by Cara Addison
Even though the tag was still on it, she didn’t bother to look at it. She slipped on the dress and walked to the closet area to look in the mirror. It was a perfect fit. He thought her legs looked longer than ever, the hem dropping just below her bottom. He bent down and picked out a pair of black strappy sandals that she had unpacked and handed them to her. “It’s perfect. Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
Just before ten o’clock, they stepped out of the taxi and into Darby Downstairs. Brett noticed the doorman smile at Austin as they passed by. As a regular, Brett walked straight into the club. He held her hand as they made their way through the crowds into the subterranean club that was adorned with brown leather banquet seating and a gold lacquer honeycomb cage that spanned the room’s walls, the ceiling, and the lacquered-oak bar. They joined a group of his friends and colleagues who were already settled into a large corner booth. Dale was already at the club. He stood up and looked Austin up and down before he kissed her on each cheek, smiling wickedly at her. He sat back down, making room for them to join the crowd. Austin slid across the quilted leather, making room for Brett at her side. He introduced her around the table.
He made certain that drinks appeared instantly. The music was loud, pulsing against his body. They were two drinks in when the music shifted and his friends stood up to dance. Brett led her onto the dance floor. He pulled her in close, moving with her to the DJ’s dance mix. He thoroughly enjoyed feeling her move to the beat. Her entire body was in constant but controlled movement.
He saw Dale approach them on the dance floor, noticeably admiring Austin’s body as she moved to the music. Austin turned around suddenly to face Dale, realizing that she was sandwiched in between them. Brett glanced over her shoulder and saw that Dale’s hands were on her breasts. He reached over and cuffed the side of his head, hollering, “hands off,” over the music. He spun Austin back to face him. “I don’t want anyone touching you like that,” he said heatedly. “Not Dale, not anyone.” The severity of his reaction startled her. She observed an intensity in his eyes before leading him back to the table for another drink. She was certain there was explanation for his behavior and made a mental note to uncover the source of his angst. The club was packed and the music was loud. It was virtually impossible to hear over the din. He looked deep into her eyes as they glanced at him and then over toward a dark corner of the club before turning back to him. He couldn’t possibly misinterpret the expression on her face. He leaned in to kiss her. “Here?” he mouthed.
She nodded. He studied her for a long time as he finished his drink. He finally nodded. He led her to a darkened corner and pressed her back against the wall. He stood in front of her, blocking her from the crowds. She was kissing him hungrily. He observed as she unzipped his pants, releasing his swollen cock from his boxers. He melted as she slid down the wall until his long hard shaft was in front of her soft lips. She briefly licked and kissed it before taking his cock into her mouth. He moaned as she sucked and licked. She plunged his cock deep into the back of her throat. It was just a moment before his muscles tightened and then released as his cum filled her mouth. She swallowed and then licked him clean before she slid back up the wall, gently tucking his dick back into his pants before pulling up the zipper.
He leaned in and kissed her neck, muttering, “You are such a wonderfully bad kitty,” into her ear. She was grinning as they returned to the table as a round of shots were being poured. As a group, they slammed back the vodka shooters, dancing and drinking into the wee hours of the morning.
Chapter 8
She woke Saturday morning, tangled in his limbs. She glanced at the clock. It was mid-morning. She laid her head back on the pillow, watching him sleep. He stirred as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“Yes, it is.”
“Sleep well?”
“I’m not sure if I’d call it sleep, or passing out. Either way, it’s very nice to wake up next to you.”
He opened one eye. “Do you want coffee?”
“You have coffee?”
“I do. And cream. I bought it just for you. I seem to remember you like some coffee with your cream.”
She knew he drank his coffee black, and considered her use of cream to be a bastardized version of the drink. “Juice in my vodka and coffee in my cream,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll get up and make it.”
She untangled her limbs and got out of bed. She hadn’t brought a robe, and began looking around the room for his shirt from the night before.
“My balls feel like we fucked like bunnies last night,” he moaned, burying his head in the pillow.
She surveyed the mess of clothes strew across the floor. “I’d say by the look of this room, that we did.”
He leaned up on one elbow and counted the square wrappers on the nightstand. “Fuck. We did. A lot.”
“I have a vague recollection of being pressed up against this wall,” she said, tapping the wall as she buttoned his shirt and made her way to the kitchen to brew coffee. She was startled to see Gregory on the sofa, reading the paper. He looked more disheveled than he had the night before. “Still catching up on sleep?” she inquired, pouring water and coffee grinds into the coffee machine.
“Trying,” he mumbled. He looked up from the paper. “We have coffee?”
“Apparently.” She chuckled. She pulled out her laptop and sat on a stool at the island as the coffee brewed. She checked her e-mail and social media accounts.
Brett arrived in the kitchen, the smell of coffee drawing him in. He poured two cups and pulled a carton out of the fridge. He added a generous dollop of cream to her mug before handing it to her. “How is the book doing?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at the screen.
“Good. Sales are still strong since the convention.”
“When does the new book come out?”
She looked at him. “Did you read it?”
He smiled at her. “I did. I liked it. It’s what got me through the week.”
“The publisher has set Thursday as a soft launch date,” she explained. “I don’t do soft launches. I’m ready to go full bore when it’s released on Thursday.”
“Why?”
“Timing, mostly. Next weekend is Labor Day. I’d like this to be the novel on every e-reader when people sit back in their deck chairs this long weekend.”
“It will be,” he assured her. “If you can get the word out, it will be very popular.”
He watched her work for a few minutes before pouring her another cup of coffee.
“How can you drink so much, without being hungover?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Good clean living, I guess.”
He almost snorted coffee out his nose. “No, really?”
“I don’t know. I guess it helps to drink the good stuff. I try to drink lots of water.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so tiny drink so much,” he said, running his hand down her back.
“It’s a gift.” She smiled up at him. “Probably the best lesson I learned in five years of university.”
“Where did you go to school?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Canada.”
He laughed. “No seriously, which school?”
She sat back and placed her hands on the limestone countertop. “I will fuck you, right here, if you can name one Canadian university.”
“You…you will?” he asked incredulously. “What state did you grow up in?”
“Seriously dude!” Gregory jumped to life in the living room. “They’re provinces, not states.” He sat up and rhymed off the names of seven or eight schools.
She sounded a fake buzzer and pointed at Brett. “You’re disqualified,” she said, laughing. She turned toward Gregory. “He can’t phone a friend on that one.” She sat back and shook her head at him. “You likely went to Stanford or Harvard, didn’t you?”
“Stanford.”
“Surely Canada came up once or twice in
your international business classes, no?”
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. He hung his head. “I’m going to go shower.” He poured himself another coffee and left the room.
“Western,” she called out as he walked down the hall. “I did my undergraduate at the Ivy Business School at the University of Western Ontario. I did my MBA at Queens.”
She heard Gregory stand up and quietly list off three more Canadian schools as he left the room. She laughed harder and harder with each familiar name. She assumed he was off to shower, or back to bed to catch up on sleep. She was still working on her computer when Brett returned twenty minutes later. “Go shower,” he said, kissing her hair.
She looked up at the clock. It was getting close to noon. “What’s the plan for today?”
I’m taking you out for dinner tonight. Other than that, the day is free.
“I’m going to go out and get some groceries. I’ll make us some lunch.”
“Shopping?” The expression on his face was less than enthusiastic.
“Okay, then.” She smiled. “I’ll shower, you order lunch.”
“How do you feel about Thai food?”
“Love it,” she confirmed, walking toward the bedroom to shower and change. Thirty minutes later she had styled her hair, applied some makeup, and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.
He was unpacking the food when she walked into the kitchen. They ate shrimp pad Thai and wonton soup, nestled together in the corner of the sofa.
“Do you get Labor Day Monday off?” she asked casually.
He nodded, having just taken a bite of noodles.
“If that’s the case, I think you should fly to Toronto next weekend,” she suggested as she set her bowl down on the ottoman.
He looked at her, thinking about what she had said. “Is it a long weekend in Canada?”
She sighed heavily. “It is. It’s the last big weekend of the summer. Most people head to Muskoka for one last summer party.”
“Muskoka?”
“Ya. It’s our cottage country. A little like the Hamptons. Well, I think it is. I’ve never been to the Hamptons. It’s lakes and trees, it’s really beautiful.”
“Is that what you were planning to do next weekend?”
“I hadn’t made concrete plans. I have a standing invitation to my friend’s cottage on Lake Joseph. Ten or twelve of us go up every year. We water-ski, swim, and sit in the sun. Somehow the entire weekend revolves around food and alcohol.” She paused. “I know you’d be more than welcome.”
He set down his bowl and took her in his arms, planting a long kiss on her lips. “Sounds like fun. Let’s go book that flight.”
“You have an active passport? You’ll need it.”
“I do.” He cleared their dishes to the kitchen. She picked up her laptop and moved to the bedroom. She pulled off her clothes and snuggled under the sheets. He joined her a few minutes later. She flipped through a dozen photos on her computer, showing him the cottage, the landscape, the powerboat, and the lake they would be visiting.
“What time can you get to Newark on Friday night?” she asked, opening the airline’s webpage. She scanned the flight options. “There’s a flight at 6:15 p.m. It lands in Toronto at 7:45 p.m.”
“I can do that,” he confirmed, calculating the time it would take to get to Newark from his office. His hand was massaging her back, dipping lower and lower down her spine with each pass.
“We can stay at my place in Toronto on Friday night, and head up to the cottage on Saturday morning. We’ll avoid the worst traffic that way.” He was kissing her shoulder, moving his lips across her soft skin. She selected the westbound flight and scrolled down to select the return eastbound flight on Monday afternoon.
He reached down and slid her knee up across the sheets, draping his knee over on top of hers. She showed him the flight options on the screen, highlighting the four evening flights. He glanced at the screen, obviously more focused on his hand, which was moving up her thigh. He reached her pussy and gently began exploring with his fingers. She arched her back, a light shiver running down her spine.
“Which flight?” she whispered, desperately trying to focus on the screen.
“Seven thirty,” he murmured as he slipped two fingers inside her and began finger-fucking her.
She gasped as she clicked the button, moving to the next screen. She was reading the itinerary, trying to confirm the dates and times of the reservation. She turned her head and looked at him, her eyelids heavy. “That feels…”
“This is why I get to call you kitten,” he whispered.
“Unless you want to end up on a flight to Sault St. Marie, I should concentrate and finish this reservation,” she murmured as she turned her attention back to the laptop. She moved to the next screen, her shoulders quivering in response to the movement of his fingers. She started to type in her credit card information.
“Use mine.” He rhymed off the sixteen-digit number, thrusting his fingers the entire time. She struggled to type as quickly as he dictated. He gave her the expiry date and security code, all from memory. She moaned. “Book it,” he said, nodding at the screen. She clicked the button. A confirmation notice popped up.
“I really want to fuck you.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him. “I want you to, too.”
He reached for the nightstand and ripped upon the black package, swiftly rolling the latex onto his hard shaft. “Stay right there,” he whispered. He moved between her legs, placing his hands on the sheets at her side. He held his weight on his long, extended arms, slowing dipping his long cock into her wet pussy. He heard a long moan, urging him to press deeper.
The pressure of his body against hers was exquisite. The rhythm of his movement had her crying out in minutes. Ten minutes later he collapsed next to her, catching his breath from the powerful climax that had ripped through his body.
She smiled at him, draping an arm and a leg over his body and laying her head on the pillow next to his. “Do not take this as a complaint, because it isn’t.” She paused to kiss him. “Sometimes I like to look you in the eyes when I’m fucking you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sunlight streamed in the window and onto the bed. “It looks like a beautiful day. We should go do something.”
“Let’s go for a walk. I’ll show you the city.”
They strolled through Greenwich Village, heading south toward Lower Manhattan. They walked through SoHo, discovering galleries, boutiques, and trendy cafes. They continued south, through Tribeca. Austin asked about the unique architecture, noticing that many of the residential buildings appeared to be former industrial buildings. They eventually made their way to the financial district. Brett pointed out a number of noteworthy buildings, finishing his tour on the sidewalk at 200 West Street, better known as the Goldman Sachs Tower.
“Have you always worked at Goldman?”
“I have. I was recruited as an associate right out of Stanford. I’ve been in the tech sector the entire time.”
“So, you’ve been there for what, seven years?”
He nodded. “It was seven years ago, this past spring.”
“Are you still an associate?”
“No way. At a bank like Goldman, you might as well quit if you aren’t getting promoted every few years. I became a VP after three years. I became a Senior VP just over a year ago.”
“What’s next?”
“Managing director. King of the Jungle,” he responded, ushering her onto a sidewalk cafe for something to drink.
She studied him. His ambition was obvious. “So you’re a lifer?”
“Probably. Once you get to this level, there aren’t many lateral career moves. The work is addictive. So is the money, quite frankly.”
“Is the compensation really as ludicrous as it’s reported to be?” she asked, taking a sip of the San Pellegrino Limonata he had ordered for her.
“I suppose the numbers may sound absurd to some people, but
when you factor in the long-hour weeks, the stress, and the influence we have on the economy, I’d say I’m worth every penny.”
“You probably are.”
He sat back, watching her. “How is it that you can be so normal, dare I say, average when we’re out here in public, but when I get you home and in bed, you turn into a crazy, sexy little mess that I can barely handle?”
She chuckled at his characterization of her. “Truthfully, I am a pretty average person. I work, I shop, I go to the gym, and I hang out with my friends. The everyday stuff.” She took a sip of lemonade. “I think the way I am between the sheets should likely stay there.” She reached over and took his hand. “Don’t question it, Brett, just enjoy.”
He smiled widely. “Oh, I do. Very, very much.”
They walked the rest of the way to his apartment, wandering through Little Italy and then the Bowery. They dressed for dinner, preparing for the reservation he had made for Babbo at seven o’clock.
They arrived on time and walked into the quiet restaurant on Waverly Place. They were ushered to a quiet table at the back of the restaurant, seated against the exposed brick wall. The waiter introduced them to the evening’s specials and the house sommelier. They browsed the menu, discussing wine pairings with each course. Brett ordered each course, along with a glass of Prosecco del Veneto to start. To accompany the meal, he ordered a bottle of the 1988 Carpineto Chianti Classico Riserva DOCG from the Tuscany region off the twenty-two-page wine list.
“I would love to tour that wine cellar,” she gushed, closing her menu.
“I’ll see if we can arrange that,” he responded with a broad grin.
They chatted quietly until the antipasti course was served. Austin took a bite of her prosciutto with black pepper fett’unta, savoring the flavor of the salty, dry cured meat. “Mmmmm,” she murmured, taking a sip of wine. “That melts in your mouth.” She took another delicious bite.
“What did you study at Western?” Brett asked, as the primi course was served.
She watched him take a bite of his Pappardelle Bolognese as she sampled her spaghettini with lobster. “Same as you. Business,” she responded.
