Haze

by Deborah Bladon

  "Will you fuck me now?" The words sound foreign as they fall from her sweet lips. "I want to be fucked hard."

  Christ, please. Yes.

  I look at her face, her right cheek still pressed against the glass. I lean forward, running my fingers along her back before I cradle her chin, moving it just a touch so I can slide my mouth over hers.

  The kiss is deep, lush and as soon as I pull away, I'm behind her.

  I glide my fingers across her pussy. She's wet, so incredibly wet.

  Her breathing quickens. Her ass moves as she slides her feet even farther apart. I stare at her reflection in the glass. Her beautiful eyes are closed. Her lips quivering as she exhales loudly.

  My hand grazes the front of my pants. I should do this. It's what I'd planned when I dressed for tonight and slid two condom packages in the pocket of my slacks. I wasn't even sure I'd be able to resist the temptation to be inside of her before we stepped foot off the elevator.

  I'd wanted her desperately in the car. My mind conjuring up detailed images of her nude on my lap, riding my dick as we drove through the streets of the city.

  I've thought about fucking her since I first saw her.

  Her body is everything I imagined and more.

  She's literally begging me for it.

  All I have to do is sheath my cock and slide it into her wet cunt. I can take her hard against this window. I can claim her right now.

  I suck in a deep breath as my hands dart to the glass on either side of her, trapping her there, against me.

  "Gabriel." Her voice is barely audible. "Please fuck me."

  I rest my forehead against her back aligning my eyes with her bound wrists and beyond that, the curve of her naked ass. I brush my lips across her shoulder, nestling my cheek into the softness of her fragrant skin.

  "Haze," I mouth the word silently before I lower myself back to my knees, inhale the sweet scent of her arousal and tongue her pussy until she comes screaming my name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Isla

  I hear the unmistakable sound of my smartphone's ringtone as it jars me awake. I get that some people are annoyed by those of us who choose music to alert us to a new call, as opposed to those boring old chimes and buzzers.

  My ring tone happens to be one of my most favorite things in life and since it's my phone, it's actually no one else's business.

  I rub my hand over my face trying to stir the sleep from my eyes. It takes me all of a half second when I open my eyes to realize that this is not my bedroom. This is actually at least four times the size of my bedroom and when I'm at home, I never, ever sleep completely in the nude like I am right now.

  "You're awake."

  I also never hear a voice like that in my bedroom unless I'm touching myself while I’m thinking about Gabriel Foster.

  Gabriel Foster. Did he eat me out over and over again last night or was that a dream?

  I sit up and turn sharply to my left just as my phone falls silent.

  "You have excellent taste in ringtones, Isla." His voice is deep and has that growl to it that is distinctive. "Bach, is it?"

  "No." I shake my head trying to release myself from this dream. "It's not Bach. It's Vivaldi. You can hear the vulnerability in the notes. That's why I love it so much."

  What? What the fuck am I doing right now? My tits are on full display and I'm in a strange bed going over the finer points of my favorite composition.

  "You slept soundly." He steps right into my line of sight. "It's near seven now. I'll need to leave for a meeting soon."

  I adjust the soft white sheet that is covering me so it shields my breasts from not only his gaze, but the chill in the room. He's dressed in a different suit than he was last night. That one was dark blue. This one is grey. He's shaved, showered and looks ready to take on his day.

  My eyes fall to the bed as memories of what happened last night flood me. He'd licked me near the window until I came. Then he'd turned me around. He'd kissed me softly before he untied my wrists, and carried me to his bed. After he brought me to another orgasm with his mouth, he'd gotten on the bed next to me, his face hovering above mine while he ran his index finger over my lips. I'd stared into his eyes until I must have drifted off to sleep.

  I had begged him to fuck me in the other room. I'd wanted it so much that any sense of self composure I had disappeared in direct relation to my rising need to feel his cock inside of me.

  I heard the sound of his belt loosening and his zipper being drawn down but it stopped there.

  He had stalled when I whimpered about wanting his cock and as he fell to his knees to lick me again, I'd felt a rush of embarrassment wash over me.

  It's happened before.

  This isn't the first time I've told a man I like to be tied up only to have him give in to that before conveniently losing my number.

  I should apologize for being so wanting. No, I should get my ass out of his bed so I can get to the boutique. I don't have to do anything beyond looking at the undisturbed pillow next to me to know that he didn't sleep in this bed with me.

  He owns Foster Enterprises. The company revolves around his schedule. His rush to leave to get to a meeting is nothing more than a polite 'fuck you, Isla,' and no, not in a good, or satisfying, way.

  "The door will lock automatically behind you." He casts his eyes down at the watch on his wrist. "I've left the number for my driver, Charles, on a card by your purse. Call him when you're ready to leave and he'll come up to escort you down to the car."

  "I'll do that," I say quietly. "I'll need to leave soon. I have to be at work at nine."

  He lowers himself to the edge of the bed so when he sits, he's facing me directly. "I enjoyed last night. You're a remarkable young woman."

  Thanks? Is that what I'm supposed to say now?

  "I'm running late." He leans forward to brush his lips across my forehead. "I apologize for leaving but it's an important matter."

  I nod as he stands, pivots on his heel and walks out of the bedroom. It doesn't matter if it's important or not. The only thing that matters is that I lost all respect for myself when I walked into this apartment last night.

  ***

  "Can I help you?" I grip the towel closer to my body.

  The woman who sauntered into the washroom while I was mid shower shakes her head faintly from side-to-side before she turns back to her task at hand which apparently involves replacing Mr. Foster's toothbrush in a glass. She pulls a new, wrapped one from her pocket before she throws the used one in the trash.

  "Why are you here?" I can hear the panic in my own voice even though I know she's likely here to clean his apartment. That makes sense save for the uniform and name tag she's wearing.

  Her eyes lock on mine in the reflection of the large mirror above the sink. "I'm cleaning. He likes it clean when he leaves."

  I knew I should have gone straight home after he left. It was my intention until I stepped into the washroom and saw the spacious marble shower. I felt an uncontrollable desire to wash last night off of my body and out of my mind. I'd tied my hair up with an elastic band I kept in my purse and then just as the hot water hit my back, I'd heard the door of the washroom open.

  For a split second my heart stalled, believing it was Gabriel coming back to apologize for… for not fucking me? For rejecting me? For whatever it is that is making me feel so humiliated right now.

  It didn't matter though. It was this, quiet, demure and adorable woman who didn't bat one single eyelash when I stepped out of the shower completely stark naked before she handed me a towel.

  "Can you come back later?" I plead with her. "I'd like to get ready before I leave."

  "He sometimes comes back at a lunch with… he has meetings here at lunch sometimes, sometimes earlier than that." She nods towards the other room. "He likes it cleaned before that. I have to do it now."

  Christ, he's a hard ass. He doesn't cut this woman a break.

  She won't even give me ten minutes to
pull myself together for fear that he'll come back home before she's had a chance to rearrange his toiletries. Wait. Those bottles of shampoo and moisturizer she's replenishing are small. They're so small.

  I bolt out of the washroom with the towel still wrapped haphazardly around me. I walk through the attached bedroom and back into the large living room. My eyes scan the area, taking in everything I didn't see last night when the lights were dim and my interest was focused solely on Gabriel.

  I turn to the left in search of the other rooms. I walk down a hallway but all that I find is a closed door that leads to a compact washer and dryer.

  I march back through the main room, right past the woman who is now dusting the counter. I spot my purse there, with the birthday card and envelope sitting atop it. The hallway at the opposite end of the room leads to a small alcove with a television and an armchair.

  "Where's the kitchen?" I ask without thinking, a knot forming in my stomach. "Where is Mr. Foster's kitchen?"

  She half-shrugs without looking up at me. "This suite doesn't have a kitchen. Mr. Foster doesn't eat here. I mean he doesn't cook here."

  I swear I hear her giggle under her breath. That steals every chance I may have had to ask her the obvious question. I can already imagine her reaction.

  I turn back towards the bedroom, slamming the heavy door behind me. I drop the towel as I head straight for the closet. I push both of the doors aside to reveal two white dress shirts, one suit and a single pair of black shoes.

  I pull in a deep breath as I approach a chest of drawers. I tug on the first drawer but it doesn't budge. I'm met with the same resistance when I try to open the second drawer. It's locked. I try them all, knowing as I yank on each that I'll be offered the same result.

  I turn then, my eye catching on the phone atop the night stand. I walk slowly towards it, studying the various labeled buttons. I pick up the receiver and press '0'.

  "Good morning, Mr. Foster."

  "This isn't Mr. Foster," I whisper into the air. "I'm not Mr. Foster."

  "Of course." The woman on the other end of the call is cheery, too cheery for so early in the morning. "Are you ordering breakfast for the two of you? I'll have room service send up his usual. What would you like?"

  I stand silently as I slide open the drawer of the night stand. I don't feel anything as my eyes scan the boxes of condoms and tubes of lubricant, that are next to a pad of paper and a pen, both bearing a hotel's logo.

  It now makes total sense why we pulled up to the back of the building last night and entered through a private door before stepping into the elevator. I didn't see anyone. I wasn't paying close enough attention to realize where I was.

  "Miss, are you still there?" The voice on the phone startles me. "What can I get you?"

  "My pride. I'd like to have my pride back," I whisper into my hand as I cover the mouthpiece before I hang up.

  My wish came true. I wanted my birthday to be memorable. I'm pretty sure that I'll never forget that I spent my twenty-first birthday in Gabriel Foster's fuck pad, or in my case, non-fuck pad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Gabriel

  "You know this is complete bullshit, Gabriel," Caleb hisses the words out as he slams both his fists onto my desk. "Why the fuck are you doing this?"

  I've asked myself the same question repeatedly since I walked out of the hotel suite and into the elevator, leaving Isla behind. The only difference is that Caleb's focused solely on business right now, and I can't get the image of Isla, freshly woken, out of my mind.

  "I'm doing this for your mother," I push the words out with a dart of my index finger towards him. "This is for our mother so she doesn't get her name dragged through the press again. Do you honestly think she can handle that right now, Caleb?"

  "It's blackmail." He rakes both of his hands through his dark hair. "He's blackmailing us and you're giving in. What the hell has happened to you?"

  I've become our mother's keeper. I've been delegated to cleaning up one mess after another while she wanders through her life causing nothing but havoc. He's right about it being bullshit.

  When one of the company's attorney's had called me shortly after six this morning, I'd taken the call instantly. I was sitting on a chair near the bed, still fully clothed from last night, as I watched Isla sleep.

  I'd held her in my arms after I'd carried her into the bedroom. I'd spread her legs and tongued her sweet cunt to an intense orgasm. She'd moved beneath me on the bed, her hands clutching the linens, pulling on them as her moans filled the air. It took every ounce of strength I had within me not to lower my head again to take her right back to that place. I could listen to her come over and over again and I'd never get enough.

  She'd had enough though. I could feel it in the way her muscles went limp and hear it as her breathing slowed. I wanted her to sleep. I wanted to hold her against me all night but it was too much. It had all been too much and after I pulled a blanket over her nude body, I'd sat in the chair next to the bed and watched her sleep. Minutes passed, and then hours and when my phone rang, I'd taken the call in the other room.

  I'd shaved, taken a shower and dressed all before the soft sounds of a symphony filled the room. It was the ringtone on her phone and after it quieted, she'd explained in a voice still sultry from sleep the name of the composer and the subtle nuances found within the music.

  I've never known anyone like her. I'd never tasted anything more delectable than her body. She's unlike any woman I've ever taken to the hotel. She doesn't belong there. It's not the place for her.

  "Gabriel." Caleb's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You're actually going to cut that little asshole a check to keep his mouth shut."

  "Sit," I say hoarsely. "Sit down and shut up, Caleb."

  There's no more than a moment of hesitation before he lowers himself into one of the two chairs in front of my desk. His head is shaking from side-to-side as he curses repeatedly under his breath. He's hot-headed. He's always been this way.

  "Mother offered Dante Castro a position with the company," I begin before I take a large swallow from the now warm cup of coffee on my desk. "I was under the belief that it was a verbal agreement. I imagined she threw the offer out without any thought but apparently he's more astute than I've given him credit for. He drew up a simple contract on the back of a napkin while they were having lunch and he had it witnessed."

  "That means nothing, Gabriel."

  "It means he has leverage and this press conference he's arranged this morning to announce the lawsuit he's planning on launching will cast a negative light on us." I look past his head to the reception area where Sophia is finally settling in for the day. It's not uncommon for me to get to the office before her. It is rare for there to be this much activity before nine o'clock.

  "So you're just going to give him money?" he spits the question out without looking at me. "You don't believe for a second that contract will hold up in court, do you?"

  "Of course not," I pause. "It has no legal merit but that's not what I'm concerned with."

  "What the hell are you concerned with then?"

  I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. "If this contract mother signed becomes public knowledge, the Berdine division is going to be upended. The design team there will be pissed that she's trying to replace them and we're going to lose some of the best people we have."

  "I'm inclined to push him on it." He mirrors my stance, crossing his own legs as he runs his fingers along the arm of the chair. "I say we let this play out and see where the cards fall."

  "That's not happening," I continue, "Berdine is running smoother than it ever has. I see no reason to tempt fate by allowing Dante Castro to take this public. I spoke with his attorney before you got here, Caleb. I'm having the papers drawn up now and I'll sign the check this afternoon. They're cancelling his press conference as we speak."

  "What makes you think you can do that?" His right hand fists. It's a faint movement but it's not lost on me. "You ma
ke these unilateral decisions for all of us. What gives you that right?"

  I sigh as I feel a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I'm the CEO, Caleb. How the hell do you keep forgetting that?"

  ***

  "She's not here, sir." Cicely motions towards the bustling sales floor. "Isla is on her lunch break."

  I glance down at my watch. It's near one now. I'd spent my morning dealing not only with the loose ends of the Dante Castro debacle, but with a problem at one of the production facilities overseas. It's been a stressful day so far, and the calm from the storm I'm craving is a few minutes alone with Isla.

  I need to explain what happened last night to her. I want her to understand that my body's desire to fuck her was only tamed by my need to do it any place but there. When she was nude in front of me, her slick cunt waiting to be taken, I'd stopped myself because of my own selfish yearning to take her to my bed. I want her in my bed, the bed I've never taken another woman to.

  "She asked for an extra fifteen minutes, Mr. Foster." Cicely shifts on her feet. "I think she had a lunch date. A man came in to get her."

  My shoulders instantly tighten. "Did she introduce you to him?"

  Her gaze narrows as she studies my face. "She didn't but he's been in here before. He came in last week to buy some lingerie. Isla helped him pick it out."

  Jealousy hits me full on. It's not an emotion I'm that familiar with. I can't recall the last time I felt this burning pit in my stomach. "It's a customer?"

  "I think he's more than that to Isla. He hugged her when he came in the door."

  "What did he look like?" I ask before I even realize I've formed the question within my mind. What the fuck does it matter what he looks like? What matters is who the hell he is to Isla.