Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology

by Anthology

  “Um, okay.”

  “Have a good evening, Josey.”

  He walks away, and it takes me about forty seconds to realize I never told him my name. I run in the direction he went and press down on the handle of the floor to ceiling door. It opens and hits me in the ass as it closes, because I’m frozen in place.

  Alex is standing bare chested, six pack all hangin’ out for the world to see, holding his champagne-soaked shirt in a clenched fist.

  He clears his throat, and I slowly trail my eyes up through each indentation. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, and I bite my lip to prevent the moan from leaving my throat and passing through my lips.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and finally look at him. Amusement sparkles in his eyes. He tosses the soiled shirt, then steps into my space, his manly scent slightly sweet from the liquid that soaked into his pores.

  “I, uh. Just wanted to say thank you again. Have a safe trip.” My hands slip on the handle and I finally steady myself enough to get through the door. Heading in the direction that I think the bedroom is, I fist pump in the air when I enter the room alone and shut the door behind me. Damn it, I never asked him how he knew my name.

  This is nuts. But I’m desperate, so I sneak out from the bedroom and wedge a chair under the main door, pull the curtains shut, then run back and sit on the bed in silence.

  I hide out in here for at least an hour, making sure he’s gone, then creep out into the kitchen because my stomach is demanding I put something in it. I realize I’m partially insane staying here, but my radar didn’t go off, and it’s never steered me wrong before.

  My hormones are on high alert, but not my radar.

  Since I’m starving, I grab a muffin out of a package and eat it while walking around and flicking on some lamps. Who lives like this? My entire house can fit inside the kitchen… Who needs this much room?

  His business card catches my eye. Alexander Owens, with a phone number on the back. That’s it. The bold lettering in gold stands out against the black background, giving off a sense of power, much like the man himself. Along with sexiness and swagger. I’ve never met a human being with such a commanding walk.

  Exhaustion takes over and I lock the bathroom door behind me and enjoy a hot bubble bath. My suitcase holds a few days’ worth of clothes, and I’m so glad I thought ahead to the possibility of needing them before the moving truck comes… tomorrow, shit! I need to call them and delay. Of course since it’s nine at night they’re closed, so I set the alarm on my phone to call them first thing in the morning and fall into the most comfortable mattress on the face of the planet. Before my eyes are even closed, I drift off to sleep.

  ***

  A knock on the door wakes me up, and I pull the covers up to my nose. Was I dreaming that? Who the hell could that be?

  “Room service, ma’am.”

  Shit, nope. That’s real life. I toss the covers off and rush to the door. Through the peephole, a man in a black chef’s suit with a white towel draped over his shoulder stands patiently.

  The chair I had propped up still stands proud, and I move it to the side so I can open the door.

  “Hi,” I say with a lame little wave. “I didn’t order any of this.”

  “Morning ma’am.” He tilts his head at me. “Mr. Owens requested all your meals be taken care of.” He begins pushing the cart inside and I jump aside so my toes don’t get run over.

  “Okay…”

  He stops in the kitchen and locks the wheels on the cart. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Um. No. Thank you.”

  “Very well. I’ll return for lunch.”

  He sees himself out and I wait a minute, then lift the lid to the single plate on the cart. Inside is a bagel and I stick my finger in the pink mixture and taste it, yup, my favorite… strawberry cream cheese. Weird. I can’t resist. I rip off chunks of bagel and dip it into the cream cheese, savoring every last bite.

  I lie around all morning, take a shower at eleven, then plop down on the couch to continue channel surfing. A knock on the door at noon wakes me up out of my midday nap and I smile at the same man from this morning.

  “Afternoon, ma’am.” He nods at me again.

  “I’m Josey.”

  “Henry, ma’am.”

  “You can call me Jo, or Josey. Not ma’am. I’m only twenty-eight.”

  His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “Sorry ma’am. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that.” He pushes the cart past me and exchanges it for the one from this morning. “Anything else you need, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you.” I close the door behind him and am left in confusion. But I’m not used to this fancy type of life, so maybe it was disrespectful for me to say that to him. Shit, was I supposed to tip him? Too late now, anyways.

  Again, a single platter sits on the tray, and under the lid is a Caesar salad, and I smell the cup of white sauce. Yep, ranch dressing. Okay, this is strange. Another one of my favorites. I’ve lain around all day and I’m not really hungry… plus I’m a little weirded out. I put the lid back on the plate and go to grab my shoes so I can go for a walk.

  But then I remember I don’t have any shoes because the one pair I brought with me are covered in dog shit in some random person’s trash can. In lieu of a walk, I open the balcony doors and look at the amazing view. The big city seems so close, but so far away from being up this high. I can’t believe the building I’m going to be working in is right next to Keller Park.

  After daydreaming for a little while, I go back inside and make a few phone calls to family and friends. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing, but since I don’t have a choice, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts because in a couple of days I’ll be the personal assistant to Ryan Russell, a well-known defense attorney on the West Coast.

  Somehow I fell into this job, but all I know is I wanted out of where I was, and the ad spoke to me. I’m going to be working a lot since his schedule is so complex, but I need busy, I need distraction, and I need to forget. So this seemed perfect.

  Before I know it, there’s a knock on the door, and when I glance up from the TV I notice it’s already six. I jog over and open the door without looking through the peephole and find a different man standing before me. He’s wearing the same outfit as Henry but is much shorter and has a large belly.

  His white teeth stand out against his dark skin. “Evening ma’am.”

  “Hi, I’m Jo.”

  “Edward, ma’am. Allow me.” He pushes the cart in and switches the items.

  “Thank you. Have a good night.” I wave at him as he walks down the hall, then I close the door, and lean against it. “I swear if there’s spaghetti and meatballs under that lid, I’m going to freak out.” Nobody answers me, but I felt the need to say it out loud.

  I shake out the nerves in my hand and slowly raise the lid. “Seriously?” I yell. I storm over to the end table and pick up the card from Alex, then dial the number. My foot taps as fast as my heart while I wait for him to pick up.

  “Owens.”

  “Who are you?”

  An audible sigh passes through the receiver and footsteps click, like only a really expensive pair of shoes on a man would do, then a door shuts. “You have my card; you know my name.”

  “How did you know mine? And how did you know what food I like?” As I wait for his answers, I walk to the room I slept in and begin throwing my clothes into my suit case. I can’t stay here. This is too creepy. “Ya know what, fuck it. I’m leaving. Thanks for the bed last night, but I’m done with this psycho stalker shit.”

  I hang up the phone and run out of the room, praying the elevator could be a time travel machine. When I make my way to the lobby, I look down and hustle outside. It’s dark and drizzly, but I don’t give a shit. My feet slosh in the puddles and I hail a cab. A mile and a half down the road, he drops me off.

  Avoiding th
e dog poo, I walk around to the back of my house and use a rock to break the window in the back door. I shoot a text to the landlord and tell him I’ll replace the window, and then I slide the fridge in front of the back door. When the dust bunnies stay stuck on the floor where the fridge sat, I dry heave, then throw some paper towel over it. I can’t look at that without vomiting.

  Once that’s taken care of, I walk around my new house. I drove down once to see it last month and fell in love with the old school charm. My body is dragging even though I did nothing all day, so I climb the stairs and take a quick shower.

  My still wet hair hits the pillow before my head because mental exhaustion has me worn out. Just as my eyes are getting heavy, a pounding on the door makes them fly open. I reach over for my phone, but realize I left it downstairs. Shit.

  Creeping down the wooden steps, I crane my neck around the corner. Alex’s tall, slender but muscular frame fills the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief… right before I realize he’s a creepy stalker and then quickly duck back behind the corner.

  “I see you,” he shouts through the door. “Josey Martins. Twenty-eight. Went to Washington High School. Ate a bagel with strawberry cream cheese during homeroom every morning. During salad bar, you always got the Caesar salad and then used ranch dressing. I overheard you telling Missy Lawson that you missed your mom the most because you’ll never get her spaghetti and meatballs again.”

  I sink to the bottom step. Memories fight their way through, but I push them out. Who is he?

  “You dated Joey Larson and broke up with him just because people were calling you Jo Squared. Sara Stevens was your best friend, but when she went behind your back and tried to get you kicked off the cheerleading squad you never talked to her again.”

  I walk over to the door and open it, the chain the only barrier between us. His soft eyes stare back at me, and I rack my brain to try to remember him.

  “I sat behind you every day for two years; I’d recognize you anywhere. I swear to God, I don’t want to scare you or hurt you. I had a massive crush on you back then and—”

  “Alex Owens.” It hits me then. The lanky boy who lived with his grandparents, braces, greasy hair, clothes too small. “You were a freshman when I was a junior.”

  “Yeah.”

  I laugh. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something earlier? I was thinking you were a fucking stalker or something.” A hot stalker, but still.

  His cheeks turn pink, and I close the door so I can unhook the chain. “Come in.”

  He brushes past me and a chill soars through my body from his touching mine, even through his three piece suit.

  He stops in the living room and faces me. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I just—I can talk in front of a board, or at a conference, but you make me fucking question myself.”

  “What were you doing in the hotel?”

  “I live there.”

  “You live there?”

  “Well, yes. On the other side of the guest house.”

  “How the hell can you afford that?” I realize how rude that sounds and quickly backtrack. “I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s none of my business.”

  “You ever heard of a firm called AOI?”

  “I’ve heard of it. It’s a big IT company, right?”

  He nods and tucks his hands in his pockets, then rocks forward on his toes and quirks an eyebrow.

  “Holy shit. Alex Owens Industries.”

  I look around my empty and dirty house, suddenly embarrassed that I have a freaking millionaire in it, and scramble to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Water? I don’t even know if there are glasses in here. Shit!”

  “Josey, stop.”

  His fancy shoes get louder as they get closer, but I continue digging around for something, anything. I reach up in the cabinet. “There’s gotta be a cup or something in here.”

  “JoJo, stop.” His breath at my ear, his front against my back, his hands wrapped around my wrists. “Stop.”

  He lowers my arms, sets them on the countertop, and intertwines our fingers. One of his hands loosens, and he slides a finger up my bare arm, because of course I would be in a tank top and booty shorts and not realize it until now, and he pushes my hair off my neck. The very slight stubble on his face tickles my neck and I giggle.

  A rumble passes through his throat and immediately my thong dampens. “I love your laugh.”

  “I didn’t know you had an opinion about it.”

  His lips graze my neck, so softly it’s barely there. “I have a lot of opinions about you.”

  “Really?” A small nip on the sensitive flesh causes a tingle to float across my skin.

  “Oh, yeah.” His tongue trails from under my ear all the way down to my shoulder.

  “Like what?” I whisper.

  He slides his free hand under the front of my shirt and circles my belly button. “Like your skin is as smooth as I imagined it would be.” His other hand slides up my arm and he gathers all of my hair in one hand and pulls my head back, then kisses me.

  A closed mouth kiss like this shouldn’t be so erotic, but holy shit, my knees get so weak they bang against the cupboard.

  “That if I ever see your lips wrapped around my cock, I would die a happy man.” He presses his hard length into my backside and I swallow hard against his mouth.

  He drops to his knees and puts his hands on the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Can I? Please.”

  I nod and he slides them down my legs. His hands push my legs apart a little bit, and I feel his breath against me. “Stunning.” Without a warning, his tongue licks at me, and the groans vibrate from his throat directly to my clit. “My opinion is that you taste better than anything that’s ever been on my tongue. And remember, I’m worth a lot of fucking money, so people only serve me the most expensive and lavish food and drink you could think of. And you, my dear”—he licks me again, but this time, swirls his tongue around the throbbing bundle of nerves—“are by far the most delectable.”

  “Jesus, Alex.”

  He slides a single finger inside me as my head falls forward.

  “Nobody calls me that anymore, did you know that?” He slowly stands and leans over me, his entire body encapsulating mine. “They either say Sir, or Mr. Owens, or Alexander.”

  “I’m sorry.” My words are mumbled since my face is resting on the linoleum counter top.

  “Oh, no. Don’t apologize. I love it.” He takes his finger out and presses down on my clit, rubbing short, fast circles there. “I also have a very strong opinion that when you come, your pussy’s gonna get so tight I won’t be able to pull my fingers outta you.”

  Two of his long fingers stroke and slam into me. From this angle, him behind me and his arm wrapped around me, his very impressive, hard length is rubbing between my butt cheeks, and the flutter starts low in my belly.

  “See,” he grits. “You’re already almost there. Show me.” He reaches around with his other hand and cups a breast through the cotton tank top. “Show me how tight you can get. Let me feel it, Josey.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, as the flutter combusts inside of me and explodes between my legs. An orgasm straight from a porno rips through me, and I moan and cry out as I ride his fingers. He drops his arm and holds me up as every muscle in my body turns to mush.

  He stands behind me, fingers still inside, his arm still holding tight around my waist. I finally begin to calm down and attempt to push up. When his fingers slide out of me, I feel a sudden void, and I whine in protest. My panties are lifted back up and his warmth leaves me.

  His shoes click away at a fast pace, and muttered curse words come from the living room. When I turn the corner, he runs into me. He quickly reaches out to steady me, and his worried expression breaks my heart. “I’m so fucking sorry, Josey. I didn’t, I don’t—fuck!” He lets me go and continues pacing.

  “Hey, Alex, I’m fine. I wanted that as much as you did. In fact, I think I needed it. So please. You did nothing w
rong.”

  He stills and rubs his eyebrows with the thumb and index finger of one hand. “You sure? Because I did not mean for that to happen.”

  “I promise.”

  “God, come here.” He holds his arms out and I walk into them, finding an odd comfort and strength in a man I really know nothing about. “I only came here to make sure you were okay and to explain myself.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “I had my security team follow you until I could get here.”

  “Wait.” I pull back and look into his eyes, the ferocity in them a surprising calm as opposed to the confusion I’m feeling right now. “You were supposed to be out of town for a couple of days, you said.”

  “I was.”

  “What happened?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Alex—”

  “No. I fucked up.”

  My fingers entwine with his and I lead him to the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were right away?”

  “Because when I saw you, it immediately brought back every single feeling I had as an adolescent teenager. Hatred, lust, anger, desire, jealousy, worthlessness… and I didn’t know how to react. The only thing I knew was that I wanted you to be safe and I had the means to do that, so I did.”

  I sit silently, because I’m not sure what exactly I should say. Yes, this man has my hormones in overdrive and I just did something with him that is completely out of character for me, but if I didn’t feel comfortable with him I never would have. And there’s some type of magnetism between us that is the absolute last thing I need right now.

  “Come back to my place with me.”

  My eyes find his and if it were possible, they smile at me.

  “Your kitchen is all messed up, your stuff hasn’t arrived yet, and it’s not safe for you to be here.” I shake my head, but he continues in a rush before I can speak. “Besides, you don’t have anything in your cupboards; I couldn’t possibly walk away and think of you being hungry.”

  “Alex, I’m not poor. I mean, I’m not as rich as you, but I have money. I can order a pizza or something. Besides, I don’t want to trouble you anymore. You already left your business trip because of me.”