Naughty, Dirty, Cocky

by Whitney G.

  “It was implied.” I blushed.

  He smiled and pulled out his phone. “How close is your place?”

  “Close enough for us to walk. It’s in SoHo.”

  “I think you need to re-learn the definition of pretty close.” He looked at me like I was insane. “SoHo is a half-hour walk away, at best.”

  “No, it’s only twenty minutes.” I wasn’t sure why his brand of arrogance was such a turn-on. “Are you saying you won’t walk home with me?”

  “Absolutely.” He held his phone up to his ear. “Miller, would you come to Club H2O and pick up me and—” he paused, smiling, “my new friend, Rachel. I need you to take us to her place in SoHo.”

  He spoke a few more words into his phone before ending the call and looking at me. “He’ll be here in two minutes.” He leaned over me and grabbed my heels.

  I held out my hand so he could give them to me, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept them and slid his hands underneath my thighs and lifted me up, tossing me over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, beyond wet and turned on for some reason.

  “Exactly what you asked.” He carried me out of the VIP section, past the dance floor, and out of the club.

  Outside, he carried me to a waiting black town car and placed me onto the backseat. He sat next to me and shut the door behind him.

  “What’s your exact address, Miss Rachel?” The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and it took me a few seconds to realize that by saying “Rachel” he was referring to me.

  “2000 Lafayette,” I said.

  “Got it.” He rolled up the partition and pulled into the traffic.

  I felt Ryan staring at me and looked over at him. “I take it that you do this type of thing often?”

  “Not as often as you,” he said. “At least, not recently.”

  “Well, maybe when you reach my level of expertise, you’ll realize why it’s rude to just pick up someone and carry them out of the club without warning.”

  “I personally think you enjoyed that.”

  “No.” I smiled. “I definitely didn’t.”

  Before I could say anything else, his dominating mouth was on mine and he was pushing me down against the leather seat.

  I shut my eyes as he kissed me harder than I’d ever been kissed before, as he slid his hands against my bare thighs.

  It had been so long since I’d been touched, that I was reveling in every brush of his skin against mine. And with each commanding roll of his tongue against my lips, I wondered why a kiss never felt this intense with any of the boyfriends I’d had in the past. Why nothing they did even halfway compared to what this man was doing to me right now.

  Palming my breasts through my dress, he groaned as I gently bit his bottom lip and playfully tugged at his belt.

  The car continued to cruise against the bumpy streets of Manhattan and every now and then I felt his hardened cock through his pants, rubbing against my thighs. My eyes fluttered open each time because I just knew his cock couldn’t be that huge.

  This has to be my imagination messing with me....

  When I noticed that the car had finally come to a stop, his lips were still attached to mine, and my hands were in his hair. I was murmuring as he continued to tease my thighs with his touches, and I was on the verge of insisting that we finish this on the backseat.

  It wasn’t until a series of car honks that he eventually tore away from me and helped me to sit up. Adjusting my dress, he stepped out and held the door for me, once again carrying my shoes.

  I walked the few steps to the front door of my brownstone, fumbling for the keys. I managed to open the door in record time, and the second I stepped inside the apartment, he pushed me against the wall and we picked up right where we left off seconds ago.

  He lifted my leg around his waist and continued controlling my mouth with his, not missing a single beat.

  “Where do you want me to fuck you?” he whispered against my mouth.

  “My bedroom.”

  He unzipped the side of my dress and it fell to the floor in a pool of blue silk. He kissed his way down to my neck, to my chest—sucking one of my nipples between his lips.

  Moaning, I attempted to tell him where my bedroom was, but he returned to my mouth, rendering me completely useless with his kisses all over again.

  He slid his hand between my thighs and pressed his thumb against my swollen clit, rubbing it in slow torturous circles.

  “Ah ...” I cried out. “Ah ... Wait.”

  “For what?”

  I bit my shoulder to prevent myself from crying out even louder, and he kept his rhythm, using his hips to pin me against the wall. To prevent me from moving away.

  My breathing slowed and my pussy began to throb against his hand as he slid two thick fingers deep inside of me.

  Just as I was getting close to the edge, he moved his hand and whispered into my ear, “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

  I nodded, incapable of doing much else.

  “Hmmm.” He pulled me over to the couch. “I think I need to do something before we go to your bedroom.”

  “Something?” I asked as he pushed me back onto the cushions. “Something like what?”

  “Like fuck your pussy with my tongue until you come in my mouth.” He spread my legs and got down on his knees. “That is what you said you wanted, correct?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer him. He buried his head between my legs and sucked my clit between his lips, making me scream out in pleasure. I grabbed his hair, to try to get him to slow down, but it was no use. He put one of my legs over his shoulder and took his time devouring my pussy with his mouth.

  I shut my eyes as I surrendered complete control, as I realized that I was going to let this man do whatever he wanted to do to me for the rest of the night ...

  THE PUBLICIST

  PENELOPE

  The next morning ...

  I rolled over in bed, groaning as every single muscle in my body ached in pleasurable pain. My legs felt as if they were too weak to stand on, as if they had yet to recover from Ryan fucking me against my dresser, my wall, and the edge of my mattress. My lips were sensitive and sore from the way he’d bitten them—when he made me beg him to fuck me harder. And my nipples were numb from the way he’d sucked them while I rode his cock during our final round.

  I wasn’t sure when he’d left or when he’d dressed me in a T-shirt and tucked me into my bed, but a part of me was wishing I’d broken my second rule and given him my phone number so we could do that all over again.

  Unable to sit up, I dozed off to memories of him fucking me—smiling each time he buried his head between my legs and teased me with his mouth.

  After replaying our wall sex for the fifth time, I rolled over to the other side of my bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I was still confused about the client who was coming in at four o’clock and I was hoping someone on my team would have some answers so we would be somewhat prepared whenever he came in.

  I should definitely pick up some breakfast before going in today ...

  I unlocked my phone’s screen and saw that my inbox was full of similar subject lines: “Where are you?” “Are you okay?” “What’s going on?” “The concierge is going to call the police if you don’t let us know where you are by three ...”

  Confused, I opened the first message and started to type back. Then I noticed the time.

  It’s one o’clock?

  “What the fuck!” I stumbled out of bed and damn near fell to the floor. There was no way it was one in the afternoon. The sky outside my window was still dark, the usual ‘it’s five o’clock and I’m super early for work’ dark.

  I pulled the curtains open and noticed the ominous clouds in the sky above. Traffic was at a mid-day standstill and the rain was falling over the city in sheets.

  Shit. Shit. Shit ...

  I sent Tina a quick “I’m on my way. Bad morning. Sorry,” text mess
age. Then I texted our town car driver and told him I’d need a ride to work in thirty minutes.

  Tossing off my T-shirt, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to the bathroom. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Sarah?” I knocked. “Sarah, are you in there?”

  “I’m actually right here.” She stepped in front of the door, swinging a key.

  “You had a new lock installed on our bathroom?” I really needed to replace her with another roommate. Fast.

  “Yes, I did have a new key made for our bathroom. This is our bathroom, isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Just me and you.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I crossed my arms. “Actually, can you hold that thought and just unlock the door, please? Surely we can discuss whatever the issue is after I get off work later today.”

  “Nope.” She continued swinging the key. “Your guy friend doesn’t need to use our bathroom when he comes over anymore. That goes for your other friends and work buddies as well. We just completed a new study in my lab about the danger of visitor germs.”

  You have got to be kidding me right now ...

  “Who knows what type of mutated germs they carry, you know? They all travel somewhere new every month and I never hear them talk about fully cleaning their possessions upon their return. I mean, I’m not paying twenty-five hundred a month to deal with your guests’ germs. Also, speaking of your guests, I couldn’t help but notice that you brought someone home with you last night.”

  I tried my best to keep a straight face, to look like I was taking her foolishness seriously.

  “My music was on its highest volume, but I still overheard you having sexual relations in our living room,” she said. “You had them on the couch, the wall, and the carpet, so I’ve called a deep cleaning service to come here this evening. I expect to be fully repaid by the end of the week for the four hundred dollars this will cost, and from the way things sounded with that guy last night, I hope you plan on getting your mattress steamed. Do you?”

  I didn’t answer her. I snatched the key from her hand and unlocked the bathroom door, quickly shutting myself inside. I heard her continuing her pointless speech through the door, so I stepped into the shower and turned up the water pressure as high as it could go.

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves as I washed my hair.

  All hope is not lost, Penelope ... The new client meeting isn’t until four and you can definitely get to work by two to prepare ...

  I stepped out of the shower minutes later and headed into the laundry room to get my lucky “signing day” suit. I’d never failed to secure a deal while wearing it, and I always kept it dry cleaned and tucked away for special days like today.

  Hitting the lights, I expected to see it hanging high on the clothing rack as usual, but it wasn’t there. It couldn’t have been there because in its place was a similar suit that bore discolored, ugly blotches of white and pink. A suit that looked as if it’d lost a long and hard battle with a bottle of bleach.

  “Sarah!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Sarah!”

  “Yeah?” She called back. “What?”

  “What the hell happened to my grey suit?”

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “I saw it a few hours ago and realized I must have accidentally bleached it. Sorry.”

  I shut the door and headed toward her voice, straight to the kitchen. I silently counted backwards from ten before speaking, to prevent myself from completely losing it.

  “Sarah, that was my lucky suit and I only wear it on signing days,” I said. “Today is a signing day.”

  “Oh. Well, that sounds somewhat exciting,” she said dryly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I need you to kindly tell me how you accidentally bleached a ‘dry-clean’ only suit.” My blood was boiling. “It’s always in a plastic bag, and there is always—always, a bright red ‘DRY CLEAN ONLY’ tag hanging from it.”

  “I guess I don’t really know.” She shrugged, smiling. “How do you bring someone home and accidentally forget to clean up when you know damn well that your roommate is a germaphobe?”

  I resisted the instant urge to lean over the counter and strangle her, but only because I didn’t have any more time to waste.

  I can totally do it later ...

  I rushed to my room and flipped through the other suits in my closet, settling on a black dress and blazer combination. Searching for my lint brush, I pulled my dresser drawer open and noticed there was a folded paper tucked into the side of my mirror.

  This definitely wasn’t here yesterday ...

  Confused, I opened it and saw a handwritten note in bright, blue cursive:

  Rachel,

  I think you were lying to me last night about being “experienced.” You orgasmed three times, and that was before we ever made it to your bedroom. I also find it hard to believe you “usually wear silk lingerie.” Your drawers are full of cotton, granny panties.

  —The best man you’ve ever fucked (Thank you for that compliment afterward, even though I already knew that ...)

  PS—For the record, your pussy is quite phenomenal.

  UGH!

  I rolled my eyes and tucked his smart-ass note at the bottom of my drawer, realizing he was right about my nonexistent panty collection.

  I slipped into my dress and heels, and pulled my hair into a low ponytail. I put on a light layer of concealer and lip gloss, then I grabbed my briefcase and umbrella.

  Leaving the condo, I walked halfway down the block to my favorite coffee shop. It was the one place that never failed to instantly turn my dreariest days into my best days with its custom caramel drizzle latte.

  I pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t give way. I pulled it even harder and peered inside to see that the café was empty, but the lights were on.

  Since when do they close early on Mondays?

  I walked to the other entry door and spotted a pink sign in the window.

  This establishment has committed HEALTH CODE VIOLATION 785-12.

  CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  “Didn’t you hear?” A woman pushed her stroller next to me. “It’s pretty disgusting how badly they failed the inspection.”

  “No ...” I sighed. “I don’t even want to know what happened.”

  “They had a cockroach infestation. It was so bad, that they were grinding some of the dead roaches into the coffee beans.” She smiled and held out her phone. “There’s a pretty funny YouTube video about it. See?”

  I immediately walked away from her and headed toward my place.

  This day can’t possibly get any worse ...

  I waved down the approaching company town car and slipped into the back seat. The driver gave me a sympathetic look, but he didn’t say anything. He simply let his soft music play over the speakers.

  Scrolling through my inbox, I answered what emails I could and called Tina.

  “Yes, Miss Lauren?” she answered.

  “Can you give me the daily updates? I’ll be there soon, but I’m in mid-day traffic.”

  “Sure thing.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Well, I have good news and bad news.”

  “Go with the bad news first so we can get it out of the way.”

  “We lost two clients, Michael Pilot and Liam Johnson, to Drew and Associates, as of this morning.”

  “Of course, we did.” I shook my head, debating whether I should ask the driver to turn around and take me back home so I could sleep the rest of this terrible day away instead.

  “But there’s good news!” She exclaimed. “I found a few viable references for our mystery RD LLC client.”

  “Okay, great. Who are they?”

  “The Welch Group, Embassy PR, and Avenue & Associates.”

  “He’s been with all of them already?” I scrolled through my list of contacts. “When was this?”

  “He didn’t say, and I figured you would want to be the one who cal
led to ask questions.”

  “Got it,” I said. “Thank you, Tina.”

  “You’re welcome. See you soon.”

  I ended the call and tried to think about who this guy could possibly be, if he’d already dealt with three of the biggest firms in this city. I was hoping he was a high-profile athlete who was trying to turn his career around, or maybe one of the many newly displaced Los Angeles celebrities who were attempting to start fresh in New York.

  Smiling at the possibilities, I dialed my contact at The Welch Group first.

  “Veronica of The Welch Group speaking,” she answered on the first ring. “Who is this?”

  “Penelope of Lauren & Associates,” I said. “I hope I’m not reaching you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all, Penelope. What do you need?”

  “I have a question about a potential client who listed you as reference. He listed himself as RD LLC, so I was wondering if—”

  She hung up in my face.

  Seconds later, she sent me a text message.

  VERONICA: I have absolutely nothing to say about that client. EVER.

  “Okay, then ...” I scrolled down and called my contact at Avenue PR.

  “Eva of Avenue PR,” she answered. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?”

  “Hey, Eva. It’s me, Penelope at Lauren & Associates. I’m calling to see if you can give me any information about a former client of yours.”

  “Sure. Which one?”

  “He hasn’t given his name yet, but he came to us under RD LLC.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Hello? Eva, are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Well, um ... Can you tell me anything at all about this client?”

  “I can tell you that he would have to pay me a million dollars a week to work with him again. I can also tell you that if you’re smart, you’ll reject him the second he brings his special brand of assholery through your doors.”

  I sighed. “Anything more concrete than that, maybe?”

  “You’ll see.” She hung up and I didn’t bother calling the other reference.

  By the time I arrived to the office, it was two thirty and my staff had already set out the snack trays and flower bouquets for our trademark client introduction meeting. I unwrapped a fresh pack of fountain pens and placed them at the center of the conference table.