An Executive Decision (Executive Decisions Trilogy)

by Grace Marshall

  He came to her side. ‘There’s nothing calm or rational about sex, Dee. That’s the problem. Hey, I think it’s great you getting laid and all. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ellis had been dreaming of Dee when he awoke in the wee hours completely, nearly painfully, aroused. The dream was so real that he reached for her before his brain filled in the obvious fact that the woman was not right there in the bed next to him, a fact that was far more disappointing than he would have thought possible. Before he was fully in control of his thought process, he pulled up her number on his BlackBerry.

  She answered after the first ring, not giving him time to reconsider what he’d done. ‘Ellis? Is everything all right?’

  Embarrassed, but no less aroused, especially not at the sound of her voice on the other end of the phone, he bluffed. ‘Why aren’t you in bed asleep, Dee?’

  There was stunned silence for a few seconds, then she said, ‘How do you know I wasn’t? How do you know you didn’t wake me up? And besides, why aren’t you asleep?’

  He thought he could detect a slight smile in her voice, and he, well, he was suddenly smiling into the darkness of the hotel room hard enough to split his face. ‘I was asleep. I was dreaming of you.’ He shifted beneath the sheets, feeling the impatient strain of his erection.

  ‘Me?’ came the response. ‘Was it a good dream?’

  If it were possible, his smile got even bigger and his pulse quickened. ‘Why do you think I’m calling?’

  ‘Oh.’ He heard the surprised gasp of breath as she twigged. ‘Oh!’

  ‘Please tell me you’re at least home and not still in the office because otherwise this could get awkward.’

  ‘I’m home.’ Her voice was breathless, and he thought he could hear a slight tremor in her words. ‘In my study.’

  He hadn’t seen her study when he’d taken her home and tucked her in bed, but then he hadn’t been interested in the house tour, only the woman in his arms. ‘Dee, it’s one in the morning, in Portland, and we’ve had this discussion before, as I recall. Get in your jammies and go to bed. Now.’

  There was another second of silence, and he could hear the shuffling of papers. ‘I don’t sleep in jammies, Ellis.’

  ‘Sexy nightie?’

  She gave him an “as if” laugh.

  ‘What then? T-shirt? Underwear? Anything.’

  ‘No.’ The word was emphatic.

  ‘Jesus,’ he whispered. He had to press his thumb to the head of his cock to hold back the inevitable. There was no way he wasn’t going to take full advantage of Dee Henning naked between the sheets with him, even if there was a whole continent separating them. He caught his breath and spoke carefully into the BlackBerry. ‘Dee, go to your room, put the BlackBerry on speakerphone, get undressed and get into bed. Now.’

  It didn’t take long before she said, ‘OK. I’m in my room, BlackBerry on speakerphone, and now I’m getting un –’

  ‘Wait.’ He interrupted. ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘Sweats.’ Her chuckle sounded embarrassed. ‘I don’t wear a power suit at home, Ellis.’

  He was sure she would be sexy no matter what she wore. ‘Strip down to your underwear.’ He shouldn’t be doing this, yet hadn’t they both agreed to the Executive Sex Clause? Wouldn’t this help him function better and be more focused tomorrow?

  ‘Ellis, I’m not wearing any,’ she said. Then she added again, ‘I’m at home,’ as if that explained the lack of underwear. Whether it did or didn’t, it caused a definite surge of heat beneath the sheets.

  ‘Jesus, woman! You’re gonna have me going off here before I’m ready. Take off the sweats, then, and get into bed. Mind you, it would be fun to do this with you in a more kinky place than your bed, but since you should be sleeping anyway, I’d like to make sure you’re down for the count when we’re finished.’

  He heard the shifting of cloth against cloth, then she sighed. ‘OK. I’m naked, and I’m in bed.’ Her voice was thin and breathless. ‘Now what do you want me to do?’

  ‘I know how wet you get; from first-hand experience, I know. I want you that wet now. Surely you masturbate. Your libido has to be at least as high as mine and there has to be some kind of release for people like us.’

  ‘Of course I masturbate,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve rubbed myself raw every night since Paris, and right now, if I get any more slippery I’ll slide off the bed. What about you? Are you touching yourself?’

  ‘God, you’re a brazen woman, Dee Henning, asking your boss if he’s jerking off?’ Before she could protest, he laughed softly, a chuckle that ended in a grunt and a tug of his cock. He bit his lip to regain control. ‘Of course I’m masturbating, and if you’d just woken up from the dream I was having you’d be masturbating too.’

  ‘About me?’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh yes. About you. I barely got a taste of you in Paris before I was whisked away to New York aching for more. And Dee, you taste so fucking good.’

  He heard the little whimper on the other end of the line and he held his breath, listening desperately for sounds of her arousal, sounds of her pleasure.

  ‘I’d like to know what you taste like,’ she said.

  He ground his ass into the sheets and shifted against his hand, relishing the thought of Dee on her knees, Dee taking him into her mouth. ‘I’ll make sure that’s on the calendar for when you get to New York,’ he said. Then he added. ‘Dee, tell me what you’re doing. Tell me what you like.’

  She offered an embarrassed laugh, soft and musical over the speakerphone. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’ve stroked myself until I’m really wet. That wasn’t hard, knowing what you’re doing on the other end of the phone. I’m swollen, Mr Thorne, so swollen and open, and my fingers just can’t seem to scratch the itch.’ The sudden shift to her business voice, to the formal use of his name, had him shallow-breathing to keep from coming. She moaned and caught her own breath in what was almost a sob. Then, for a long moment, he listened to her sighing and shifting, holding his breath, not wanting to miss the sound of Dee Henning all horny and needing. When she continued, her words were clipped with her efforts at what he could only imagine her hands were doing between her legs. ‘And my nipples, Mr Thorne, my nipples are hard from thinking about the way your mouth felt on them when you were taking care of business in the limo.’

  ‘Oh God,’ he whispered, tightening his grip, then tugging at his cock like there was a battle to be won. With the other hand he cupped and kneaded his balls as he remembered the feel of her breasts, the rise of her nipples against his lips, the rippled press of her areolas against his tongue. He heard scrabbling noises on the other end of the line. ‘Dee?’

  ‘Just getting my vibrator,’ she said. Then she laughed breathlessly. ‘No need for lube tonight, Mr Thorne. I’m sopping.’ She sucked in a harsh breath that ended in a whimper. When she had recovered herself, she spoke in her best naughty secretary voice. ‘Now then, Mr Thorne, what’s on our agenda today? What urgent business do we need to take care of?’

  The surge he felt in his cock at the thought of being inside his horny executive assistant nearly sent him over the edge. He held his breath listening for the sound of the vibrator, but he could hear only her heavy breathing.

  Then she said, ‘I don’t need to turn it on, Mr Thorne. I just need to be full, and since you’re not here, the vibe will have to do. Poor substitute, really. It doesn’t have your girth, nor your weight, and it’s cold. ’

  ‘Jesus, Ms Henning,’ he gasped. ‘I can’t believe I hired such a naughty girl.’

  ‘Tell me what you were doing to me in your dream, Mr Thorne, that made you so horny you’d call me in the middle of the night. Or was it what I was doing to you, maybe?’

  ‘It was raining outside.’ He ran his hand down the length of his cock and tightened his grip. God, how many times had he had variations of this dream? ‘You came into my office all wet.’

 
; Her chuckle was rich and throaty, and he wanted to eat it, suckle it like thick, dark syrup right from between her lips. ‘I recognise that dream. Did you offer me a towel?’

  The corners of his mouth ached from smiling like an idiot. ‘I would have, but I didn’t have one.’

  ‘I see.’ Her voice was low, breathless. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘First I helped you out of your clothes, then I licked you dry. You were really wet, but I was careful to get every drop.’ He spat on his hand to lubricate himself, easing the friction from thrusting in and out of it. He wanted it wet and warm like he was inside her. Then he continued, ‘It wasn’t easy because you wouldn’t lie still. You said you were ticklish. You said the only way you could hold still was if I fucked you.’

  Her breath sounded like a windstorm coming through the speakerphone, though it was hard to tell which was hers and which was his. ‘And did you, Mr Thorne?’ she gasped. ‘Did you fuck me?’

  ‘I held you down on the floor, you were so open and so ready, and I could see how wet you were, and then just when I was ready to push into you, I woke up feeling like I was about to burst.’

  ‘Oh Jesus, Mr Thorne! Oh God!’ Her voice was barely a rasp against the phone, her breath harsh and quick. ‘The thought of you lying there hard and heavy and full because of me drives me crazy.’ It felt almost like she had pulled him into her arms and spoke against his ear.

  Words stopped, except for the calling of each other’s name which slipped out between gasps. “Mr Thorne …. Ms Henning … Mr Thorne … Ms Henning …” Ellis could imagine Dee lying beneath her blue comforter, one hand cupping and caressing her lovely breasts while the other shoved the vibrator in and out of her tight wetness as she thrust her whole body onto it, breasts bouncing, hips shifting. And dear God, he could imagine how she must smell, so turned on, so close to coming, sheened in the fragrant perspiration of arousal. Jesus, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he could almost feel her, as though the speakerphone could magically turn the grunts and groans of the woman on the other end of the phone into flesh and blood here in his bed, here in his arms.

  ‘I have to come, Mr Thorne,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t hold back any longer.’

  He heard the growl and the moan of her orgasm, and it was enough. The warm wet of his semen felt like it would turn him inside out with the sheer weight of his need. He was stunned and amazed that he could feel this way, that he could want her so damn badly.

  For a few minutes, their combined efforts to breathe raged through the speakerphone. When at last he had the breath to speak again, he felt bold somehow. Maybe it was the distance between them, maybe it was simply the post-coital flood of hormones, but he asked. ‘Dee, have you really been rubbing yourself raw since Paris?’

  She laughed. ‘You’re kidding? Ellis, whatever you did to me in Paris, I think you might have created a monster. If we don’t get together very soon, I’m gonna need more batteries.’

  Again the face-splitting smile was back. ‘Good. I’m glad it’s not just me, and Sunday night can’t get here fast enough. Now go to sleep, Dee. You’re gonna need all your strength for New York.’

  ‘Garrett, what are you doing here?’ Ellis motioned his younger brother into the hotel suite. ‘Didn’t recognise you in the suit and tie. Thought maybe I forgot to tip the valet.’

  Garrett Thorne stripped off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch. ‘I’m here to meet with my editor about the next book.’

  ‘I read your last one. It’s good.’

  Garrett gave him a look like he had two heads. ‘You’re kidding, right? I’m amazed that the great Ellison Thorne would condescend to read such drivel, but apparently there are enough die-hard fans begging for more that my employment for the foreseeable future, at least, is secured. I got a free trip to the Big Apple out of the deal too, and a room in a decent hotel. Not bad for a hack.’

  ‘Honestly, Garrett, when are you going to stop berating what you do? You’re talented. Very talented, and if your editor paid to fly you to New York it’s because he doesn’t want to risk losing you to someone else offering you more to write for them. It doesn’t take a business genius to figure that out.’

  Garrett shot Ellis a bemused grin that made him look considerably younger than he actually was. ‘If you weren’t the filthy rich God of the business world, I’d hire you on as groupie, but then that’d ruin my reputation as Ellison Thorne’s ne’er-do-well brother, wouldn’t it?’

  Ellis folded his arm across his chest and shook his head. ‘Have it your way, Garrett, but I’m warning you, the press’ll have a field day when it all blows up in your face and you’re forced to come clean about who you really are.’

  Garrett changed the subject, like he always did. ‘The concierge thought I was you. Nearly gave me the VIP treatment.’ He looked around the suite, caught his reflection in the screen of the television, and straightened his cuffs and tie.

  ‘Surprised you didn’t let him.’

  Garrett bent and checked the mini-bar, then gave the door a muted slam. ‘I was tempted, but then he noticed how much more handsome and debonair I am than my older brother, so I had to come clean.’

  Ellis nodded. ‘That’s always a dead giveaway.’

  Garrett was a duskier version of Ellis, with olive skin and nearly black hair that fell over his hazel eyes. He was taller, though not by much, and Ellis couldn’t help noticing his brother was considerably thinner than he’d been last time they’d seen each other. Even his darker complexion couldn’t hide the circles under his eyes. The symptoms were easy to recognise, and in the younger Thorne’s case, they were chronic.

  ‘I was just about to order room service. You want anything?’

  ‘Maybe a sandwich or something.’ Garrett plopped down on the sofa, found the remote for the television, and began to surf. ‘It all does the same thing – peanut butter or steak.’

  ‘Looks like you could stand to eat a little more of one or the other. Got your heart broke again, did you?’

  Garrett didn’t answer, but turned up the volume and slumped further down the couch. For Ellis, that was confirmation enough.

  He called in the order, then sat down on the sofa near the desk. ‘Have you seen Stacie?’ Ellis knew Stacie was usually the first person Garrett ran to when his heart had been broken. Their strange relationship wasn’t something Ellis understood, but then who knew why love drove people to do what they did?

  ‘I talked to her this afternoon,’ Garrett said. ‘Told her I was coming to see you. She’d hoped you’d call. She asked if you ever look at the stars any more.’

  At one time, the question would have been salt to an open wound. But wounds heal, and Ellis wasn’t going to let his brother change the subject. ‘Who is it this time?’ he asked.

  ‘A dancer,’ Garrett said.

  ‘A dancer? Please, Garrett. Surely you can do better than that.’

  Garrett forced a smile without looking away from the television. ‘Not that kind of dancer. Amy’s a ballerina. She works for the New York Ballet. That’s my ulterior motive for being here. She won’t see me, though, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ He cranked the volume again and flipped faster. The man always had a hard time settling when he was wounded by love.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ellis said.

  ‘I thought maybe the two of us could go to the ballet together. I’ve got an extra ticket. Afterwards we could knock back a couple brewskies, you know, for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Afraid I can’t tonight.’ Ellis nodded to the jumble of files on the desk next to the laptop. ‘I’ve been swamped since Beverly died.’

  Garrett flinched, almost as though Ellis had slapped him. Ellis found himself wishing he hadn’t said anything.

  The younger Thorne spoke above the raised volume of the television. ‘Of course. I should have remembered. I’m sorry I missed the funeral. I didn’t know until after.’

  ‘It’s all right. I didn’t expect you.’ Ellis grabbed the re
mote away and turned off the TV. He’d forgotten just how irritating his brother could be at times.

  Without the remote in hand, Garrett fidgeted with the tassel of a throw pillow. ‘I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.’ The muscles in his throat tightened, then relaxed. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, losing her like that. She was there for you when …’ He clenched a fist into the soft body of the pillow.

  Ellis studied his brother’s profile in the dim light. He knew it wasn’t Beverly he was thinking about. A broken heart always seemed to bring up past regrets. ‘Yes, she was, Garrett. She was there for me, and I’ll miss her.’

  Thankfully, room service arrived. Ellis was relieved for the distraction, knowing the litany a morose Garrett would fall into involved a past he’d rather just forget about. He silently hoped that the two of them could get along for the duration of a short meal and not talk about the past. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. At a table by the window, they settled to club sandwiches and beer.

  Garrett raised his glass in salute. ‘To Beverly, a woman who made a difference.’

  Ellis returned the toast.

  A muffled rendition of the bar music from the original Star Wars erupted from Garrett’s jacket on the sofa. He jumped up from the table. ‘Sorry, Ellis, but it could be Amy.’ He grabbed the cell phone from his pocket and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Ellis alone with his thoughts.

  For at least the millionth time, Ellis wondered how he could possibly run Pneuma Inc. without Beverly. As much potential as Dee had, she didn’t know what Beverly had known, and there were things she just couldn’t help with. These days it often felt as though he were stumbling around in the dark. Beverly had kept him on course when everything else in his life had been a disaster. He’d always been able to count on her for wise advice and a kick-in-the-ass reality check when he needed it. For 13 years she’d helped him guide Pneuma Inc. From his pocket, he pulled the pen she’d given him to celebrate the birth of the new company and ran his fingers along the slender barrel, remembering.