in Miami happened. I smile to myself and recall a week of sunshine and endless vodka-fuelled wet T-shirt competitions.

  Need I say more?

  But I’m not going to tell her that. “Forget it. Let’s just say that it’s better I remain a bachelor. Life is too difficult otherwise.”

  “Why?” she probes further. Christ, I feel like I’m on trial.

  I wrap my arms around her warm body and squeeze tightly. “Let’s just say I have a tendency to attract the crazies. They look at my status—the money, the car, the charm—and within a week they’ve turned into some kind of baby-crazed ring hunter, harboring all kinds of fucked up expectations that I can’t live up to.”

  I feel her smile against my chest. “So, you’re saying that women take your physical appearance and outward status, and project the image of their ideal man onto you. Then they expect you to fulfil their impossibly high expectations? Like Mr. Darcy?”

  I never thought of it like that before. “Yeah. Kinda. Maybe.”

  “I think I understand. So, behind that impervious, God-like façade, you’re just as vulnerable as the rest of us?”

  Huh?

  She continues. “It’s a revelation, Alex. It means you’re human, after all.”

  I chuckle. “You really think so? That’s no good.”

  I roll her onto her back and untie her robe. “Must … re-engage … God mode …”

  She laughs and guides my hand away. “No, I think I like you as a human. I expect the Sladies do, too.”

  I press my finger against her lips. “You’re right. But I’ve put them out to pasture. The harem is no more, Ella.”

  She gives my shoulder a playful jab, but her eyes still question me. “Really? Why?”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh. I’m not going to tell her about my father’s ultimatum, or the fact that no girl has managed to make my dick stand to attention like she has since she walked in to my office. That would be too dramatic, don’t you think?

  So I keep it short, sweet, and truthful

  “One just wed another guy. One wanted to marry me. One wanted to castrate me. Need I go on?”

  She pulls away from me and her face is full of surprise. “Sounds exhausting. Anyway, I guess I’m kind of glad.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She nuzzles her head against my chest again. “Yeah, because we wouldn’t be here now. And honestly, you’re a great distraction from that asshole.”

  See, what did I tell you?

  I fucked him out of her already. She can’t even bring herself to say his name. I weave my fingers through hers and plant a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

  “Tell me, what was Carrie talking about earlier this evening? She mentioned something about the museum?”

  She plumps up her pillow and turns away from me. I swear I saw her grin before she turned on her side. “Oh, nothing.”

  Nothing?

  Bullshit. ‘Nothing’ is girl-speak for ‘something.’

  “Tell me,” I tickle her stomach until she turns back to face me.

  “She just thought I had a thing for you, that’s all.”

  I knew it.

  I saw the lust dancing in her eyes the morning we first met. I skim two fingers over my chest. “It was the torso, wasn’t it?”

  She chuckles and kisses my bare arm. “You wish. Like I said, I thought you were cute, but I meet a lot of cute guys. And they’re normally assholes. The way you looked at me was just so intense. It was like you were devouring me. I felt naked. And when you guessed my bra size, I thought—wow—here’s a guy who knows what he’s doing. I wanted to slap you, too, but after being neglected by Tyler for so long it felt nice to feel so desired. And also confusing.”

  Desired? Is she kidding me? I don’t think there’s a guy in Manhattan who would kick Ella Bryant out of bed.

  Unless it was to fuck her on the floor.

  “Confusing?”

  She runs her fingers over my chest. “I was with Tyler for so long. In my gut, I knew things were wrong, but I ignored the signs. I should have ended it a long, long time ago. I don’t even want to think about how many girls he screwed behind my back. But I just can’t get something out of my head.”

  I gently squeeze her arm. “Carry on …”

  “I keep asking myself, why did he ask me to marry him? I just can’t get my head around it.”

  Okay, you’re not going to like the answer to this, but hear me out. Ladies, it’s simple. He cheated because he could. He’s a dog, and it was easy for him because she ignored it. Sure, he might change, right? Riiiight. Or maybe she could go lay down in the middle of the nearest interstate and let him repeatedly drive over what’s left of her heart.

  Does that sound like fun? No, I don’t think so, either.

  I kiss her forehead and stroke that luminous blonde hair. “Ella, I’m no cactus expert, but I know a prick when I see one. The guy’s a jerk. No analysis needed. No need to feel guilty about defacing his posters. No need to feel bad about the moving on.”

  She rolls on top of me and smiles
. Our lips find each other and I run my hand under her robe and squeeze that ass. God, I can’t get enough of her. I’m helpless. Out of control. Like a lemming jumping off a cliff.

  Dah-dih-dit. Dah-dih-dih-dit.

  Can you guess who that is?

  Sounds like my back up has arrived.

  ***

  I love luxury hotels. You have a whole platoon of willing staff at your beck and call, 24/7. Need more towels? Press two. Ran out of ice? Press three. Rubbers? Call the butler. Not only did Theo save my dick from sudden-death, he anticipated that we might need some late-night sustenance, so he went that extra mile by securing us a tray of erotic treats. We have chocolate-dipped strawberries, oysters, and champagne.

  Ella loves strawberries. They’re her favorite fruit. We’re eating them right now. Correction; I’m eating them right now. Straight off of her glorious tits. I slide my tongue over the curve of her ladybumps and savor the juicy sweetness.

  De-fucking-licious.

  My lips blaze a trail of chocolate across her ass cheek. She giggles and pushes herself onto all fours. She’s completely naked and it’s driving me fucking crazy. I swipe another chocolate-dipped strawberry from the trolley and smear the gooey sweetness over her clitoris.

  I swear to God, I’ll get through this bowl within the next hour if it kills me.

  ***

  Playing Mr. Rebound is fun. It’s a win-win situation. Let me explain.

  Ella just came out of a long-term relationship. Like all women, she wants and needs emotional support, kindness, understanding, attention, affection blah blah blah; a whole IV of it and stat.

  I’m the drug dealer. I’m hooking her up with a confidence boost. Dishing out the compliments. Telling her she’s beautiful. Unlike the Jenny Alderson episode, I’m not lying. I mean every fucking word. My altruism is paying off like a loose slot machine; I’m getting laid like Mick Jagger in a sorority house.

  I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve screwed in the past twelve hours. Maybe seven? Maybe eight? Who knows?

  We fell off the piano last time so we’ve finally hit the sack to get some rest. We’re spooning, naked. I’m the big spoon, by the way. It’s better this way. I got a free hand to fondle and I intend to use it. The morning light creeps through the drapes and I push my face into her mane of hair. She smells delicious. Fruity, sweet, and fresh, like wild berries. Christ, I could just eat her all over again.

  Maybe I’ll do just that …

  I trail my fingers along her bare arm and poke her back with my unfurling erection. She laughs and rolls over. “Seriously? Again?”

  I wiggle my eyebrows. “Ella Bryant, I’d have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” My voice softens as the final word escapes my lips.

  Christ, did I really just say that out loud? Yep, I must have, because she’s gazing at me with twinkling eyes. Like I’m a hero, like I’m the most handsome and desirable guy in the world. She strokes my hair. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  It isn’t the first time I’ve uttered those words in the throes of passion, but this feels different. She may not have come out and said it, but she’s challenging me. You have to read between the lines. I’ve dated enough women to know that Ella wants to know where this is going.

  And my answer to that is I don’t know. What I do know is that lying here with Ella is comforting, and so, so goddamn arousing. I’ve got a stiffy again. I could happily spend the rest of the week in this hotel suite, looking at her.

  Touching her.

  Tasting her.

  Isn’t that good enough for now?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Last weekend I entered this hotel a broken man.

  Now I’m checking out with the hottest woman in New York on my arm. Excuse me for sounding like a goddamn pussy, but I feel like I’ve grown wings and I’m flying. I’m excited. I want to gain her trust. Know her secrets.

  It’s like my brain got a boner.

  Or my boner got a brain.

  Go figure.

  It’s a beautiful day and we’re walking back to her apartment. We stop at a café for a gelato and I’m struggling to conceal a smile. Ella chose Rocky Road. I read an article once that noted women who favor Rocky Road show a strong inclination towards the exploration of anal sex.

  I’ll be sure to road test that theory next time we’re naked.

  Yeah, you heard me. I said next time.

  I figured I’d give this one-woman harem business a try. No more Sladies. No more crazies. My dick knows what he likes and he’s made his stance pretty fucking clear over the past few weeks. He’s all about Ella. Judging by the way she rode my dick around that hotel suite, I’d say she’s into him, too.

  Look at us. We can barely keep our hands off each other. I lick a stray glob of ice cream from her cheek and kiss her. We can’t stop smiling, like one of those smug, smiley couples on cosmetic dentistry billboard ads.

  We tumble through the door of her apartment, our lips still glued together. We’re totally engrossed in each other, and then she pulls away from me. “Did you hear that?” Ella lowers her voice. “I think it’s coming from the kitchen.”

  I shrug and push my blooming erection against her waist. “Carrie?”

  She shakes her head. “She was supposed to go out of town this morning.”

  We make our way into the lounge, and Ella’s mouth rounds like a pail.

  And then I see why.

  It looks like Hurricane Katrina just ripped through this place. The pink bouquet of roses from Jockass is in shreds. Petals are strewn around the room, shards of broken glass cover the coffee table, and DVDs have been ripped from shelves. The couch looks like it’s been reupholstered by Freddie fucking Kruger. In amongst the disarray sit seven kittens. They’re hissing, mewling, and peeing like cats do. A black kitten shoots me the same ‘I-want-to-kill-you’ stare I get from Petie.

  Ella looks at me with wide eyes. “Tyler had a key.”

  I grind my teeth. I swear to God, if he’s in here, he’s going down. I roll up my sleeves and grab my cell. “I’m calling the cops.”

  She blocks my arm. “No! Please, Alex. Just leave it. This is my fault. I should have got the stupid key back before he had a chance to make a copy.”

  We hear a thud and Ella follows the source of the noise. A split-second later, there’s a scream.

  What the …?

  Heart pounding and spoiling for a fight, I bolt after her with my fists in the air, ready to strike a roundhouse kick à la Chuck Norris.

  I reach the passageway and still right behind Ella. Her hands are cupped over her eyes.

  Because is no intruder.

  It’s Parker.

  Well, a semi-naked Parker. He’s wearing his pants around his ankles.

  Confused?

  My apologies, I think I failed to mention that he’s underneath a very naked Carrie. I shake my head in disbelief.

  I need a scotch.

  And an eye bath.

  Stat.

  ***

  The next two weeks are complete bliss.

  I’m on cloud sixty-nine, but I won’t lie to you. I’m freaking out. And shitting rainbows. Confused? Me too.

  The scariest thing about dating is that you’ll either break up or get married. I didn’t think it would be possible to feel this way about a woman. I’m a connoisseur of women, but this feels different.

  I like her more each time I see her, not less.

  We’ve spent every night together, except the one time I was out of town on business. It was the longest twenty-four hours of my goddamn life. Whenever I used to find myself in the Windy City, I’d call on Vanessa. Vanessa is one of my out-of-town Sladies. I had one in almost every state for back up.

  Except Alaska.

  The women of The Last Frontier are hairier than the polar bears, and I don’t just mean their vagina’s folks.

  Anyway, on this occasion, I was a good boy. Instead of going for a discreet hook-up, I scheduled an hour-long vide
o call with Ella. I was well-rewarded for my efforts because Ella showed up for our virtual date wearing nothing but stockings, high heels, and a pair of string panties.

  Thank God for Skype and travel-sized Passion Lube.

  Parker and Carrie have been inseparable since we caught them sexually destroying her apartment. We went to Carrie’s gig in The Village. Big mistake. She roasted me about my harem in front of two hundred people. It was freaking humiliating, but it made Ella laugh so I took it like a man.

  I even met her parents, albeit accidently. They rocked up at her apartment one morning, completely unannounced. I opened the door and greeted them with my dimpled smile while wearing nothing but my underpants.

  Once over the initial shock, the twinkle in Mrs. Bryant’s eye was undeniable. Jacqui is a ten on the milf-o-meter, by the way. Not a wrinkle in sight, and now I know where Ella gets that delicious body from.

  While we’re on the subject of parents, my father is still buzzing about winning the account. I’m off the Aubrey campaign, and I did eventually fess up about my confrontation with Tyler.

  His response?

  He was livid, until I told him that Parker had offered Juliana my body as a sweetener to stay with us. Then he laughed and told me that karma is a bitch so I should take it like a man.

  Thanks for the professional advice, Dad. Really profound. Buddha would be proud.

  And now for Jockass.

  He’s still hanging around the periphery of my life like a bad case of VD or a gruff nut that just won’t flush, but luckily he hasn’t shown his face around the office.

  Good job, too. I’d bury the fucker. Then I’d dig him up and do it all over again just for kicks. Cougar paid him a stack of bills to front the next three ad campaigns, which means he’ll be in our orbit for the next eighteen months.

  Rumor has it he’s screwing pneumatic blonde twins from a reality TV show. I truly hope he’s happy with his downgrade, because he’s less popular in Ella’s parental home than a deadly strain of swine flu.

  As Mrs. Bryant so eloquently said over breakfast one morning; “Move over Wickham, Mr. Darcy’s in town.”

  ***

  Men would pretty much do anything to get laid, which is why I’m sitting in the changing rooms of an upscale boutique. Ella is trying on dresses for the Slade Group summer ball this coming weekend.