“You know you do.” She stopped messing with my collar and laid her hands on my chest. I put my hands on top of hers and she didn’t move hers away. Her cheeks were flushed.
“You don’t look half-bad yourself.” She giggled, looking up at me. The air felt heavier in the little room. She wasn’t pulling away from me. That felt like a green light. I went for it.
I kissed her. She let me pull her in. I heard her sigh and felt her soften in my arms. A moan escaped from her throat. I pushed her up against the mirror and kissed her neck, fumbling with her dress, trying to get it up over her hips. I hoped the store wouldn’t be mad about their clothes getting ruined.
Fuck it, I could pay for them.
I yanked my fly open and pulled the pants down so my cock was free. I spun her around so she had to brace her arms against the mirror.
“You sure about this?” I asked.
“Hurry up before I change my mind,” she said. She pulled her panties down to her ankles. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I pumped my cock a couple of times and sunk into her. She yelped. I bit my lip, so I didn’t do the same thing. We started off on the wrong foot but if all of our interactions could be like this, I wouldn’t mind working with her at all.
10
Artemis
I squeezed my eyes shut because there was a mirror right in front of me. if I opened them, I’d see myself with my knickers off, caught around one ankle on the floor, bent at the waist, having my brains screwed out. Much worse, I’d see Easton behind me doing the screwing. What the hell are you doing, Missy, I thought.
Good God, he felt so good. Truth be told it had been a while. His penis was like the rest of him, hard and big. On a purely animal level, he felt amazing and I needed this. We had been sparring since we had met. To be honest, this eventuality was inevitable. My breath fogged on the mirror in front of me and through my squinted eyes as I tried not to look at us, I could see how flushed I was, the brutal expression on Easy’s face, and how much being bent over like that for him turned me on.
Not now. I’d come to my senses later. Not now. I needed this. It was just a mild inconvenience that it was happening with him. I needed this release. Even if it had to happen with him, it didn’t mean that I liked him all of a sudden. I hated his guts. I was sexually frustrated enough to make do with him as a partner.
Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it.
I reached between my legs and fingered my clit. You really couldn’t compare being with a partner to pleasuring yourself. It was like taking a shower versus being out in the rain. Both experiences got you wet but my toys couldn’t do to me what Easy was right now. I was allowing myself the pleasure of being with him. Allowing it because I knew this moment was fleeting and I’d have to face reality sooner or later. Moments later I was coming. He came soon after, pounding into me while he gripped my hips. I held onto the mirror to keep my balance as the world stabilized itself around me. I panted as he pulled out.
Severing the connection between us was like unplugging the fucking television set. Suddenly, my transmission went back to normal and the entire situation, starting with my panties on the floor was a disaster. I sobered up as fast as I had allowed myself to fall.
“Christ,” I said. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He laughed. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
I glared at him. Why I expected better of him considering the circumstances didn’t make sense. I knew him well enough by now to know that we agreed on exactly zero things. Whether or not we should have been having sex as client and stylist was another addition to the list. “You’re a child.”
“We both know that’s not true. If it was, you’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble after what we just did.”
“That was a mistake.”
“If you say so,” he said with a shrug. I pulled my panties back up. I couldn’t clean up the mess until I got home. That was plenty of time and an awkward cab ride to think about what I had done. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t need to dwell on it to feel more shame. Any more shame and I’d surely combust.
“Get those clothes off. We’re not buying them.”
“No? Then what the hell did I come here for? Wait, you don’t have to tell me the answer to that.” He laughed again and I felt my skin crawl. All it had taken was one moment of weakness and now I couldn’t take it back. I had just had sex with the client. That was the height of unprofessionalism. I deserved to be out of a job. I deserved to be shamed in the public square. What the hell had gotten into me… besides him? I cringed.
“You’re not funny you know.”
“I know that. I know you were never after me for my personality. It was my other talents that got you.” My God, there was really no end to his self-centeredness. When he caught me in the right mood, that cocky attitude when it came to his works was actually kind of funny, and yes, charming, but not now. The worst part was that it wasn’t even a lie. There were wild grizzly bears with better personalities than he had. None of them were as attractive as him though.
“This was a mistake.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night.” I looked at myself in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like I had just done what I had done. In my long history of bad relationships, I had never ventured into the arena of public sex. Several men had tried to lure me there, but I had never budged which of course made them label me a prude. Turns out I was right. The one time I had done it, I felt like the biggest monster alive. How had I convinced myself or let him to this?
I heard sounds from the other side of the door, and then a knock. Oh, Christ, she was back. I darted out of the door and closed it behind me, standing against it so she didn’t try and get around me into the room. The manager was there with a slightly confused look on her face, holding a bag in her hands.
“You’re back,” I said foolishly.
“Yes. Here is your food. Is everything okay with the clothes?”
“The clothes… yeah, yes. Thanks so much for this. My client’s absolutely starving. Driving me crazy.” I took the bag. She blinked a couple of times looking at me. I knew that I sounded and looked crazy. I wondered whether my makeup looked okay. I knew that I had checked it before leaving the dressing room but now I wasn’t sure. I opened the bag and took out a sandwich.
“I got roast beef for both of you, I hope that’s okay. The deli guy recommended it.” I took a bite of the sandwich. It was fine, nothing to write home about but I hummed with pleasure.
“Absolutely delicious, my favorite,” I gushed. She was completely baffled. Here I was digging into a deli sandwich like it was something from a Michelin star restaurant while trying to pretend I hadn’t just had sex with a man in her place of work. I must have looked ridiculous. To be honest, I couldn’t even taste the food. If she got any inkling of what had just gone on in her store, I couldn’t imagine what the consequences would be. I took another bite, about to say something else, but the door behind me opened. I spun around and I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Easton was naked. Well, he was naked from the waist up which for some reason was even more devastating than if he was completely naked.
“Food’s here? Great,” he said, walking up. He took the remaining sandwich, unwrapped it, and took a big bite out of it. For a few seconds, both me and the manager were transfixed. He was easy on the eyes if nothing else. Easy on the eyes, hard everywhere else, including…
Jesus Christ, stop it, stop it right now.
“How are the clothes?” the store manager asked him.
He shrugged and took another bite out of his sandwich. “They’re okay. I don’t know, this isn’t really my shopping trip. It’s hers.” He made eye contact finally. I looked for any trace of anxiety or, I don’t know, shame maybe? I looked for some sign that he was conscious of what had just happened between us in a semipublic place. Some recognition of the fact that we had almost been caught having sex in the dressing room of a high-end boutique. Some s
ign that he would help me out and actually cover for us in the unfortunate case of the manager sussing out what had happened.
His face was completely blank. He looked as guileless as a newborn. Eating his sandwich, standing there without a shirt on, he was playing the role of absolute innocence. I felt my stomach lurch and it wasn’t the fault of the sandwich.
“Is there anything else you want me to try on while I’m still here?” he asked me. “I was thinking I would get a move on if there wasn’t.” So that was it then. I didn’t know what I was feeling, hearing him speak so nonchalantly after what just happened. The alternative would be far worse. If he had walked out of the changing room and began talking about what we had just done, I would have run into traffic or something. Right after we had done the deed, I felt regret. I felt immediately that I had done something wrong, no matter how good it had felt. Now, I just felt empty, and I didn’t like that.
“Coming here today, what I needed was to figure out what colors, cuts, and styles work on you. That and to get your general sizing. I think we’ve accomplished that so if you would like to leave, you can leave. I can take over from here.” My veneer of professionalism slid seamlessly back into place. Today felt like a loss. Up until now, Easton and I had been engaged in a battle of wills and today, he had won. He officially had the upper hand.
Our attraction was apparent from the start, but he was the one who had pushed it. All I had had to do to stay in the game was resist. How hard could that be? Resist and I wouldn’t have to be standing in a suit shop with a sandwich feeling like I’d just been chewed up and spat out. There was no coming back from this point, only engaging on new terms. I didn’t want that though; the loss was still fresh and I didn’t like the way it felt. I furiously willed things to go back to the way they were. Easton nodded and looked down briefly.
Was that… no, no way.
I could’ve sworn that he looked disappointed. His face fell slightly, and he seemed to try to hide it, but just as fast as it appeared, it was gone.
“Cool. If we're done here, I’m out.” He turned and disappeared back into the dressing room. I watched his back as he walked away from me. The strangest urge to apologize, to follow him in there, and make sure he wasn’t upset about the situation overcame me. If not that, just some sort of status report would have sufficed. Now I had more questions than answers and I wanted to know whether I was right in my thoughts about where we stood.
No, what was I thinking? This was good. What had happened had happened and for now, he didn’t seem to be holding it over me.
I thought briefly about how long this was going to last, then stopped myself because I didn’t want to remember anything about what had happened today. The best-case scenario at this point would be somehow striking it from the record and forgetting anything had happened. At the moment, it seemed that Easton felt the same way. Problem was, I wasn’t sure that I did too.
11
Easton
You blew it, man.
I didn’t even know necessarily what it was, but I knew that I had fucked up. I was in bed. The room was dark, but I been lying there for so long that my eyes had adjusted. I couldn’t sleep. Either that or I didn’t want to sleep. I just wanted to replay what happened that evening with Missy over and over again in my head.
I had thought about fucking her. Of course, I had. She was a knockout; I had thought about what it would be like to sleep with her the first minute that I saw her. All things considered, like the fact that I didn’t think she liked me very much, and the other that she was my stylist and technically on my payroll, my imagination never quite got to considering that reality. Like, what really were the chances? She hated me, well, every part of me that wasn’t my cock, that was for sure. We were completely opposite. She was a fashionista and I was former military. I was in tech and she was in fashion. She looked like a celebrity and I, as she had told me many times, looked like shit.
I felt like the only thing we really had in common was that we both lived in New York. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't really know that woman at all. Which was a little funny, considering that we had had hot, raw sex today in the changing room of an upscale boutique. I had never done anything like that in my life before. I wondered whether she had? For all I knew, that was just a Thursday afternoon for her, which didn’t make me feel better.
My phone was sandwiched under my pillow. I reached for it and opened up the search engine. I had some questions that needed answering. There was a woman out there who had given me some of the best, most exciting risky sex of my life, and I knew nothing about her. In my mind, she was this rigid British woman who had come to New York because, in a city like this, shopping was an actual skill. What were the chances that it was going to happen again? Well, I didn't need Google to tell me the answer to that. She was into it while it was happening, but very clearly not into it as soon as it was over. She looked like she wanted to jump off a bridge when we were done. I had never had that kind of reaction from a woman after having sex. Not going to lie, it hurt a little bit.
It wasn't like I was jumping for joy afterward either. She was my stylist and I just wasn't supposed to be doing those things with her. There were no excuses. I knew what came over me, it was the combination of the semi-private changing room and Missy who was hot as all hell even when she was mad at me. Adding to that the tension that had been brewing between us since we had kissed at my place, and it was just a bomb waiting to go off. She was hard to resist even when she was cursing me out. When we were at relative peace, and she was touching me, looking up at me and not pulling away when I pulled her close, what the fuck was I supposed to do?
How about not fuck my stylist? How about that? If Toby found out about this, my ass was grass.
I searched her name and browsed the entries that came up. There were more than I thought. I thought I would find a couple of social media pages, a website, or something, maybe some features or a couple of hits when her name appeared alongside celebrities that she had dressed. There were whole articles about her, some of them seemed to be about her personal life and not her work.
She was British with some loose ties to the royal family. That was nice for her, I guess. I had grown up with a single dad in the rural Midwest. We never had much of anything, but we always had enough. He didn't teach me how to dress, how to tie a freaking tie, how to adjust the tuxedo vest so that it fit just right, he taught me how to hunt. He taught me how to dress a deer and make it last through the winter. Our house was always in shambles, but we always knew where everything was. Sure, it lacked that feminine touch but I never really missed it, not until now, I guess.
Before I enlisted, I used to spend all my time building stuff. I got heavy into robotics and that turned into drones when I was in the army. By the time I was discharged, I had a skill set ready for the civilian world. By the looks of things, Artemis James had lived a very different life than I had. I switched to image search and looked at the pictures. She had posed on several red carpets. Other pictures, the further I scrolled, seemed to be candid shots taken when she was out and about or on vacation. More than a few of them featured men alongside her. I clicked one and opened the accompanying article.
Socialite Artemis James Romances Magician Beau on A Yacht. I scowled at the images. What the hell? She had dated a magician? I skimmed the article. Taking a break from her jaunt in the Mediterranean, socialite and party girl Artemis James was cited on a yacht with a mystery man later revealed to be a magician. Sources say the two met at a party of a mutual friend where the magician, identified as Horatio de Scalza (real name: Howard Morton) was performing. Allegedly, the man worked magic on the social butterfly’s heart and they have been inseparable ever since.
My frown got deeper and deeper as I read the article. If there is one thing I never wanted to know about, it was Missy’s dating history, because from what I was looking at, it was pretty damn messy. It was also incredibly public. I didn’t realize she was semi
-famous. Not that it had anything to do with me. I knew that she had dressed celebrities and that you had to have some connections to be able to pull the stunt that she pulled at the boutique today, but this was all very unexpected.
The thought of what it would be like to date her flashed through my mind briefly. Just briefly. There was no good reason for me to actually think about it. It would never happen. I was not her type at all. It didn’t really matter how attracted I was to her or that she was to me. Stories of her dating life ended up on British tabloid websites. Mine ended up nowhere. They didn’t exist.
When you thought about it, I had my pick of the litter. I was a young, successful, rich guy in New York City. That put me miles ahead of most guys trying to get a date. I hadn’t really paid that much attention to dating in the past. I wasn’t paying much attention to it now. There had always been something more interesting to me at the time. When I was younger, it had been robotics. When I was in the army, there were no women around to really think about. Now that I was a civilian again, not much had changed. For me, Friday nights were the best times to mess with one of my drones, see whether I could improve it, and make changes. Meeting a woman in a bar or restaurant or party just didn’t appeal to me.
My social life wasn’t completely dead in the water though. From time to time, Toby and I would pick a bar but I would be out after a couple of beers, leaving him to his activities. It had never struck me as a problem before. I just never thought that much about dating. It wasn’t high on my list of priorities and that had not changed even after pursuing women had become much easier for me to do. I just didn’t want to do it.
Until now.
Was that what I was thinking about? Dating Missy? How the hell did that even look? From my research, she was the only child of very rich parents. That meant she had gotten everything that she wanted all her life. High maintenance. Hard to please. Spoiled. Not used to compromising or meeting people halfway. It sounded to me that she would make a lousy girlfriend. If I was even interested in her that way. I had so many questions now, more than I had had when we hadn’t had sex yet. She did something to me, that was the only way I knew how to describe it. She was high maintenance, haughty and a little stuck up but she had made her way under my skin and I couldn’t get her out.
Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3) Page 8
