ForePlay: A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 1 (The Checkmate Inc. Series)

by Shelly Alexander

  “Think of me fucking you, Chloe.” My voice has turned hoarse. “How do you want it the first time?”

  She bucks against the sofa, riding her own hand as my words get dirtier with every passing second.

  “Do you know how?”

  She shakes her head with sharp, jerking movements.

  “Do you want me to fuck you slow or fast or both?”

  She bites down hard on her bottom lip and moans, her hand flying in small circles.

  “Do you want me to bite your nipples or suck them into hard peaks? Do you want it against the wall? Tied up? Spanked?”

  I almost come thinking of her hands tied to my bedpost with a red satin ribbon, the palm of my open hand smacking the cheek of her ass just enough to sting us both. I’ve never been into bondage, but I’ll do anything this woman wants.

  My skin is on fire, heat sizzles my insides, raw lust has my dick raring to go.

  “Do you want to get on all fours, lift your ass in the air, and let me eat your pussy from behind until you come, then fuck you the same way?”

  “Yes!” Her strokes are getting faster, her pants coming quicker and more shallow.

  She’s gorgeous this way.

  When I went out on that first date in high school as the brunt of a secret joke and I really began to study women, understand them, listen to them... I eventually realized women want hot, dirty sex just as much as guys do. They just don’t know how to ask for it because they’re made to feel like sluts if they do.

  How fucked-up is that? Is there anything more beautiful, more real, and more desirable than this?

  Her lips part, creases form between her brows, eyes clamp down tight.

  “You’re almost there, baby,” I whisper. “I’ve got you by the hips, and I’m pounding into you, harder, faster. Over and over. I slide one hand around to squeeze your breast and the other into your hair to pull your head back for a hot, powerful kiss.”

  She cries out as a hard orgasm overtakes her, then collapses back on the sofa with her eyes still shut.

  While she’s riding the receding wave of lust that’s just crashed over her, I try to catch my breath. If I don’t, I really will fuck her right here on the sofa with Gerard waiting patiently in the back room for the call button to flash.

  Her breathing begins to slow, her eyes flutter several times like she’s trying to bring me into focus. I can’t help but give her a cocky grin.

  She sits up, crosses her legs, and pulls down the hem of her dress. “If it’s that good between us using words, then I can’t imagine what the real thing is like.”

  “One of us used more than just words,” I say, my grin spreading so wide my cheeks start to hurt.

  She blushes.

  Funny time to get shy on me, after what we just did.

  “All I’ve done so far is used Checkmate’s line of pheromone deodorant, shampoo, and body spray. I can’t wait to see your reaction once Gerard puts together my new wardrobe, schedules me a new haircut, and sets me up with a coach.” I’m teasing, because Chloe and I met after I was fully transformed. She never knew the quiet, khaki-wearing brainiac. I’m just trying to make a point. “If that’s what you want.”

  Her look turns sultry. “Oh, I want.”

  Those are exactly the words I was hoping for. Anything else would be a knife to my pounding heart.

  Chapter Nine

  After three hours at the studio where Chloe sees everything in action from start to finish, we’re finally done, and I can make the next move in today’s game. My hair is freshly cut and styled, unlike the messy mop I purposely showed up in without so much as running a comb through it after I showered.

  “Wow.” Her stare grazes over me as I button the cuff of a $300 smart-casual shirt. I leave it untucked, as usual. “You look very different from when you arrived this morning.”

  “I’m giving you an accelerated version of the process. The parade of clothes Gerard marched through my private dressing room was for fitting only. The client’s purchases are special ordered directly from the designer. When we receive all the pieces, the client comes back in for a private fitting.” I walk over to one of the portable racks where Gerard has left a set of clothes that match my style. “Checkmate provides a digital catalogue for how each piece is meant to be worn, how to mix pieces up, even what colognes to wear for different occasions. That appointment is when their hair is cut and their stylist helps them pick out belts, shoes, cufflinks, watches, whatever they want. They walk out of here with a new image on the second appointment, not the first. Their stylist schedules ongoing appointments for as long as the client wants, in case they need more coaching or guidance, more clothes… anything they need.”

  I pull a pair of expensive but comfortable jeans off the rack, ignoring the khakis. Gerard always includes a pair of khakis because he knows it irritates me. He’s such a little bitch. “But I do own the joint, so Gerard brought me decent clothes so I don’t have to walk out of here in old sweatpants that I usually wear when I go for a run.”

  “So this is a crash course for my benefit?” Chloe stands and smoothes her dress.

  I raise both brows, letting a sly smile play on my lips. “This was a crash course in a lot of things.” I tug a leather jacket from the chrome rack and put it on in front of the mirror. “Hungry?” I ask when I’m done adjusting the collar.

  “Starved.” The blue in her eyes morphs to that deep purple again, and I know she’s not just talking about food.

  I slide an arm around her waist and escort her to the door. “Good. I made a reservation at Le Savoy.”

  She pulls up short. “I’m not dressed for a restaurant like that.” Panic coasts over her flawless face, and it tells me she wants something different, less formal, more intimate.

  I’m down for that.

  I pull up OpenTable on my phone. “Done.” We say goodbye to Gerard and push through the flagship studio doors that spill out onto Fifth Avenue. I hail a cab and give him directions to a quaint and casual bistro not far from my apartment.

  “You have a driver yet you still take cabs?” Chloe asks. Her slender legs are angled toward me in the back seat and press into mine.

  I shrug. “I like to be out in the mix sometimes. Otherwise, there’s no point in living in the city.” This is true. I mostly drive my own car or call for my driver to go to and from work. On the weekends I almost always walk, grab a cab, or call for an Uber. Once in a while I even hop on the train, just to experience to the fullest the city life I love so much. But I also don’t think Chloe will feel comfortable being chauffeured. At least not yet. It might give her the impression that I’m in a different league than her.

  I want her to see me for who I really am. An ordinary guy who happened to be born with an extraordinary IQ and put it to use in an unusual way. The flashy clothes, the expensive cars, the driver, the fantastic apartment—all perks of success. But that’s not who I really am.

  I’m the guy who got here by listening to women.

  That’s why I don’t mold my palm to her thigh and flex my fingers into those beautiful legs that I’m picturing wrapped around my waist, or better yet, wrapped around my head. I absolutely don’t smooth my hand up one thigh to touch the promised land that I know is waiting under her dress. It’s not time. Almost, but not yet.

  We arrive at the bistro, and it’s not crowded since it’s between the lunch and dinner rush. “Can we have a quiet, more secluded table?” I slip the hostess a fifty and she leads us to a dark corner where a round booth awaits.

  “What can I get you two lovebirds to drink?” An early forties-ish server with a mother-hen tone steps up to take our order.

  Interesting. I wait for Chloe to answer, because I want to see her reaction. Will she speak up and tell the server we aren’t together? I mean, getting her off in the studio without even touching her doesn’t really count as a date, especially since we were working. Sort of. I’m not sure what it counts as, which is why I study Chloe’s expression and wait fo
r her to respond.

  She locks those beautiful blue eyes onto mine and doesn’t let go. She doesn’t correct the server, doesn’t so much as flinch when she says, “I’ll have a Screaming Orgasm.”

  Fuck’s sake. A sizzling wave of lust crashes through me.

  “You got it, hon. And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have a Blue Moon with an orange.” I never look away from Chloe. When we’re alone, I say, “You order the coolest drinks.”

  Her laugh is low and sensual. “I use to drink nothing but Moscow Mules until two nights ago when we bumped into Adam. I vowed to branch out. Try new things. Be more adventurous.”

  I lean in, and this time I do smooth my hand up her thigh. A breathy gasp slips through her lips when my fingers stop just short of what could quickly become a really good porn flick. She’s just revealed a very important component of her game strategy. Okay, the pantyless masturbation in front of three-way mirrors while I watched told me a lot too. My point is she wants to try new things that she’s never done before. That douchebag boss of hers obviously messed with her head. And now she wants to try to erase those bad memories by making more memories. With me. It might seem like a jump for me to glean that much information from her few words, but I’ve worked long and hard to become a master at reading women, and I’m 99.9 percent sure I’m right.

  “I’d say you’ve got the adventurous part down pretty well.” My fingertips graze her curls, and she pulls in a sharp breath.

  “Not really.” Chloe’s voice is breathy. “But playing it safe hasn’t gotten me very far, so why not?”

  I’m about to lean in and whisper in her ear. Ask her just how adventurous she wants to get, when the waitress sets glasses in front of us and breaks the spell.

  “Ready to order?” The waitress doesn’t bother to pull out a pad and pen.

  “Thank you,” I say, but I don’t move my hand. The tablecloth has our laps hidden, and Chloe wants adventure, so that’s what she’s going to get. I aim to please, just like Checkmate tries to instill in all its clients.

  “Um, I haven’t looked at the menu.” A pretty blush seeps into her cheeks.

  “Trust me to order for you?” I ask.

  She nods, and I order a few of my favorites without looking at the menu. The waitress steps away, and we’re alone again.

  Chloe sips her drink. My finger slowly skims back and forth along her pussy. It’s wet and ready, practically scorching my fingertips.

  She clears her throat. “So how long have you, Dex, and Oz been friends?”

  I take a swallow of my beer. “Huh-uh. I’ve been letting you interview me for three days now. It’s time to talk about you.”

  “Isn’t me getting to know the man behind the Checkmate mystery the whole point?”

  “If you still think that’s the point…” I trace her scorching hot opening with a finger then insert the tip. She opens a little wider for me, her lips part, her breaths quicken. “Then we have a lot more work ahead of us.” I ease my finger out and bury it again. She gasps and swallows. “It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” Her voice is raspy and laced with lust.

  Our faces are so close that her quick, shallow breaths warm my cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what I want to know. What matters is what do you want to tell me? It’s all about what you want.” I want to hear anything and everything. The big things, the little details, what makes her cry, what makes her laugh, what makes her love.

  I slide my hand down to her knee so she can concentrate. She sips her drink, then spins it in a circle on the table. I wait patiently, and sip my beer without pushing her in the least. She doesn’t have to tell me anything if she doesn’t want to. Which in itself would tell me a lot.

  Finally, she says, “I had an imaginary friend when I was little.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. I swear, this girl keeps me so far on my toes I might as well wear women’s stilettos. She could have started with her education, her job, her accomplishments—anything that might impress me. Instead she starts with information that would embarrass most people. But it tells me something important about her background. Something that shaped her during her formative years.

  She was a lonely child with a vivid imagination.

  “What was her name?” I gently rub my thumb in circles over her knee.

  She smiles down at her drink. “Henry.”

  “Your imaginary friend was a guy?” Now this is even more interesting. “What did you and Henry do together?”

  She gives me a disapproving look. “We didn’t play doctor, if that’s what you mean.” She shrugs. “I have five older sisters. I’m the youngest by several years, and the biggest disappointment to my father simply because I was his last chance to have a son. If I’d been a boy, he wanted to name me Henry after his father.”

  Ah, daddy issues.

  “I thank my lucky stars every day that my mom drew the line and didn’t let him name me Henrietta.” She swirls her drink around in her glass.

  “My grandmother’s name was Henrietta,” I deadpan, like I’m offended that Chloe doesn’t like the name. It’s a joke. My grandmother’s name was Margaret.

  “Exactly.” Chloe matches me with her own deadpan wit. “My father still hasn’t forgiven me for not being born with a penis. I don’t need a granny name on top of everything else.”

  I chuckle and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “What else do you want me to know?”

  She taps her chin. “I love going to the airport. I get this yearning for adventure, like I want to just pick a random flight and get on. No luggage, no planning, I don’t even want to know where the plane is going.”

  “Have you ever done that?” I ask, because it sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.

  She shakes her head, her dark silky hair cascading over her shoulders. “I’ve never had the guts to do something so daring.” She looks up at me. “But maybe that’s about to change.”

  Our food arrives, and I keep the conversation going. The more she tells me, the hungrier I am to know more. Peeling off one or two layers isn’t enough, because she’s the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. She’s opening up, and telling me things that I’d bet money she doesn’t say to just anyone. I don’t want that baring of her soul and her mind to end yet. The deeper she goes, the more we’ll connect. And when we finally get to the baring of her body, it’ll be so much better. “What else?” I ask as we eat our meals.

  “I can tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.”

  I choke on a bite of lobster ravioli and ask for the check.

  Chapter Ten

  I can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. I’d planned to keep the verbal innuendo, the sensual game, the foreplay going another day before Chloe and I close the deal. My way of giving her time to be certain she wants to take this step with me.

  If she doesn’t, no hard feelings, and she does my PR work without doing me. But today has cracked my concentration wide open, and I can’t hold back the riptide of lust crashing through me. It will drag me under, drown me if I don’t strip her naked soon and slide my tongue all over her.

  I hurry her into a cab. I give the driver my address, an off-the-cuff decision that surprises me. I don’t take women to my apartment. It’s my way of saving something for that special woman when I finally meet her. The thought makes me pull Chloe closer, and she snuggles into me. I place a soft kiss in her hair, and she turns those blue eyes on me that are already glistening with anticipation.

  We are almost at my place when a barrage of texts and phone calls start flooding in. Dex, Oz, and Leticia are all texting and calling at once.

  This can’t be good.

  I decide to take Leticia’s call first. She’s always my go-to person and protects me like the queen protecting its king in a game of chess. “What’s up?” I ask as soon as the call connects.

  “What isn’t up would be an easier question.” Her voice seems far too frantic. “S
omeone screwed us. A client broke the confidentiality agreement and recorded a private consultation. The footage is on every news station in America by now.”

  “Shit.” I don’t whisper.

  But how bad can it be? We don’t do anything wrong in our private studio appointments. It’s more about protecting the client’s image. It’s not like a guy wants to broadcast to the public how far he’s willing to go to build up his self-image by creating a new and improved outer image.

  “Do we know which client?” I ask.

  “No, and the footage has been edited to look bad for Checkmate.”

  “Where are Dex and Oz?”

  “On their way to the office, just like me,” Leticia says like she’s mounting an attack against the enemy. I love that woman for being my battlefield commander.

  “Let them know I’m en route.” I can’t bring myself to call my partners personally. I’ve just broken confidentiality, same as the asshole trying to ruin us. “Get Gerard and Magnus to meet us at the office. They can help figure out where the breach is quicker than anyone else.”

  “Already taken care of,” Leticia assures me.

  I should’ve known. The woman has administrative superpowers that scare me. I hang up and tell the driver to drop me at Checkmate headquarters.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go to the office.” I sum up what’s happened.

  “Shouldn’t I come with you? I could help do damage control, maybe offer ideas to stop it from spinning out of control.”

  That would be a good plan under normal circumstances. Circumstances surrounding my relationship with Chloe have been nothing close to normal since the moment I laid eyes on her. With her and Gerard in the same room, the truth about where I took her this afternoon will come out before I have a chance to tell Dex and Oz myself. They don’t even know yet that I’ve hired Chloe and her firm to manage our public relations problems. If they find out the wrong way it could drive a wedge between us. Since we’re already under attack from outside sources, the last thing we need is to be at war with each other. I’ll tell them. I owe my partners the truth. But I’ll fill them in when the time is right, and when we’re alone.