by L. P. Lovell
“I guess you don’t read the newspaper very often.” I shake my head at him. What the fuck is he rambling on about. He twists the computer screen half in my direction and I cross the room, bracing my palms on the desk as I look at the screen.
There’s a picture of Poppy and me on the dance floor at the wedding. Guests are looking on as we kiss, right there in the middle of the wedding. “Careless.” He says.
I drag a hand down my face. Shit. I wasn’t thinking. Anything like this at an event like that is a no go. Poppy Whitely lip-locked with a guy at her sister's wedding is going to get people asking questions, wanting to know who I am. My entire business is built on discretion. This is about as far from discrete as it gets. I can feel Xavier’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, waiting for an explanation but the truth is I don’t have one. I got caught up in the moment and I kissed her because I wanted to. The problem is, that’s never happened before. I don’t have lapses in judgment, or off moments. I’m Thor Jameson. Professional in every sense of the word.
“It won’t happen again.” I turn away and go back to my desk.
“What the fuck? Are you into this girl or something?”
“No! Look, just drop it. It will blow over when my face doesn’t pop up again. The press aren’t that tenacious.”
“Your clients might not say the same.” He shakes his head.
I ignore him. My clients don’t give a fuck. The only thing I could do to make them stop both fucking and paying me would be to tell their rich husbands exactly what their hard-earned money is being spent on.
I can’t focus on anything, so I get up and go upstairs. As soon as I close the door my phone buzzes with a text. And it’s from Poppy:
How’s the head? X
I clutch the phone in my hand and tell myself repeatedly to ignore it, but still, I find myself typing out a response.
Better. I see we’re famous. X
Poppy:
Well, that kiss was pretty hot. ;) We should do it again sometime. X
Shit, what does that mean? Wait, why do I even care? Why am I texting her? I throw the phone down on the sofa as if it’s going to burn me, change into some workout clothes and go downstairs to the gym. I pound the heavy bag until sweat is pouring down my back and chest and the muscles in my arms ache from the exertion. I clutch the bag between my forearms and brace my forehead against it, trying to catch my breath. As soon as I close my eyes the sound of my heavy breaths are drowned out by the memory of Poppy’s moans, her calling my name as she came against my tongue. I can practically taste her right now. Fuck. I shove away from the bag and start working it over again. I need to stop.
One week later…
“So, the wedding was good?” Elodie asks, crossing her legs beneath her.
I put the wine back in the fridge. “As good as can be expected.”
I take a seat on the sofa, pressing my back to the arm and tucking my legs under me. “You know I wasn’t really asking about the wedding, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Thor was very charming.”
“Please.” She snorts. “Charming?”
I take a gulp of my wine. “Amongst other things.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She raises her eyebrows. “And you haven’t heard from him since?” She probes.
“I texted him and he replied, but then nothing.” I shrug. “I’m not going to be the crazy chick that stalks him.”
“No one likes desperation.” She sings, downing her glass of wine and placing the empty glass back on the table. “Anyway, I have to go pack.” She stands and I push to my feet, wrapping my arms around her.
“You only just got back.”
“I know. It’s just a month, though.” She pouts. Elodie’s parents have houses all over the world. She couldn’t make the wedding because she had to go to New York, hence she organized Thor to come as a stand in. She got back three days ago, and this is the first time I’ve seen her. She flies out to Thailand tomorrow and won’t be back for a month. I miss her. Some people have loads of friends. I don’t connect with other people easily. The social circles I grew up in look down their nose at me and normal people think I’m just a stuck up trust fund baby. Elodie is my best friend, and I miss her.
I release her and she flashes me a smile before making her way to the door and opening it. “I’ll call you. Love you!”
“Love you too.” And then she’s gone. I go back to my spot on the sofa and pick up my glass of wine. It’s been a week since the wedding and I wonder, not for the first time, what Thor is up to right now. I debate calling him but quickly decide against it. If he wanted to see me again he would have contacted me. I’m a pretty independent person, but with Elodie gone I suddenly realize I have no one. There isn’t one person that I can invite over just to share a glass of wine. How desperately sad is that? And upon realizing that I decide I need to drown my sorrows alone. So I crank up the sound system and grab another bottle of wine.
An hour later and I’m drunk. It hasn’t helped, in case you were wondering. My mind goes to Thor. Why did I have to text him? I mean, maybe I get off on the rejection. I know I should just delete his number and move on, but there’s something about him. He’s the kind of guy who can make a girl forget about everything that isn’t him. He’s so damn hot, he feels like an apparition, something I dreamed up.
So of course, I text him.
Me: What are you up to, oh, godly one? X
I don’t expect a response so when my phone buzzes a couple of minutes later I almost spill my wine.
Thor: Honing my godliness. What you up to, ginge? X
My stomach flutters and I want to punch myself in the face. I mean, really?
I reply: Drinking wine. There’s a bottle or twelve with your name on it. X
I take a picture of my wine fridge which actually has about fifteen bottles in it, and send it to him.
Thor: If you’re trying to tempt with wine, then you’re going to have to do better than that. X
The wine has me feeling brave and just the thought of him has me horny, so I go to my room and throw on some lacey underwear, snapping a quick picture. Part of me feels ridiculous, but there’s also a little thrill in it. I send it to him and want to cover my face with my hands as I wait for his response. I lay on the bed like a starfish and blow out a long breath. I know I just changed the game. I took this from the nice girl he went to a wedding with him to the nasty girl who wants to bang him senseless. But I do want to bang him senseless. Elodie always says there are girls you fuck and girls you marry. I’ve always inherently been the girl you marry, but I haven’t heard from him in a week. Ergo, he is not viewing me as dating material. So…why not make myself the girl he fucks? Hell, I want to be the girl he fucks. I pick up the phone and glance at the screen. Nothing. I wait and wait, but he never responds.
Insecurities raise their ugly head and a small voice at the back of my head tells me I’m ridiculous for thinking I’m even remotely in the same league as Thor. He probably has Victoria Secret level women throwing themselves at him.
I throw a tank top over my slutty underwear and go to the fridge to get more wine. I grab a bottle and am reading the label when there’s a knock at the door. It’s probably the grumpy woman from downstairs complaining about the music.
“It’s not that loud!” I’m already shouting when I open the door.
Thor stands there, arms braced either side of the doorframe. A cocky smile is plastered all over his face. He’s wearing jeans that are riding low on his hips, and with his arms braced like that, his t-shirt is riding up, exposing a strip of tanned skin and that deep cut V.
“You’re here.” I stammer.
“That tends to happen when you send pictures like that.” His eyes skate down my body until they hit my legs. “You always answer the door in your underwear?” I’m so busy staring at him that it takes me a second to realize what he said.
“Sometimes.”
He steps forward, straightening to his full height. His
presence seems to grow. Morphing into something intimidating laced with a hint of danger. I can barely form coherent thoughts or words because he’s looking at me like I’m his prey and he’s about to tear me to shreds. That refined exterior is fraying, exposing this beneath it, this primal edge that he hides so well. My heart is pounding frantically, as a shot of fear induced adrenaline fires through my veins. He closes in on me and I back up, maintaining the tiny gap between us. His lips twitch as though he’s amused by me.
The door closes and the clicking of the latch makes me jump. Amusement crosses his features. “There I am, thinking about that tight pussy of yours, when you send me that picture.” He says. I swallow heavily, taking another shaky step back, not because I’m scared, but because I like the chase. “What’s a guy to do?”
“Send a dick pic?”
He smiles that sexy as sin smile of his and I stop moving, allowing him to close the distance. Every hard plane of his body presses against me. My chest rises and falls unevenly. His fingers wind around my neck and my pulse pounds so hard I can hear it thrumming against my ear drums. I feel so small, so insignificant compared to him, and yet I trust him. I don’t know why.
He lowers his face and uses his grip on my neck to pull me up onto tiptoes. “I remember what you taste like, Poppy.” He growls. “But I can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around my dick.”
Okay, I’m done. My pussy is so wet I’m ready to rape him right here in the middle of my front room. My eyes drop to his lips and I release an unsteady breath. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile before they brush mine in a feather light kiss, but it’s not enough. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. His fingers at my throat are restraining me. He’s in complete control.
“Thor.” I mean it as a warning but it comes out sounding more like a plea. He huffs a laugh and presses his free hand against my stomach. It slides between our bodies before his fingers disappear below the lace edge of my underwear. His eyes remain locked on mine as his hand dips between my legs. I spread my thighs, inviting him in. When his fingers brush over my pussy his eyes spark with something savage and unhinged. I’m drenched for him. I can see how close to the edge he is, so I give him a push.
“Fuck me.” I beg. I don’t even care. I’m desperate. This is an itch that only he can scratch.
“Shit.” He hisses, twisting me away from him. A hand slams between my shoulder blades, forcing me over the back of the sofa. Cold air hits my arse when he yanks my underwear down my legs. I’m completely exposed and I have no idea what he’s doing. The anticipation of him touching me is enough to have me shaking.
I hear the clink of a belt buckle, a zip, the tearing of foil. His cock barely nudges against me before he grabs the back of my neck and slams inside me without warning. I choke on a breath, unable to make any coherent noise.
“Fuck.” He groans. My pussy is clenching around him in shock, and if his trembling grip on my neck is anything to go by, he’s not as controlled as he thinks. I bow my back and push back against him, forcing him to slide deeper. “God, your fucking pussy.” He grates out. His hand lands over my arse hard, the slap leaving a sharp sting.
His hands grip my hips and he fucks me like a man possessed. Thor’s so refined looking, so in control. He’s the kind of guy you want to push, to snap, until he actually does. Now all I can do is hold on for the ride. He wraps a hand around my throat again and uses it to pull me upright, keeping my back bowed.
“You feel so good.” He bites down on the side of my neck, thrusting hard and deep. Something starts to build deep within me, and with every thrust, it gains momentum, until it’s creeping up on me so fast and hard that I’m not sure whether I’m excited by it or scared. He groans in my ear, the sound so masculine and primal that it sends me hurtling into oblivion. His grip on my throat remains unyielding and I clutch at the arm holding me, desperately needing something to hold onto. The orgasm rips through me in a wave so fierce I buckle forward against the sofa. Thor keeps me upright, fucking me all the way through. By the time I’m done I’m dizzy.
He pulls out of me. “You need some more stamina, ginge. I’m not fucking done with you yet. Not even close.”
I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow.
I lay on my back on my bed. Thor is sprawled next to me, the sound of his labored breaths filling the air. I turn my head and study the way his stomach muscles bunch and flex with each breath. A sheen of sweat clings to his tanned skin and it only makes him look more beautiful. I’m not sure I ever expected to see him again, let alone that. The man is a machine.
“I see what you mean about memorable.” I mumble. I think I can safely say that I didn’t fuck Thor after the wedding because he’s right, you couldn’t forget that.
He drags a hand over his face. “I can’t remember ever coming that hard.” He says. It’s crass but the way he says it, it’s so hot.
He trails his fingers backward and forward over my thigh absentmindedly. His touch tickles, but not in an unwanted way. “Tell me something about you, Poppy.”
I frown. “You want to know about me?”
He huffs a laugh. “Well, I’ve already met your mother, your sister, your brother-in-law, and June. I know you obviously don’t get on with your family, you have a friend called Elodie and you paint. That’s it. Tell me something about you, something I couldn’t read on a gossip site.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and think about it. “My favourite colour is blue. I love pandas. My favourite painting is The Ophelia….”I bite my lip on a smile and he rolls over, bringing his face close to mine.
“Something you don’t tell many people.” He breathes against my lips. My heart thumps unevenly in my chest for a few beats. I look into his eyes and he strips me the same way he did before. Something about him makes me want to bare my damn soul to him. I want to show him my weaknesses so he can make them stronger.
“I can stand in a room full of people and always feel alone.” I hear myself say. His hand cups my cheek. “I like to be alone, but I hate to be lonely.”
“The path to success is a lonely one, ginge.” He sweeps a stray tendril of hair away from my face. “Just keep walking.” He murmurs.
I smile. “Hot and smart.”
“Yeah, but the hot gets you further in life than the smart.” He winks.
“Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. I should just go and marry some rich boy like my sister.”
He snorts. “No one would have you.” I gasp, feigning offense. “You are ginger.” I slap his chest and he rolls onto his back laughing. His fingers wrap around my thigh, pulling me on top of him. “Luckily I like the short fuse.” He raises his eyebrows. “Angry sex is fucking hot.”
“You have issues.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” He yanks me forward and I fall against his chest before he holds me in a kiss. This is only the third time I’ve seen this man. It shouldn’t feel so easy, so effortless, but it does. I feel like I’ve known him for years, which considering I literally know nothing about him, is strange.
Right now, though, his lips are on me, his body is pressed between my thighs, and all logical thought has run screaming out the window.
I shouldn’t have gone to see Poppy. I told myself that I was paid for the wedding, so technically anything that occurred within that time frame was work even if it wasn’t specifically requested.
As for waking up in her bed, well, I was drunk. That was my excuse, it was plausible, it was fine. I was done. I wasn’t going back, no matter how much I couldn’t stop fucking thinking about her. Literally, she was consuming me without even knowing it. And then Saturday night, she texts me. It just so happened that my client had cancelled. And I was still good. No intention of fucking her, until she sent that damn picture. In my defence, Poppy in white lace…I’ve got a hard on just thinking about it. She looks so fucking innocent and I wanted a taste, just a taste of what it’s like to fuck a girl like that. I wanted to corrupt her, ruin her
and make her scream my fucking name. It was better than I could have imagined. I left her bed at four in the morning and I’m telling myself it doesn’t count as sleeping over because twice in a row….well, that’s just fucked up. Hell, fucking her is fucked up! That was a week ago, and I can’t stop thinking about her. Once. I’ve fucked her once and it’s like she’s a disease crawling beneath my skin and seeping into my bloodstream. How is that even possible? Every day I have to resist the urge to call her, to go and see her. I tell myself I’m fine but it feels as though it’s just a matter of time before I break.
I’m still doing what I do best, fucking women and getting paid, but something has changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s kind of like I’ve been seeing my life through rose tinted glasses and Poppy has ripped them off. It sounds ridiculous, I know, how can she change something she doesn’t even know about? Women have always looked at me as if I’m some kind of God, and I’ve always loved it, thrived on it, made a damn profession from it. Poppy looks at me with the same lust in her eyes, but there’s something else too. She looks at me with a basic respect. She looks at me like she actually likes me and wants to be around me, even when I’m clothed. Everything is just worth so much more coming from her.
I’m balls deep in April, watching her moan and writhe as I fuck her when for the first time in my life I feel uneasy about what I’m doing. I shove the feeling down, angry that it’s even crossed my fucking mind. My fingers dig into her hips and I slam into her harder, angrily. She moans louder and rakes her nails over my abs. My mind keeps trying to pull away and I fight with myself to focus on the job at hand. I was barely able to get my dick hard for this shit, and that’s after I took a Viagra. I slam my eyes shut and try to tune out her high pitched whining, but it doesn’t work. Damn it. I pull out of her and flip her over, throwing her face down on the mattress. She lets out a little squeak as I wrench her hips back up and pin her face into the pillow as I slam inside her. I close my eyes and imagine I’m somewhere else. I imagine long red hair, perfect milky skin, that tight pussy.
