Dirty Seal

by Harper James

  “Fine,” I say. “Lesson learned.”

  He shifts, his shoes scraping on the concrete. His voice softens when he asks, “Did you like it?”

  I don’t even know how to answer. I can’t get the sounds out of my head, and my mind is in overtime picturing what might have been happening behind those closed doors…picturing what Weston might do to me if we went into one of the rooms.

  “Did you like what you heard? The sounds they make? Mia, could you picture yourself in one of those rooms?” It’s like he’s reading my mind. Feeling like he knows what’s in my private thoughts makes me so uncomfortable I can’t even look at him.

  I bite my lip. I can still feel that energy—that pull of Weston toward me.

  “I was scared,” I say, my eyes on the ground. “But I also liked it—because you were there with me.”

  I see his shoes edge closer to me. I finally look up. Weston’s eyes have turned heavy, penetrating my own with a message that seems clear: he wants me.

  It seems impossible. My heart races, and I wonder if he’s going to do anything, and if I should do anything with him. As thoughts swirl in my mind, he puts one hand flat on the brick wall next to me, leans closer until I can feel his breath on my face. So slowly, his lips move toward me, and when they press into mine, all reason is blacked out of my mind.

  Weston

  I knew Mia’s lips would be soft and damn if they’re not just as I imagined—a cushion of cashmere.

  She’s got me transfixed.

  She smells of honey and lemon, and for the longest time I keep my lips pressed to hers and do nothing more. I shouldn’t do more. I shouldn’t be doing this. But soon I’m making more moves, unable to resist this beautiful, delicate woman.

  I touch her cheek, softer than even her lips. At first, I just brush her with the tips of my fingers but her skin is warm and soft and I need to feel more. I cup her face with my palm and pull her a little closer. I step into her, our bodies a mere inch from touching. I push past her lips with my tongue, reaching inside her to taste the sauvignon blanc on her wet tongue. She tastes as sweet as I thought, but I have to stay in control and not go too far. Not with this girl, anyway.

  Her tongue moves tentatively against mine, unsure. I pull back and take her face in my both my hands. I look at her—her lips, her eyes, and I feel her breath on my face. She’s nervous. Excited too, but nervous.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shakes her head no, apparently unable to speak.

  I run my fingers through her hair, around to the back of her neck. I pull her lips to mine again, kissing her deeply. She’s moving her tongue against mine, tentatively. Her hands are still pressed to the brick wall behind her, and I’m finding that once I start kissing her, I don’t want to stop.

  I move closer to her until my body is pressed against hers. My cock is straining, and as I press into her it only makes me want to do more. Of course, I have control but I still want a little more of her…or maybe a lot more.

  I move my lips to kiss her neck. She turns her head, exposing more of herself. When her arms wrap around my neck, I almost explode. She wants me. I give her neck little bites, wanting to eat her up, and she shows her appreciation by sucking in her breath, her fingers digging into the back of my neck.

  I step back to look at her—all of her. Her lips are red from our kisses, her eyes glassy but focused on me.

  “Look at you,” I say, running my hands down her sides, over her hips. “Do you know how sexy you are? This skirt, this tight little top.” I let my fingers trail across the very tops of her breasts but go no further, even as she sucks in her breath, giving an almost imperceptible push toward me.

  “No, I’m not,” she says, but I think she’s playing coy. She might truly be a virgin but I’m still not sure if I’m buying that, considering how smart and beautiful she is. How could she never have… Jesus if I keep going I’ll only make myself crazier. Touching her body through the thin fabric of her tank is hard enough.

  I stroke the rounded edge of her full hips and slowly move close again, my hand going around her backside to cup the fullness of her ass. We are both breathing heavy, my dick begging for more, and I jerk Mia’s body into mine, then push her up against the wall, pressing my dick harder into her. I crash my mouth to hers, our tongues slipping across one another, going deeper, taking in more. My hands explore all parts of her ass, her hips, the fronts of her thighs. I reach down to the hem of her skirt and edge it up, testing her, seeing how far she’ll let me go. She doesn’t stop me.

  I move her skirt just high enough so that I can rub that sensitive skin at the tops of her inner thighs, just below her need. I go higher and let my fingers brush her cunt, covered in thin lacy fabric. I can practically feel the heat coming from her.

  “Weston,” she says with a tinge of urgency. “What if someone sees us?”

  We look down the alley toward the street, where people are streaming by, not one of them looking our way.

  “No one even knows this alley exists,” I say. “Look at them all. Not one person is looking…” I watch her face as I run middle finger across the length of her slit, pressing into her so that I can feel her hole. I know she’s soaking wet.

  She lets out the smallest little kitten moan and leans her head back against the wall. I take that as a sign to move forward.

  What I’d like to do is take my dick out of my pants and shove it up in her wet pussy. The thought makes me even harder, makes me want her even more.

  I move her panties aside with my finger and immediately feel how right I was—she is fucking soaked. How could that club not turn her on? How could our closeness not make her hot? And she is, so fucking hot.

  When I slip my finger inside her hole it is practically sucked up inside her, as if her body wants mine as much as I want hers. She is so tight and her cunt absolutely hugs my finger, coating me in her juices. I pump her a few times and soon she’s digging her fingers into my shoulders, holding on tight.

  Her eyes dart to the sidewalk, so I move my body closer to her and wall, shielding her from anyone who might possibly look down here. I wrap my free arm around her waist, pressing my hard dick on her thigh as my finger continues to find utter delight in her core.

  As I fuck her with my finger I kiss her neck and give her earlobe a little suck, my teeth scraping it slightly as I pull it out of my mouth. Mia’s panting—which she is trying so desperately to restrain—is like music to my ears, making me push my finger in deeper, leave it inside her longer, exploring her from the inside before pulling it back out.

  I haven’t even touched her clit yet and she already sounds like she could come. I picture it, her hard little nub of pleasure, and soon I’m picturing myself on my knees, here in this alley, with my face between her legs eating her out, licking her cunt until she screams from total pleasure. My finger fucks her faster, and I’m pushing my hard dick into her thigh, needing more of her, and that’s when I know I’ve already gone too far.

  Abruptly I step away from her. Mia’s face, pink with exertion, looks at me questioningly. Her expression turns to humiliation when she sees the look in my eyes.

  “Mia, I shouldn’t have done this,” I say, as she tugs down her skirt. Fuck, if she starts crying I don’t know what I’ll do. I used to have it in me to hold and care for someone—but that was years ago, in my other life…

  That version of me no longer exists. It’s been replaced by someone darker, jaded, haunted. This girl deserves so much more than I could ever give her.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.

  “No. Not at all,” I say. “I just think it’s best if we stop.”

  I reach into my pocket and take out some money. I peel off a hundred dollar bill. I take Mia’s hand, still warm from holding on to me, and press it in her palm.

  “Can you get yourself home?” I ask her.

  She nods yes, crossing her arms over her stomach like
she’s cold, or maybe feeling sick. I can’t look at her anymore. I’ll break if I do.

  “Okay,” I say, turning to walk away. “Take care.”

  When I step to the curb my car magically appears. I hop in the back and I make the driver wait to be sure she gets in a cab and drives safely away. Only then will I finally relax.

  She had my head spinning, and not just there in the alley. Having a drink with her at the bar was an exercise in keeping focus. Hell, even this morning in my office I couldn’t help but banter with her, push her buttons and tease her.

  But the last thing I need, or can handle, is some innocent girl new to the city and worse, a virgin. Someone so inexperienced—in life and in bed—could only mean trouble for me. I can’t get involved. Complicating things further, I had planned on hiring her. Sure, she was a bit freaked out by the club but someone that unfamiliar with a subject is the kind of person who is going to ask all the right questions, the ones that readers really want to know. She’ll assume nothing, which is the only way to report.

  Sleeping with Mia could only lead to disaster on so many different levels.

  Later that night, once I’ve showered and gotten in bed, the old memories from my past try to flood my mind, those memories I have spent years pushing down.

  The fire, my family, and losing everything.

  Losing her….

  My mind drifts to that sweet girl I called my own when I was a naïve kid in high school. Losing her set me on track that I intend to stay on—one in which I don’t get involved in any romantic relationship. And sure, the alley outside a BDSM club isn’t exactly romantic, but I know enough about myself to know that there’s something about Mia Cassidy that is pulling me toward her, and I have to fight my instinct and keep my distance. It’s the only way I’ll keep my sanity.

  After all, I just bought a billion-dollar company. I have more important things to worry about than the new junior reporter for Blush magazine.

  Mia

  I have never felt so many emotions at once in my entire life. I am confused. Totally embarrassed, of course. But also, really freaking mad. What the hell was all that? I mean, honestly—what was all that?

  The whole cab ride home, and as I walk up to my apartment, I keep checking my phone even as I’m fuming. Weston. I can’t stop thinking about him, and not just in an angry way. Sure, he took me to that freaky club just to rattle me, and it worked. That was a pretty mean thing to do. But the whole night—even before the alley—I couldn’t help but feel this utter attraction to him. Maybe because he’s so damn hot.

  How stupid am I? Weston Bridges is probably the most eligible bachelor in New York—maybe in the whole country. He’s rich, young, smart, and hotter than any movie star in the world. He’s also known as a world-class playboy. I once read that he and some supermodel flew from New York to Paris one day just to have dessert. They ate, and an hour later got back on his private jet and came back to New York. I wonder if it’s true.

  “Hey,” I mutter to Brody, once I’ve unlocked our door.

  “Hey,” he says, brightening when he sees me. He’s watching TV and has a big glass of water on the coffee table—the same glass from earlier but refilled—along with a bottle of aspirin. He must have already gone from buzzed to hungover to sober. How long have I been gone?

  I look at my watch and see that it’s after midnight. “What are you still doing up?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you got home,” he says. That’s just like Brody. I don’t have any siblings and he’s the closet person I have to that. This guy loves looking after me. It’s sweet. “So, tell me. How’d it go?”

  “Let me get changed, then I’ll tell you,” I say. I have to get out of these clothes, these stupid ridiculous clothes.

  I leave the tank on and change into some shorts, then go scrub my face of all makeup. I feel lighter and looser already.

  I go back into the living room and Brody says, “You should have just gone out like that. You look even better without makeup.”

  “Oh, please,” I say, plopping on the couch next to him.

  “What happened? Where did this possible boss guy take you in his douchey limo?”

  I ignore the dig and say, “It’s actually a really crazy story.”

  Now that I’m sitting here on our couch, preparing to retell the night’s story, I start to shiver. It was all just so—strange and different. Intimidating and even sexy. I hardly know where to begin.

  “You’re shaking,” he says. “What happened?”

  I take a deep breath. “It was just…

  “Just what? Start with telling me where he took you.”

  “Ever heard of a place called Plaisir?”

  He shakes his head no. “What is it? Some swank restaurant?”

  I stutter on a laugh. “Swank, yes. Restaurant…maybe they serve food. I don’t know.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s a private BDSM club.”

  “What the actual fuck?” Brody says, his face igniting in to flames. “Are you kidding me? What did you do?”

  “I had a drink,” I say.

  “This guy is way out of line,” Brody says, his jaw clenching.

  “The magazine that I interviewed for, Blush? He wants to take it in an edgier, sexier direction.”

  “I’ll bet he does.”

  “And wanted me to be in a place that would make me uncomfortable and see how I could handle it. Because I could be writing about that place, or a place like it. Or just about BDSM in general. Did you know that it stands for—”

  “Mia, I know what it stands for.” He shakes his head, his eyes down on scuffed wood floors. “This guy…what a piece of shit. He thinks just because he has money and power that he can drag you to a place like that?” Brody looks at me and asks, “Did he try anything on you? Because if he did I’ll call the cops right this second.”

  “Brody, no,” I say. That is something I can’t even talk about with Brody. What Weston and I did in that alley is for me and me alone. “Slow down. Of course he didn’t try anything on me. He was a perfect gentleman.” A stretch of the truth, maybe. I remember his hardness pressed against me as his finger filled me. I get shivers again just picturing it.

  “You’re shivering again, Mia,” he says. “How can you be shivering when it’s at least eighty degrees in this apartment?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I am not above kicking this guy’s ass,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but a small giggle escapes my lips. “I mean, sure, he’s probably way stronger than I am. He likely has a personal trainer and all. And if I do get a good shot in he’ll sue the hell out of me, taking me for the tens of dollars in my account. Word will get out that pretty boy Weston Bridges’ perfect face has been scarred by a mailroom hooligan. The world will hate me, my chance of a career will be over, and I will have less than a penny to my name. But it will be worth it just to make you feel safe.”

  “I feel safe, Brody,” I say. “I promise. And promise me that you will not be storming up to the sixty-fifth floor of the Prerogative building tomorrow for an old-fashioned fist fight.”

  He slumps, but he also calms down. “If you’re sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m sure,” I say. “But yeah, it was pretty crazy. I was like, is this normal, a big boss guy like him taking me out as a test for the job?”

  “No, it’s not normal, and he’s a creep for trying.”

  I murmur agreement even as thoughts of Weston kissing me against the brick wall flutter through my mind. How will I sleep tonight when I can still feel his finger inside me? I’m still wet from it all. The truth is, that kiss—and everything else that happened out there—was the hottest, sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. I know that’s not saying a lot, considering my lack of experience, but still. It was hot.

  I’m sure I’ll never see Weston Bridges again in my life, but I’ll admit only to myself that I’m pretty bummed about that. I’d sleep on the streets for a week for one more kiss
from him. That’s how epic it was.

  “I’m going to make you some soup,” Brody says, giving my leg a pat before standing up. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say.

  “No, I do,” he says. “I know it’s hot in here, even with the windows opened and fan blowing, but this is my mother’s secret recipe, guaranteed to turn any frown upside down.”

  He goes to our sparsely stacked pantry and takes out a red and white can of soup. I laugh.

  “Great chef, your mom,” I say.

  We end up staying up a bit longer, watching the late shows together and getting in some good laughs. I feel better, but the whole time all I can think of is Weston—Weston and the job I really wanted. But both are gone now, and I guess I just have to move on. Tomorrow I begin the hunt for work yet again.

  Weston

  Sleep does not come easily. I keep drifting in and out, and whether I’m awake or in a fit of sleep, I keep seeing Mia’s face.

  The taste of her, the softness of her cheek, the roundness of her hips—these are things I can’t forget. I can still feel and taste her as if she’s right here with me. God, if she were here with me in this bed…

  Giving in to fantasy is the only way I’ll find sleep. It’s also the only way I’ll let myself have her.

  With what Mia wore tonight, and as much as my hands skimmed her body, I can easily imagine what she looks like naked. I picture her on top of me, naked except for lacey little panties. She’s grinding down on my hard dick. I reach into my boxer briefs and take my hard cock in my hand, moving to the rhythm I picture her rocking on me. To see her looking down at me, her tits full as my hand reaches up to capture it, feel the hard nipple. In my mind she moves closer so I can suck on her nipple, letting my tongue flick over it as she moans and whimpers at my touch. I’d love to have her tits all on my face.