by Stella Rhys
With a gasp, I opened my eyes.
Holy shit.
Julian stood at my side. Without peering to my right, all I could see was his forearm, his expensive watch and his hand playing with my breast as I stared out the windows at Midtown Manhattan.
It was surreal.
Everything was still in place. His desk was neat, a gleaming surface that held only his laptop, his planner, one folder and one pen. His shelf was a towering display of books, awards and baseballs enshrined in glass cases.
Everything was as it was supposed to be.
Except for us.
“Julian.” I clasped my hand over his, holding it still over my breast as I turned to look up at him.
His every muscle was tight as he watched my other hand tease my clit. His eyes were hooded, and he was still stroking himself. My view combined with his touch was unbelievable. It had to be the definition of erotic: my boss looking sharp in his brilliant white shirt and expensive tie, jerking himself off as he massaged my naked breasts in his office.
“Stand for me,” he rasped.
I was on my feet barely a second before he was kissing me, both hands cupped around my face as I took over pumping his cock. I moaned against his mouth as he claimed mine, each wet stroke of his tongue reminding me that he was in control. I was frenzied, desperate to feel more and to feel it faster, but he kept me in check with just the deliberate movements of his tongue – sharp one second, leisurely the next.
Like he said, he was going to take his time with me.
“Three days.” Julian muttered as he brought me to the end of the leather couch. “You got me to break in three days.”
He pinched my nipple between his fingers and pulled away from my lips, prompting my mouth to fall desperately open in his absence. I moaned as he tugged on me lightly. Then harder.
“Look at me,” he said. I forced my eyes open despite the perfect mix of torment and pleasure he had blitzing through my body. “You do know you’re playing with fire, right?” he asked as his free hand pulled my panties down. I answered just as they fell in a ring of lace around my feet.
“Yes.”
Julian soaked in my answer for a second before turning me gently around and lifting my leg to place my knee on the armrest. I leaned forward to grab onto the back of the couch, sharply arching my back when I felt his fingers dip into my pussy.
“Good.” His low rumble and the ease with which he glided in told me just how incredibly wet I was. Already panting hard, I stared at my white knuckles, my ears perking to the sound of crinkling foil behind me. I glanced slightly over my shoulder to see a condom stretching shiny and thin over the flared tip of his cock. It struggled down every last inch of his thick shaft, causing the hot anticipation to churn in my belly as he drew closer. His eyes locked on mine, Julian shook his head. “You should see how fucking sexy you look right now.”
“Why don’t you just make me feel it?”
“I’ll be fucking you harder for that.”
“Do it,” I murmured, putting a smile on his lips. It spread wider as he ran the head of his dick along the length of my sex, taking pleasure in my brows pulled tight and my mouth hanging open. Just as I found the breath to beg for it already, he plunged inside me.
From there, slow was no longer in our vocabulary.
Gripping my hips, he pumped so deep and so hard inside me that my tits bounced just under my chin. My nails dug into leather as he leaned over and kissed my shoulders, my neck. Circling one arm tight around my waist, he freed his other to catch my jaw and turn my face to his.
“Is this what you wanted?” he demanded in a low whisper. “Or do you want me to pin you down and fuck you on the floor?”
He chuckled at my inability to answer him.
“Where do you want me to fuck you tomorrow, Sara?” he asked, prodding my emotions in the midst of his cock slamming inside me. How fucking worked up was he trying to get me?
“I don’t care, Julian.” The words hurtled from my lips. “I just want you to fuck me and make me come.”
“I will. You’ve opened the floodgates, Sara, so I have every intention of fucking you whenever and however I want in this office.” His ruthless words lit my every nerve ending on fire. “And I promise I’ll make that pussy come.” He thrust hard from behind. “Again.” Another. “And again.” I moaned. “And again,” he growled as he kept himself pressed balls-deep inside me, grinding himself against a sweet spot that made me almost scream. “I may just have to carry you home when I’m done,” he murmured, licking the underside of my jaw as he battered inside me.
Fuck.
I couldn’t stop moaning. I tried to control my volume, but it was in vain, and Julian loved every second of it, feigning surprise as he teased me in a low mutter.
“You’re such a good girl in my office. Who knew I could get you to be so loud?”
“Screw you,” I grinned just before letting out a yelp as he lifted me swiftly and laid me on my back on the couch. I gasped as he wrapped my legs around his back and entered me again, but at a pace now that I found brutally slow. Inch by inch, our eyes locked on one another, his steel length parted me.
And suddenly, I was overwhelmed.
I reveled in his weight on top of my body. Face to face with Julian, his cock felt deliriously good. Every stroke felt longer, deeper – less frantic, more deliberate. The air seized from my lungs as he studied me from my eyes to my nose to my lips, rocking inside me at a torturously languorous pace. My fingers dipped in every slow flex of his muscles as I grabbed his ass, and my heels dug into his sculpted back as I brought him all the way inside me.
Our eyes stayed locked as the pleasure grew.
And as it grew, the air shifted.
Sweat misted on my forehead. I swore it took every ounce of my strength just to return Julian’s electrifying gaze. His power, his intellect was already above all, but inside me, it multiplied. It made me feel as if he was claiming something of mine, discovering something about me that even I never knew. Without speaking a word, he asked me a question then found the answer himself.
It was insanely fucking daunting. I could barely take it anymore.
“Look at me,” Julian growled when I turned away. His pace quickened inside me, his intensity mounting. “Look at me, Sara. You’re going to let me watch you come.”
I ignored him, so he caught my jaw and kissed me forcefully, the shock of his tongue sending my body plunging into an orgasm.
Oh God.
It felt too big for my body. I must’ve made a sound, because Julian muttered, “I’ve got you,” before pinning me down and absorbing every wild second of my pleasure, his strength swallowing every twitch and buck of my body till he was hissing “fuck” under his breath. His body caged around me. Then with a vicious jerk, he let out a groan, the sound so deep and guttural it sent jolting aftershocks ripping through me.
He didn’t immediately get up off me. His lips were against my neck as we caught our breath, and only when he pulled away did I realize that our hands had been above my head, clasped together the whole time.
The void I felt when he withdrew from me hurt.
My nails dug into the couch, and I stared at the cum-filled tip of the condom as he slowly got up, his eyes still on me. He studied my nakedness from head to toe, refusing to break his gaze even as I drew my legs to my chest and got up.
“Sara.”
His voice was back to steady as I rushed to get dressed. I tossed him a hurried smile, though I knew I wasn’t fooling him. Something was bothering me. He knew that.
But I myself didn’t know what it was.
All I knew was that while I had wanted to be fucked, Julian had done something a little more than fuck me just now. And despite the hot, full-body pleasure I was still very much reeling from, I was suddenly feeling a bit lost, with not a single clue how to feel.
12
JULIAN
It was Sunday, and I had to clear my head before I left to meet them.
My hope was that this would help.
Leaning back in my chair, I tilted my head down. My neck was rigid as my gaze traveled over my flinching pecs, my palm running over my clenching abs as I felt myself getting closer.
Like the one at Hoult Tower, the office in my TriBeCa loft was located at the highest point of the building, in a sky-lit room with walls of windows facing both south and west. My chair was turned toward them as I sat with my legs wide, and my thighs flexing as I jacked my cock at a furious pace.
I was still thinking about her.
I couldn’t stop.
Fucking generally helped in these situations, but apparently, this one was an outlier, and I probably should have guessed it would be.
I’d fantasized about Sara at length for almost two weeks after we met. The explicit images started the second I laid eyes on her, and they continued onto her first day of work. After what we did in the elevator, I’d closed the door of my office and jerked off like an animal in a three thousand dollar suit.
In short, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about how incredibly good it would feel to fuck her.
But combined, none of those fantasies came close to how good it actually was.
Her pussy was so tight but eager, a perfect fit for my cock. I could have taken her again on Friday – all night, if she had let me. But she wound up doing what no woman had ever done to me after sex, and that was volunteer to leave. I had gotten another taste of her mouth and the sweet little spot under her jaw before she rushed out with her lips swollen, her bra on my floor, and the buttons barely done on her shirt.
Yet another image for me to get hard over.
“Fuck.”
I rolled my head back, my every muscle flexed tight till the second I pumped thick jets of cum from my tip, catching them in her panties. Breathing hard, I held the deep frown in my brow as I tipped my head forward again to stare down at my handiwork. Ropes of thick white on her fine, black silk.
God, I wanted to cum on her. Inside her.
I wanted to rub myself into her skin and watch it shine under light.
Now that I’d had her, the fantasies had only multiplied, and for fuck’s sake, I couldn’t afford that – especially not today. For that reason, I was almost thankful when about ten minutes later, as I was standing in my closet, Emmett called.
“What?” I answered.
“Think it’s cool if I bring a girl again this week?”
“No. I think it’s cruel, actually.”
“To who? The girl?” Emmett asked. In the background, I could hear him making his first protein shake of the day. “Or Mom?”
“Mom. You’re teasing her with the idea of marriage despite the fact that we all know you’re going to take another fifteen to twenty years for that.”
Emmett set his blender off, and I winced as I removed a light blue shirt from its hanger.
“You guys give me no credit,” he said once the grating sound was finished. “I date a lot in order to effectively assess my preferences, as well as her true potential. I’m sure you can understand that, especially since I phrased it in Julian-speak.”
“Very nice.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but at least I can take comfort in the fact that I’ll still get married before you.”
“Unlikely,” I hit back, but I paused in the midst of buttoning my shirt, realizing that my instinct to fight Emmett came out before I recognized that he was baiting me. “If you ask about her again, I’m going to kill you the second I see you,” I said between my teeth.
“Would that be worth it though? Jail time means no fucking Sara.”
“Don’t talk about fucking her.”
“I’m talking about you fucking her, asshole.”
I growled when I realized I’d missed a button. “Don’t talk about her in general is what I mean,” I muttered, glancing at the time. “And in case you still smell like last night’s tequila, I suggest you shower now and get going so you’re not thirty minutes late like you were last week.”
“Fine. Hey, anyone ever tell you how much fun you’re not?”
I whipped a tie out of my drawer and rolled my eyes.
“I’m hanging up, Emmett. See you at the stadium.”
“Who’s that?”
I looked down at my phone. I’d vaguely registered the sound of its ring, but there was too much on my mind to fully process it till my mother nudged me and asked the question. It was Turner calling. I looked away.
“You’re not going to pick it up?” Mom asked.
Her sixtieth birthday was last week, but she still looked every bit the regal, bright-eyed girl my father called princess since the day he met her. I turned from the game to face her with a quizzical look.
“Since when have you been eager for me to take work calls on Sundays?”
“I’m not,” she said, moving her hair with her as she shrugged. She still wore it down and curled just above her shoulder like she did when Emmett and I were kids. The only difference now was that it was tinted silver-grey instead of blonde. But whatever color she wore, she looked classically beautiful. The only time Lia endeared herself to me was when she said Mom reminded her of Grace Kelly.
I had always thought the same, though I would admit her voice was a stark contrast to the wispiness of old Hollywood.
When she spoke, my mother’s voice was blunt, borderline harsh. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I just figured it might be someone important calling. And yes, I know, ‘it’s always someone important calling,’ but considering you’ve let two whole calls go to voicemail since we’ve been here, I thought maybe something, or someone had taken your mind off of work for once.”
“Emmett introduces you to a new girlfriend every week. Why not pin your hopes of grandchildren on him instead?” I teased.
“Because of that reason exactly. He’s not going to settle down with anyone anytime soon.”
“You don’t know that!” Emmett called over his shoulder at us. He was down front in our suite behind home plate, one arm hugging Ozzy to his chest and the other draped over Grandma’s diminutive shoulders. Last year, she wouldn’t go near Emmett’s dog. Now, she had the thing eating peanuts out of her hand. “Gram, no more,” Emmett groaned, turning back around.
Mom laughed at them both, but I could see that look casting over her, and her smile fading slowly as her lake blue eyes floated toward the outfield.
Not now, Mom. Please.
I wasn’t prepared for another trip down memory lane, but it had happened during last Sunday’s game as well, so I probably should’ve known it was coming.
Following my mother’s gaze, I looked out toward the back of the stadium.
We used to sit out there a good twenty, twenty-five years ago – back when the Hoults “rolled deep” as Emmett said. Our family took up a big chunk of right field every Sunday, when we packed our things and made a day of going to the stadium. It was our grandparents, my family, two pairs of aunts and uncles, and their children. Over the years, we became friends with the other season ticket holders in the bleachers, as well as their own kids, and it practically felt as if we owned the outfield.
Unlike Grandma, Mom never cared for baseball. She said she went to the games every Sunday to play with the kids. It worked out well. No one’s love for baseball matched Grandma’s, and no one’s love for kids matched my mom’s. Everyone was happy.
Back then at least.
With a glance at me, Mom gauged that I’d followed her eye line and thus, her train of thought.
“You were so good with them,” she said. “You always helped me keep the little ones behaved.”
“Despite being a kid myself. I was ten when you had me babysitting everyone.”
“But you had fun, remember? You loved making up games to keep them distracted. I can’t even count the number of tantrums you saved us,” she laughed to herself. It wound down to a sigh. “You’re like your father. Very stern, very serious. But you
light up around children.”
“Mom,” I warned.
“Okay, alright.” She held her hands up, her voice quickly losing its dreamy quality. “I’m sorry. I was just going through the old photo albums last night, and I found so many baby pictures,” she explained. “I actually have a nice one of Lucie. I don’t know if you might want that.”
I turned to face my mother, unsure if it was a serious question. “No. I don’t want that.”
“Okay. Sorry.” She was genuinely apologetic this time. I could feel her watching me for the next few seconds that I kept my eyes decidedly on the game. Reaching for my hand, Mom squeezed it. “Listen, Julian,” she started seriously. I feared the speech she was preparing to launch into. But with a smile, she said, “Ozzy’s my grandchild.”
I broke into a grin. My eyes slid over to Ozzy.
“Yes. Your drooling, orange grandchild,” I said, amused as usual by the Staffordshire bull terrier staring back at me over Emmett’s shoulder. It was always wearing the same stupid perma-grin as my brother, and the two were both simple, easygoing – generally motivated by food, so they really did bear a father-son resemblance.
“Anyway, I meant to tell you I made a reservation at Greta’s for Father’s Day next week, since that’s Dad’s favorite. All six of your cousins will be in attendance this year. Significant others, too.”
“That sounds good,” I lied, catching the tennis ball Emmett lobbed at me without warning. I tossed it somewhere safe for Ozzy to fetch. “There’s a slight chance I’ll be away on business, but I doubt it’ll fall on Father’s Day.”
“Oh.” Her voice was deliberately flat. “Are you finally selling the thing?”
The thing. That was what she called that multi-million dollar resort in Biarritz. My teeth clenched at first, but I relaxed.
“Yes. As soon as possible, and hopefully to Turner and Carter Roth. You’ve met them.”
“Oh yes, I remember those two.”
“Yeah, they’re… idiots. But idiots that can do a lot of good for this stadium. Their resources can help us make this stadium what we all dreamed of,” I said just as Ozzy jumped on me with the tennis ball half-annihilated in his mouth. Mom barely flinched as she wrestled the slobbery thing out from his jaws and tossed it at Emmett.
