For the Win

by Brenna Aubrey

  The elevator dinged and then opened. I preceded him to our door, fumbling in my clutch for the card key. He came up beside me and swiped his instead.

  I walked past him but hesitated near the door. Maybe I should hang out to make sure he was all right and then go barricade myself in my room. I'd never seen him this out of sorts before, except for maybe my first day working for him--the day all the shit had hit the fan with the sex video.

  Jordan strode in past me with purpose and headed straight for the mini-bar. He didn't even hesitate before opening a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring it into a glass. Whiskey neat. Oh shit.

  "Jordan..." I said as he lifted the glass of amber liquid to his lips. His eyes darted to mine and he paused with the glass at his lips. "You wanna talk about this?"

  He hesitated only a minute before slamming the untouched glass down on the nearest table and moving to the living room, where he shoved his hands in his pockets and paced.

  "No, not really."

  "Okay. Do you want to practice your talk?"

  "No, not really," he repeated in that same monotone. He stood there staring at the glass as if it held the answers to all of the world's problems.

  "Drinking that probably isn't going to help. Not really."

  His brow went up. "Yeah, it actually will. And after, I want to chase it down with another one."

  Slowly, I walked toward him as he watched me with brooding eyes. "But you vowed no alcohol. And so did I. And I'd really like a drink right now, too."

  "Christ, we sound like we're at an AA meeting. I also vowed I wasn't going to be a serial manwhore, but all these vows are getting me is way too sober and sexually frustrated."

  I felt a rush inside my chest--a surge of happiness, perhaps--to hear about Jordan's vow. I'd been wondering if he'd followed through on those sexts that he'd received. Or the Snapchat propositions, or any of the other ways in which women did not hesitate to throw themselves at him. It must have taken a lot of willpower and determination on his part to turn them down.

  I frowned.

  "What?" he said.

  "Just curious about your vows of sobriety and chastity. Are you trying to join a monk order or something?"

  He clenched his jaw. "Feels like it sometimes."

  He strode over and snatched up the glass of whiskey, then flipped on the fireplace switch and sank onto the couch. Silence hung in the air, but I didn't want to pester him with another question. I didn't want to let him off the hook, either.

  He held the glass of whiskey between his open knees, swirling it and watching the play of light on the liquid. Slowly, I approached and settled beside him.

  He didn't look up but took a deep breath and started talking. "After the fuck-up with the video, I just had this epiphany, I guess. That and--well, it's actually kind of weird, and if you ever breathe a word of this to him, I will utterly deny it. But watching everything Adam went through with Mia was a learning experience for me. It changed him. I think it was a good change." He took another breath and then tilted his head with a shrug. "I didn't like her at first. She reminded me of...someone."

  "Cynthia?" I supplied.

  He darted a look at me out of the corner of his eyes and shakily raised the glass to his lips. He appeared to take a long sniff but didn't drink before once again lowering the glass. His eyes, glaring into the firelight, were the color of butterscotch.

  "Nice girls don't stay nice girls. They do shitty things..." he muttered. I'd heard him make similar comments before but had no idea what to make of it. I kicked off my strappy heels and leaned back on the couch, tucking my feet underneath me.

  "You two must have been pretty serious. You guys have matching tattoos."

  Tense silence. More whiskey swirling. I could hear nothing but the hiss of the gas fireplace and the distant, ever-present hum of the appliances in the penthouse. It was quiet and dark except for our tiny amber bubble of light.

  Jordan was the epitome of tension, his broad shoulders stiff with it. He continued to fiddle with the glass. "I have known her my entire life. We grew up together," he began in a hushed voice. "Our parents were friends--they still are, actually. We did everything together. School. Surfing. Hanging out at the beach. Homework. Everything." He shook his head. "We were a lot of firsts for each other--first kiss, first girlfriend, first..." His voice died out and then he shrugged. "I hadn't seen her for years. Had a vague idea that she had moved up north somewhere."

  I cleared my throat. "What happened?"

  He rolled his shoulders, as if forcing them to relax. "I asked her to marry me before I left for college. We're the same age but I'd finished a year and a half early due to the parental homeschooling indoctrination. The old man had pushed me into that engineering program he wanted me to start so badly. Christ, I was sixteen fucking years old. What did I know? She said yes, of course, and I left her behind. Drove back to SLO every chance I got...every weekend practically. And when she started at UCLA, I was ecstatic. We were only thirty minutes away from each other."

  "Then you met someone else?"

  His features chilled and slowly, deliberately he placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. His free hand clenched into a fist. "You assume it was me that cheated, hmm?"

  I swallowed, my face flushing. "Oh, sorry. I thought that, given your proclivities and the text-harem..."

  "That's just great, Weiss. So because I'm the man, naturally I was the cheater."

  "Guess that was a sexist assumption on my part."

  "Yup."

  "Well, to be fair, it wasn't just because you are a man. Your behavior toward her tonight was a little...I don't know...kind of like you feel guilty."

  Those eyes found mine, the look in them so intense I found myself holding my breath. "I am--I do. I have a lot to feel guilty for when it comes to Cyndi. But I didn't cheat on her. No, I surprised her one Friday afternoon at her dorm to take her out. Came through her door and found a tatted-up piece of shit biker dude on top of her in bed."

  "Oh, dear God," I said, falling back against the couch. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

  He winced and looked away. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he sloughed off his jacket and removed his tie. "It was six years ago. Ancient history." He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. I could barely take my eyes off his powerful forearms, the strong veins lining them under his skin.

  "But ancient history has a way of sticking with you...coming back to haunt you."

  "Yeah?" he bit out. His voice held a bitter edge. "What would you know about it? Did your fraternity boyfriend make out with your BFF?"

  "No, he didn't, fuck you very much. He married my mother."

  He let out a long breath that evolved into a shaky laugh. But when his eyes landed on my face, he could tell I wasn't joking. He immediately sobered. "For real?"

  "It's okay. You can laugh. I know it's fucked up and dysfunctional. My mom loves only one person in her whole world--herself. So I'm sure Gunnar is only husband number four in a string of eight or nine, maybe even a baker's dozen."

  He frowned. "This happened recently?"

  My eyes darted away from his to fixate on the fire. "Right before Comic-Con."

  "So your cougar mom swooped in and stole your boyfriend?"

  "We'd been broken up. As far as I know, he didn't sleep with her until after I broke it off with him. She flirted with all my boyfriends, so who knows? Apparently, I bored him in bed."

  Jordan blinked. "What?"

  "That's what he said when I broke up with him."

  "He's a fuckin' liar, Weiss. I hope you didn't believe that shit."

  I shrugged, staring into the fire. I had to admit that I had believed it. But Jordan's reaction was somewhat encouraging.

  He shifted to face me, reaching out a hand. The back of his fingers skimmed along my jaw. The touch sizzled right through me--as it did every time this man touched me. I swallowed. He grasped my chin and turned my face toward his. "If he really thought that, then he's the dimme
st man on the planet. For real. Or maybe he bored you."

  My eyes held fast to his, which appeared darker since most of his face was in shadow now. I licked my lips. His eyes followed the movement and I saw his Adam's apple bob. But instead of removing his hand, he brushed it along my cheek, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. I couldn't control the shiver that trickled down my spine.

  "So...so you didn't think I was boring?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

  Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. I was enthralled by every move, every gesture. His fingers slid along my jaw again, his thumb caressing my cheek. Every breath in my chest was checked by a band of tension tightening around me, and each inhalation seemed harder to grasp than the last one.

  The pad of his thumb smoothed over my bottom lip. The touch was light, slow, deliberate. Torturously erotic. I felt every ridge of that thumbprint smooth over my skin, permanently marking me.

  "You were the complete opposite of boring," he breathed in a voice so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear. His thumb pushed again and I pursed my lips, kissing it.

  His eyes darkened, the thumb slipped between my lips and I caught it lightly in my teeth. "It was so not boring that I fight with myself to try to forget." The tip of my tongue snaked out and molded around his invading thumb. His head moved, his face inches from mine, so close I could not see him clearly. "You don't fight fair, Weiss."

  My lips closed around him and I sucked. There was a new feeling all over my body--fire on my skin and a cold, cold ache inside. I was an empty bowl, and I needed him to fill me up.

  I drew back so I could speak. "Because I don't want to fight it anymore," I said.

  His lips were on mine in an instant.

  He tasted a little like the wine he had downed at the reception, but other than that, he tasted just as he had the night before. His warm lips covered mine, melded with them, our tongues uniting at the same time. His hand hooked around my neck, holding my head to his. He needn't have bothered. It wasn't like I was going anywhere.

  I wanted this too much.

  After minutes of our mouths pressed together, I felt like I had to remind myself to breathe. My eyes fluttered closed and I could barely think of anything but the feel of his lips traveling across my jaw, the scrape of whiskers against my cheek and neck. Now I was breathing too fast and I was too mindless to draw it back under my control.

  My lips found the pulse on his sandpapery neck, and I sucked and licked him there. "You're making this very difficult, Weiss," he said.

  "So are you."

  His mouth traveled down my neck, kissing along the low scoop of my neckline. I shivered. His hand that gripped my upper arm tightened. "I really want to peel you out of this dress."

  My hands laced through his soft hair as he kissed his way toward my cleavage, each touch of his mouth striking me like an arrow clear down to my core. God, the ache was so ferocious now, I was almost whimpering with it.

  "I wouldn't mind at all if you did that."

  "But I can't--I shouldn't. You're the forbidden fruit." His tongue dipped between my breasts, licking his way up my breastbone. I gasped. "But damned if you don't taste so fucking good. What I really want to do is strip you naked and spread you out underneath me."

  "Also something I wouldn't object to." My voice trembled. The tension inside was building to near epic pressure levels. His mouth and hands were conjuring wicked, sinful spells, entrancing me willingly. He was far too good at this.

  And I was forgetting every bit of sense I was born with. He was my boss. My business school recommendation depended on him. If anyone found out this was happening, he could lose his job.

  "We shouldn't be doing this," he said, as if reading my thoughts. But at the same time, his fingers were dipping below the edge of the back of my dress.

  Despite the alert in my brain that we should stop, my hand snaked up to unbutton his shirt. We both seemed to be having the problem of our hands and bodies functioning independently of our brains. I slipped my hand inside his shirt, smoothing across that hard, sculpted chest. He felt so good I could--

  In seconds, his hand closed around my wrist, wrenching it out of his shirt. The other hand found my other wrist. The next second, he had abruptly pushed me back on the couch so that I was lying flat on my back and he was pinning me down with his body, my hands restrained above my head.

  "If this goes any further, I won't be able to stop. We aren't just fooling around now," he hissed between his teeth, his eyes flashing with both irritation and lust. "I want to fuck you so badly I can taste it--I can taste you. And fuck it all, I can't taste anything else but you."

  I swallowed tightly. He wanted me to give him the out. He wanted me to talk sense into him. And he had a point. He was feeling vulnerable right now, and to seduce him like this was taking advantage. The thought seemed ludicrous because I doubted Jordan had ever been seduced against his will.

  But...maybe I had a little power to shift his judgment. Maybe I had a responsibility to be the one to keep my wits about me.

  "We shouldn't because...we work together. It might threaten your job." My voice hardly sounded committed to this, but shakily I continued. "Um. Maybe...maybe you regretted last time."

  His grip around my wrists tightened. "Stop it," he groaned, his head lowering so that his forehead rested against mine. "The only thing I regretted was your goddamn video."

  I swallowed. "Maybe you don't really want this."

  He shifted, pressing the large, hard bulge in his pants against my thigh. "Does it feel like I don't really want this?"

  My breath was quickening again. I wanted him inside me so badly that my thoughts and sense were now swirling around inside my head, roiling and bubbling over like a storybook cauldron. Lust burned through every synapse, every vein, every sinew. My hips shifted and I ground them against him.

  "Jordan," I breathed. "I want you."

  His mouth was on me again, his tongue tangling with mine. He clasped me so fiercely around the wrists that I was starting to lose feeling in my hands. Suddenly, he pulled back and sat straight up, releasing me.

  Shit.

  I wanted to scream at his sudden bout of self-control. The look he was giving me, though, was anything but controlled. He looked like a wild animal, his chest rising and falling.

  His jaw set. "Stand up, April."

  I was one hundred percent certain I would not like whatever he was going to say. I sat up slowly and faced him.

  "Stand," he repeated, reaching to help me up. He rose along with me. "There are a number of indecent things I want to do to you right now--and in several different ways--but, despite what I said earlier, I didn't bring condoms with me."

  I frowned. "That's unfortunate."

  "Quite."

  "Perhaps it's too much of a temptation, then, to inform you that condoms came in the suite's hospitality basket." I pointed over to the counter where the basket sat, untouched, since I'd glanced through it the day before.

  He gazed at the basket, all the breath hissing out of his chest. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck, Weiss. You weren't supposed to tell me that."

  We stared at each other for a long, tense minute. I tried to regulate my breathing. His eyes dropped to my chest, likely noting the aforementioned difficulty with drawing air into my lungs.

  Abruptly, he spun and strode over to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it and took a long pull. With a deep breath, I turned my back on him and faced the fire. I wasn't ready for this to be over yet. However, it took two to waltz and my dance partner was fleeing the ball. I blinked, frustrated.

  But could I blame him? There were so many reasons--some that I hadn't even named--that he shouldn't be into me. Number one, that virus video from Hell. Number two, I was his intern and he loved his job. Number three, he should be preparing for his talk in the morning with practice and a good night's sleep. Number four... I frowned, rubbing my forehead between my eyebrows. I couldn't im
agine what number four would be. I was sure there had to be a number four.

  Then I heard him behind me and I froze. His body was so near, so warm--warmer than the heat of the fire in front of me because he was inches--maybe even millimeters--away. And there was something else...kind of like having a compass pointing toward the source of magnetism, I felt a mystical pull between my two shoulder blades. He was drawing me under his enchantment again, simply by standing close.

  When I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, shivers scurried down my spine. His strong fingers brushed my hair away, and slowly--ever so slowly--his lips touched at the juncture of my neck and back. With that scruff and those smooth, smooth lips, he brushed along the top of my shoulder. I gasped, unable to control myself.

  One of his hands pressed against my belly, pulling me back against his chest while he kissed me. It was driving me wild with expectation. Yet another spell in his arsenal of sorcery.

  My breathing froze and I was keenly aware of my heartbeat--everywhere--especially on that spot at the back of my neck where his lips were connecting with the sensitive skin.

  "Well, well, lovely Snow White. Looks like the Big Bad Wolf is here to eat you all up," he muttered against my flesh, his mouth simulating his words.

  "Wrong fairytale," I shakily replied.

  "Well, I sure as hell am not Prince Charming, because I doubt he ever did to her what I am going to do to you," he groaned.

  His fingers slid through my hair then curled, and with a quick tug, my head jerked to the side, making more of my neck available to him. His hand tightened and his breath came fast. My scalp prickled with the pain that only served to turn me on even more. The only sound was the unzipping of my dress with one swift, determined tug.

  "Yeah?" I asked. "And what are you going to do to me?"

  "Nothing you aren't going to thoroughly enjoy."

  That ache was growing, radiating from my center but increasing with each passing minute that he carefully wove his charm. With one quick flick of my wrist, I let the dress fall into an ice-blue puddle at my feet. I felt like the goddess rising from the waters in Botticelli's famous painting, The Birth of Venus. And Jordan, with his lips of fire trailing across my skin, was a worshipper at my altar.

  "I've been wanting to see you naked for months."