by Natalie Wrye
She’s tall—thin. Sculpted shoulders peek beneath the slender straps of a skin-tight halter-top, and if her flirty eyes weren’t enough to tip me off that she’s interested, then the “Fuck me now” imprinted across her smooth forehead would.
I take another slug of the red concoction in front of me and wait. She smiles again.
“You’re Brett Jackson, aren’t you?”
I glance down into my drink. “If I said no, would you believe me?”
She laughs, a light purposefully musical sound. “If you want me to.”
I say nothing back, and she continues. “I’m Samantha.”
“I’m waiting for someone,” I reply. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s not a problem.” She leans in slightly, her ankles crossing and re-crossing next to my stool. She taps the edge of mine—accidentally—with the sole of her shoe. Oh, she’s good at this. She licks a pink-lined lip.
“May I ask who you’re waiting for?” she inclines her platinum blonde bob towards me.
I look over at her. “You may ask. I might not answer though.”
She grins again, undeterred. “That’s fine.” She hesitates, her gaze grazing me from head to toe. “She obviously doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
“What makes you think I’m meeting a ‘she’?”
“The sad puppy dog look in your eyes,” she says bluntly. “Let me guess… she’s turned you down before.”
It’s my turn to grin this time. “Many times, actually.”
She raises a hand towards the bartender and he slides her a drink without asking, a very dirty martini passing quickly from his hands to hers. She’s definitely done this before. I recognize a pro when I see one. I’m tempted to tell her so.
She twirls a finger around the stem of her glass, her lips pursing. She bats her eyelashes up at me, giving me a better look of her pretty baby blues.
“Why risk it then?” she says, trailing the toe of her high-heeled pump up my leg. “When I could be the person you’re waiting for?”
I sigh, drumming my fingers along the edge of my drink. I raise my eyes to hers. “Your company would definitely be a price too steep for me, Samantha.” I drain the rest of my drink. “But thanks for the offer.”
She grabs my wrist, wrapping her long fingers around me. I glance down at them. “For you?” she whispers, her voice a rasp. “My company is completely free.”
I shake my head, pulling out my wallet and dropping a bill on the bar. Standing to my full height, I look down at her--this sophisticated siren, a woman whose life centers around pleasure and giving it. A man’s entire wet dream—if one existed. On a rainy, sullen night like tonight, she would be perfect company, a sexy seemingly witty companion for any man who needs a drink in his hand and a mouth on his cock. But that man—tonight or any other night—is no longer me. I slip my leather wallet back into my pocket.
“Actually, love… that wasn’t the price I’m talking about. Mine has less to do with cash… and a whole lot more to do with the potential to lose something a lot more valuable.”
“Hope she’s worth it,” the beautiful escort directs at my back. I don’t turn as I leave.
“She is.” I replace my drink with a toothpick between my teeth, exiting the world-famous King Cole bar, heading back into the lobby where I tap the button for floor twenty-four, and I enter the empty elevator. All alone. I’m half way up before the tipsy rage finds me, and I slam a semi-drunken fist into the side of the metal cage, hating myself and the price I’ve paid for being such a self-absorbed prick.
I deserve it. Every ounce of the hurt. I made success in Manhattan my life, my twisted mission—made flaunting a tattoo franchise in my father’s face a fucked-up dream. And all because I was terrified of being less than “dear old dad.”
Less of a success. Less of a person. Less of a man.
Mediocre. The definition of ‘alright.’
But my definition of ‘Alright’ had changed the moment I found Elsie again. Or, rather, she found me.
What was fame in the face of loving a good woman? What were loads of money and self-enforced loneliness when there was sharing stolen moments? Laughing at the same jokes? Making love until the fucking sun came up?
I’d settled for the shallow shit before when I was young and stupid. The “okay” friendships, fake adoration lackluster lovers and the like. The sassy spitfire I’d grown up beside, laughed, and loved with has soured my palate for the superficial. My tastes aren’t the same. I’m not the same.
And I’ve never been more aware of it than now. When I’m at the height of my celebrity and suffering more than ever. The elevator doors open and I step out, stopping when I see the woman standing at the end of the hall in front of my hotel door. My toothpick falls.
She shifts in her Converses, sticking her hands into customary jeans shorts. Her shrug is sheepish as I approach, and she gazes up at me, her earthy eyes glassy as they meet mine. She doesn’t blink.
“Please tell me you two are over.”
She doesn’t have to mention any names. I know exactly who she means. I shake my head. “Elsie… trust me. We never began.”
She reaches her hands up to my shoulders. Twisting her fingers around my neck, she pulls me into her, breathing slowly. My heart matches her own as we meet chest to chest. I inhale her intoxicating scent. And then she kisses me.
Chapter 24
ELSIE
I don’t care that I shouldn’t be here right now. I don’t care that my heart squeezes just looking at him.
I don’t care that I shouldn’t want him at all. Or, more importantly, that he shouldn’t want me.
I only care… that he be inside me. As soon as possible.
The second Brett opens the door, I clutch him into my body, drawing him into my mouth. A moan makes its way from between my lips and as he fumbles with shutting the door, I fling my fingers around his neck, gripping as tightly as possible. I can’t stop kissing him. Stop touching him.
He tastes like spice and vodka—strong and crisp. His tongue tastes indescribable and as he slips it between my lips, stroking the inside of my mouth, I suck lightly on every bit I can get, holding onto Brett’s body like a spider monkey just making it out of solitude. I’ve never felt like this.
Not since Brett part one. And I’m already prepared for Brett part two, as the older version of the beautiful boy I knew pulls back, leaning against the now-closed door, a veritable fire in his blue-green eyes. He licks his bottom lip, and I swear my knees knock. I dig my fingertips into his shoulders as he sighs.
“Fuck, Else,” he rasps. “I don’t want to do this unless you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” I nod my chin, feeling like a bobblehead. “I’ve been ready. I’m alright.”
“Alright?” he laughs, his voice sinking low. “Let me tell you something, Elsie Carpenter. You are not ‘alright.’” He shakes his head. “And I’m not alright.” He leans his forehead towards mine. “Neither of one of us has been alright for a while. And we’ll never be ‘alright’. Not without each other.”
And I’ve never been kissed this hard, stroked this softly.
I’ve been waiting for this moment. I think a piece of me always has been. Some people held a candle for long-lost loves; I had maintained a roaring fire and the fire was finally consuming me and Brett both, connecting us stronger than anything I had ever known. Every kiss, touch, lick was like the last and every time I place my mouth on his, it’s like a day hasn’t passed between now and seven long years ago. I wanted him then. I want him now. And with Brett’s lips against my skin, his hard rigid body pressed against mine, I allow myself to give into the primal, fiery feeling.
He was right. I wasn’t alright. Nothing was.
Not until now.
My body goes limp as Brett lifts me, my head sinking onto his shoulder. I nip at the skin above the hardened muscle, pressing my teeth to his neck and he carries me farther inside the hotel room, his palms cupped under my ass, my ankles
crossed against the small of his back as we pass by the marble-built bathroom, the gold and black fixtures winking as we walk. He releases me onto the bed with a sigh.
I stretch across the length of the mattress as he watches. In the semi-dark, under the cover of the night, I can only see the curve of his smile. I sit up.
My voice is a soft rasp as I stare at his perfect silhouette, perched right above me. I glance up at the only man I have ever really loved.
“I missed you,” I say, my words wavering. I back-pedal on the mattress as he moves towards it, his hands landing on the surface as he traps me beneath him. He says nothing, and I frown.
I wait. “Aren’t you going to say that you missed me too?”
That curve on his face comes back, his perfect lips spreading. His words are a delicious thunder. “Why would I say what we both know, Else…?” He lifts the fabric of my shirt, exposing my skin. “When I can show you?”
Sinking towards the edge of the mattress, Brett kisses below my belly button, making my skin shiver. His kisses a line across the waistband of my shorts and when he dips his tongue beneath the denim, a groan tears from my throat, threatening to turn into a scream. The skin there is sensitive, and he takes advantage of every eager nerve, stroking his tongue across the span of my panty-line, playing with its frilly edge.
I close my eyes, reveling in his unmatched touch, and when he slips his fingers inside the waistband, unhooks my button and pulls down, I let him. I let him do whatever he wants. My body was never my own to begin with. The second I let Brett Jackson into my bed, it belonged to him and him alone. I just didn’t know it. A shame… that it took seven years for my brain to catch on. And now every part of me is making up for lost time.
I whimper as Brett slides the cool cotton down my legs, swinging it over my feet before throwing the wayward shorts across the room. He lowers himself to the bed again, holding his weight above me, his lips hovering above my barely-covered sex. He blows softly.
His name is like a curse I can’t stop saying. He laughs.
“I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“I know.” I squirm on the bed, underneath him. “And if you don’t soon, I might die. And you’ll have to explain the deceased girl, frozen on your mattress.”
“Death by delay, huh?” He grins again.
“More like torture…” I whisper, my words turning into a small whine as Brett’s grin dips lower, pressing between my legs. He glances up at me, the moonlight outside the half-curtained window barely hitting his blue eye. The beautiful imperfection gleams across his chiseled face, and I could cry, I need him so badly. I touch his face, knowing that I love him—this beautifully imperfect man, wondering what we could be if our world were just a little different.
But it’s too late.
The torture is now over and Brett sinks himself between my legs, planting his face against my satin-covered pussy and sucking in a breath that sounds so satisfied I almost come. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, holding, as he inhales the scent of me. He nuzzles his nose along my slit.
“It’s my pleasure to end your pain, Ms. Carpenter.” Then he licks me. His tongue is soft and hard at the same time—insistent. Its edge slides across my soaking middle, splitting my lips in between, and with my dripping wet mound inside his mouth, I come, gripping the four-hundred-count sheets, my head swimming as my body drenches the silken fabric sandwiched inside Brett’s hungry mouth. He straightens, gazing between my glistening legs, licking his full lips.
I resist the urge to writhe under his searing glaze.
“Fuck.” I’m surprised the words aren’t coming from my own lips but Brett’s. His voice is a growl, a certified snarl “You are so… amazingly… wet, Elsie Carpenter. And I can’t wait to taste you.”
“Taste me?” I pant as he taps two fingers against my underwear. “Isn’t that what you were doing?”
At my question, he picks up my thighs, lifts my ass and slides my underwear over my knees. The garment skirts to the floor. He places my calves across his shoulders, and with one breath, he settles himself between them, his face lowering to lap at my clit, his chin nestled between my folds. He sucks gently.
“If you thought that was more than a sample, kitten…” He mumbles the words against my slick skin. “You are sorely mistaken.”
And then he plunges his tongue inside of me, scattering my conscious to pieces. I come apart under his rough caress, crying out loud. Digging my fingertips into Brett’s tousled hair, I almost swear I hear a sound—a light knocking—at the heavy hotel door. But Brett’s kiss takes away my senses, and I lose myself in his arms, loving every single touch, wondering how I’d ever gone without it.
Chapter 25
BRETT
I shift on my back as the sexiest woman I have ever met rests in my arms.
Gorgeous, and gloriously naked, Elsie Carpenter—my sister’s best friend and the softest woman in the world--sidles up to my ribcage in the middle of a deep sleep, moaning into the crook of my bicep in a soft mewl that makes me want to put my mouth right back on her—slumber or not. I hook my bicep around her, pulling her close.
I didn’t mean to mouth-fuck the beautiful blonde to sleep. Far from it. But once I got a taste of her sexy nectar, I couldn’t stop and after her fourth orgasm—okay, fifth—I finally let her go, only to find her long golden lashes fluttering closed as she moaned into the mattress, her body limp and sapped of all energy. I hadn’t the heart to arouse her now. Hell, I had all night.
And despite the thundering storm just outside my St. Regis windows, despite the fact that torrential rain and lightning terrify Elsie to fucking death, I am pleased when she forgets both, slipping into slumber beside me, her hands holding onto my body and pulling tight.
But I can’t sleep.
The rain is a reminder of what I’ve done. Not just to Elsie… That was the fun part. But to myself, to my sister, to a dream deferred that now stands in front of the very thing that I now want most… a thing which no longer includes a television show and a fake relationship with a woman who couldn’t find love if it bit her on the ass. I sit up in the gigantic bed, swinging my legs over its extravagant edge, dropping my head into my hands.
An ache starts at my temples, working its way down. I stand to my feet in nothing but black boxer briefs, wandering towards the window which I stare out of, taking in the sleepy Manhattan scene. The sky-scraping steel structures. The cemented streets.
It’s past midnight and the city is on pause. On a rare night when the weather runs everyone away inside, I feel like venturing out and soaking in the summer rain, in the hopes that, amidst it, I will find all the right answers. I ball a fist against the glass, setting my forehead on the surface when I hear a loud shuffling just outside my door. I turn… just as someone starts to knock on the damned thing.
What the hell…?
I barely make it to my crumpled jeans still sitting on the carpet when the knock grows louder. Grabbing the waist of the ruffled denim, I slide the heavy pants up my legs, buttoning fast as I truck, shirtless, to the black, grooved entrance. I swing it open, a twisted swear on my lips when I discover my nightmare come true lurking just beyond the doorway.
Rubber and glass almost collide with the bridge of my nose as black and gray camera shutters are shoved into my face, flashing fast. A group of photographers and a small camera crew stand outside my hotel room, snapping a million and one pictures as I shut the door in their obtrusive faces. The boldest of them starts to shout, screaming my name and I slam the door, making the wall shudder, rage making my pulse pick up.
I careen around the corner of the suite, stalk backing to the bed… just as Elsie stirs. She sits up, a white sheet clutched to her chest, her mocha-colored eyes wide. Her brows pinch together.
“What’s going on?” she asks, her fingers spreading through her sex-crazed curls. “What’s happening?”
“Something that I’m putting a stop to.” I reach for my shirt, swinging it over my head
as I slide into it. I look at her. “Right now.” I grab for the drawers of the nearby nightstand, picking up clothes as I go. I walk towards the enormous white mattress, handing them to Elsie, who gazes up at me—confused. I gaze down at her. “We’re getting out of here.”
The commotion outside my door doesn’t quit, and I’m tempted to call down to the front desk, to call security, to call… someone. But reason makes me stop. One or two or all of those photogs probably have paid the staff handsomely already. For all I knew, paparazzi were already waiting in the kitchen, preparing for a coup—a fucking ambush as far as I was concerned. And how did the fuckers know I was here anyway?
What self-centered cocksucker was getting paid to tip them off? And with Elsie, it just threw up another set of alarms, the warning bells in my brain rising to deafening levels.
Something didn’t feel right.
As soon as Elsie dresses in my oversized shirt and slips into her jean shorts, I clutch her hand, tugging her close as I slip the key card from the back pocket of my pants and enter it into the side door stuck in the wall. Elsie gasps.
“You paid for the adjacent room?”
I exhale, leading her out of one door and closing the other. “Not exactly. I paid for the room behind me.”
“Paranoid much?”
“Careful,” I correct. I smile despite my anger. “I’ve got precious cargo to take care of.”
Elsie watches me as I lock the door behind me. “Were you that sure that I’d come?”
I nod as I hook the latch, turning. “Of course I was sure you’d ‘come.’ But if you mean ‘Was I sure whether or not you’d show up before coming…?’” She tilts her head, glancing up at me. I shake my own. “Then the answer is no. And now I’m not so sure you should have. Nosy bastards don’t know how to give it a break.”
