I swear I can hear my own heart beating, but I forget about it when I take in his scent. He smells like a musky, masculine aftershave, even though he’s sporting facial hair that’s more than a five o’clock shadow. Dark, black, strong facial hair. He’s not the kind of guy whose beard wouldn’t fill it. He looks like he could have a beard in a week if he wanted.
But what he wants right now is me, and I want him.
He reaches out and takes a locket of my hair in his fingers. He brings it to his face, only moving his hand and arms, the rest of his body completely still until his nostrils flare as he inhales my hair which is now half an inch from his nose.
“Do you know how incredible you smell?”
“Um…no. I mean…no, sir.”
“Are you this respectful with everyone, Miss Perkins?”
“I try to be, sir.”
“So you call every man older than you sir?”
“No, sir.”
“Only me. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you like calling me, sir. Don’t you?”
I feel like yelling like Jack Nicholson at the end of A Few Good Men. You’re god damn right I did! Or I guess it would be, you’re god damn right I do, in this case since this is all happening right now. And as much as I’d like to yell, I know it would come out more like a whimper.
“Don’t you, Miss Perkins?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you send me that message?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Was it?”
“It was, at first.”
“At first?”
What have I done?
“Yes, sir. It was a mistake and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I say, trying to stay on track but teetering on the edge ready for a full-on, head-on collision.
“I’ve fixed your first challenge, Miss Perkins. I’m going to continue challenging you here at the office. I’m going to demand the best out of you.”
“Yes, sir. You’ll get my best.”
His head leans in, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel him. His cheek is as close as it can be to brushing up against mine, without doing so. “But I want all of you, Miss Perkins.”
I’ve never been so horny in my entire life. And then I feel it. All these years and now I feel what I’ve read about hundreds of times but never experienced. My stomach tightens and I feel my pussy clench. My thoughts start to get cloudy, just as they drift away. Finally, I’m going to climax and it’s going to happen right here in front of my new boss.
Knock, knock, knock!
“Cleaners,” the door flies open and I hear a vacuum cleaner behind me.
“Sorry!” a woman’s voice calls out.
My mind shoots back into the moment and I turn and run through the door, straight to the parking lot where I get in my car and drive home as fast as I can.
CHAPTER 5
Amelia
I hit the button on my remote, restarting the movie. It’s been playing for over twenty minutes, yet I haven’t heard a word.
I’ve just been aimlessly staring at the screen, shoveling popcorn in my mouth. My mind is somewhere else entirely.
Entirely on him.
I thought I was going to climax right there in his office, and if the cleaning crew hadn’t been so prompt today I would have.
He was a puppeteer and I was his puppet. He ran me through a myriad of emotions and just when I was about to experience the final one, the one I wanted most, I ran out.
He must think I’m crazy, but all I know now is if I don’t get another chance with him I will go crazy.
But he must hate me. He probably thinks I’m a goofy little girl. According to Google he’s sixteen years older than me. Since I’ve been alive, he’s been amassing fortunes, hobnobbing with the elite, and traveling the world.
My phone vibrates on the table. Caller ID Unknown. Great, probably a telemarketer. I turn off the ringer, and watch as the screen continues to light up. I’m a sucker for curiosity, and I need something to distract my mind, even if just for a minute.
“Hello.”
“Miss Perkins, do you have a second?”
Oh my god, he’s calling me. I’m not sure if I’m thrilled or concerned.
“I pulled your number from your file. I’m sorry for calling you unannounced, but I wanted to speak with you about what happened today, before the workday tomorrow.”
“Um, yes. Right.”
“I’m sorry if I was out of line. I didn’t mean to cause you to run out of the office like you did, and I’m sorry if my advances were unwanted.”
“Okay,” I say.
The other end of the line goes silent. I can hear breathing in the phone before I realize it’s my own. I put my hand up to my heart and feel it racing. How can just his voice alone have this effect on me?
“If, they were unwanted.”
I say nothing. How am I supposed to respond to that? This is the same guy who could have fired me last week and now he’s pursuing me. I could go to HR and tell them what happened, but it would be my word against his. I’d lose in a heartbeat, but then again why would I go to HR…especially over a guy who is obviously giving me butterflies and is the ultimate catch. The wealthy and powerful guy who’s risking it all over me.
“Were they unwanted, Miss Perkins?”
I look around my living room. I feel safe. I can speak my mind here. I can tell the truth. This isn’t a face-to-face encounter where I can be intimidated or lose my cool, although I am definitely feeling the heat again.
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t think so.” There’s a brief pause. “Miss Perkins, do you have plans for the evening?”
I look at the clock. It’s almost eight. Isn’t the evening already well underway?
“I was going over some—“
“I’ll be out tonight, by myself, if you care to join.”
I look down at my clothes and realize it’s going to take a miracle to get ready in time, but a miracle is exactly what this man can give me…right between my legs, and I’ll do anything at this point, even if this is just a one-time thing. I need to feel that and know that it’s even possible for me.
“Okay, sure. I can be—“
“I’ll be there at nine. What’s the address?”
I give him the address, to which he replies with a quick, “See you then.”
I appreciate that he asked for my address, even though he probably saw it in my file already.
I jump up from the couch and run to the shower. I’ve got an hour to pull off a miracle.
CHAPTER 6
Carson
I put my phone in my locker and grab a towel. It was a good workout, but nothing like the one I want to give her.
Thankfully this new practice facility the Lakers put in has private showers. I enter one and throw my towel over the door.
The cool water washes the sweat from my body. It’s refreshing, but it’s doing nothing to bring down my temperature. I turn the knob all the way to the coldest setting and just stand there.
I lower my head, letting the water hit my neck, before running down my body. I’m looking down and I see my cock growing by the second.
Damn, just hearing her voice on that phone was enough to get me going. Just the anticipation of seeing her tonight, is enough to put me on edge.
And it’s not just in a sexual way. I want to know more about this girl. I need to. Tonight I’m going to get answers, to see if I can let her into my very private world.
I grab the soap and start lathering up. It’s going to take some time to get over to her place, and I don’t have time to waste.
I should unload the cannon so I’m not sporting an erection all evening, but I don’t want a hollow victory. I want her. I want to pursue her, woo her, and own her.
And tonight the fun begins.
CHAPTER 7
Amelia
I’ve got the lights out and the curtain cracked, as I sit back from
the window just a little. I don’t want him to know I’m so excited for his arrival that I’m literally waiting by the window with bated breath. It seems childish, and that’s exactly how I don’t want this worldly man to view me.
At two minutes to nine a dark sports car pulls up. I don’t know which one it is, but it sure looks like the one Lefty Larry has on a small poster pinned to his cubicle wall. What kind of dream world am I about to enter?
He steps out of the car and pulls on his lapels, straightening his suit. Is he ever off the clock, or is this the way he dresses all the time? I don’t know, but I do know I like it. I’m looking forward to being on the arm of not just a guy like that, but him. And it doesn’t matter if it’s just for one night, and it’s not sexual. I just want to experience an elegant and luxurious lifestyle that I know nothing about.
He presses the buzzer at exactly nine. Is he ever smooth.
I count down from thirty, but throw my plan out the window at twenty-one when I jump up and move swiftly to the door.
“Good evening, Amelia. May I call you that?”
“You may,” I say.
“Thank you. Please call me Carson.”
“Okay, Carson.”
“Shall we go?”
“Yes,” I say, thankful he didn’t ask for the tour of my place.
He places his hand on the door handle on the passenger side of his car. It’s in a funny position. He starts to open the door, but it doesn’t open at all. It lifts.
The door is up in the air as he offers me his hand and helps me inside.
The seats are low, and deep, and I feel safe as the seat wraps around me so tight, but also nervous at the low position. I imagine we’re barely off the ground. Southern California is full of big, bulky SUVs and I can only imagine how traveling in this way is going to give me a whole new perspective.
He slides into the seat next to me, and turns on the engine. I’ve never heard a car growl before, until now. I can feel the power reverberate throughout the car. Having so much power in the engine makes me feel so powerful, that I blurt out, “I like your car.”
“Thank you. It was a gift.”
This was a gift? I need the same kind of friends he has, pronto.
He pulls away from the curve and I hear the light sound of something that sounds like the Gypsy Kings coming from the speakers. My head is spinning. The power of the car makes me feel powerful, and the music makes me want to channel that enthusiasm by jumping up and dancing, or at least rolling down the window and yelling, “I’m the queen of the world.” Leonardo DiCaprio’s got nothing on me right now.
He lets the music play without talking. He must be reading me like an open book, because I need the time to adjust and take everything in. A good ten minutes or so go by before he says, “Are you originally from L.A.?”
“Born or from?”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not sure which you prefer?”
He must feel like I’m messing with him…not giving him a straight answer.
“I’m not sure where I was born.”
He doesn’t flinch at my reply, and doesn’t pry. I appreciate it, but feel like his question deserves a proper reply.
“I grew up in foster homes, mostly in L.A., but no one’s really sure where I’m from. I was found at a truck stop on the way to Vegas.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, but it’s okay. It was such a long time ago, and of course I don’t remember it. I was only a few weeks old.” I catch myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you all this, and freak you out. It’s just that I’m a little nervous and excited…okay maybe more than a little nervous, and when that happens sometimes I talk a lot. It’s about the only time I do.”
He removes his hand from the stick shift and places it on my knee without taking his eyes off the road. “It’s okay. I hope I wasn’t prying.”
“No, not at all. It’s an innocent question.”
I like how his hand feels. It’s comforting and although I’m still a nervous wreck, it does calm me a little.
“I like that you’re honest. This town is full of fake people. An honest and open person is a breath of fresh air.”
He removes his hand and places it back on the stick shift, downshifting and dropping speed as we approach a turn.
We’re driving along Pacific Coast Highway, and I can see the full moon overhead. It’s big and powerful and reflecting off the ocean’s surface. It’s absolutely perfect.
“I bet in your line of work you deal with a lot of interesting people.”
“You have no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“It runs the full gamut. I get the celebrities that pretend they want you to be their friend, to show they’re down to earth. I get the important and not so important people who need to feel important. And I get the everyday Jane’s and Joe’s who vary so much from one to the other. I often find them more interesting because they’re less predictable.”
Great, I think to myself sarcastically. Does he think of me as an “everyday Jane?” Am I some psychology experiment to pump and dump? Some simple girl that’s easy for the picking? I don’t like what he said.
He turns his head toward me and I turn to meet his gaze. “But I’ve never met someone like you.”
It sends butterflies to my stomach, but I’m not falling for it, at least not yet.
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re cut from the same cloth as I am, but you’re a woman.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“The highest I can give.”
“So you feel pretty good about yourself?”
“I have a high level of self-confidence and self-worth, yes.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I came from nothing, and worked my way up to where I am today. And I’ve done so all while managing to keep my personal life mostly just that…personal, and private.”
He sounds like one of those American Psycho narcissist types, but he doesn’t have that tone. He’s not fishing for compliments, or a pat on the back. Not from me or from himself.
“And where you are today defines your success?”
“No, but it allows me to do things that define success. At least in my book.”
“What are those things?”
“There are many, but they mostly center around one theme. Change.”
“Change? But if you’re successful why would you want change?”
“Because I want others to experience what I’ve experience for myself. Because I changed my own life, and I know the tremendous journey and struggle that it entails. Because I know that once you have money and influence you can then help other people change their lives as well.”
“Is that what you want to do with me? Change me?”
“I don’t want to change you one bit,” he says, turning to look at me again. The roads are winding along the coast, so he has to look back. “I’m more interested in learning if you can enact change with me.”
I’m on an emotional roller coaster. The nerves have faded and now I’m having a real conversation with this guy, but it’s nothing sexual as I expected, and if I’m honest with myself, hoped it would be.
What kind of guy talks like this on a first date? Is this even a date? And why does he seem to think so highly of me, even after my huge mistake at the office?
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I say.
“You’re not supposed to at this point. We can save it for later. Right now let’s just enjoy each other’s company and see where that takes us.”
And just like that he’s pressed a button within me and my mind shifts to what I want this man to do to me. How I want his hands all over me. Those big hands that are gripping the stick shift and the steering wheel. Those thick, long fingers that can do things to me that other men couldn’t do with their entire bodies. Just by the way he handles this car, I can see he knows h
ow to handle a woman. But just how many women has he handled? The paparazzi haven’t seemed to be able to dig up anything on him. How does he keep such a low profile, unlike other big names in Tinseltown? Okay, technically we’re in L.A., but the place is full of aspiring everything. Aspiring actors, athletes, writers…you name it. Seems like everybody’s trying to make it here, but not him. He’s already made it, and maybe that’s why he’s so confident…why he doesn’t waste time and why he cuts through the superficial.
Cocky CFO: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 21) Page 3
