by Lacy Carter
Jessica’s eyebrows rose as she scrunched her face. “Oh, is that all, work? You need to live a little.”
Bonnie wondered why she was listening to advice from a strange woman who was obviously high.
“So, you with anyone right now?”
“Well, nope. Not…” Bonnie noticed the tall, dark, and handsome man, who stood at the bar. He was watching them. “Eh, not right now.”
If she were smart, she'd get the hell out of there. Bonnie didn't like what she suspected was going on.
“Good. How about you join me and my friend? He wants us to go back to his place with him.”
Don't ask, don't ask.
“Who’s your friend?” Bonnie asked.
Jessica indicated by looking back at the man. The answer to her sexual frustration, which had suddenly reached a fever-pitch. It was certainly no coincidence that her yearning for a dirty fuck had begun the moment she saw him.
“So, what'd you say?” Jessica chuckled. “We'd normally have to get in line for him, but we’ve obviously captured his attention. This is going to be so much fucking fun.” She paused, reached into her bag, retrieving something she held in a closed fist. Then Jessica placed the item into Bonnie’s hands.
“Pills? I told you, I have work,” Bonnie said.
"Fine. Be that way," she said.
Snatching the pills back, she returned them to her bag, then pulled out a tube of gloss, painted her lips and smiled.
“So what do you say? It's not everyday you get to hangout with a celeb. He even wants a threesome.” A sneaky grin came across her perfectly-shaped mouth.
Bonnie swallowed hard and shifted on her feet. Slowly, she sidled out of the narrow passageway. As she moved out, her breasts brushed against Jessica’s nipples, and she felt them harden. How had she gone from a mundane relationship filled with tedium to the offer of threesome in a single night, she would never know. It was crazy. Ridiculous.
Bonnie fought her way through the crowd and finally got outside. Jessica followed her.
“Sorry, it's not really my thing.” Bonnie clutched her bag as the other woman’s dreamy gaze, flashed to a glare.
Jessica blinked, rapidly, then giggled. “Are you fucking serious? Who do you think you are?” She laughed. “You don't turn down Chad DeMarco!”
Chad… so that's his name.
As Bonnie walked away, she figured Jessica wouldn’t mind too much, since she would have Chad all to herself. Chad; what an asshole, she thought as she paced along the sidewalk and tried to find a taxi.
I would never—
Just as Bonnie crossed the street, a car pulled out in front of her, a black Porsche, roaring like a beast, causing the earth to vibrate beneath her.
She leaned forward and peered into the car. It was him. Chad.
“How about a ride home? No funny business, I promise. Just an innocent ride,” he said.
She stared at him. His stunning gray eyes were surrounded by black eyelashes set between black brows. And though his delicious lips said the word innocent, his eyes betrayed him. They made her inner thighs tingle and her nipples stiffen as if they were about to pierce the fabric of her bra.
The tone of her cell phone broke the riveting power of his scorching eyes. She fished in her purse for her phone. It was Jill. Her message said:
Gone back to a sailor's place
call u later
YOLO!
Bonnie sighed and looked heavenward; she knew she would regret her next move, but she did it anyway. Opening his door, she got into the car.
Just one night won't hurt.
Chapter Two
Bonnie fell asleep to visions of a man whose caresses conspired to set her body ablaze, alighting an insatiable arousal. Only a miraculous orgasm could quench it. He held her still when she writhed, twisted, and attempted to recoil. Her cunt tightened and her muscles tensed around his thick hardness.
Bonnie woke with her eyes still shut, the image of the man from last night branded in her mind, stirring up feelings of shame, guilt, and regret. Remembering how Chad’s tongue had flicked out before he slipped down to the crest between her legs. As he tasted her, his devilish grin juxtaposed with his angelic eyes.
Breathing heavily, Bonnie recalled an even more intense, if not salacious thought. How his body perched over hers and scorched her with pure pleasure.
How he dragged his tongue, slowly, over each hardened nipple, up and down her stomach and caused a frantic energy to settle there.
How when he went low, lower, down past her hips and thighs and lower still, to the point between her legs, he flicked his tongue out, his head between her thighs and…
Oh god! He had me screaming like a maniac last night.
Bonnie’s eyes snapped open. The dream of Chad the Adonis, the bastard who thrusted her from orgasm to orgasm was marginally better than the reality of an empty bed. She didn't need the humiliation of seeing the smug look on his face in the morning.
She turned and looked at her clock. It was 5:30am.
Pulling back the sheets, her arm stretched out to the imprint on the side of the bed where he’d slept. It was still warm. There were no rules for one-night stands, but him leaving before she woke up was preferable. Bonnie didn't want to face the guy who scored so easily with her.
It was wrong.
A mistake, Bonnie.
Laying on her back, feeling the warm yet slightly sore sensation between her legs, she was glad that he hadn’t stuck around. There was no denying it; the guy had moves like a pro, had her purring with a single touch, and moaning with a caress; the room moved when he rocked her world and when he entered her... all hell broke lose.
But he wasn't the kind of guy she needed in her life. For one, the damage he'd cause would be unimaginable. Bonnie stared at the space on the wall where the picture had been before it fell, but luckily it hadn’t shattered. Yet it was a one-time occurrence and she didn’t intend to make a habit of one-night stands. He would never mess with her head or her panties again.
Jill called them drive-by bangs and saw no problem with bringing guys back to her place for no-strings-attached sex. Bonnie preferred a measure of quiet in her life and thankfully, she could now return to it.
A few hours later found her sipping a coffee, eating a breakfast bar, and speaking on her cell to Johnny, her colleague at The Daily Journal. She emptied the plate of bacon in the trash.
The events of last night had turned as crisp in her memory as the bacon she reflexively cooked up, then guiltily disposed of, after remembering last week’s promise to eat healthy, convince her boss Al Gibson let her write the Stephanie Stein article, and regain her confidence so she could meet a decent guy. So far, she failed at one of her plans, which might have tasted delicious at the time, but was plain and simply—wrong, wrong, wrong.
She stared at the bacon. If only she could get rid of thoughts of him as easily as she chucked the bacon. Bonnie picked up the breakfast bar from the table.
“Yeah, well, Al can definitely give me the job. He knows I'll write a kickass article,” she said to Johnny, rushing around her apartment, sipping coffee, munching the breakfast bar (muesli bored the heck out of her), searching for her keys, taking another sip of coffee, then realizing the keys were already in her bag.
When the conversation was over, she told Johnny she'd see him at work. She hung up, put her cell in her bag, took a final sip of coffee, and made her way to the front door with the breakfast bar in hand, before a vibrating interpreted her autopilot trek to hallway. She dug her cell out to see the caller was Jill.
"Hey, everything okay, Jill?” Bonnie said.
"Have you seen it?" Jill asked.
“Seen what?”
“This morning's announcements on Win a Filthy Bad Boy.”
“Jill, are you for real? It's obscenely early to be watching that god awful show. What possessed you call so early?”
“So, I guess you really aren't a fan of it then,” Jill said, sounding disappointed.<
br />
“I didn’t say that exactly,” Bonnie said, guiltily. She knew how much her friend enjoyed the show. Her own thoughts on the reality show was how ludicrous it was to have a reality TV show were the playboy always came off as the good guy and the decent girl played the part of the idiot. Even more outrageous was how the show had taken the world by storm.
“Anyway,” said Jill, “the winning lady was announced last night.”
“Oh, that's nice, but hon, I’m just out the door, can't this wait?”
“So you haven't seen it then?”
“Seen what exactly?”
“Oh boy, I didn't think you’d be mad.” Jill sounded guilty. “I must have been drunk when I entered you into the competition, I thought it would be cool for you, you know, now that you're single an all.”
“Hold on a sec, what competition? What are you talking about?” Bonnie bit into the breakfast bar, growing annoyed at the suspense as she descended the staircase one step at a time. “Just spit it out, will you?” she said between chews.
“I entered you into the competition for Win a Filthy Bad Boy—”
Shocked and unsure how to respond, Bonnie swallowed the bar, and it lodged in her throat. “Ack-ack!” She clutched her throat and leaned onto a wall.
“—like I said, it was meant to be a joke, I never took it seriously. I even entered myself in—”
“Ack!”
In the midst of choking, Bonnie was suddenly aware of strong arms wrapping themselves around her. She was squeezed hard as a powerful body thrusted her upwards. This was all a sick joke. First, Jill informed her that she had entered her into a competition to be on Win a Filthy Bad Boy and now someone was humping her on the staircase.
When the remainder of the breakfast bar went flying out of her mouth, Bonnie gasped, gulping air into her lungs. She folded forward and rested her hands on her thighs. She couldn't fill her lungs fast enough.
In that moment, Bonnie realized that someone must have saved her. Lifting her head to see her hero, she stared into the handsome face of Ken, her arrogant neighbor from the first floor.
“Hey, slow down there. You alright?” he asked in his raspy voice.
She nodded, and held up a finger signaling—give me a minute, then put the cell to her ear.
“—why do you think I sound so excited, huh? I sure as fuck wish I was the one going away with him, but I won't begrudge you for jumping at the opportunity,” Jill said.
“I know you had my best interest in mind. Look, I need to get going,” she huffed half-heartedly. “I can't be late for work.”
“You're no fun. Alright, well at least you don't seem too pissed.”
“I'm hanging up now. Get your butt to work,” Bonnie said.
Bonnie relaxed. She knew there was no way in hell that she was going on the reality TV show. She would call and cancel. If they needed an explanation, she'd explain that her friend played a prank on her, apologize, and carry on her life as normal.
“Everything alright, doll?” Ken asked, extending a hand to help her up.
“Thanks Ken, you saved me from death by humiliation.”
“Ha!” he laughed. “So, do I get a reward? What say I take you some place nice this weekend?” Ken asked.
Beneath his bathrobe, Bonnie caught a glimpse of his sculptured abs. He always looked as if he were cut out from an Exercise Magazine, tanned all over with a gorgeous smile full of perfect teeth. He regarded her with pale blue eyes.
“Are you ever even around on weekends?” Bonnie asked. If a person were listening in on their conversation, they might have assumed this referred to Ken’s wild party lifestyle, but the truth was far more mundane. Ken was a resident in a surgery program.
Ken displayed his dimples to-die-for when he smiled cockily. “I’ll definitely make time for you,” he said, tilting his head to the side and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Many female tenants, a couple of male ones too, talked about how drop-dead gorgeous Ken was. He was burn-your-retinas good looking and apparently hot in bed. Add in the ocean blue eyes, dimples and swagger, and as long as you could look beyond his promiscuous ways, he was the total package.
And despite all these qualities, Bonnie was not attracted to him; not in a way that posed a threat, anyway. He never had the raw, sexual, seduction that would leave her feeling cheap in the morning.
Bonnie thanked the gods that most men didn’t have that overwhelming affect on her. It wasn’t like any guy could leave her panting feverishly before screaming in ecstasy. Well, only one so far—Chad.
No sooner had Bonnie tossed the image of Chad to the back of her thoughts had it latched itself onto the ledge of her subconscious and climbed its way to the forefront of her mind.
She checked the clock on her phone. Shit. Leaping up, her bag over her shoulder, she hurled herself towards the door and waved to Ken.
“Anyway, what's the rush?” Ken called after her.
“I've got to get to work, and my ass is grass if I'm late,” Bonnie shouted as she ran out.
At seven, Bonnie hopped a train, stuck in her earphones so she could listen to Robin Thicke, and reviewed the work day ahead. In the lull of routine, she would get to talk with her boss, Al Gibson, after her sit down with the editors at the morning meeting.
At just twenty-three, Bonnie Jensen had to be one of the youngest and hardest working journalists in New York and the most prominent columnist and blogger for The Daily Journal.
After numerous articles, countless interviews, and her work on feature pages, Al had to give her the go ahead to cover the Stephanie Stein story. But recently, she took it upon herself to arrange an interview with the ex-star, turned recluse. The source who acted as intermediary between Bonnie and Stephanie was positive that Stephanie would do the interview. Bonnie was convinced that if she sprung the information on Al, he'd have no choice but to allow her to take the job.
Pursuing serious journalism was the one thing that kept her on the East Coast. If not for her career, Bonnie would have moved back to the Midwest; more specifically Bloomington, Illinois, where she grew up.
She could manage the rush, and the cold expressions of New Yorkers, but even the required tough skin that she soon experienced from having pitch after pitch ignored, never prepared her for how cutthroat the journalism industry could be.
Her thoughts went to Al Gibson, who was the tough editor-in chief of The Daily Journal. Initially, he seemed like the office Grinch that Bonnie had the misfortunate of interning under during her last days at Columbia.
On the surface, Al Gibson appeared resembled J.Jonah Jameson from Spider-man. He was stubborn to the point of denseness, a pompous skinflint who micromanaged his employees with little-to-no life beyond his large executive sized desk. But Bonnie got a chance to see beneath the surface of the dictatorial toothbrush moustache, ever-present Cuban cigar, and shaggy peppered gray hair.
Gibson was a man who interned for various papers in his early teens and worked extremely hard to the point that pictures of him during award ceremonies in his early twenties gave him the look of a man in his late thirties. Through hard work and consistency, he became a big name in the industry, a rare breed of man, earnest and resolute. No family, no friends, and no lovers.
As she ran through her pitch in her head, Bonnie scowled out the window of the cross-town bus. Monday morning New York traffic rumbled along at a nightmarish pace, so that she was almost late arriving to the office.
With seconds to spare, Bonnie got to her office cubicle, removed her earphones, plopped into her swivel chair, and switched on her screen, when a voice startled her.
“So... anything you want to tell me?”
Jolting Bonnie out of her thoughts, the head that popped over the wall of her cubicle offered a broad smile.
“Johnny, you scared the hell out of me,” Bonnie said.
“You think you’d be used to me by now.” Johnny’s shtick was to pop his head up over the cubicle wall unexpectedly, causing Bonnie t
o jump. He perched on her desk and straightened his gray tie that matched his slacks and lavender shirt. Always dressed in a pressed suit and glossy tie, his sandy blond hair gave him a surfer look.
“Yeah, but today's different, I almost got caught in traffic and today of all days, I want to make a good impression on Al.” The instant Bonnie’s computer came on; her fingers began to work furiously. “I plan on arranging a meeting with him today.”
“So about that, how come you never told me?” Johnny asked, his eyes lighting up.
“I never told anyone, Johnny, I wanted to surprise Al with—”
“Oh, he knows alright,” Johnny interrupted.
