“I did.” He had smile lines around his eyes, his head a thick pile of silver and gray. Somewhere in his fifties, with the same sort of lean build that Craig had. Probably a swimmer, or cyclist. “She was my account manager.”
“How long were you with Bloomingdale’s?” I ask Mira, taking a roll.
“God, two years. The longest two years of my life. But hey,” she hugs Edward’s arm, “it was worth it for this lug of sexuality.” She glances at Trey. “Hell, relationship-building was the only real benefit of that place, right?”
He shifts in his seat and I pick up on his tension, the rigid tap of his finger against his spoon, the way he clears his throat. “Have you guys made it to Aspen yet this year?”
She leans forward, and launches into a long and moderately funny story about a ski trip. I cut my filet and watch Trey, wondering at his tension, the abrupt change in conversation. He glances at me and I meet his eyes, a question in the look. What’s going on?
He looks away. Maybe it is just Mira’s comment, the thinly veiled reference to Vicka and his relationship. But it seems like something else. He hadn’t wanted me at this dinner at all. I glance at Mira and wonder if there is something else I am missing. Mira smiles at me, and I realize that the table has fallen quiet, everyone looking at me in the expectant way that follows a question. I swallow the bit of steak. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“Edward is leaving tonight, flying back home for a meeting. I was wondering if you could show me your new collections in the morning?”
“Of course.” I smile, ignoring the hard press of Trey’s ankle against mine. “I’d be happy to. Maybe we could grab lunch at Lago and go over it there.”
“I could join you.” Trey leans in, and I position the heel of my stiletto in the vicinity of his shoe, his foot quickly moving out of the way.
“That’s not necessary.” I beam at him. “You go do your manly stuff. Slot machines and whatnot. Let us have some girl time.”
Mira giggles against her wine glass and Trey smiles tightly at me, a noticeable tic in his cheek. I take a long pull of merlot and wonder again, what the hell he is so worried about.
chapter 10
Him
Mira’s hands grip Kate’s shoulders and she kisses her cheek, smiling warmly and promising to see her tomorrow at noon. There is no way in hell that lunch is happening, but I’ll take that up with Mira tonight, once I get her away from Kate. I aged five years during that dinner, my heart in my throat whenever Mira so much as opened her mouth. I’d forgotten how much, without a dick in her mouth, she talks. I’ll fix that problem tonight.
She reaches for me, and I accept her hug, not reacting when she whispers her room number in my ear. I step away from her and extend a hand to Edward, his smile cordial. “Have a safe flight,” I say.
“Certainly. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He releases my hand, and we step apart. I turn to Kate and reach for her hand, our goodbye involving another round of salutations before we are through the restaurant and into the casino.
“Want to play some slots?” I eye the blackjack tables, where Mira and Edward are headed.
“Sure,” she replies cheerfully. “As long as you’re paying.”
“Of course.” I place my hand on the small of her back, forcing myself to not caress the skin there, my steps brisk until we get to the private section of high limit slots. I pause, reaching into my wallet, and am stopped by Kate’s stern look, her perky smile gone. I smell an ambush before she even opens her mouth.
“You prick with a dick.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the closest slot machine.
I look back down at my wallet, pulling out a handle of hundreds and buying myself a second to think. I close my wallet and stick it into my pocket. “What? I told you I knew her.”
“Knew her? Yes, that’s a bit of an understatement. Did you fuck everyone at Bloomingdale’s?”
That earns her a smirk, my eyes taking a greedy trip down her body, lingering on the way her dress clings. “I managed some restraint at times.”
“Don’t,” she warns, and God, I love it when she gets worked up.
I turn to the closest slot machine, feeding a bill into the machine in an attempt to keep myself from touching her. “It was a long time ago. She’s married now. What difference does it make?”
“Her marriage didn’t stop her from eye-fucking you across the table.”
I glance at her, then push the button and watch the reels spin. “Easy, Kate. Your jealousy is showing.”
She growls. “I’m not jealous, I’m intelligent. Our client is her husband. Are you too stupid to realize that he’s not going to stock anything from someone his wife is attracted to?”
“I think you’re wrong.” I reach down and grab her hand, pulling her toward the machine, her struggle cute in a way that gets me hard as a rock. “Stop fighting me. I’m not fucking you against the reels. I just want you to push the button. Give me some lady luck.” I slide my hand atop hers and gently push, the machine coming to life. She pauses her fight, watching the roll of lights, and slumps slightly when they come up mismatched. She goes to move away, and I move closer, trapping her, my chest against her back, her ass against me in a way that lights my senses on fire. “A few more.” I speak against the back of her neck, her hair tickling my nose, my mouth close enough that, if I wanted to, I could drive her insane with just the brush of my lips against that skin. My hand still over hers, I give it a bit of pressure, using the excuse to push against her body, my cock pressing along the perfect curve of her ass, her inhale one that I will replay a hundred times over. “Watch it,” I order.
“You’re too close to me,” she says, and her voice is husky, all fucking woman in every syllable of the words.
“You want me to move back?” I press the button under her hand, my hips thrusting again, and she sags back against me. God, she’d be so easy to please. In five minutes, I could make her mine. In ten minutes, she’d be calling me her god. In twenty, I could propose and she’d beg me for a lifetime more.
“Tell me, Kate. Tell me and I’ll give you all of the space you want.” Her hand moves beneath mine, slowly pushing the button, her ass arching against me, and I close my eyes in reverence, sending a thank you up to the God who created this perfect woman. She stiffens, and I open my eyes, almost falling forward as she spins toward me, all sexuality gone from her eyes, and I flinch when she shrieks, her arms flying into the air.
“We WON!” she yells, and if that is all it takes to get a woman out from under my touch, I need to up my fucking game.
I step back, glancing at the slot machine, which shows a trio of treasure chests. “Great,” I mutter, watching her spin back to the machine, her chin tilting back, her finger raising as she finds the prize display.
“A thousand credits!” she shrieks again, her voice at a pitch that fighting cats frequent. “How much is a credit? Twenty-five—Trey, we won twenty-five thousand dollars!!!”
“Yippee,” I say dryly, and I’d give all of it up to have her ass back where it belongs, flush against my cock. I glare at the machine, which blinks and dings with annoying cheer.
Room 1472. I stand at the double doors and contemplate my options. Mira isn’t the type to lord sex over a sale, she’ll have Edward order whatever we want, despite my cock’s activities, or lack of it. I can certainly decline her offer, but that’d be a little ridiculous, given the rare times that our paths cross. I haven’t been with her in two years, our last time in San Diego, three hours spent in every position known to man. She is my easy fix, the non-complicated sort that never pulls out a gun and steals my car. I eye her door and consider, one last time, returning to my room, to a jack off session and sleepless night, all one thin wall apart from Kate. I groan and reach forward, quickly rapping on the door, before I can change my mind.
A release will be good for me. It will get my mind off her. It will flush my system, and
remind me of all of the reasons that Kate and I can’t—won’t—ever work.
The door swings open, and Edward stands there, his jacket and tie gone, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his feet bare on the plush carpet. “Trey.” He steps back. “Come on in. Mira is waiting for us.”
Two hours later, I close the door to the suite and walk down the hall, my jacket over my arm, my shirt rumpled from her nails, a button near the top cleanly ripped off. I examine the loose thread and grin, shaking my head at the thought of her. God, I forgot what a hellion she is, how she can pounce on your body and ride you like a fucking bull. I step on the elevator and press the button for my floor, catching my reflection in the metal doors. I look like a mess. I step closer to it, tilting my head to the side to examine the hickey that runs along my collarbone. I pull up my collar and frown, the mark not entirely hidden. Damn woman. I’ll have to button up and wear a tie tomorrow. I am smiling as I step onto my floor, my mind in a better place than it had been two hours earlier. That’s the value of Mira and Edward, even more than the orgasms. They are a reminder that there is nothing wrong with me, that we are all consenting adults who enjoy pleasure, in whatever form brings the most of it. If Mira likes getting two, or four, or ten cocks at once, that’s her business and nobody else’s. If I like a husband to watch me fuck his wife, or I enjoy competing for orgasms, why should society judge me for it?
I get it, though. I understand the stigma, the flinch of the mind when confronted with the idea. Hell, the first time Mira set it up, had I not been horny as hell, and twice as drunk, I’d have probably run the other way. But it had only turned me on more, thinking of fucking her in front of an audience, in front of another man, one who wanted her just as badly, or more, than I did. The competitiveness of it is an aphrodisiac, one so intense that normal sex can pale in comparison. Normal sex has, for a while, paled in comparison.
I stop in front of my room, and dig in my pocket for the key card, sliding it through the lock and pushing open the door, reaching for the light switch and stopping. On my bed, curled into a ball, her dark hair spread out on my pillow, is Kate. A remote hangs limply from her hand, her face illuminated by the screen, a black and white show running. I quietly pull the door closed and step into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and changing out of my clothes. I consider the shower and decide to wait, needing to get Kate back to her room before my cock comes back to life. I pull on workout pants and look for my T-shirt, getting frustrated as I dig through the suitcase. I am turning back to the closet when I see my shirt on her, the bright blue fabric loud against the white sheets. I smile despite myself, walking over and carefully taking the remote before turning off the television, the room falling dark. I pull back the covers, and slide my hands underneath her, gathering her into my arms, her body falling limply against my bare chest. I steal a moment and lean in, inhaling her scent, one of fresh soap and flowers, a combination I’ve gotten whiffs of but never fully sampled. I step slowly through the open door, into her dimly lit room, and make my way to her bed, the covers already pulled back and waiting for her. I stop, looking down at the bed, not yet ready to let her go, not yet ready to part. Maybe I should have left her on my bed. Maybe I should have laid down beside her and curled against her body. I could be there, my body pressed against hers, right now. I could spend all night with my mouth against her shoulder, and her legs against mine. I almost step back, but don’t. It doesn’t feel right, doing that tonight, not when I’ve spent hours with Mira and left her here alone.
I feel her stir and I glance down, watching her eyes open, the slow movement of them as they search the dark and find my face. She smiles, and my arms tighten around her. “I’m heavy,” she whispers.
“Nah.”
“How long have you been just standing here, staring at me?”
I can’t stop the grin that stretches over my face. “It’s creepy, right?”
“Totally creepy.” She shifts, curling tighter against me, her hand fisting against my chest. Her eyes drop to the bare skin, then dart back to my face. “You’re naked.” She says the word with evil pride, as if she is a small child who has just caught an adult misbehaving and can’t wait to tell someone.
I shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m wearing pants. I just couldn’t find my shirt.” I narrow my eyes at her, then pointedly drop the glare down to the shirt.
Her eyes roam over my shoulders, and she smiles. “I would apologize, but I’m enjoying the repercussions of my crime.” She pats my chest. “How long are you planning on holding me up?”
I look down at the bed. “Not much longer.” I bend over and extend her over the bed, smiling as she burrows into my neck, her deep inhale not much different than my own had been. I gently set her onto the mattress, and straighten, my arms sliding through hers, when her grip clamps down on my forearm, her eyes going from sleepy to sharp.
“Trey?” My stomach clenches at the accusatory way she says my name. “Why do you smell like Mira’s perfume?”
I meet her eyes, and in that connection, she knows. She doesn’t know everything, but she knows I fucked her, and that is enough.
Kate pushes out of my arms, sliding across the bed, to the other side. “Kate,” I plea. This is bad. This is fucking bad, made worse because I can’t explain it to her.
“Shut up,” she snaps, her hands pulling at the sheet, covering herself as if she is naked. “I—” She looks away. “I literally have nothing to say to you.”
“It didn’t mean anything.” I press the fingers of my hand into my forehead, rubbing at the stress points there. Why didn’t I take a fucking shower? But the answer to that is easy: Kate Martin was in my bed.
“That makes it even worse!” Her eyes widen, and in them, I see her hurt. “What if Edward finds out?”
Edward reaches down, gripping her chin and lifting it, her eyes meeting his, the rock of her body not stopping their eye contact. “Tell me,” he orders. “Do you like how he fucks you?”
“Yes sir,” she gasps, and he smiles, pulling down the zipper of his pants.
“Edward isn’t going to find out.” Edward knows, I want to scream. Stop worrying about work, or our precious order. Everything there is fine. I have a brief moment of insanity, one where I want to tell her everything, to try and explain it all. But I don’t, I can’t. This isn’t my secret to tell. There are other lives involved, other reputations at stake. Would Mira care? Probably not. But that’s not my call to make. And even if it were, could I tell Kate? Could I really tell her that Edward and I took turns with Mira? That he held back her hair and told her to suck my cock?
I can’t. There is no way. Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes and I feel a piece of me break. “God dammit, Kate,” I say softly. “Just forget it. Please.”
She rolls over on the bed, her back to me. “Go away, Trey. Just let me sleep.”
Leaving her is the last thing I want to do. We need to discuss this, to talk this through, to get back to us. But it’s hard to talk through it when I can’t explain my actions, my motivations. I have nothing to say, no defense to give. I move back a step, then another. I wait for a long moment in the doorway, considering what this will do to our relationship, what this will mean. She doesn’t turn, and I pull the adjoining door closed, the act feeling almost ceremonial in its division of us.
Maybe this is it, the death of our possibilities. Maybe I need this reminder of the differences between her and me, of all of the ways that—even without the company dividing us—we would never work. Maybe I should use this excuse, this opportunity, to mentally push away.
She won’t ever accept what happened between Mira, Edward, and me. I swallow that reality and head to the shower, anxious to wash away everything.
If this evening was lingerie, it’d be expensive, the kind that seems worth the price tag but isn’t, the kind that leaves your wallet empty and your mind fucked.
Her
It’s official. The man’s penis only k
nows stupid mistakes. First that crazy mugger woman, and now this—a married woman. I bet Edward wasn’t even out of the hotel before Trey was knocking on her door. Had I even been a thought? You’d think if the man was going to destroy everything, he might have at least glanced my way, at least considered me before risking the wrath of our client by sleeping with his wife.
I lay in the dark room, gripping a pillow against my chest, and listen to the click of the air conditioner as it comes on. My heart gallops against my chest, my arms tighten around the pillow, and I want to scream, but instead, I only growl. I tell myself that it’s not jealousy, but it is. It’s jealousy, and regret, and months of sexual frustration. Why her? Why not a Vegas hooker, or a horny tourist? Why risk this account, one that we need, all to fuck an ex-girlfriend? If he’s so cavalier about the risk to the company, then why not date me?
I roll onto my back and force my arms to relax, to flop back on the mattress. My mind relaxes slightly. Maybe it’s because, despite all of his flirting, and our latent chemistry—I’m not his type. Maybe all of my sexual tension is one-sided, and he’s operating in a purely platonic world where he flirts for the sheer fun of it, and is oblivious to the delusional fantasies of my starved sex drive. I consider knocking on his door and just asking him, flat out, to explain himself, but abandon the thought. My nerves are too frayed to have that conversation face-to-face, in an environment where all of my reactions and emotions will be seen. No way to play the cool, aloof girl in that scenario. I roll over, pick up my phone, and compose a text.
Are you attracted to me?
Love in Lingerie Page 8
