“Because you can’t just demand I drop everything and come running when you call—like you did tonight.”
“Fair.” We add a monogamy addendum, then I send him the calendar invite, and CC him a copy of the rules. I’m about to tell him that I’m ready for the sex part of the evening to commence when I hear it. An ominous, jingle jingle jingle coming from somewhere inside the massive apartment.
You know that moment in JAWS—the dunduunnn dunnn… duuuunnnn duun… duuunnnnnnnn dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn dunnnn? Picture that, but jingle-ier.
“What’s that?” I ask looking over my shoulder. A little ball of fur comes running out from one of the rooms and I yell, hopping up on the counter. “YOU HAVE A DOG?!” I hear the telltale sound of my phone crashing to the ground, and the screen splinters. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere on how this will all end, but I’m too focused on not getting eaten by the dog to examine it.
“I have a Yorkie. He’s hardly a dog.” Max’s shoulders shake and his head falls back as he launches into an uncontrollable laughing fit. He’s an evil supervillain cackling at a very distressed damsel. I hiss at the black and brown monster staring up at me with beady little eyes. Max goes around to pick up the terrorist. “And I’m the asshole,” he murmurs to the little bitch.
“I’m terrified of dogs. You see this?” I point to the scar on my chin. “I was attacked by a pit bull when I was six.”
“You can’t blame every dog for the actions of one. Don’t you think it’s time to face your fears?”
He steps closer with Cujo and I calculate the distance to the door. “No, I’m good.”
“Ellie,” Max chastises. He’s in front of me now. The dog pants in his arms, looking at me like I’m something to chew on.
“I said, no.” I hop off the other end of the breakfast bar, putting it back between us. My fear of an eight-pound dog may very well be irrational, but it isn’t imaginary.
Max holds up a hand in surrender. “At least say hello to Rosie and then I’ll put her in the room.”
“No…wait, your dog’s named Rosie? That’s a little girly, don’t you think?”
Max rolls his eyes. “She was my mom’s dog. She can’t care for her anymore, so she stays with me. I tried changing her name, but she’s been Rosie for so long, it didn’t feel right.”
There’s an air of sadness to his words, which is the only reason I say what I say next. “Fine. I’ll pet Rosie, then please put her away.”
“Good girl.” He grins. He walks baby Cujo over to me and I back up until my ass hits the edge of the counter. Max and Rosie look at me expectantly. He closes the space between us. His thighs brush against mine. The tiny dog looks out of place in his big, strong arms.
With hands shakier than a drunk in AA, I rub the soft fur on Rosie’s back. She kind of purrs a little and I decide that’s enough bravery for one day and pull my hand back.
“Are you happy now?” I look up at Max and he’s staring at me with that look again. The one that means trouble for my lady bits. “You’re not going to take it easy on me, are you?”
He drops his forehead onto mine with Rosie snuggled between us. “Not a fucking chance, Piss Girl.”
My stomach muscles clench with anticipation as he takes Rosie back to whatever pit of hell she came from. I use the time to gather my wits. Inhaling, I think back on the day’s events: Sex in Max’s bathroom. Him coming to Woody’s. Me coming here. None of it makes sense. How is this my life? This time last month I was crying on the floor with my sister wondering how we would make rent, and now I’m here, in this space, with a man who has more money and power in his pinky toe than I’ve got in my entire being.
Max appears behind me, Tom Ford invading my nostrils. “Where’s the hairy chest whiskey?” I chuckle weakly. His massive body swallows mine whole. His hands grip my hips and he drags my shorts down my legs, pulling my panties along with them.
“No more talking, Ellie.” His voice is like hot wax, thick and smooth. It burns in the most delicious way. He thumps my calf with his thumb, and I lift my left foot, allowing him to slip off my Vans and the shorts and panty combo behind it. He repeats the action on my right leg, then presses kisses and small, sharp bites up the back side of my thigh. “Open your legs,” he commands, and I do as I’m told, spreading them as far apart as I can get them. He hums his appreciation against my core, and it throbs in response to the vibrations.
“Is little Ellie Chase wet for me?” he asks, then dips his tongue inside my pussy, tasting my offering. “Hmm,” he hums again. “Such a pretty little mess between your legs.” His fingers dig into my thighs as he pulls me back against his face. His tongue is everywhere, licking every inch, even parts that have never been licked before. He circles the tight ring of muscles, flattening his tongue against it. “Anyone ever been here?”
“No,” I moan, grinding my hips onto his face. Maybe it’s the whiskey, or the full moon, or the fact that Max promised to destroy me, but suddenly I can’t think of anything I want more than to give Max free rein over my body. He can have whichever hole he likes. I tell him as much and he praises me with another, good girl.
Fuck, I shouldn’t like that. I shouldn’t think this slightly older, more worldly man, praising me as if I were a dog while he rims my asshole, is hot, but it is. The words, his tongue, the way his stubble rubs my most sensitive flesh, all of it covers me like a blanket, shielding me from the reality where I end up heartbroken and jobless.
Max bites me, hard. “What was that for?”
“I can feel you overthinking,” he says, kissing the spot he just bit. “You stepped off that elevator, so that means you’re mine.” Two thick fingers sink into my dripping wet center and I throw my head back. He’s right. Now isn’t the time to think about consequences. I roll my hips, rocking between grinding down on his hand and riding his face. This feels too good to waste.
Max, turns, bringing his lips flush with my pussy. He grabs my hips and he pulls me to his mouth. Fire ignites in my core. My knees shake. The whole world goes blurry as he takes my clit into his mouth and sucks hard. I’ve been licked before, but never like this. It’s as if he’s drinking from me. As if my essence on his taste buds is enough to sustain his being. “I’m coming,” I pant. Just as I go spiraling over the edge, he fills me. My hands grip the counter as he fucks me, bracing myself for what feels like the beginning of a very big problem.
Sunlight pours through the sheer curtains, bathing my sore body in warmth. It’s early, according to the alarm clock, just a little after eight. I stretch my arms above my head, banging my wrist off the headboard. A giggle bubbles in my throat as reality sinks in. I’m lying naked on top of million thread count sheets, in a fancy Manhattan penthouse that belongs to my boss. My life is starting to look like an after-school special.
This is Ellie.
Ellie makes poor choices.
Don’t be like Ellie.
Just then, said boss saunters into the room, his killer dog hot on his heels. “Mornin’,” he smirks. His five-o’clock shadow has transformed into full-on stubble. I like weekend Max. He’s much better than the asshole I have to deal with Monday through Friday.
“Mornin’,” I reply eyeing Rosie as she tries to jump onto the king-size bed.
“Rosie and I are going for a run.” Max kneels on the bed, brushing his lips against my forehead. A surprisingly sweet gesture for a man who calls me Piss Girl. Now, who’s the Teletubby?
“Okay,” I sigh and toss the covers back. I need to get back to reality anyway, and my reality includes a crappy mattress and instant ramen. My feet dangle over the edge and Rosie takes that as an invitation to lick my big toe. “I don’t care how tiny you are, I’m not going to like you,” I tell her, smiling despite myself.
She barks as if to say yeah, right¸ then trots over to the door. Once she’s gone, I stand and grab my shirt and pull it on over my head.
“What are you doing?” Max asks. His hand d
ips under his t-shirt to scratch his abs. My eyes track the movement. This man fucked me senseless for the better part of the night, and yet I’m drooling over a tiny peek of his stomach. Yup, this is totally fine. I’m not doomed at all.
“Getting dressed,” I say, shaking off the V-cut-induced lust. Panties. Where are my goddamn panties?
“Why?” His brow shoots into his hairline and his lips purse out into a pout. P-Three is pouting. Holy Fuck, forget the panties, where’s my phone? I need to commemorate this moment with a picture. I snatch it off the nightstand and groan. I had forgotten about the gash running down the center of the screen when I dropped it running from the little monster.
Again, I ignore the blaring warning sign and snap the picture. “Because you’re leaving, therefore I should too.”
“No.” He frowns and it’s my turn to ask why.
I do, tossing my phone on the bed and drop to my knees to check under the bed for my goddamn underwear. “Have you seen my panties?”
“You can’t leave,” he says, dangling my pink bikini briefs from his index finger. “I’m not done with you yet, and if you leave, then it counts as another time.”
“I have to leave eventually, Max. I have to work tonight, and I need clothes, and a shower…” And space, I add mentally.
He helps me to my feet, brushing stray curls from my face. He’s being sweet Max again. I wish he’d stop. Sweet Max will break me, but stupid me leans into his touch, drinking up this rare tender moment because I know the asshole is never too far from the surface.
“Stay,” he murmurs. His mouth finds mine, and his kiss is firm, possessive. He pushes me back onto the bed and straddles me, forcing my hands up above my head. I’m stretched underneath him, completely at his mercy. His hips swivel, the hard length of his cock, stabbing between my legs, all while he worships me with his mouth with long, languid strokes. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and my stomach flutter. Deep and so full of passion, my body trembles. The weight of his body on mine is like sunshine, providing a warm comfort that reminds me of California nights and fried rice with my sister. When he finally breaks the kiss, my chest heaves up and down, my nipples are furled into harden little peaks, my entire body is flushed, and I’m panting.
Rosie barks from the door. Blue eyes travel down the length of my body. His fingertips ghost down my arms, and he grabs my jaw, applying just enough pressure to focus me. “I’m going to take her out. Be here. Be naked.” He waits. His grip on my jaw prevents me from speaking so I nod a response instead.
Jumping to his feet, Max saunters to the door. His gait is light, as if he didn’t just rewrite the very definition of what it means to be kissed. The smile on his face makes the little hairs on my neck stand at attention. In that moment, I know I’ll do anything to keep it there, to keep him smiling.
The covers swallow me as I snuggle in. I really should go, but I don’t. I don’t because the bed’s comfortable, and because—though I’d never admit it out loud—the thought of only spending four more nights with Max terrifies me.
The reminiscence of the old Ellie lingers on my lips.
I miss her already.
“My eyes are bleeding,” I groan, and rub them with my thumb and index finger.
“Yeah, Thing One,” Jalen adds. “I don’t understand how this is going to help us with Attar?” The this he is referring to are the slew of fashion magazines and printed articles about Attar’s rise to fame that litter every square inch of the large table.
The conference room on twenty-nine has been converted into a fashion war room of sorts, only our general is a five-foot-two girl with big curly hair and lips that practically beg to be fucked—both sets.
Ellie stands and adjusts her skirt, probably to keep from flashing Jalen and Dexter her pussy. How do I know that? Because she’s not wearing panties. And how do I know that? Because after I caught her having lunch with motherfucking Winston—again—I bent her over my desk, tore them from her body, then fingered her until her legs shook and she begged me to let her come.
I did not.
I did, however, pocket what was left of her underwear.
“You guys asked me for help,” she huffs, and her hair, which is piled precariously high on the top of her head, bobs forward.
“Yeah, we asked you to help us bag Attar, not give us a history lesson on fashion,” I deadpan. We’ve spent the past two days watching footage of every interview and runway show he’s ever done, even bullshit fashion school stuff that probably shouldn’t even exist, but thanks to fucking YouTube, it does.
To my left, Dexter is slumped in his chair, snoring like an asthmatic bear. I kick the leg and he jolts upright. “I’m up!” he shouts, then looks around the room in confusion.
“You’ve got a little something.” Jalen points to the corner of his mouth and Dex swipes at the glob of drool.
Ellie rolls her eyes and turns to me. “You said he wants you to understand his vision, right?” I nod. “Well, how do you expect to understand it if you don’t know where it came from?” Ellie pins us all with a kindergarten teacher look. It’s the kind of look that says, I hate you little fuckers, but I need this job, so I guess I’ll smile and pretend that you don’t make me want to drink hard liquor in the middle of the day.
I briefly consider throwing her over the conference table and spanking her, but considering our audience and the fact that the conference room is just a glass box in the middle of the twenty-ninth floor, I decide against it. That’s an HR nightmare I just don’t need.
Straightening my tie, I gesture for her to continue. The video picks up where we left off and Jalen groans beside me. Dexter’s snoring again within minutes.
I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s a missed call from my father—which I ignore—and open a new text message.
I’m fucking you tonight.
I hit send, watching as Ellie looks down at her lap. Her eyes snap to mine, then she peeks at her phone again, her fingers tapping over the cracked glass at record speed.
Piss Girl: Sorry, it’s a school night. I’ll be at Woody’s until 2.
I don’t give a shit. I’m sporting a giant pair of blue balls. My dick and your pussy need to conference ASAP.
Piss Girl: Maybe you should have thought about your balls while you had me bent over your desk…
Piss Girl: Pay attention to the video.
*eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*
*eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*
*eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*
*eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*
Ellie giggle-snorts at the other end of the table. Her hand flies to cover her mouth and her phone goes crashing to the ground. I cough to hide my laughter. Jalen arches his brow at me, but before he has a chance to comment, the door to the conference room swings open, and Lynn stands there with just about the last person I expected to see.
“Mother?” I’m on my feet in seconds. “What are you doing here?”
“I haven’t seen you in ages. I was in the city, so I figured I’d see if you and Jalen wanted to have an early dinner?” Her eyes dart around the room and she smiles at Jalen and Dexter, then zeroes in on Ellie. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Gwendolyn, Max’s mom.”
Ellie stands, tugging at the hem of her skirt, then extends her hand. “I’m Ellie, Max’s…well, Dexter’s really. I guess, I don’t know.” She babbles a little more, then clears her throat. “I know the fashion stuff,” she explains, pointing to the screen as if it makes her little rant more coherent.
My mom laughs, then looks between us. “Well? Dinner?”
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” I say, scratching my brow. What I really mean is, I’d like to get my dick sucked before Ellie goes off to sling drinks in purgatory.
“No, we don’t,” Jalen interrupts. He shakes Dexter awake. “Dinner sounds amazing, Mrs. A. I’ll grab my jacket.”
Dex yawns. “I’ll have to take a raincheck, ma’am. I’ve got a ton of last-minute wedding
stuff to finish up before we leave.”
“Next time, then.” My mom hugs Dexter, then he bolts for the door.
“Umm…I’ll just…go,” Ellie says, uncomfortably shuffling from one foot to the other. Her brown skin seems to glow under the fluorescent lighting. Her crazy bun is like a halo. Everything about her screams sweet and kind and good. I don’t know what I’m doing with her. All I know is that I don’t want to do it with anyone else. How fucking insane must I be to risk everything Jalen and I have worked for when we are this close to reaching it?
My mother turns her attention back to my assistant. “No! Come to dinner with us, please? I’d love to get to know you.”
“Mother, that’s not entirely appropriate,” I say while I finger the satin in my pocket because I’m an Anderson, which means I’m a hypocrite.
Big, brown doe eyes narrow. “Maxwell, she reeks of your cologne. I’m guessing you two crossed the appropriate workplace relationship line long before I ever extended a dinner invitation.” Gwendolyn Anderson’s health may be in rapid decline, but at the end of the day, she is also an Anderson, which means she’s a fucking shark.
“I…umm…yeah…” Ellie stammers. Her phone falls again, and she bends over to scoop it up. At this rate, I’m surprised the damn thing turns on.
“Reeks is a strong word, Mother.” I chuckle because, although she just outed us, she remembered what my cologne smells like and I realize that today is a good day.
“I should go,” Ellie says running for the door, well more like running into the door. The girl is a mess. Pretty, great rack, but a fucking disaster on two legs.
A sad look flashes in my mother’s eyes and she taps her temple. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
I’m a dick for not wanting to go to dinner with my mom. It’s a good day, goddamn it. Who knows how many more we will get? I blink back the unwanted emotions threatening to fall from my eyes, then grab Ellie by the elbow before she can escape. “Later,” I growl my intent into her ear.
Pretty Little Mess Page 9
