Julian's Pursuit

by Lovell, Haleigh

  I grabbed my purse off the table and slung it over my shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “What about this one?” Julian pulled a dress off the rack and showed it to me.

  “Oh, that’s cute.” I looked at it more closely. It was flawlessly tailored with a simple portrait neckline, and it was the perfect power dress to navigate the corporate jungle. However, upon checking the hefty price tag, I promptly changed my mind. “It’s not that cute.”

  “Try it on,” Julian insisted.

  “No. It’s too much.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” His mouth lifted in a half smile. “One of the perks of being a cheap date.”

  “All right,” I agreed, then lowered my voice to a sultry whisper. “Since you’re so willing to be generous with me, I won’t deny you this small comfort.”

  His half smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “You’re so fucking hot when you talk like that.”

  “C’mon,” I said, holding out my hand. “You’re coming with me.”

  He took my hand and we weaved our way out of the maze of clothes racks then crossed the big atrium with the marble floor and high ceilings.

  There, we breezed past a pianist who was coaxing the classic theme from Casablanca from the Baldwin baby grand piano.

  “Where are we going?” Julian asked, as the lilting sounds of the piano keys playing in the background grew fainter and fainter.

  “Where do you think?” My lips tipped into a flirtatious grin. “The fitting room, of course.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sadie exuded both power and sex appeal in the dress. It was a basic black dress with a fitted A-line silhouette and an open neckline, revealing the hollow at the base of her throat and a vee of creamy skin underneath, which lent it a sexy and subtle twist.

  But it wasn’t just the dress. It was the way she unashamedly checked herself in the mirror, the way she carried herself, like a queen.

  Propping a shoulder against one of the mirrored walls, I stared at the alluring sight of her, feeling my cock stir beneath the length of my zipper.

  When she reached behind her back to unzip the dress, I took a half step forward and whispered, “Let me help you.”

  With deliberate slowness, I lowered the metal zipper.

  Anticipation mingled in the air around us, her breathing a slow, seductive rasp as the zipper traveled down her spine, revealing more and more of her lustrous skin.

  Swallowing with a dry throat, I watched her reflection in the mirror as I let the dress fall to the floor.

  For a time, I stood transfixed, drinking in every detail—the sheer mesh bra, pale yellow and see-through like luminous sunlight, covering her exquisite breasts.

  Covering wouldn’t be the accurate word since her peach-colored areolas were clearly visible through the sheer fabric.

  As her breasts lifted against the bra, her taut little nipples pressed into the mesh fabric.

  My balls lanced with heat and I felt my erection grow, swelling with need as my gaze raked across her thong, a thinly veiled triangle of white mesh, so tiny and so sheer it barely concealed her plump, pink lips.

  And her long endless legs in nude six-inched heels made her appear even taller.

  Fucking perfect. She looked like a fucking goddess and I knelt before her, worshipping her with my eyes.

  My breathing was slow and thick as I pressed a wet kiss to her stomach, just beneath her navel.

  Just a little tease, before I began worshipping her with my mouth.

  Her fingers dug into the hard muscles of my shoulders as I licked the edge of her thong, a slow sweep, smooth and wet.

  Gripping me tighter, her lips parted to release a breathless moan.

  I tasted her again. This time I traced my tongue over the deep dimple in her thong—the sweet spot where her inner lips parted—and sucked her right through the sheer, white fabric.

  Moaning with pleasure, she raked her nails across my scalp as I drew her clit into my mouth and suckled hard, sipping her juices through the mesh material, savoring her sweet release as it dripped out of her.

  In time her sultry moans melted into thin whimpers as I rolled my tongue over her clit, circling it, gently abrading it with the edge of my teeth just before sucking her hungrily between my lips, getting a mouthful of her arousal as it seeped through her thong.

  A low moan eased from her throat and she pressed my head firmly to her pussy, demanding more.

  My hands stroked up her hips and slid around to caress her ass, letting my fingers play with the thin strip of her thong as I buried my head between her quivering thighs and tongued her right through the sheer material.

  The fabric stretched and dipped as I tunneled my tongue into her slit, parting the wet, quivering flesh beneath.

  “Julian,” she gasped, grinding her pussy against my mouth until the tiny scrap of fabric was pushed aside and my tongue was cleaving inside her bare, heated folds.

  Taking my time, I tongued her with a slow and sensual torment, rooting deeper and deeper into her drenched folds until I felt her inner muscles contract around my tongue.

  Just before she came apart, I lifted my mouth from her dripping wet pussy and pushed to my feet.

  Mirrors covered all three walls of the fitting room.

  And I wanted to watch Sadie in all the mirrors as I fucked her in her six-inched heels.

  Without taking my eyes off her, I quickly removed my shoes and stripped off my clothes.

  My erection jutted out between my thighs, my cock heavy and hard for her, the slit covered with pre-cum.

  As my arms came around her from behind, she pressed herself tightly against me, rubbing her ass into my raging erection, staring at our reflections in the mirror.

  My throat worked as my searing gaze raked across her flushed face, down to the stiff peaks of her nipples straining against the sheer cups, and lower still to her smooth, glistening pussy.

  The sheer white thong was now soaked from my licking and her lubricating juices.

  The fabric was plastered to her skin, clinging to every crease, every slope, and every contour of her labia.

  In the mirror, our eyes locked and she followed my movements as I splayed my hands across her stomach, smoothing my palms downward, reaching between her legs, pushing her thighs apart and opening her sex.

  Using just my fingertips, I caressed her through the sheer material of her thong, stroking the moist folds of her sex. Upward then downward, rubbing the milky secretions deep into her pink folds as my thumb pressed hard against her extruded clit, teasing and taunting the swollen bud.

  She raised her arms, reaching behind my neck, digging her nails into my flesh as I tunneled my finger into her slit, watching the translucent fabric dimple, then dig into her pink folds as I sank my middle finger inside her core.

  Entranced, I stared at the mirror, utterly rapt as thick rivulets of cream sluiced through the fabric, coating my finger with her honey.

  Her glazed eyes shifted and refocused as I slowly withdrew my finger and roughly pushed the fabric aside.

  Her flushed pussy lips now hung out from the sides of her thong and my cock pulsed at the sight of her plump clit peeking out of its hood.

  Holding her gaze in the mirror, I pushed two fingers inside her warm, honeyed slit, sliding in slow and deep through her wetness until they disappeared inside her drenched folds.

  Fuck. I inhaled with a sharp hiss. She was hot and tight and dripping wet, clasping around my fingers as they reached inside her inner walls, finding that one spot.

  That ultra-sensitive spot.

  And stroking…

  And stroking…

  And stroking…

  All the while, I watched the sweet, sultry emotions play across her face as I caressed her from within, centering all my attention on her G-spot, working that hardened nub harder and harder until she was writhing and whimpering for release.

  “Julian.” Her pelvis rocked hard against my finger
s. “Fuck me.”

  My tongue traced the shape of her earlobe. “Strip,” I rasped, raking the flesh with my teeth.

  In the next breath, I reached for my wallet, pulled out a foil packet, and tore it open. Within seconds, I was fully sheathed.

  When I lifted my gaze, I found Sadie completely nude except for her spiked heels.

  She was bent over ever so slightly with her hands braced against the mirror, her feet spread apart as if she were braced for a body search.

  My cock thrust up between us, a thick rod of hard flesh.

  Fuck yeah, I was ready to frisk her.

  Smoothing my palms over the rounded curves of her ass, I used my knee to spread her wider until her clit was brazenly bared and her smooth pussy flared open to accommodate me.

  With her six-inched heels, she was the perfect height for this position.

  In the mirrored reflection, I had a side view of my cock as I entered her from behind. I watched the thick length of my erection, veins throbbing, flesh tight and hard as I slid my cock into the sopping wet folds of her pussy, the blunt crest disappearing inside her.

  Then my gaze shifted to her jutted breasts, watching them jounce wildly as I drove into her with short, hard digs.

  “Julian,” she begged softly, her breasts bouncing in time to my thrusts. “Fuck me harder.”

  My fingers fisted in her hair, gently tugging her head back as I pistoned my hips and took her harder. Deeper. Faster.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she whimpered, her breath fogging up the mirror, her tits pressing up against the reflecting glass as I set a ruthless pace, driving my cock into her with escalating urgency.

  My gaze darkened as I kept my eyes trained on her tits, loving the way those soft milky-white globes flattened out against the mirror as I pummeled her from behind.

  In our reflected gazes, Sadie watched me watching her, taking pleasure in the way my eyes gleamed with unadulterated lust as I stared hungrily at her supple breasts.

  The flinty desire in her eyes never wavered as she pressed her tits harder against the mirrored wall, smearing the large discs of her areolas across the reflecting glass.

  With a ragged groan, I withdrew again and thrust back to the hilt, burying myself deep inside her juicy, tight sheath, filling her hot, weeping sex, taking her wild and without apology.

  Sparks of heat flashed in my eyes and I swallowed hard at the intoxicating sight of us fucking in a way I’d only fantasized about.

  The surrounding mirrors reflected three angles of her lush, responsive body urging me on as I drove into her over and over, taking her deeper with each thrust until she came hard and fast, biting back her screams.

  In one last powerful thrust, I joined her in a harsh groan, my own climax as violent and as all consuming.

  Later, after we got dressed and left the fitting room, a sales attendant walked toward us, her gaze slanting toward the dress in Sadie’s hands.

  “How was the dress?” she asked.

  Sadie turned to me and smiled—a feline smile that curved the corners of her generous mouth. It was so naughty and sexy that I thought my cock would burst through the seams of my pants. “Orgasmic,” she said huskily, her voice scratchy from sex.

  “It was,” I said with deadly calm, struggling to walk with my massive hard-on.

  “Julian,” Sadie teased. “Put your pistol away. You look like a sheriff strutting into a salon at high noon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  If a woman is poorly dressed you notice her dress and if she is impeccably dressed you notice the woman. I’m not exactly sure where I heard that before. Though if I had to guess, it was likely something my mom spouted when she was going through one of her many phases of embracing ‘Chanelism.’

  I’d always taken special pains to dress impeccably for work, but today I took extra special pains because I wanted to be a force to be reckoned with.

  A tour de force, so to speak.

  Julian was right. I needed to step up my game and show them my true potential.

  Because if I didn’t, this chance of a lifetime could slip through my fingers.

  Even worse, if the job went to Tim, I’d have to report to him, which would be a sentence far worse than death.

  “I understand the value I bring to the table and the impact I make on the organizational bottom line,” I whispered under my breath as I stared at the mirror, trying to restore my wits and pep myself up for the interview.

  “Don’t worry, babes.” Julian brushed my hair aside and dropped a tender kiss on my shoulder. “You’re gonna do fine. You’ve got this.”

  Smoothing my palms over my new dress, I asked nervously, “How do I look?”

  A smile played across his lips. “Like a million bucks.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He held my gaze in the mirror and any doubts I might have had were quickly dispelled by the quiet pride I saw in his eyes.

  “The best outfit you’re wearing is your self-confidence. You’re rocking it, babes. And owning it.”

  Right. I pulled in a steadying breath, feeling as sharp and ready as a razor blade.

  I was going to show them—and remind them—that I was the woman and the man for this job.

  All in all, I thought the interview went rather well. I could only speak for myself, though. I wasn’t sure how Tim had fared in his interview. To me he always sounded so rehearsed, like an actor struggling to make the best of imperfect lines.

  Still, Tim was a cold and ruthless adversary, and a strategist at heart, always calculating a possible advantage.

  So although I felt good about my interview, I wasn’t certain if it was enough to secure me the job.

  It was two weeks later before I found out that it was indeed enough.

  Halle-fucking-lujah! I got the job.

  It was all still surreal to me, even as I walked out of the meeting with my boss, Tony Marsh.

  I couldn’t believe it. I was now officially an Account Director at Hall and Heinrich, responsible for leading a team of account execs, accountable for client P & L (profits and losses), in charge of marketing strategy, campaign development, and developing multi-tiered agency-client relationship and ties.

  While that all sounded incredibly daunting, I knew I could hold my own.

  “Sadie!” Julian caught up with me in the hallway. “I just heard the news.”

  “Me, too.” I smiled. “And I was just on my way to tell you.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s almost lunch now. I say we go celebrate.”

  “Where do you want to go?” I asked.

  Food court. Food court. I attempted to beam my thoughts to him telepathically.

  “Look, I know you’re dying to go to the food court.” His voice trailed off on a laugh. “And we’ll go there, I promise—for dinner tonight with Evan and Andrea. But for lunch, I’m taking you some place special.”

  “All right.” I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The place was small and intimate, with outdoor and indoor seating decorated like a French bistro. I looked around, feeling as if I’d stepped into the alleyway of a Parisian street.

  “Yes,” Julian said to the hostess. “I have a reservation.”

  The woman nodded. “For two?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “Under the name Julian S.”

  “Certainly.” The hostess picked up two menus. “Right this way.” She led us through the main dining area toward the French doors, which exited to the outside seating area.

  Outdoors, she led us directly to a table by a water fountain and Julian held out a chair, waiting for me to sit.

  I smiled my thanks and moved to take the offered seat. “And I thought chivalry was dead.”

  He took the chair across from me and said, “It’s alive and kicking.”

  “This is nice.” I settled back in my chair. “I can’t believe you made a reservation.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He smiled. “There was no doubt in my mind that you’d get th
e job.”

  Our waiter arrived soon after and asked us if we wanted anything to drink.

  “Wine?” Julian asked and I nodded.

  “You order,” I told him.

  Julian made a great play of studying the wine list, lightly tapping a finger to his chin as he evaluated the selections. It was a shame he didn’t have a beard to stroke, too. “I’m torn between the Château Mouton-Rothschild and the Beerenauslese. Or,” he added reflectively, “perhaps I should just go with the Blanc de Blancs.”

  He spoke with a note of hauteur in his voice, complete with all the proper inflections.

  It sounded something like this: I’m torn between the sha-TOH moo-TAWN rawt-SHEELD and the BAY-ruhn-OWS-lay-zuh. Or maybe I should just go with the BLAHNGK duh BLAHNGKS.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or be highly turned off. Then Julian looked across the table with that devilish glint in his eyes, and it quickly dawned on me that he was mimicking Glenn from the office. Glenn Price. Resident Art Director and pretentious prick.

  The waiter made a suggestion. “Sir, the Château Mouton-Rothschild would pair nicely with the house special.”

  Julian nodded sagely. “I suppose I’ll go with the sha-TOH moo-TAWN rawt-SHEELD.”

  “Excellent,” said the waiter. “We offer both the 2006 and 2010.”

  “A 2010? God, no!” Julian said it with such force that he almost fell off his chair. “I’m no animal! I don’t drink wine that young.” He frowned with disgust. “Besides, that year was too wet.”

  “It was a wet year,” agreed the waiter in heartfelt tones. “So you’ll go with the 2006 then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  At this point I was watching the exchange with amused eyes, struggling like the devil not to laugh. Unable to help myself, I played along with the shenanigans. “We’re such acid freaks, you see,” I said gravely. “Flabby wine just doesn’t cut it for us.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. And are you ready to order?”

  I picked up my menu and quickly perused the entrées. “I’ll have the house special.”