The waitress left, and I hit the privacy button out of habit. Elizabeth and I sipped our drinks silently. She looked out again over the dance floor, then studied the buttons along the length of the table that operated the glass window. She pushed the one that turned the glass opaque.
“Clear it,” I ordered.
She looked up at me, startled. Then she pushed the button to make the glass clear again. “You have lots of glass in your office too. You like being seen?”
If she thought I was a dirty oversexed player before, she couldn’t handle all the things I was really into.
Of course, that made me all the more eager to tell her. Something about her prissiness made the idea of shocking her a turn-on.
“Yeah. I do.”
She pursed her lips, considering. She peeked out the window again, this time looking out to the other bubble rooms. Most held parties of people gathered around the circular bench enjoying their dinners and their drinks in a place where they could talk. A couple, though, were opaque.
She turned her gaze back to me. “What exactly do you do with girls when you bring them here?”
God, I felt like I was on Secret Confessions. “Do you really want to know?”
She took a swallow of her wine and licked the little drop of Merlot that lingered on her lip. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I’m supposed to be one of those girls. Remember?”
Of course, she could never really be one of those girls. One of those girls would’ve had her panties off already. That was too crass to tell her outright.
But there was a whole Internet that could tell her for me. “Pull up YouTube. Search my name and The Sky Launch.”
She hesitated a moment before she pulled her phone back out of her purse. Then she swiped the screen, entered her password, and searched as I’d told her to. I didn’t look to see what she was watching—I kept my gaze only on her face as she played first one video, then the next. Then a third.
I watched her eyes widen. I watched her pupils dilate. I watched her lips part and her breathing get heavy. I could only imagine what she was seeing.
Random footage from people on the dance floor taking film with their phones of the most eligible bachelor in New York caught once again at his favorite nightclub with the flavor of the week. I’d watched plenty of those videos. I’d whacked off to a few of them. They didn’t usually show very much of me, but they often showcased a topless girl, sometimes more than one. Always in a bubble room. There was no mistaking what was going on in here.
The window was always clear.
And I always made them come.
Elizabeth’s face was red by the time she put her phone back in her purse, the same red color that I’d imagined earlier.
I really needed to stop imagining that.
“Wow.” She swallowed and I watched her throat as it delicately bobbed. “People really do watch you up here.”
I almost laughed. That was her takeaway? “Yes, people really do watch.”
“And you...like that.” I couldn’t tell if there was judgment in her voice or not. But of course she was judging me.
“Hey, before you get all high and mighty—”
“I’m not.” She said it so emphatically that I stopped speaking. “I’m not,” she said again. “I’m just saying that—if that’s what you like, and if that’s what you bring girls here to do...and if I am supposed to be your girlfriend, and if we’re supposed to make it convincing...”
She paused and took a deep breath, and I thought I knew where she was going, but that really couldn’t be where she was going, could it?
“Then we have to make it believable, too.”
My dick perked up. She’d said exactly the words I’d hoped against hope to hear come out of her mouth.
Well, how about that? Elizabeth Dyson might be a fun girl after all.
Six
Holy shit, I was in over my head.
How on earth had I not seen it coming?
It wasn’t like I hadn’t prepared for our date. I’d researched Weston the minute I’d left the Reach offices and learned the essentials. Turned out the man used those panty-melting dimples to get women. A lot of women. But I could have guessed that just from the short time I’d spent in his presence. Sex emanated from him like cologne. As though he’d put it on with his aftershave and pomade.
So I’d chosen the restaurant, I’d chosen my clothing, I’d provided the driver—all of it so that I would feel that I had some sort of an ounce of control on my first outing with this stranger. The stranger I was about to pledge myself to in legal matrimony. I’d thought maybe that would put me on some sort of an even playing field.
But it had only taken a few hours to realize that nothing could put me on an even playing field with Weston King.
What I’d failed to realize was that it wasn’t Weston I needed to compete with—it was his women.
And they were at every turn. Beautiful, strong, smart women. Women he knew, yes, but the ones he didn’t know seemed to notice him and swarmed as though they were bees, and he was the hive.
He was just as attentive. Whatever it was they said or did, or however it was they smiled or walked, they knew how to catch his eye, because he checked out every damn one of them. Or it felt like he did.
And here was I next to them, plain and insecure, a little bit awkward and a whole lot inexperienced. And somehow, I was supposed to capture him the same way all these women before me had. Keep his eyes on me and off of them for the duration of our time together.
I’d only had three steady boyfriends. My mother was the one who knew how to handle men like Weston. She was the one who knew how to flirt and flaunt. She was the one who knew how to be sexy and desired. Who knew how to be confident in her skin, to bring men to their knees.
She was the one who men stared at in the way that Weston was staring at me now.
And he was only staring at me because he thought I was one of those girls, because I’d just suggested that maybe I should pretend to be one.
He did realize I’d meant pretend, didn’t he?
“I’m not suggesting that we actually do anything,” I clarified. “But we need to make it seem like we’re doing the same things you do with other girls up here. Stage it.”
“Right.” He grinned.
And I had to hold back a shiver. That dimple was pure sin. It was distracting and unnerving and just plain rude. I was trying to be practical and salvage this whole sham while he acted like he was looking forward to this. I wasn’t even sure what this was yet. There were several variations of sex shows in those videos I’d watched. I was bendy enough. Years of ballet gave me experience in physical performance. The trick was figuring out which position was the easiest to fake.
I looked around our set, weighing our options. “If I stand on the bench with my hands on the window with you behind me…”
“Come over here,” he ordered as though I hadn’t even spoken.
My heart skipped a beat at the subtle edge to his command. “Why?”
“If we’re going to make this believable, you’re going to have to be closer. Come over here and sit on my lap. Straddle me.”
Now my pulse raced inside my chest. Of all the positions we had as options, straddling his lap was definitely the most intimate.
I scooted tentatively around the bench and then turned so I was on my knees facing out the window. I paused when I was next to him, not quite sure how to do the next part. I’d never done this before. Never straddled a guy. Not to trick people into thinking I was fooling around, certainly. Not even because I was actually fooling around.
I took a deep breath, gathering my nerves, but before I’d gotten it together, he grabbed my elbow and tugged me so that I fell across his lap.
Well, hello.
“There you are,” he said.
His body was warm, and I instantly had the urge to curl into him. I fought against it, sitting back on his thighs, away from his pelvis so that it would
n’t be too weird. Too intimate. Still, we were close, our faces only inches from each other. I could smell his cologne and his shampoo and the faint scent of sweat underneath—a scent that was pure Weston. And, shit, he was even more gorgeous close-up. His skin, flawless. His eyes, deep pools of blue.
I swallowed, suddenly nervous.
Weston seemed to sense my anxiety because next thing I knew he was reassuring me. “I’m keeping my hands on the bench next to me. Okay? You can lean on my shoulders to give yourself some balance, if you want. And then anything that happens here? It’s all up to you. You run the show.”
I ran my tongue across my lips in a circle and nodded. “Okay.” My voice sounded unusually high and shaky, and my palms felt sweaty as I settled them on his shoulders to balance myself. I shifted my hips, trying to get comfortable.
And accidentally slid forward, my pelvis hitting his.
Whoops.
My cheeks went red as Weston let out a low chuckle. I was sitting on his lap. With nothing between my crotch and his except a pair of panties and his pants. And whatever he had on underneath his pants.
And now I was thinking about what he had on underneath his pants.
I looked at the windows past him, trying to distract myself. Lights flashed and swirled around the dance floor in time to the beat, the only part of the music which made it into the sanctuary of the bubble room. I could tell it was crowded, but I couldn’t make out faces the way they could probably make out ours. “I don’t know if anyone’s looking,” I said.
“Don’t worry about them. Just focus on what you’re doing.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t facing them. He was only looking at me.
Nope. I couldn’t think about that either. Just had to focus on the task at hand.
I closed my eyes. “So just pretend that I… That we are… That under my dress…” I couldn’t even say it.
Weston leaned forward and murmured near my ear. “Yes, pretend that under your dress you are not wearing any panties. I have my dick out. I’m working you, and you are showing me exactly how you like it. Now go.”
Just like that, my panties were damp.
I didn’t know if he was saying those things to loosen me up or to get a rise out of me, either was possible.
Whatever his intent, it did the trick. He set the scene. I felt my face flush like the women in the videos as I imagined him rubbing his crown against my slit before nudging his tip inside and then burying himself to the hilt.
I opened my mouth in a silent gasp, acting out how I was sure it would feel. Good. It would feel so good.
This was so...weird. So hot and sexy and arousing and weird.
I wondered if he was feeling it too, feeling turned on, or if it was just me. It wasn’t like I could ask though, and knowing probably wouldn’t help my performance anyway.
So I concentrated on me. Focused on the task.
“Do I move or something?” I bucked my hips forward and felt the friction against my crotch as it rubbed the fly of his pants.
Mmm.
“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “That’s good. That motion. Just like that.”
“Okay. Okay.” I rocked against him again, and again, my hips tilting back and forth, my clit brushing against his fly. Every time, stroking and kindling a fire in a fireplace I hadn’t had cleaned for some time. I spread my thighs a little wider and braced my knees against the bench so I could swing my pelvis all the way forward, in and out, in and...
Oh.
I froze. “Is that—?” But I didn’t have to ask. There was most definitely a fat, thick ridge pressed against the crotch panel of my panties. I guess that answered the question of whether he was feeling it too.
My eyes flew open. “Oh my God!”
“Look,” he said, ready to defend himself. “There’s an extremely attractive woman sitting on my lap. I cannot help what happens to my cock. It has a mind of its own.”
A really big mind of its own.
“Just pretend it’s not there,” he said at the same time I said, “I’m pretending it’s not there.”
Like hell I could pretend it wasn’t there. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
Our eyes met momentarily. His were lit up and crazed, mirrors to how I felt inside.
I rocked forward again, without even thinking that I wanted to, and I had to bite my lip because it felt so incredible rubbing my pussy along the outline of his cock.
“That’s great,” he hissed. “Pretend it’s not there just like that, and you’re great.”
That was exactly what I planned to do. Glad we were on the same page.
Though plan wasn’t quite the right word for what was going on with me at the moment. My body was just moving on its own, rocking steadily, trying to ease the ache between my legs, trying to rub against the firm thickness anchored beneath me.
But nothing was enough.
I twisted and circled my hips. I writhed. I let go of his shoulder and grabbed my breast with one hand, brushing across my nipple with my thumb. Everything I did only made the buzz louder, the hum in my veins more intense.
I’d forgotten about the glass windows and the crowds below. The performance was no longer for anyone but me. The end goal wasn’t about looking like one of Weston’s girls—it was about becoming one of them.
But I was aimless and an amateur, and I needed help.
“Tell me what you’re doing to me,” I begged. “Tell me what you would be doing to me right now.”
“I’m so deep inside you,” he said without any hesitation. “I’m balls deep, my dick is touching the very end of you.” His hips bucked up, and I wondered if he knew he was even doing it. “I have my hand under your skirt and I’m rubbing your clit in tight circles, and it’s driving you insane. You’re so wet that my thumb keeps sliding off your nub.” His voice was strained as he talked, and I could hear his fingernails digging into the bench on either side of us, clawing into the upholstery.
God I wanted him to touch me. If he touched me I’d explode. I was already so close.
“Then I grab your ass to pull you closer, so I can fuck you even deeper, and you tilt your hips up slightly. I tell you to touch yourself because you’re on the edge and I want you to come for me. I want you to come when I tell you. Come all over my goddamn cock until you’re shuddering and writhing and gasping for air. Do it, Elizabeth. Come all over me. Do it now.”
I closed my eyes, but all I could see was light behind my lids, bright starbursts sprayed across the darkness. My hand fell back to his shoulder in an attempt to steady myself as a torpedo-strength orgasm ripped through me, splitting my insides, leaving me shaking and trembling and moaning out in ecstasy.
I threw my head back and called his name once before falling forward, limp and spent.
What the fuck just happened?
I hadn’t even caught my breath yet when I flung my head up again, shock and horror surely written all over my face. Fortunately I found only another full-dimple smile on his.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” I said.
“It’s okay. Really. You were great.”
I scrambled up to my feet and smoothed my dress down as if I could hide my entire being with the movement. I couldn’t help it. My eyes wandered down to his pants that were still straining at the zipper. His eyes followed mine to the wet spot that now darkened the material. A wet spot I had clearly left behind.
If it were possible to die from humiliation, I would have right about now.
“You know what? That’s hot.” The rasp in Weston’s voice suggested that he wouldn’t mind if I got more of him wet.
And even having just finished coming down from the best orgasm of my life, there was a part of me that wouldn’t mind getting more of him wet myself.
I met his eyes. There was no way he wasn’t thinking the same thing I was thinking. We were already here. We were already about to be engaged. We were obviously into each other.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” I
said, yet for the life of me I couldn’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t. Sure, I’d never fooled around with a man just for the fun of it, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t start now. The words were already out of my mouth though, so now all I could do was wait and see how he reacted.
“Right,” he agreed. “It would be a terrible idea.”
“Because it would just complicate things,” I said.
“Exactly. We’re stuck together for the better part of a year. If we crossed this line now, we couldn’t go back. And that would be a long time to have to be around each other afterward. As you said, it would complicate things.”
“Right. Glad you see it the way I do.” I swallowed, grateful that my voice hadn’t caught. I understood what he was saying, but it sounded a lot like an excuse. A nice way of saying I’m not really that interested.
My throat suddenly felt tight and my eyes began to sting. This was the downside of being one of Weston’s girls, I realized. Any night of fun would end in being casually dismissed.
How did his usual dates handle it so gracefully?
Probably they knew it was always coming, which I should’ve known too, but where rejection was concerned, I was already a bruise that refused to heal. I’d been overlooked too much of my life by the only man who’d ever really been important to me. My father had wounded me, and any other rejection felt like fingers pressing against purple and black skin, and I recoiled from the pain.
Also, I was a little bit angry at Weston now that I thought about it. How was this behavior supposed to sell me as a businesswoman? It had been my idea to give the performance, but Weston had been the one to say I needed to do a better job of selling myself as a smart, competent woman, one worthy of running the Dyson empire. How could he let me do this with him? Slutting it up only justified my father’s points. And now I was going to be all over the Internet, and the headlines weren’t going to convince anyone of anything except that Weston King gave good orgasms.
I had to keep my head in the game. The long game. Proving our relationship would be pointless if I didn’t prove myself first.
Dirty Sexy Player Page 6
