Forbidden Fruit: Volume 1

by Harley, Lisa M.

  I glanced up at him from under my lashes, and he winked. My jaw ached, so I slid my hand at the base of his shaft up and down.

  “F—I have to go, Gary. I’ll—”

  “Sure, sure. I know you’re busy. Did Alex take a late lunch or something? Why didn’t she answer your phone?”

  “Yes. She’s eating. Got her mouth full at the moment, actually.”

  I heard the phone beep as he hung up the call, and I pulled my head up, gasping. “Dean! What—”

  “Keep going, Alexandra, please,” he said with a hint of pleading. I’d never seen any man look that way, least of all him. I took his cock again, sucking hard and using my fist at the same time. Before long he was coming, gripping my hair so I couldn’t pull away.

  “Christ,” he said, his chest heaving, and his shoulders slumping against the chair.

  I coughed, wiping liquid from my lips.

  “Sorry,” he said with a smile that bordered on smirking. “Guess I should’ve warned you first.”

  “You came in my mouth!”

  He laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re a spitter.”

  I frowned, sitting back on my calves.

  Dean shook his head. “That wasn’t your first blowjob was it?”

  “No,” I snapped. “I told you already. I just never let him—you know—in my mouth. Even though he begged.”

  “He sounds like a pussy.”

  This time I smirked. “Asshole is more like it.”

  He caught my chin with his hand. “Pretty little thing,” he said, “but what a dirty mouth.”

  I stared up at him, and his eyes held mine, just like his hand held my face. There was a tense moment, as though he wanted to say something, but he let me go instead.

  “You should probably go clean up.”

  I nodded and got to my feet.

  “Almost made it the whole week,” he muttered, “but you’re damned impossible to resist.”

  I blushed and fixed my clothing, running a hand through my hair before I left for the bathroom. Even though I hadn’t brought anything with me into his office, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d left something behind.

  ~*~*~*~

  I stayed at my desk late, crossing off each item from my to-do list as I went. It was around eight o’clock when Dean’s door opened behind me. He didn’t speak, so I turned and looked up at him.

  “I’m glad you’re still here,” he said.

  “Do you have another assignment for me?” I asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

  He walked over and perched on the edge of my desk, looking down at me. “No. I just didn’t want you to leave yet.”

  “I’ll finish everything,” I said. “I only have two things left.”

  He slid my to-do list across the desk and looked down at it. He balled it up and tossed it in the trash next to his feet.

  “But—”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that right now.”

  I blinked at him, wondering if I’d done something wrong.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “Tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Did your other date back out?”

  “Who?”

  “The one you had last night?”

  “Ah. That was an event, and I only took her because I couldn’t show up alone. Truthfully, you were on my mind all night.”

  I swallowed. “I was?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about all the stuff you said before?”

  “It still applies. This is just dinner. Consider it a thank you for this week.”

  I looked at the desk.

  “You seem disappointed.”

  I picked at a black mark near the edge.

  “You know,” he said, “even being Gary’s daughter, I might—but you’re so young . . .”

  I looked up again. I waited, urging him to finish the sentence. What did I hope he’d say though? I was going to get Trey back—I knew I could do it. So why did it matter what Dean thought?

  “Anyway,” he said. “Maybe dinner’s not such a good idea after all. I’ve already hit my mistake quote for the day.”

  My face fell. “Earlier . . . you thought that was a mistake?”

  “I’ve tasted something I shouldn’t have, and now I’ll suffer for it. You’re just so damn beautiful.”

  I wilted back against my chair. “Me?”

  “Doesn’t he tell you that? Don’t all the boys tell you that?”

  “No,” I whispered. “I don’t think he ever did.”

  He shook his head. “Shame.” He reached out and sifted strands of my blonde hair through his fingers.

  “I want to,” I said.

  “Want to what?”

  “Dinner.”

  He sighed heavily and dropped his hand, his eyes wandering around the room as he thought. He looked back at me. “Forget I said it. If I thought I could resist you, I would. But no, Alex. We can’t have dinner. I never make the same mistake twice.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was like getting dumped all over again. Saturday I made the forty-minute drive to my parents’ house in Calabasas because I needed a break. From the dorms, which held constant reminders of Trey. From the pristine office building I’d spent the last five days in. From Dean and the feeling of him buried inside me. He’d called it a mistake, but for me, it was just the opposite. I felt different from having known him intimately—and I now wanted things I didn’t know existed before him.

  My parents tried to get me to stay downstairs and talk, but all I wanted was to sleep in my own bed and forget the past month had ever happened. My nap lasted until after sundown, and when the smells of homemade cooking wafted upstairs to my bedroom, I changed into a plain sundress. I would’ve worn my pajama pants to dinner except that my mother always commented when I did.

  Frank Sinatra crooned from the kitchen as I made my way downstairs, barefoot with my hair in a sloppy ponytail. Two glasses of wine and a tumbler of amber liquid came into view on the counter. My feet stopped. At the picturesque dining table sat Dean, handsome in a dress shirt, his normally rigid posture relaxed in his high-backed chair. He looked like he was posing for a magazine shoot.

  My mother whirled around when she heard me enter. The clap of her hands was muted by oven mitts. “There’s our girl,” she said with a large smile.

  My eyes were big as they fixed on Dean. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’ve been inviting him by for years, and finally he agreed to come over for dinner. I really just can’t recall the last time he was here.”

  Dean smiled slowly, a gleam in his eyes. “I figure it’s the least they can do after sticking me with you for a week.”

  My mother giggled and shook her head. “Oh, Dean. You’re awful.”

  “Of course I’m kidding,” he said. “Working with your daughter was nothing but a pleasure.”

  My body was hot, even in my sundress. I wanted to melt onto the floor. I jumped when my dad touched my shoulder from behind.

  “Looks like dinner’s almost ready,” he said. “Should we sit?”

  My place setting was next to Dean and across from my parents. I sat down, still mildly in shock. Dean grinned at me like a schoolboy with a secret. When Dad stood to get their drinks, I snapped my head to the side.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “They invited me.”

  “But they invite you all the time.”

  “Mmm.” He smiled, unruffled by my panic. “This time I had more reason to say yes than no.”

  “Me?”

  “I missed you, Alex. More than I thought possible in a twenty-four hour period.”

  “But you said—”

  “And I maintain that. This is wrong. It can’t happen. No touching—well, no more touching. But this way I get to see you, and I have no choice but to control myself.”

  “I—”

  He looked forward again.

  “What’re you two whispering ab
out?” my dad teased.

  “No work at the dinner table,” Mom said, setting down a dish of lasagna. She began dividing up pieces with a spatula. “But how was it? Everything work out okay?”

  We both nodded.

  “Did you get your dress, honey?”

  “Not yet,” I said, picturing Dean’s personal check still uncashed in my purse. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

  “Well, we can’t wait to see it.”

  I picked at my salad, half listening as they discussed the local real estate market and half ignoring Dean’s unmistakable body heat. Trey and the group would be returning from Mexico sometime tonight, so my phone was tucked in one hidden pocket of my dress just in case. My attention returned fully to the conversation when my mom asked, “So, Dean, how have things been with Cathy?”

  My nostrils flared. Cathy?

  “We’re through,” he said. “Have been for a few months now.”

  “Really?” I asked sharply.

  He fixed a calm gaze on me and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, really.”

  “That’s a shame,” Dad said. “She seemed like a nice woman.”

  “Cathy?” I asked. “Who’s Cathy?” I couldn’t seem to stop saying her name.

  Dean’s hand unexpectedly landed on my thigh, and my body relaxed at his touch. “She was a nice woman,” he agreed, looking back at my dad. “But she’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “What are you looking for, Dean?” Mom asked. “I’d really like to see you settle down with someone. It’s been—how many years? Five? Since Amy—”

  “I’d really rather not discuss it,” Dean said.

  “I think we should,” I said through a dry throat. “Sounds kind of interesting.”

  His hand slid up my thigh, brushing under my dress like it was nothing. “I doubt that,” he replied.

  “You’re just such a catch, and . . .”

  My mom’s voice faded away as Dean’s fingers traced the line of my panties. I shook my head at my plate, but he squeezed my leg. My hand latched over his, pulling at it, telling him no touching without words. He wouldn’t budge.

  “I appreciate you saying so, Deb,” Dean said. “But really, I’m fine. You know how important work is to me.”

  “That’s just because you don’t have anyone.”

  One finger slipped into my underwear. My cheeks were fiery, my hand clenching around his wrist.

  “Well that’s just not true. I have someone at this very moment.”

  My mom’s eyes widened, and I had to look away. “Who?” she exclaimed.

  His touch trailed along my slit. He pushed the tip of his finger into my wetness, massaging me softly.

  “A girl I’ve been seeing.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Smart. Witty. Good listener, hard-working, soaking.”

  “Soaking?” I choked out.

  “Smoking. As in, she’s smoking hot.”

  My mom wrinkled her nose. “Smoking hot? She sounds . . . young.”

  He grinned. He grabbed one of my hands with his free one and rested it on his hard crotch. “She is. I’ve got my hands full,” he paused, driving his finger in deeper so I gasped, “and I love every minute of it.”

  He pulled away, stuck his finger in his mouth, and groaned. “Deb, your cooking is to die for.”

  My jaw dropped. I removed my hand and put it in my lap, pulling the hem of my dress.

  “Well, thank you, Dean. I made it especially for you.”

  ~*~*~*~

  My parents cleared the dishes, finally giving Dean and I another moment alone.

  “What was that?” I hissed. “What happened to staying in control? No touching?”

  “Harder than I thought. But I’m not sorry, because that small taste was sweeter than any dessert.”

  “What?” I blushed and looked at my lap.

  “Hey, Dean,” my mom said. “How about some apple pie?”

  “Actually, I have plans for dessert. I should take off anyway; it was a long week.” He looked at me. “For both of us. Alexandra was just telling me she has to go back to campus tonight because she left her Sociology textbook in her room.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Alex,” my mom admonished. “I hate the idea of you driving back at night.”

  “I can follow her in my car,” Dean said. He winked at me. “See she gets home safely.”

  “Is it important? Do you have homework?”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Uh, yes? Yes. I have homework due on Monday.”

  She sighed, wiping down the counter. “Then you’d better get going. You really don’t mind, Dean?”

  “Not one bit. Happy to do it.”

  I ran upstairs to get my bag while Dean finished his drink with my dad. At the bottom of the stairs, I felt like a child, waiting with my duffel bag by the door as Dean said goodnight to my parents.

  After I got a hug and kiss from them both, they waved while Dean escorted me to my car.

  “I won’t be following you home,” Dean said. “You’ll be following me.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Home. To my apartment.”

  He glanced up at my parents, still standing under the yellow light of the porch. “I’ve decided I want you for my own tonight. Just one night, and then we can move on with our lives. Can you handle that, Alexandra?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer, just threw a casual wave at my parents as he walked away. I got in my car and drove out of the complex. Once we were out of my parents’ sight, I pulled over, let Dean drive ahead, and blindly followed him back into the city.

  ~*~*~*~

  I parked and turned off the ignition. I knew at any time I could’ve veered off, headed for home, and left Dean to his sordid fantasies. But I didn’t want that. His hands on me, under my skirt, smacking my ass—the thought alone drove me wild, making my foot weigh heavier on the gas pedal.

  He tapped on my window, and I looked out at him. His handsome face was soft with a smile, his blue eyes deep but alive with something. Desire, maybe.

  I got out. The slam of the driver’s side door echoed around the underground parking garage. He stepped toward me until his body was long against mine, pressing me into the side of the car.

  “You’ve never even kissed me,” I said inches from his face.

  I tilted my face upward, but he stopped me with a hand on each of my cheeks. “I’m not big on kissing,” he said. “It reminds me of being in love.”

  I knew I should feel offended, but I just looked into his eyes, reading the reluctant pain there.

  He pulled me closer and pecked me once. His lips pressed hard against mine for a moment. Finally, he opened his mouth. His hands slid back into my hair as our tongues met. The kiss grew heated and fast, steamrolling over us in an instant. I could taste his groan. His hands fell away and grasped my backside from the car, pulling me against him. I threw my head back, and he kissed his way up my throat, his heavy breathing hot on my skin.

  “Inside,” he rumbled. “Get inside now.”

  We walked briskly to the elevator of his building after the doorman greeted us. The doors weren’t even closed before he lifted me up by my ass and pinned me against the wall. His lips locked over mine, his hands pulling impatiently at the neckline of my dress. I squealed into his mouth as he gave up and shoved his hand in my bra, taking my nipple in his fingers.

  “Tell me all the things you like,” he breathed.

  “What?” I asked. My already warm face flushed hotter.

  “Tell me what you like so I can do it to you.”

  “I-I don’t know . . .”

  “Did you like your spanking?”

  I nodded against him, and his hand underneath me left for one short second to slap my ass.

  “What else?”

  I was silently thankful when the doors split apart. I didn’t know how to answer. He set me on my feet and took my hand to lead me down the hall to a door by itself. He pulled his keys from his pocket and gla
nced at me once. The smile he wore as he unlocked the door was the definition of sexy.

  “After you,” he said, gesturing for me to pass through.

  The apartment was neutral, all grey, beige, black, and white. It was expansive though, and the view was mesmerizing. No woman had left any mark there, that much was obvious. I played with the flimsy strap of my cheap sundress.

  “It’s so nice,” I said.

  “You’re so nice.” I turned to face him, and his lips drew up in one corner.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. His shirt hung perfectly from his tall frame, and his jawline was darkening with fresh stubble. His charcoal hair was messy, but it only fueled my arousal knowing it was because of my hands.

  I walked toward him. He took my wrist and brought my palm to his pants. He slid it up and down his cock.

  “You have no idea how good that feels,” he said when I closed my hand around the shape of him.

  “I like this,” I said. “And I liked when you made me crawl for you. I liked when you took me against the desk. I liked all of it.”

  He breathed in and out through his nose. “What did you like before that?”

  “Nothing,” I said immediately. “I think I was doing it wrong.”

  He laughed, but I didn’t. With his other hand, he undid his button and pushed his pants down a little. He still had my wrist in an iron grip. He freed himself from his underwear next. I swallowed at the largeness of him. He replaced my hand there. Despite behind so hard, the skin was soft.

  I wanted to be closer so I stepped until I came right under his chin. He bent his head and kissed me while I held his cock and his hand held my wrist. He guided it up and down, hissing into my mouth.

  He let go of me to scrunch up my dress and put his hand between my legs. His other hand cupped the back of my head, fisting my hair gently. I gasped as his fingers found me wet, slipping inside me.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  I whispered and nodded my approval.

  He pulled his fingers out and surprised me with a tight hug. He kissed me harder. My arms clung around his back.

  He picked me up. My legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed me even as we walked. He stopped long enough to look ahead and then again to drop me on my back on the bed. My dress slid over my head easily, and he tossed it aside. “Did you wear this for me?” he asked.