“Let me talk to her.”
“And to top it all off, I look like a complete idiot in wedding dresses. Yes, all wedding dresses. I can’t wear the sheath style because I’m too hippy. The fit and flare just makes my hips look bigger, and the puffy ball gowns weigh like fifty pounds.”
“So don’t wear one,” I say.
“Do you want to see our moms’ heads explode? I tried on fifty dresses today. One of them cried for each dress. Sometimes they both cried. Even if they agreed I looked heinous in certain ones, they still cried!”
“So nudist wedding?” I tease.
“Or pajamas?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
STERLING
When I drove down to Alabama from New York, I felt my muscles relaxing with each passing mile. I thought it was just my body sinking into vacation mode.
Now, the closer the plane gets to the city, the tighter my muscles feel. I’ve always thought there’s a rhythm to life. The hustle and bustle of the city, the slow crawl of the country. It’s the difference between taking a shower and taking a bath. Showers wake you up, get you going, and baths relax you. A rhythm. And our bodies match the tempo of what’s going on around us. If we surround ourselves with a fast pace, our bodies match it. If we surround ourselves in calm, our bodies feel that.
And right now, my body is feeling the pressure. It’s a short trip, just a quick visit with my lawyer about how things are progressing against the company copying my design. We’ve been in constant contact by email and phone, but sometimes, you just need a little face time. I shouldn’t be stressed already. Plus, it’s evening. I don’t even have to go into the office until tomorrow. Besides, I love my job. I can’t figure out what’s going on.
Not even Rorke’s not-so-subtle attempts to lure me into the mile-high club have worked. My stomach is in knots, my head is aching, and my body is filled with tension. Maybe it’s not work pressure. Maybe it’s the pressure of this trip—Rorke’s first to New York. What if he hates it? What if he can’t see himself living there? Then what?
My life here is very different than in Alabama. He’s about to get his first look—at the company, my place, the money. I’m not someone who flaunts my wealth, but I do have a fabulous apartment in the city. That may be the only thing that throws him. Of course, he may have no idea the actual cost per square foot in Manhattan.
It’s amazing how different the cost of living is across the country. Maybe my vibrator is too expensive for the average Joe. I, mean, people buy it, but at over a hundred dollars, I could be missing an untapped market. I’ve never even run a sale. But considering one person designed a vibrator encrusted with diamonds worth over fifty-grand, my little toy looks cheap.
The plane jolts after making contact with the tarmac, and I take a few deep breaths to settle myself. We just have carry-on bags, which Rorke gets down, and since we’re in first class, we exit the plane fairly quickly.
He throws his duffle bag over his shoulder, takes my rolling suitcase, then intertwines our fingers, leading me through the airport like he’s been here a thousand times before. Glancing up at him, my body begins to settle a little. There’s nothing the man wouldn’t do for me. I know that.
It’s late, so the airport isn’t quite as busy as it would be in the middle of the day. Still, there are a good number of people to navigate through.
“Ms. Jamison,” someone calls out. Rorke’s head darts around, and I nod towards a woman dressed in black slacks and a white blouse. “The car’s out front. How was your flight?”
“Fine, thank you.” I turn to Rorke, introducing him to my head of security, a woman.
He controls the surprise on his face, and extends his hand and introduces himself. Congratulations are offered on our engagement. Then we’re off.
When she’s a few paces ahead, Rorke gives me a pointed look about my female security.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Well, I just never considered it,” he says.
“It makes sense,” I say. “She blends in. We can walk right beside each other and people just think we’re friends. She owns the security company. She has several female guards.”
“But I’m with you now. I would never let anyone get close to you.”
“I know that. But you can’t be with me all the time.”
“But it’s my job to protect you.”
“No, it’s your job to love me.” He stops right outside the car, like he’s at a crossroads and doesn’t know which way to go. I motion to security to give us a minute.
“I have to be able to . . .” He shakes his head.
I know what’s coming. It’s happened before. A man needs and wants to be the man in a relationship. If I make more money, have people to protect me, then what’s left for him to do? Sex? Well, I took care of that, too. They don’t know what to do with themselves outside of those traditional stereotypes.
The thing they don’t get is that I don’t need a man. But I want one. Clinging to his shirt, I lower my head to his chest. “Just love me.”
“Hey,” he says, tilting my chin up. “Please don’t cry.”
“Then understand,” I say. “You do protect me. My heart. I don’t cry or share with them. No security guard is going to lay on the bathroom floor with me when I’m vomiting all night. Or hold me while I sleep, or let me cover their house in pink sticky notes. You have no idea how lonely I’ve been. How sad. I need you to protect that—my happiness.”
He flashes me a naughty smile. “All I was going to say is that I need to be able to fuck you without worrying about who’s listening at the door!”
*
RORKE
Clearly, rich in Fall Springs is very different from New York City rich. I thought doormen were something you just saw on television, but it’s actually a thing. I didn’t get to see much of the city through the black tinted windows of the Town Car, but there’s plenty of time. Sterling’s insisting on doing all the typical tourist sights with me.
We pull in front of a building that looks like it might predate World War II. I don’t know a thing about New York City real estate, but anything with a view of the park has to be worth millions. And her building sits right on Central Park West.
The doorman’s face lights up as soon as Sterling’s foot hits the sidewalk. “Sterling.”
“Walker!” she says, tossing her arms around his neck.
“Kept an eye on your place for you,” he says. “Everything is just fine.”
I would be jealous, except the man is older than God himself. Still, he looks like he’s in good shape, and he seems to care about my girl. And I like the idea that someone watches out for her that isn’t on her personal payroll.
“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” Sterling says, squeezing him again. “Walker, this is my fiancé, Rorke.”
He extends his hand, his handshake strong. “Always knew I’d lose my Friday night date to a younger man,” he says, chuckling.
“Ms. Jamison,” security interrupts. “Would you like me to check the apartment?”
“Nobody got by me,” Walker says.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sterling says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Good riddance. I know I played it cool with Sterling, but security detail is going to take some getting used to. But at least they go home at night. Taking the bags and stepping inside the elevator, I tease, “Should I be concerned about these Friday night dates with Walker?”
She laughs. “He only works part-time. Weekends mostly. I’m not sure how it started, but I’d pick up a pizza or takeout, and we’d sit and eat together. The doormen in the city know everything. They know who’s cheating on who, when all the best apartments are going up for sale. He and his wife are the sweetest couple. They’ve been married over fifty years.”
I stop listening when she opens the door to her apartment. It’s not as big as I expected or as ornate. It does look like something out of a magazine, but it still looks lived-in. It looks like S
terling. But what’s got my attention is the view. A wraparound terrace with views of the park and skyline sits right off the living area.
Sliding open the door, I step outside, the warm summer breeze filling the night air. Sterling looks up at the sky, saying, “Being out here is the closest feeling I get to being back home.”
She gives me a little coy smile then takes my hand, leading me back inside to show me around. The place has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an office. Add in the kitchen and den, and that’s it. There are three fireplaces, including one in her bedroom. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. Somehow, I thought it would feel colder or more sterile compared to the charm of the homes in the Deep South. But it feels like a home. I suspect that has everything to do with the woman who lives here.
“So the plan for tomorrow. You’ll be on your own in the afternoon. I’ve got to meet with my lawyer,” she says. “But in the morning, I’m all yours. We can play tourist.”
“What about tonight?” I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind. “I feel like playing.” Her body tightens underneath my hands, and she takes a deep breath. “You want to play?”
“Umm.”
“We’ll need something to play with,” I say, letting my breath tickle the skin of her neck. “A toy.”
She doesn’t have to say a word, the blush of her skin tells me everything I need to know. She’s feeling shy. “Rorke,” she breathes out in a little protest.
“What kind of friend doesn’t share her toys?” I tease. “Show me.”
Slowly, she walks over to her nightstand, pulling out an unopened box. Either she wore out her last one, or she doesn’t use it. That’s about to change. Opening it, I toss it down on the bed then turn my attention to Sterling, undressing her.
There’s nothing like the sight of a nude woman standing before a man, the swell of her tits, the curve of her ass and hips, the dimples on her lower back. They say New York City has some of the most expensive real estate in the world, but nothing is worth more than the inches of Sterling’s body.
She reaches for the bottom of my shirt, but I catch her hands. “I’m not playing right now,” I say, my voice low and rough. “I’m just a spectator.”
Her eyes widen as she realizes what game we are playing. Her voice quivers out my name, “Rorke.”
“Play with your toy.”
Slowly, she moves towards the bed. At the same pace, I head to a chair in the corner of the room.
She lies.
I sit.
She reaches for the toy.
I lean back.
She bites her bottom lip.
And I start praying she doesn’t chicken out.
Her eyes close and when she opens them, she doesn’t look my way, pretending she’s alone. I’m not sure what I expected—lube maybe? But she flips over, placing it under her.
Even though her toy is fairly quiet, I know as soon as she turns it on. Her mouth drops open, her hands gripping the sheets. My cock begs to come out, pushing on my jeans so hard, he’s liable to have zipper marks. But I’m not about to beat off, not willing to miss a single second.
Watching her fuck the hell out of that toy is worth delaying my own gratification. And judging by the way she’s groaning, I know I don’t have long to wait. That’s one of the best things about women, they don’t have limitations on their orgasms. They can get off and be ready to go again without a second of recovery time. We might have them on physical strength, but they win on pleasure.
“Oh, God,” she cries out, rolling over, removing the toy. Her back arches as she does a little post orgasm stretch. “Mmm.”
That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Her green eyes open, calling out to me. “Come play with me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
STERLING
I thought I never fit in the city, but Rorke sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s taller than most everyone on the street. Women are drooling whenever he walks by. He’s had at least three women pass him their numbers. And God forbid, should he talk. His sweet southern accent leaves them panting like dogs in heat. Does he get this reaction in Fall Springs?
Come to think of it, my book club peeps seem to think he’s hot, and he did have a damn fan club in the stands at the charity baseball game. Apparently, he’s as big a hit in the city. Are the women of New York that in need of new men? Not to mention, Rorke is completely old-school charming. When he opened the door for this one woman, I thought she was going to ask him to father her children.
They aren’t subtle, but at least they don’t catcall like some asshole men do. Seriously, what is the purpose of the catcall? Do they really think women are going to respond to that? I guess some women might be flattered by such attention, but not me. The only thing a catcall accomplishes with me is making me feel unsafe and increasing my displeasure with the male species.
I spend the morning showing him some of the sights you’d go see on your first trip to The Big Apple—Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, and Central Park. There’s still a ton more to see and do, but it’s time for me to work. He looks up at the street sign then down to the open map feature on his phone. The city can be overwhelming; it’s so huge. But after a little while, you learn the neighborhoods. They each have a distinct personality.
New York City is set up on a grid. Avenues run south to north and streets run east to west. It can be confusing at first, especially because there are exceptions to the rule. And you know men and directions—although I’m sure Rorke would have no problem getting some sexy woman to help him, not that he’d ask. I could easily get him a guide, or have my security team drive him around, but when I started to suggest it, Rorke immediately shut me down.
“You got it?” I ask.
“Think so. If I hit water, I’m in trouble,” he says, laughing.
We stop out front of the office building that houses my company. Security is just a few feet from us. They have been all morning, giving me more space than usual, per my request. I’m safe with Rorke, and I know he needs to get used to this. I hand him a spare key to my apartment just in case then kiss him on the cheek. He looks up at the tall, sleek glass building. “So this is your company?”
“Just the fifth floor.”
“Take me up,” he says. “Show me the empire.”
I hadn’t planned on that, but figure, why not? The women in the office are going to have a field day with this. No one knows I’m engaged. It’s not a secret, but I’m just not close with my employees. Don’t get me wrong, I think I provide a great work environment. We have lots of fun, but my private life is private. I tell security I’m in the office for the afternoon and will text when I’m ready to leave for the day. The office building has its own security, so there’s no point in them sticking around. Then Rorke and I head inside to the elevators.
The ride up seems quicker than usual. The elevator door opens to the fifth floor, and I release his hand. I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t matter because he takes it right back. The glass doors to my offices are open, and a sculpture of the company logo greets us.
Paramour.
I watch Rorke step inside, quietly, cautiously, like he’s approaching a new lover for the first time. His hand caresses the side of the sculpture. “This is you,” he whispers.
It shouldn’t surprise me that he’d know the curves of my body, but it does, a beautifully sweet representation of how well he knows me. “That’s a secret,” I say.
“Good morning, Ms. Jamison,” the receptionist says. “It’s good to have you back.”
I give her a small smile, but her eyes are all over Rorke, so I don’t respond. Taking a back hallway that leads straight to my office, I sneak us inside, avoiding the gossip for a moment. I’m not dressed for work and need to change. I learned quickly to always have extra clothes at the office. You never know when something might come up. I didn’t want to walk around the city in business clothes, but I need to change before my lawyer
shows up.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone,” I say, disappearing into my private bathroom.
*
RORKE
I wonder if it was this weird for her when she walked into school and saw me teaching. Probably not. Her office looks like a small apartment, complete with a sofa and table. She has a wonderful view of the city streets. And her desk is as big as a bed. The fact that I’m thinking about fucking her on top of it is the only normal part of this.
She steps out of the bathroom. Gone are her cute dress and sandals, her brown hair loose and flowing. Now, she’s in a skirt, blouse, and blazer, her hair slicked back in a tight bun. Even her green eyes don’t look the same.
This isn’t my Sterling.
Normally, she looks so approachable, so friendly, so fuckable. But not this woman. This looks like a woman who’d eat you as a snack. It’s really throwing me.
“Ready?” she asks, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. I nod, and she steps to me, her hands roaming my chest and shoulders. “Try not to be so charming and sexy. You’ll distract my employees. And I need them to work.”
And just like that, my Sterling is back. Placing my hand at the small of her back, we step out of her office. I’m not sure how many people she has working for her, but they all seem to be loitering in this one spot. No doubt the receptionist gave them a heads-up about my presence.
But one look from Sterling, and they scatter like roaches. She glances up at me. “They’ve never seen me with anyone before. You’re big news.”
“Does that make me your new toy?” I ask.
Giggling, she walks towards her assistant, who stands. “Can I get you anything? Or anything for your guest?”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Miles, this is Rorke,” Sterling says. Then she leans down and whispers, “My fiancé. Spread the word.”
Smiling, she takes my hand. “This office is mostly research, marketing, development. The manufacturing plant is over in Jersey.”
Toying With Her Page 17
