“I don’t know—” I start, but again, Dylan is a step ahead of me. I follow him as he wheels the carts off the elevator and down the hall to a door situated at about the same location as Diane’s service door.
He leads me into his kitchen, which is almost the identical layout as his mother’s place, except his appliances are all stainless steel, and I swear he has the most state-of-the-art sub-zero fridge in existence.
“You can leave the cart in the corner over there,” he points. “Pass me whatever you need to put in the fridge.”
It doesn’t take long to put everything away, but all the while, I remind myself of one thing.
We’re just having drinks.
Nothing more.
But I’m an idiot for being so naïve. The effects of his kiss still linger at the corner of my brain. The butterflies, my stomach flips, the warmth deep in my belly, and the tingling between my legs. They all kick into high gear again just being near him.
Just drinks?
Not a chance.
But that doesn’t stop me.
I accept his offered hand and let him show me to his living room.
Thirteen
Emily
I’m now in the game. My catering business is now a reality. A paid gig for this kind of money has a way of confirming it’s real.
It’s hard to believe how much my life has changed from a month ago.
I’m close to graduating from college, I have a part-time job with the most chill celebrity chef around, and now I have a business I can call my own. What should I call it? There’s time to pick a name. Whatever I choose, it’ll be perfect, even if it takes me months to get it right.
For sure, it won’t be tonight.
Dylan’s somewhere near the bar in his study making me a drink. He asked what my poison was. I told him white wine or champagne, my two favorites. But his question on which one threw me. I have a good knowledge of the various types and brands. It’s essential for a chef to have a grasp of wine pairings and such. But tonight, I don’t want to think too hard. I told him to surprise me.
As I stand at the glass sliding doors in Dylan’s living room, soaking up the breathtaking view of the city, it feels like there are no limits to what I can make of my life. Grams and Momma would be so proud. It’s been a few years since I wore the locket with their pictures inside. All of our photos. Grams on one side and the silly one with Momma, Joy and me on the other. I couldn’t wear it after Joy fell off the face of the earth. On her birthday, I force myself to look, and on days like today when there’s something big or important in my life.
I head back to the sofa end table where I set down my purse and reach into the side pocket where I keep the locket. My fingers slide along the outer embellishments. Can I bear to look at the ghosts of my past? I want to see Grams, and Momma, so I cup the locket inside my palm and lift it out into the light. A push of one fingernail into the seam snaps it open. I close my eyes, bracing myself. It’s all going to flood back. All three of them. As I do, I notice the sepia color of the two tiny images. That color treatment makes them all look so far away, as though that time in my life was a dream.
Like all the time before tonight, my eyes land on her.
My baby sister.
Where are you, Joy?
I’m so sorry I failed her. I want her to be here now that my future looks so bright. I want to hear her laugh, see her smile, to find out what direction her life took. The world might have given up on her, but somewhere deep down, I still want to believe she’s alive. We’re survivors, even if our entire family is long gone.
The squishy tap of Dylan’s loafers on the granite floor approaches. I close the locket but keep it safely in my palm as I look up.
“I didn’t find a huge selection of champagnes or white wines,” he informs me. “Hopefully you like Cristal?”
“Definitely. Hang on.” I slip the locket back into the side of my purse and take the glass. “Thanks.”
“Whiskey is my drink of choice. There’s a better selection if you’re into the hard stuff.”
“Not really. This is great.”
I sip my champagne and take a seat with him, my eyes darting from my champagne flute to the view ahead of us. He swirls the ice in his glass and takes a sip, then reaches over to me.
“To surpassing expectations and a job well done.”
I clink my flute to his glass. “Cheers to that,” I say, accepting the toast.
“Is exhaustion setting in already?”
“Not really.”
“Something about you is different from just minutes ago.”
“I’m just thinking…appreciating how great the start of my career is going right now. It’s humbling, really.”
“Talent pays off when you work hard at it.”
“True, but there’s also a but of luck thrown in.”
“Yes.”
“I’m blown away by it all.”
“Which is why I’m glad you agreed to drinks this time. It’s important to stop and take notice as milestones happen. Most hardworking people like us, we work and work, and before we know it, we’re hitting the golden years with all the toys, wondering where the time went.”
“There are also hardworking people who struggle and never break out…and those who don’t reap the benefits of their effort…and those who are gone too soon.”
“You’ve lost someone.” Dylan says it as a statement.
“More like everyone,” I admit, and regret saying it the second the words hit the air.
I see the hint of pity in his eyes and face forward again, eyes on that multi-million-dollar view.
“When you say everyone…”
“My grandparents, my mother. I didn’t have a father in the picture to speak of. There weren’t any cousins or aunts and uncles, not that I knew about. And my baby sister, although she might still be out there.”
“That’s… I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” I do my best to smile. “But let’s not commiserate. It was a long time ago.”
“All right.”
We fall into a comfortable silence for some time. It’s strange that I’m not nervous. Not at all. Not even after telling him about my family. The sullen moment eventually passes. His phone starts buzzing somewhere nearby and he excuses himself to put it on silent. While he’s gone, nearby speakers send easy jazz beats wafting through the air. I don’t know the performer, but the sound is rhythmic and enjoyable without compelling me to get up and dance. He returns with the bottle of Cristal in one hand and Jack in the other.
“Care for a refill?”
I nod and hold out my glass for him to pour. “Thanks.”
“Are you into this kind of music?”
As he sets down the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat beside me this time, he’s a lot closer. His thigh brushes against mine. That heat between our bodies hit me again, stealing my breath, causing my heart to race. Maybe he felt it too, because he glances over at me.
“You’re good?”
I grip the stem of the flute and down the contents in a few long gulps. “Fine.”
“Another drink?”
“Probably not.” Two glasses of Cristal are my limit. They do their job of tamping down my inhibitions. I’m not inebriated, but I’m liking the way my body has come around to the idea of having Dylan this close.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to kiss.
Close enough to submit to all the lust that hangs thickly around us, filling me with need, flipping on that switch again. The one he turned on when he first kissed me. The one that wants to find out what happens if he takes things further.
If we go there, I’ll have to tell him I’m a virgin.
Being twenty-three and inexperienced isn’t a big deal to me, but this is Manhattan. It may as well be called the second city of sin. I’ve got friends of friends at college who used their innocence as a commodity, catering to wealthy men, old and young, and boy did they eve
r profit from it. There’s an allure, a mystery, a prize in one’s virginity, and some men would stop at nothing to have their prizes.
I’m no one’s plaything. That’s not me. I spent too much time obsessing over whether that path was Joy’s eventual demise, or prostitution, drug abuse, homelessness, or worse. I start to wish I hadn’t downed my champagne so quickly or mentioned Joy’s existence. Or admitted that I had no clue about my father’s whereabouts, let alone whether he’s alive or long gone too. More wine, more champagne, that would do the trick, except I’m not at home. I’d have to leave the catering van parked here and take a cab if I have any more alcohol.
Maybe if I stretch my legs around this massive condo unit.
“I think I can handle another,” I announce for Dylan to hear. Getting up, I reach for the bottle and pour myself a refill. To the brim this time. I’ll walk it off. Burn it off somehow before heading out. Flute in hand, I walk over to the glass sliding door again.
“It’s pretty cool and windy out there,” he says from a couple of feet behind me.
Or a couple of inches.
“Is it?” The wall of heat behind me has to be him. My body sways backward as though searching for more or it. More of him.
He doesn’t move right away. Maybe minutes pass, then his large smooth hands run from the tops of my shoulders down to my elbows. “It must be. You’re shivering.”
He turns me to face him, and I meet those eyes again.
I’m aching.
Wanting.
Longing for him.
And before I can open my mouth to say a word, Dylan cups my cheek in his hand.
“You feel that too, don’t you?” I hear myself asking.
He grazes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Like a freight train. But don’t worry, Emily. I’ve got you.”
The way he says my name this time causes my heart to pound even harder in my chest. My knees turn to Jell-O.
I know then that my night is just starting, and I’m not about to walk away or go anywhere.
Fourteen
Dylan
The trouble with being ordered not to do something is it becomes all I want to do. I’m no rebel, but hell, Diane should have this reverse psychology thing down pat by now. By telling me Emily is off limits, I’m bound to push back.
Her marching orders come down after I kissed Emily.
After I come to realize I have a thing for her.
We have a thing for each other.
It’s too late for ultimatums masked as subtle suggestions.
Because I already kissed Emily.
I crave her.
Now I want a taste, and I’m not referring to food.
Emily cranes her neck to meet my gaze, head tipped back. I tilt her head up and gaze into the most intense eyes I've seen in a long time. And she won’t look away. There's darkness and a little torment in her stare. A lot of pain coming from her soul, if that saying about eyes being the window to the soul is true.
I cup her chin and stroke the pad of my thumb down her cheek. A wave of hot need courses through me. I should say something, do something, but I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With her. The resolve in her eyes tells me what I already know. We want the same thing. Taking her champagne flute, I put both our drinks down nearby without looking away.
She leans back on the cold glass door, eyes steady, locked onto mine, overflowing with longing. I’m not surprised when her hands slide up along my chest, slowly feeling her way up, experiencing my chest by touch before looping her hands behind my neck. I rest my hands at the sides of her waist, pulling her against me as my mouth covers her for another intoxicating dose of that drug. That high that spreads across my skin, courses through my chest, and causes my cock to thicken, throb and jerk.
Except with Emily, there’s something different.
It’s not easy to admit it, but fuck, she has me in a trance. I always thought I’d enjoy an independent woman who’s as busy as I am. And I do, but hell, she’s got so much going on, way more than what I have on my plate. That’s new to me. The woman’s busier than I am.
There’s even more to her.
Something more than the urge to fuck her.
As I kiss and explore her mouth, my wayward hands move up her arms again. This time, I curve my hot palm around the back of her neck, winding her hair around my fingers. We fuck each other’s mouth, tasting, boring into each other, tangling our tongues together, bringing the intensity of our kiss to heights that rival a climax. I’ve never come from just kissing, but if it were ever to happen, it’d be with this woman.
She feels it too. Her moans, her hands gripping the hair at the base of my skull, her left leg that runs from my calf to my knee and back down, they all tell me so. My taste for her pulses inside me like a drug. And she’d felt it, too.
Pulling back from the kiss, I meet her wild eyes. “I want to take you upstairs to my bedroom and fuck you,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve wanted that since I saw you. After I taste you and make you come, I’ll fuck you. But then, I’ll take my time and worship every inch of you. If that’s what you want… Is it?”
“I…” she answers in a shaky whisper.
She circles a spot on my upper back with one finger, hands still at my neck. It takes everything in me not to press her body harder against the sliding door and take her right here. Right now. Just from her touch.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her answer, the anticipation clutching me like it’s life or death. It’s the most foreign experience I’ve ever felt. A need, an urgency to hear her say yes.
Her eyes widen under her thick lashes, and her tongue runs over her bottom lip. “Yes, I want that too.”
I don’t wait for her to finish her sentence. Grabbing her by the waist, I lift her up to my chest, and her legs wrap around me. A quick turn and I take ground eating strides toward the stairs near the study. We make it to my bedroom. I lower her onto my bed, sealing my mouth to hers on the way down.
Fifteen
Emily
I should tell him I’m a virgin.
But I don’t.
Instead, I let him carry me up to his bedroom. It’s dark in here. The decor is masculine with chocolate walls, gray trimmings, and cream that add a hint of light contrasting accents.
Not much else in the room is visible. But decor and color become the least of my concern when he braces a hand on the dark gray comforter, claims my mouth again, and takes me with him as he falls into bed.
My eyes snap shut at the feel of his hot, hard heated weight on top of me. My legs wrap more tightly around his waist, loving the burning at the top of my thighs and his firm erection that ramp up the ache.
If I can just catch my breath, I’ll tell him he’s my first.
But this kiss.
It’s more.
It’s hungry.
He lifts off of me, and those lips travel slowly across my skin to the pulse point at my neck. I feel I’ve forgotten how to speak any other word except for his name.
“Dylan.”
He nips a trail from there all the way down past my collarbone, stopping at the tender skin above my bra. He finds the lower hem of my top. Before I know it, he lifts it up over my head and then my top flies off the edge of the bed. I should be shy, but I’m not. My courage is through the roof as I unabashedly unsnap the hooks of my bra and throw it in the direction of my shirt.
Dylan stops dead. His eyes are fixed on my upper body.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he rasps, still staring.
It’s only when I stretch my arms out and undo all the buttons of his shirt that he unfreezes. He twists his body and sits on the bed. Lifting me up, he strips off my slacks somehow, leaving me in just my panties.
I feel his eyes graze down from my head to my toes, and back up. And like a hot knife, the need in his eyes mark me then ignite my desire. Under his gaze, I’m more brazen. My hands move down between my legs, and he groans hoarsely.
“Fuck.
Yes, Emily. Show me how you get yourself off. Touch yourself for me.”
I slip tingling fingers down into my panties. He undoes his jeans, hand cupped over his bulge as he watches me play along my drenched folds. The more I flick against my swollen sensitive clit, the more I want to see and touch him.
I hiss out a whimper as the pleasure builds. That sound does something carnal to us both, Dylan grips one side of my panties. He tugs at it so hard that the fabric rips along both seams, leaving me bare, my pussy exposed to the cooler air.
But not for long. His strong arms stretch my legs out at either side of him. He parts my legs with one knee. Reaching around my hips, he palms the flesh of my ass cheeks and lowers his head between my thighs.
The smoldering heat of his tongue touches just the tip of my clit, and my ass raises off the bed, eager for more of my center to make contact. I writhe on the bed as he licks up and down my folds. His touch is so intense, so overpowering. One second, my mind is fixed on his mouth at my clit, and the next, as he shoves two thick fingers inside of me, I’m soaring to parts unknown from the climax he summons from deep within me.
I can’t stop shaking. Or the way I have zero control over my body.
And he doesn’t stop. Dylan sucks and fucks me with his tongue and fingers, taking every drop of my orgasm, extending it beyond what I’ve ever felt while getting myself off.
As the shaking eases, he kisses my inner thighs, and climbs out of bed, disappearing through the open master bathroom door.
I will myself to open my eyes at the sound of Dylan returning to the room, but it’s no use. They miss the sight of him taking off the rest of his clothes. Still, I see him and his thick, veined, engorged dick laid out beside me, the tip pointed skyward. It scares me a little. My pussy, my virgin core may not be able to accommodate something so... big.
I stare at it in the dim glow of city lights floating in through the balcony door on this level. Just looking at it makes my core tighten. And knowing how soaked I am between my legs, I’m willing to try.
The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4 Page 6
