by Nella Tyler
“I do.” Nina set her back against the changing room door, and I made sure the lock held fast. “But you know, he’s just…”
“White?”
“Yeah. You’ve never been into white guys.”
I considered this for a moment and looked at the dress I’d found in the mirror. It didn’t look too bad, but I was eager to try on the black dress I’d snuck back into my pile earlier. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m into them or not into them.”
“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t see color’ bullshit.”
I laughed. It was the most annoying and insufferable thing for someone to say, and it always came from white people; ‘I don’t see color; I just see people.’ Of course people saw color! It was whether or not they were going to make assumptions based on that that mattered. “Of course not. I just don’t think it matters. He’s funny and smart and nice…” I paused to pull the dress up over my head. “And none of that has anything to do with the color of his skin.”
“I guess,” Nina said.
“I mean, wouldn’t it be awful if he didn’t like me because I was black?”
“Duh.”
“I guess I see it as the same thing. It’s dumb to disqualify someone based on their skin. We’re adults, you know?” I pulled on the black dress I’d been trying. I never really indulged in nice purchases when it came to clothing—I had a few nice outfits that I could mix and match for work and never needed anything for events. My ex had never taken me anywhere nice, after all.
“He is a good guy,” Nina admitted.
“He is.” I set my hands on my hips and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I remembered that Nina had complained about the dress, but looking at it now, I adored it. It hugged my curves just enough to bring attention to them. The cut was low enough to show a bit of cleavage, but not so low that I wouldn’t be able to lean over. And, a feature I hadn’t noticed, the back was cut low as well.
“Nina, what about this one?” I stepped out of the dressing room and gave my friend a grin.
She shook her head. “Goddamn it, Briella.”
“Was I right, or was I right?” I gave her a little shimmy, and she giggled.
“Let’s get it and get out of here,” she agreed.
Getting ready for the date, I decided to wear a pair of heels with the dress. It was a bit more overtly sexual than the ensemble I’d worn to our first date night, but that was the point, wasn’t it? I let my hair down, too, in loose curls to the middle of my back. I loved the way that it accentuated the slight arch my back.
I kept makeup simple, mostly because I hadn’t brought much with me when I came to Florida. I’d hardly been expecting to go on multiple dates with a billionaire and need to look the part of someone worthy of getting into such a situation. I mostly defined the features of my face and added a lip stain that I knew wouldn’t come off no matter what.
When I came out of the bathroom, Nina was all over me. “Don’t act like you’re not trying to get laid looking like that!”
“I’m not!” I wasn’t so sure. Maybe a part of me genuinely did want that much adventure. Still, there were plenty of risks… but I took birth control, and I knew that I’d make him use a condom if we did have sex. This was ridiculous. I shook my head and said, “But thank you.”
“Bri, you have got to tell me everything when you get back.”
“I know.”
“If you don’t come back tonight, I’m gonna assume—”
“Oh my God.” I darted out the door before she could further emphasize that she thought I looked ready for sex.
I took a cab to the address that Dexter sent me. I didn’t know for sure where he lived. I knew he had a lot of money, but the cab started to take me into a nice part of town. All the houses started getting bigger, the lawns more ostentatious, with fences and enormous gardens out front. I started to get nervous, and then the cab stopped.
I got out of the cab before I could back out, and took a moment to take the house in. I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t as big as some of the others, but it was unbelievably beautiful, with a sprawling green lawn and tall gates surrounding it.
I was in over my head here. I could still call the cab back, probably, and go home to forget that any of this had ever happened.
The front door opened and Dexter stepped out onto the front porch. He leaned against the railing and waved at me.
Damn it. He looked more alluring than ever leaned against the railing with a smile on his face. I took a deep breath and started walking.
Chapter 13
When I walked outside and saw Briella standing on the front lawn, it nearly made me lose my resolve. She wore a black dress, and her hair was down, and she looked, in short, like a goddess, and I didn’t know how I was going to manage to focus on anything while she was over. She walked up to the front porch, and I led her inside.
“Your house is beautiful,” she said.
I smiled. I’d never cared about the size or quality of my house until now, when it was under evaluation by the most beautiful girl in the world. We walked into the kitchen, where I had dinner on the stove—I’d been trying my hand at a stir fry and was waiting until she arrived to throw the ingredients together, so it stayed fresh.
“I hope you’re all right with stir fry. I should have asked,” I realized out loud.
“It smells amazing. I didn’t know you could cook.” Briella closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I threw the chicken, peppers, and some spices into the mix and started to toss them in the pan. “Well, I did say I would cook you dinner.”
“I guess I sort of expected you to fake it,” Briella admitted. She grinned at me, and I laughed. It wasn’t entirely far-fetched.
“No, I do actually cook. My brother, on the other hand, he lies. He’s actually had me make dinner to give his dates and say he made.” I shook my head and remembered how quickly that whole situation had unraveled.
“Did she buy it?”
“Not for a second. Tyler can’t even make coffee without a Keurig. I love him, but cooking requires a small amount of detail.”
“Really? I just toss things together,” Briella said. “Baking is where measurements are important.”
I stared at her with a small smile forming on my face. “What? You don’t measure when you cook?”
“Well, I do with some stuff. Powerful spices, baking soda, that sort of thing. But I don’t need to measure out one and a half cups of water to boil.” She laughed and leaned against the kitchen counter.
When I was satisfied that the food had mixed and warmed sufficiently, I poured it into two separate bowls. I carried them to the kitchen table; there was a dining room here, of course, but it was an enormous table. It would make for an awkward and far away dinner. I’d put a tablecloth on this table and some placemats and set the table with some of the nicer silverware and a few glasses that I didn’t like to use often for fear of dirtying.
“This is delicious,” Briella declared within moments of sitting down to eat.
I looked up and smiled. “Thank you. It’s a new recipe.”
“Where do you get your recipes?”
“The internet.” I would die before I admitted to her that I went on Pinterest for recipes. In my defense, it was the only place where I could see reviews, people’s attempts at making it, and get a really good idea of what I was getting myself into before I cooked.
“I see.” Briella winked at me, and I knew that on some level she knew. “And how exactly did you learn how to cook?”
“Taught myself,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I shrugged. “I had some help from the woman who used to come over and cook for my father, back when I lived with him.”
Briella shook her head. “I can’t imagine. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have learned if my dad hadn’t taught me to cook.”
“You’re smart,”
I reasoned. “You’d have figured it out.”
Briella leaned her head on her hand and raised an eyebrow. “I’m a wedding planner.”
“Yes,” I said. “You are.”
“You think I’m smart?”
When she tilted her head, all I could think of was the way she’d looked at the bar when I first saw her. The urge I’d had, at that moment, to know her. I had that same feeling again, but now that we were closer, my mind wandered beyond the table, and I cleared my throat. “Of course. You know more than I do about most things, I think.”
She twisted her mouth to one side slightly, smiling at me coyly. “There’s not a whole lot I could know that you don’t.”
“Maybe,” I said.
For a moment, it was quiet. We watched each other across the table, and I felt like we were two animals somewhere in nature evaluating the other, determining whether there was interest. I wanted to eliminate the table, eliminate the space between us. I wanted so much more than I could have.
I cleared my throat. “Um, let me get your plate.”
I cleared the dishes into the sink, resolving to do them later. When she went home, I could do them. The night was still young, and I didn’t want to send her home. Judging by the way she leaned up against the counter and looked at me, she wasn’t exactly on her way out the door either.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” I asked. I opened the small wine cabinet next to the sink.
“That would be lovely,” she replied.
“Any preference?”
“Whatever you suggest.”
I smiled. I didn’t know my wines as well as, say, my father or some of my coworkers, but I knew them better than the average person. I could taste the difference between a seven-dollar bottle of wine and a seventy-dollar bottle, and it was something closer to the latter that I procured from the cabinet.
“Could I get a tour of the house?” Briella asked.
I glanced up from uncorking the bottle. I hadn’t expected her to ask for a tour; if anything, I thought it would be something she’d hate. I didn’t want to flagrantly flaunt my wealth. But she was asking, and I was more than happy to oblige her.
“Of course,” I said. I poured her a glass of wine and one for myself, as well.
“I’d wander alone, but then I wouldn’t know the story behind it,” Briella said. She walked close to me, hand brushing mine, and I took her hand in mine, finally. She smiled; I’d done what she wanted.
“Oh, not too much story,” I said. “Of course, this is the kitchen.” I led her the short distance to the dining room. “The dining room, which goes horribly underused.”
Briella scanned the room with an appreciation that made my heart warm.
“This way is a sort of home office,” I said, walking towards the area. “Although I do most of my work in the bedroom.”
She raised an eyebrow at me, and I laughed. “I have a desk there,” I explained.
“Gotcha.” She grinned back at me and took a sip of wine.
I led her through the bottom floor, showing her the dining room, the office, the music room with the piano and couches, the library, the TV room, and the living room. I led her upstairs next to show her the rest; a few bedrooms, a few bathrooms, another TV room, and I saved the second living area for last.
“This is my favorite room in the house,” I explained before I opened the door. “It’s the perfect place to think.”
She stepped in, and I heard her audibly gasp.
We’d stepped into the window room. It was laid out like a regular room, but it sat out from the rest of the house slightly. Because of the way it jutted out, the sides had been replaced with strong windows. Wherever someone sat in the room, they could look out onto the beach and see the sun or moon setting over the ocean, depending on the time of day. Briella walked up to the far end of the room and stood just in front of the glass, setting her wine glass on the table.
I set mine down, too. The sunset’s glow on her skin made her radiate with a kind of beauty I didn’t feel worthy of witnessing. Carefully, and yet somehow confidently, I set my hands on her waist as she looked out onto the beach.
She turned to face me. I expected a reprimand for my actions, and instead, she leaned up and pressed her mouth to mine.
Chapter 14
Briella
I kissed Dexter with the full intent of perhaps never pulling away. His hands nearly burned on my hips and I pulled myself slightly closer to him, hoping to decrease distance.
I’d only had a half a glass of wine. This wasn’t drunk logic; I was attracted to him, helplessly and entirely, and I could only hope that he felt the same way.
The way he tugged me closer by the waist made me believe that he did. One of his hands moved up and into my hair, and he ran a hand carefully through the curls and tilted my head to the side with his so that he could kiss my jaw. I nearly went weak as his lips found my neck. I expected sloppiness, I expected carelessness. Instead, he stamped careful, strong kisses on to my skin.
I could feel the mark he left at the base of my neck.
My fingers had wound up in the buttons of his shirt by some accident of divine providence, and I undid one to test the waters. He didn’t stop me, and I thought I felt him smile for a moment. I undid another, and he guided me backward.
He sat down on the couch, and I settled unabashedly into his lap. I undid the last of the buttons on his shirt and slid the garment off his shoulders; in turn, he pushed the straps of my dress off my shoulders and ran his hands down my arms. When they met my hands, he held them both away from me and pressed a kiss to my collarbone.
I leaned forward to kiss that jawbone that had so tempted me over the last few days. There was a gentle scruff to his neck, like he’d shaved the day before and it was just now starting to grow back. He found the zipper on the back of my dress and undid it, and I felt cool air hit my bare skin as the dress fell away.
His hands were quick to follow. I wanted to melt against him. He held my waist, ran his hands around to my back, and I stood up for a moment to kick the dress off entirely. When I did, I looked at him, met his eyes.
He looked hungry. His eyes held so much want and desperation that I returned to his lap with a little more confidence than before. I rolled my hips down against his and Christ, I could tell that he had an erection. I unbuckled his pants at the same time that his hands found my bra fastening, and he didn’t fumble at all. I tossed the garment to the side and undid the buckle, the button, the zipper.
I sat back for a moment so that he could get his pants down. The flat of my hand met his crotch, and I palmed his erection through his boxers. The sound he made against my mouth drove a need to my core. His warm hands held my breasts, and I gasped when he pulled my nipples; he knew exactly what he was doing to me. The quiet laugh he made said that much.
I yanked his underwear down and resisted the urge to pull back and stare unabashedly at his dick. I pulled my hips down against his again, and I became a bit worried. We would need lube, probably; I hadn’t had sex in some time. I didn’t want to wait another second to do this, though.
As if he could tell that we were rushing, Dexter started to reposition us. He wrapped an arm around me, holding me close to him, and started to lower me back so that he hovered over me. I felt so small beneath him, but also incredibly safe and protected. He started to kiss my neck again, and I reached my hands down between us.
When I wrapped my hand around him, he groaned against my neck, and I nearly lost my mind. I began to stroke him, firmly but not too harshly, and he went still for a moment. I worried that everything would end too soon, but he continued his trail down my neck. When he met my chest, I couldn’t reach him anymore, so I settled on wrapping my fingers in his hair.
He kissed my breasts carefully, almost politely, and I wondered whether this was where he got sheepish. Instead, he brought one hand up to my other breast at the same time that his other hand slipped beneath my underwear. A moan escaped me, and his te
eth tugged at the sensitive flesh on my nipple.
He tugged my underwear away and began to familiarize himself with the territory. I shamelessly pressed my hips up into his hand, and when I did, his fingers brushed against that sensitive button I’d been trying to angle him towards. I jumped, and he backed away for a moment.
“D-don’t stop,” I assured him.
He made slow, trailing circles around it for a time, until I started to grit my teeth. He bit my chest again, and I yelped; then he pulled his finger across the bud in a quick motion that made my hips push up. This slow torture of my body drove me to forget that we were in a room full of windows; the possibility that someone could see us didn’t even bother me.
One of his fingers pressed inside me. Then, after a few seconds, another, and my fingers gripped the sofa beside me as he slowly, agonizingly, pumped his digits in and out of me. His thumb would every so often brush my clit and soon, hips bucking, I climaxed, clamping down on his fingers until I’d come down from my high.
We weren’t through. Dexter leaned over and grabbed his pants from the floor; he produced a condom from the pocket, and I couldn’t help but note the cockiness he’d had in keeping a condom on his pants in the first place. It didn’t matter. I wanted him desperately. He rolled the condom over himself and pushed my knees apart with one of his legs.
The balance in the urgent way he handled me and the attention he paid my body wasn’t lost on me. He stroked himself a few times, and I bit my lip, unable to comprehend how unbearably sexy he looked leaned against the sofa like that.
He came back to lean over me again and kissed me. He set one hand on my waist and the other in my hair, knotting his fingers there.
His hips pushed forward, and he slid into me with little resistance.
“Fuck,” he gasped, the expletive lost in the space of our open kiss. I tilted my head back and moaned as he pressed further, and then backed away. He pushed back in, and like this, slowly, he worked his way fully inside me.
Our breathing was coarse, and his pupils were dilated, mouth partly open in complete and total want. I held on to his shoulders, and he began to move, finding a rhythm easily. He moved one of his hands between us to add to my pleasure, and I found myself moving my hips to meet his, our moans accentuating the motions we made, lost to the throes of what this felt like.
