by JA Huss
“Because… you know what men want, I guess. And you know what women want, obviously. You’re pretty good in that department.”
“Exactly. I don’t force women to come look at me take my clothes off. I don’t force women to hire me to find them a boyfriend. All I do is fill a niche. And you need filling, Tiffy. I can help you too.”
I scowl at him. “You don’t even know me. Or Cole.”
He turns me around, takes my hands, pins them behind my back and pushes me up again the wall. “I know all I need to know, Miss Preston.”
The switch from casual Tiffy to formal Miss Preston does a number on my heart. And when he pushes his hips into my ass, I have to draw in a tight breath.
“I know you want Cole to fuck you like I did this morning.” His hand slips down to my waist and then slides along the little dent under my hip bone. “You want him to touch you, Tiffy?” He gathers up my flirty pink dress in a bunch and then he’s underneath it, stroking my thigh. My pussy tightens and tingles with anticipation of what I know is coming. I should stop him. We cannot do this again. But everything about Fletcher Novak makes me want to say yes.
“You want him to make you come three times in a row? I can make him want to do that. I can change the way he sees you. I can deliver what you think you want.”
And then Fletcher is pushing my panties aside and stroking my pussy.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I gasp. We cannot do this again.
“He’s a big guy. He’s got big hands, doesn’t he?”
Oh my God, why does Fletcher have this effect on me? Why does he make me feel so good? “Mmmm,” I mew out, totally embarrassed that I’m letting him get me started again, and yet utterly helpless to stop him.
“I bet two of my fingers equal one of his.”
“Fletcher, we can’t,” I moan as he slips two fingers inside me.
“I bet you imagine he’ll stretch you like this, right?”
I’m not even capable of talking right now.
“I’m sure his cock is small and puny and will be a huge disappointment—”
“Fletcher!”
“Because my cock is the king and always delivers satisfaction.” Fletcher laughs, and I lean back into his chest a little. “But if you want him, I can deliver. I can. But I’m seriously not ready to leave this job. So princess, let me take care of things, OK? I’ll make it all right. And we’ll both end up happy.”
I know it’s wrong—not giving in to his plan, I’m all over that—it’s wrong to want him to keep going. But I do. So I fake my reluctance. Just a little, so he will try a little harder to convince me. “I don’t know…”
“Remember,” he breathes into my neck, just the way he told me to do it—and holy fuck, that shit works again—“how it felt to be with a man who pays attention? I can make him pay attention, Tiffy.” He continues to finger me, pushing in and out in a motion that is so slow, it’s killing me with anticipation. And then he withdraws his fingers and I whimper.
He laughs into my neck. “Turn around,” he says, making it more of a command than a request.
I turn slowly, my eyes on the floor. What am I doing? Didn’t I just get done convincing myself it was a mistake to fuck him? And now I’m caught in that web again.
But he lifts my chin up with one fingertip, and waits for me to drag my eyes up to his.
When I finally do, he smiles. Relaxing me. “Put your hands above your head.”
I blink at him again.
“Do it.”
I gulp some air and do as I’m told. My breasts lift up, my nipples perky and hard. The hem of my dress hits me mid-thigh now, and then Fletcher presses his knee between my legs, making the throbbing that started to abate when he withdrew his fingers start back up.
“I’m good,” he says.
I nod.
“Say it.”
“You’re good at this, Fletcher.”
“Tell me to finish and I will.”
God, I want him to finish.
“Don’t feel guilt. It’s fun.”
“I do feel guilt. I feel dirty. But I still want you to finish.”
That smile again. God, it’s incredible. I love seeing him smile. And it makes me realize that the normal smile he wears all day is nothing like the real one. It’s fake.
“I’d like to as well,” he says. “So just do as you’re told and this one-day stand will end with perfection.”
His hands slide under my dress, cupping my ass cheeks. He lifts me up and presses his body against mine, grinding his hips against me. Not enough to hit the sweet spot between my legs, just enough to make me crazy with want.
He kisses me. His mouth is soft and tender one moment, hard and pressing the next. His tongue glides against mine, tasting me from the inside out.
He pulls away and stares down at me with his eyes heavy with lust. Does he really want me? “It’s still a one-time thing if we do it again in the same twenty-four hours.”
Well, I guess that answers my question.
“Do you think Cole will fuck you the way I did?”
“Um… I hope so?” What the hell was that? Do I detect a hint of insecurity in Fletcher Novak? He’s all over the place right now.
Kinda like me.
“I really should stop.” He stills his hips, waiting to see if I’ll encourage him to go on. We must be having the same struggle. We both want it, but know we shouldn’t. “Tell me not to stop.”
And because I was told to do as I’m told, and I’m rationalizing the hell out of this right now, I tell him. “Don’t stop.”
We’re both rationalizing this, but neither of us cares. He lowers me until my feet find the floor and then he places my hands on his belt buckle. “Kneel down and take me out, Tiffy.”
I glance up at him, meet his eyes for just the briefest of moments, and then glance down at my hands as they automatically pull the brown leather strap and start threading through the buckle.
He digs his hands into my hair, urging me to go faster. The buckle jingles as I get it loose, and then I pop the button open and drag the zipper down. I can see his hard bulge pressing up against his black boxer briefs and I can’t touch him fast enough.
I place my palm on his hot cock.
He moans out, “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Grab it, Tiffy. Squeeze it hard. And then place your mouth on it and lick me through the fabric.”
I grip him hard like he wants me to, and then lean in and place my mouth on his length. His cock jumps from my touch, and that just makes me want to do more. I drag my tongue up and down his shaft, pressing on him with a little bit of force. He moans again and then his hands, still fisting my hair, begin rubbing my face into his cock. This time I’m more comfortable, so I let him control me. He rocks back a little, making me look up. I meet his gaze and he says, “Fuck, you turn me on. Keep going.”
So I pull down the waistband of his briefs until he springs out, hard, and long, and hot. I look up at him again and he throws his head back and groans, like that gesture—me looking up at him with his cock in front of my face—turns him on more than my actual lips when they wrap around his tip.
“Swallow me,” he whispers, pushing my head into his hips. I take as much as I can, but I’m not a porn star and before long I’m gagging.
“Breathe, Tiffy. Just breathe through your nose. Relax your throat,” he says, dragging a fingertip up and down my neck. “I want you to swallow me so fucking bad.”
I gag again, and saliva comes spilling out of my mouth, dripping down onto my dress.
“That’s so fucking hot,” he says.
And the fact that it turns him on to watch me drool spit makes me so turned on.
He thrusts once, hitting the back of my throat and making me struggle to get away. He lets go, understanding I’ve hit my limit, and then bends down like he did this morning and kisses me hard. “Tell me to fuck you, Tiff.”
“Fuck me, Fletch.”
He laughs when I call him Fletch. “God, what are you doing t
o me?”
“Everything you tell me to.”
He stops smiling and stares hard, cupping my face with his hands. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
I nod and he stands back up, taking me by the hand and pulling me with him. He reaches under my dress and pulls my pink panties down, throwing them over his shoulder as he twirls me around and pushes me up against the wall again. “Open your legs.”
I open them a few inches.
“Wider, Tiffy.”
I spread out, and the air rushes in, teasing my clit and making me throb again.
He takes off his shirt and I stare at those perfect abs in the gray dusk of early evening light while he throws that aside too. Then he kicks off his boots, drops his pants, and flings them away.
He stands there naked before me. His perfect, god-like body is all hills and valleys of taut muscle.
“Now you.”
I swallow hard and reach to the back of my dress. “The zipper.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. But before I can explain that I need help, he reaches for my flirty skirt and drags it up my body, whipping it over my head.
“Fuck the zipper,” he says, reaching for the front clasp on my lacy pink bra. “Who’s got time for a zipper?”
Chapter Thirteen
She automatically crosses her arms, preventing me from taking off her bra. “Shy much?” I tease.
“A little.”
“You weren’t shy this morning.”
“I didn’t take my clothes off this morning.”
“Hmmm,” I say. “We’ll have to work on that then. Men like a little blushing, but they like confidence too. So how about we start with lesson number one.” I lean into her ear, thread my hands in her hair, and say, “You can practice with me.”
Her shoulder comes up to stop the tickle of breath against her skin. “If we’re going to have a professional relationship, then we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”
I can see her point. I can also see that it’s a copout. But whatever. She wants to rationalize this, and I’m OK with that. Because I’m horny. I want her. And she’s beautiful. “OK. But you’ve got to practice on someone. I can get one of the guys to come help you out. Mitch is a good decoy.”
She pulls back a little. “What do you mean? Decoy?”
“To practice, Tiffy. There’s so much more to this than licking your lips. You need real bedroom experience.”
“I have bedroom experience, Fletcher. I’m not some stupid college virgin.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. But Cole isn’t interested, right? I think we can both agree on that. So obviously you’re not his type. We need to make you his type. What kind of girls does he date?”
She scowls at me, still with those arms covering her perfect breasts. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve known him a while, surely you’ve seen him with women. Right?”
“He likes blondes, I guess.” She says it with an air of disappointment.
“I like brunettes myself. What else does he like?”
“They are tall. Taller than me.” Another frown.
“Hey,” I say, tipping her chin up. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad about who you are. My matchmaking works for two reasons. One, the women are confident. And two, the men understand that not everyone is blonde, Tiffy. Not everyone is tall. Not everyone who makes a match with me is even pretty. But all of them feel sexy on the inside. And that’s all it takes. So forget about looks. Tell me what he likes about them.”
She bites her lip and then sighs. “I think he likes their looks, Fletcher. And maybe status. I mean, one was a pro golfer. I know that. But another one sold him a yacht.”
Yacht. What kind of douche has a yacht? “Maybe it’s not golf and yachts that attract him, Tiffy, but the fact that they’re…” I want to say snobby bitches. But I realize Tiffy might fall into this category as well. “Refined and cultured.” Good recovery, Fletch. Besides, Tiffy’s not snobbish. Sure, I can tell she comes from money. She has a polished sophistication about her. Nice clothes, precise speech, and dignity. Mostly it’s the dignity. But she’s polite, resourceful, and hardworking too. “And you’re refined and cultured too. So this is an easy fit.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
I laugh. “Why? We’re just getting started.”
“But we’re not going to fuck again, right? I mean, that’s pleasure and this is business.”
“We don’t need to fuck to work. But if being naked makes you uncomfortable, then that’s something you might want to work on.”
“Why? Cole is not a stripper, Fletcher. He’s not going to morph into some sociopath BDSM guy and expect me to crawl on the floor and sit at his feet naked.”
I picture that and actually get hard. “Have you ever done that?”
“No.” She laughs. “No. I’m so not into experimenting. I like the normal stuff.” She takes a few steps towards her dress on the floor, but I grab her arm and make her stop. “I want to get dressed.”
“I want you naked.”
“I’m sure you do,” she quips with a tip of her chin. Superiority, that chin tip says.
“And that,” I say, taking her face in my hands and kissing her softly on the lips, “is sexy. Confidence is sexy, Tiff. So if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“Have I got it?” she asks, the insecurity spilling out again.
And fuck if that isn’t sexy as well. “In spades, princess. More than you even know. Cole is stupid for not noticing what’s right in front of his face. But maybe he’s just one of those workaholic types.”
“He is. He works like sixteen-hour days.”
“So where did he take these women he dated?”
“Um…” She thinks for a few moments. “Well, I think they mostly came to see him at lunch and they dined in his office.”
“So he likes lunchtime quickies.” What a dick.
“Quickies? He didn’t fuck them in his office, Fletcher.”
“Tiffy, please. If a man invites a woman to his office for lunch, he wants to fuck her on his desk.”
“That’s not true! My mom had lunch with my dad—Oh my God.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “Make it go away. I just pictured my mom and dad having sex on his desk.”
I laugh at her naiveté. “Did Cole take them out on any real dates? Maybe they were whores?”
“Whores! Jesus Christ, Fletcher. Cole Lancaster does not date whores.”
“Call girls, I mean. You know, high-class sluts? Cater to businessmen who are too busy to fuck?”
She screws up her face. “That is not a real thing.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “OK, let’s move on, pretending that Cole is not into whores or fucking on his desk. Where do you think he fucks the girls?”
“Do I have to think about him fucking other people?”
“No, I just need you to think up a place where he fucks any people. So we can prepare for it.”
“I think he fucks people at home in his bed, like everyone else.”
I place my hands on her shoulders and pull her close so I can whisper in her ear. “Like we did this morning?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. If we were really dating we’d have gone to one of our places and had sex—”
“Against the wall over there?”
“In bed, you dumbass. Not everyone is a sexual deviant like you. Cole is not fucking whores on his desk at lunch.”
“OK,” I say, giving in. “You know him better than me, so I’m gonna take your word for that. Let’s move on. So when you get back to Cole’s place, after he takes you to lunch at his desk, what do you do? How will you seduce him?”
“Won’t he seduce me?”
“OK, Tiffy you’re losing me, babe. Do you want this guy or not?”
“I do,” she whines. “But why do I have to initiate things? I thought you could make him initiate things with me. Can’t you? And can I
please put my dress back on?”
“So you want to take the passive approach? And why put the dress back on? I’ll just have to take it off again when I fuck you after this conversation.”
“What?” And then she bursts out laughing. But my even stare makes her stop abruptly. “We’re not fucking again.”
“We are. We’re naked. We’re talking about sex. And we’re horny. So we are most definitely fucking. I just wanted to get to know you better this time. So I know what to try next.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m trying to figure you out, Tiffy. So I know how to make you feel good about yourself. And now that I know you like to be guided, well…” I kiss her mouth again. I hold her chin in my fingers as my tongue sweeps inside her, and when I pull away, ever so slowly, she sighs. “I’ll tell you how I like it so you know what to do back. I’ll do things without asking you, so you don’t have to make decisions. And I’ll make sure you have the best sex of your life every time you’re with me.”
“Do you fuck them all?” she spits as she pushes my chest back and sends me stumbling. “Is that what this matchmaking business is all about?” She grabs her dress off the floor and before I can even say another word, she’s got it pulled over her head and she’s hunting for her shoes.
“Tiffy? What the hell?”
“This is a mistake. You’re just trying to sleep with me. And I fell for it! Oh my God, you are such an asshole. I came in here to fire you—”
“And we made a deal, remember? I’m just trying to help you with your deal.”
“By fucking me? No.”
“OK,” I say, pulling my jeans back on and zipping them up. “OK. We don’t have to fuck. And the answer to that last question is no. I don’t fuck these girls. Not one of them.”
“So why me, Fletcher? Why me?”
“You picked me off the floor last night.”
“No, you chose me. How delusional are you?”
“You had your eye on me the whole time.”
