Red Hot Rival

by Cat Carmine

  “Good.”

  Luke orders a scotch and I take another sip of my gin and tonic, trying to calm my racing pulse. When his drink arrives, he slides into the seat next to me and turns to face me.

  “So how are you enjoying being back in Chicago?”

  It’s such a benign and friendly question that it surprises me more than anything else he’s said to me so far. It takes me a moment to think of how to answer.

  “It’s been hard,” I say, finally deciding to go with the truth. “I’m staying in my father’s town house and it’s hard to be around all his things and know he’s never coming back to them. And I miss my best friend and my business. I used to run a clothing line, in Paris,” I add.

  He nods. “I know. Bounce Couture.” When he sees my surprised expression, he chuckles. “I looked you up.”

  “I looked you up too,” I admit with a smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t say this to the competition, but your stuff is really beautiful. You’re very talented, Luke.”

  “So are you, Bree,” he says softly. “I mean, I don’t have much of an eye for fashion — obviously,” he adds, gesturing down at his outfit. “But I know a beautiful thing when I see it.”

  Something about the way he says the words makes my whole body break into goose bumps. His brown eyes seem to smolder right into me, burning me up. I try to swallow, but my throat seems to have shrunk to half its former size.

  “Luke,” I manage to squeak out, except I have no idea how I want to follow it up, so instead I just sit there dumbly, while his slow smile grows wider with every second that I remain tongue-tied.

  “There you two are!” Tomas’s cheerful voice cuts the tension between us, and it’s like an elastic band snapping. I’m suddenly able to breathe again, to swallow like a normal person.

  “Hi Tomas.”

  “Bree, you look lovely.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, then shakes Luke’s hand. “We’re doing photos out in the east lobby. Five minutes. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” Luke and I both say at the same time, though out of the two of us, I’m the one who sounds the most relieved.

  After Tomas leaves to round up the rest of the sponsors, Luke and I finish up our drinks and make our way over to the east lobby. We’re very quickly shuffled into the group that’s already being posed against the far wall, one with ornate moldings and bright modern art.

  Luke shuffles in behind me as the photographer impatiently shoves us all closer and closer together. I can feel Luke’s breath on the back on my neck, and instantly my goosebumps are back, even though I’m jammed between a sweaty balding man in glasses and an elderly woman in a beaded blue gown. The only person I can think about, that I’m even remotely aware of, is Luke. His presence behind me, solid and warm.

  And then suddenly … his hand is on my ass.

  I let out a gasp, and the elderly woman beside me turns. “Are you alright, dear? I didn’t step on your foot, did I?”

  “Oh, no,” I assure her. I can hear Luke chuckling behind me as he caresses the globe of my ass. “I just stumbled a little.”

  She smiles kindly. “That’s why I never wear heels anymore. Shhh, don’t tell anyone.” She lifts the long hem of her dress, revealing a pair of royal blue Crocs.

  “Very smart,” I tell her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I try to concentrate on the photographer, who’s calling out instructions to us, but all I can think about, all I can feel, is Luke’s hand on my ass. The way it drops ever so slowly lower, until he’s almost …

  “Luke!” I hiss, turning around. I can feel how flushed my face is.

  “Eyes on the camera, please,” the photographer says, sounding annoyed.

  “Eyes on the camera,” Luke mouthes.

  I shoot him another glare, but then I have no choice but to turn around and face the front, even though he keeps his hand firmly on my ass.

  I plaster a smile on my face, even though the feeling of his palm against me, his fingers dipping lower, is making me weak in the knees. It’s bringing back tantalizing memories of our encounter in the elevator, and there’s a part of me — a tiny, minuscule, inappropriate part of me — that wants him to lift the skirt of my dress and slide his fingers between my legs again.

  It seems to take forever to get a photo, and the photographer at the front takes snap after snap until I’m starting to see stars from the constant flashes. My feet are killing me in these heels, and I’m starting to think this lady next to me is onto something with the Crocs.

  I shift my legs a little, to try to get some relief for my poor toes. Luke, however, takes my movement as an invitation. He drops his hand lower, dropping towards my crease, until he slides two fingers between my thighs.

  The fabric of my dress is still providing a barrier, but I can feel his digits against me, pressing against my entrance. I’m almost sure I’m going to have a wet spot on my dress after this.

  Blissfully, the photographer finally decides he’s taken enough shots, and dismisses us with a wave of his hand. I take the first opportunity to step out of Luke’s reach. I turn to glare at him, but instead of looking chagrined, he simply brings his hand to his lips, making a gesture with his tongue that is somewhere in between kissing and something much more lewd.

  “Luke!” I hiss. “That was so inappropriate. You can’t just …”

  He takes my arm and starts leading me away from the other people gathered for the photo. He’s leading me through the hallway back into the ballroom, but I’m not ready to let him off the hook that easily.

  “No. We agreed, Luke. This is bad for both of us. People can’t see us together. What do you think would have happened if anyone had seen you groping me like that?”

  Just as the words leave my mouth, an elderly man in a brown suit walks by, giving us some side-eye. I clamp my mouth shut.

  Luke stops walking long enough to let the man pass, and then as soon as he’s out of sight, he pulls open the door he stopped in front of. He steps inside and pulls me in after him.

  It’s a bathroom, but it’s one of the single ones meant for people in wheelchairs or with children. Luke leans past me and clicks the lock closed.

  “Great,” I say sarcastically. “Because who cares if someone in a wheelchair might need to actually use the washroom, right?”

  Luke doesn’t answer. His lips are still curled into a smug smile, and it drives me crazy how sexy it is. He takes a couple of steps towards me, forcing me to take a step back. He keeps coming forward though, and eventually my back is pressed up against the door and there’s nowhere else to go.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” Luke says. His voice is hoarse and gravelly, like the roar of the ocean in the shell of my ear. “I could tell how wet you were, Bree. Your pussy was begging for me, and all I want to do is give you what you want.”

  “What I want is for you to leave me alone.” My words sounds meek and unconvincing, even to me.

  “Are you sure?” He’s so close to me now that I can feel his breath on my neck, his chest against mine. If I moved my hips a few inches closer, I’d probably be able to feel his erection press against my stomach.

  I swallow. “I’m … sure.”

  “I don’t think you are,” he says, chuckling. “I think you want to feel my mouth on your pussy again. I think you want to feel me take your clit between my lips and suck. I think you want to slide my thick hard cock right into your tight pussy and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

  “Stop,” I say. My cheeks are flaming red now and my poor black thong is hopelessly drenched. I’m pretty sure I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want Luke in this moment.

  The worst part is, I know he knows.

  “Make me stop,” he says. “Make me stop and I will, Bree. I promise. I promise I’ll never say another word about fucking you, about tasting you, about fingering your beautiful pink pussy, about…”

  I kiss him.

  It’s the only way I can think of to make hi
m stop talking, so I press my lips to his.

  It works, in that he stops talking, but now his hands are slipping around my waist, pulling me to him, and I can indeed feel his hard cock pressing up against my stomach now. I moan softly into his mouth.

  I want this, I realize. I want him. It’s a bad idea — the worst, probably — yet I seem unable to stop myself.

  “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, Luke Whittaker?” I breathe, my words soft against his lips.

  13

  Luke

  I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not an idiot. I had resolved myself to staying away from her. To be a professional. But Bree’s words against my lips make my entire body ache. And I do mean my entire body. Every part of me wants to consume her and be consumed by her.

  There’s something intoxicating about her — about her scent, about her warmth, about her curvy body in my arms, about her breath in my mouth. It’s like when you’re out drinking with friends and you know you should call it a night and go home and then someone breaks out the tequila shots.

  Bree is my tequila shot, and I want to get fucking hammered on her.

  I let my lips trail along her soft jaw. I can already feel her trembling in my arms, but I keep her pressed up against the door of the bathroom.

  Her breath comes in short sharp pants, her chest heaving, as I kiss my way down her neck and then linger over her ample cleavage. Fuck, she has an amazing rack. I wouldn’t say I’m exclusively a breast man — all women have something special about them, whether it’s tits or ass or a smile that cuts you off at the knees — but Bree is the complete package. Full breasts, curvy ass, narrow waist, soft lips, sparkling eyes — and best of all, a brain that’s probably bigger than mine. And that’s one area I’ve never minded being bested by a woman.

  “My cock is so hard for you right now,” I tell her, making her moan again. The soft little sounds that come from between her lips only make me even harder. My dick is aching for her, and my balls churn painfully inside my jeans. I could explode right now, if I let myself.

  “I want you inside me,” she murmurs, and if I wasn’t ready to come before, I sure as fuck am now. Her voice is as sweet as candy, but her words set me on fire.

  “This way,” I tell her. I steer her body towards the sink. She moves willingly, soft and pliable under my hands. I put my hand on her upper back and bend her over, so that she’s leaning over the sink counter. The sight of her in that position makes me groan.

  I shove the purple skirt of her dress up, finally getting a glimpse of the globes of her ass, the same ones I’d been fondling earlier. Her skin is creamy and white, her cheeks split by a lacy black thong. If we were in my bed, I would take my time, peeling her panties off with my teeth and teasing her every step of the way, but there isn’t time for that now.

  Instead I push aside the panties and rub my fingers against her glistening lips. She’s soaked as hell, and I can smell the arousal coming off her in sweet perfumed waves.

  I’m already undoing my pants, unleashing my thick heavy cock. It jumps towards her immediately, like a homing missile. I grab the shaft in my hand, stroking my length a couple of times and spreading the beads of precum along the head. With my other hand I reach into my pocket and pull out a foil packet. Like a good Boy Scout, I’m always prepared.

  I let go of Bree just long enough to sheath myself, then I put one hand against her hips to hold her in place. I move my cock against her, seeking out her entrance, and she shimmies her ass back against me.

  “Please, Luke,” she whimpers.

  I can’t let her off that easily, even though I’m dying to just sink right into her. Instead I rub the purple head of my cock against her lips so that I’m coated with her juices. She’s so wet that she’s practically dripping, making a sensual sticky mess between her legs. I wish again that I could take my time with her and lap at her pussy while she pulled my hair, the way I had that first night.

  She moves her ass back again, trying to find me, to get some relief for the ache she must be feeling inside her pussy.

  “Tell me what you want, Bree,” I say.

  “You know what I want,” she says. Stubborn as always.

  I chuckle. “I want to hear you say it, darling. I want to hear you beg.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, but I know she won’t be able to resist. She’s close to the edge and I know she wants me to take her over the cliff.

  “Fuck me, Luke.”

  “What’s the magic word?”

  “Now.”

  I laugh at that. Her attitude drives me crazy, but right now her dripping pussy is driving me wild.

  “Not quite,” I scold her.

  I hear her huff out a quiet breath.

  “Please,” she says finally. “Please fuck me, Luke. Please.”

  While part of me would love to torment her even further, there’s no way I can resist her, not with her bent over in front of me like this, with her legs spread and her pussy glistening.

  I line my cock up at her entrance and then I’m sinking inside of her. It feels as exquisite as I remembered. She wraps around me like a glove, all soft warmth and just the right amount of tightness. Her walls grip my dick, and I groan as I plunge my full length into her.

  I can see the way Bree is clinging to the sink in front of her, the way she struggles to accommodate my girth. It turns me on even more to know how much I stretch her, to know she feels this tightness the same as I do. I take my time drawing back, wanting to savor every delicious inch of her, and wanting her to feel me in the same way.

  I pull back almost all the way and then thrust forward again, harder this time. She mewls a little, and a fire rips through me. I thrust my hips against her, slamming into her sweet pussy over and over again.

  I glance up to the mirror and catch Bree’s eye. She’s watching me with a look that’s filled with lust — and something else. Wariness? There’s something guarded in her face, and I wonder if she’s thinking about how we both agreed we weren’t going to do this.

  But rules were meant to be broken, weren’t they?

  I flash her a grin and then lean over and kiss the back of her neck. The movement drives me deeper inside her as my hips hug her ass. I feel her soft body start to tremble beneath me, so I reach one hand up and pull her hair back off her neck. I want to be able to see her face when she comes.

  Instead, though, she takes my hand and pulls it to her mouth, sucking my index finger in between her shimmery copper lips. I almost blow my load right then, especially when she looks up, meeting my eyes in the mirror, her lips hugging tight around my finger. Could this woman be any more perfect? My new life goal is to see those same soft lips wrapped snuggly around my dick.

  “Fuck, you are so damn sexy,” I grunt, as I pound into her. Her lips stretch up into a smile, curling around my finger. “I want to watch you come, baby. Can you come for me?”

  She nods slowly, never dropping my gaze, then shimmies her hips backwards, driving herself deeper onto my cock. I can feel her walls start to tighten around me, pulsing with need.

  “Yes, baby,” I groan. “Oh, fuck, Bree.”

  I feel her pussy start to spasm around me just as my own pleasure erupts. I grip her hips with my free hand, pulling her as tight to me as I can, driving my cock inside of her, as she sucks at my finger.

  My climax is like a wave, almost drawing me under, but I hold onto her body like a lifeboat and let it rock me. I unload everything I have inside her, stream after stream of hot come spilling out of me and into the thin latex sheath that separates us.

  Her body shakes and trembles underneath me, and then she’s crying out, almost losing her grip on the sink. I hold her up as she comes, her pussy squeezing even more out of me as we both ride the wave of pleasure as far as it will take us.

  When it’s finally over, I slide out slowly. Bree releases her grip on my finger and slowly stands up. She’s still trying to catch her breath, but she’s already looking in the mirror
, straightening her skirt and trying to smooth down her auburn locks.

  “We should get back to the party,” she says. Her voice is suddenly brusque. A complete one-eighty.

  “Sure,” I say. I dispose of the condom, then tuck myself back into my pants, even though I’m not even fully soft yet. I zip up my jeans and join her at the mirror, pretending to be smoothing down my hair.

  “Luke,” she says, catching my eye in the mirror. She bites her lip.

  “Yes, Bree?” I say. I bite my own lip, mimicking her response and grinning at her.

  Bree smiles, but she shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says finally. I can tell it’s not nothing, but I don’t know how to press her. I don’t know if I want to press her. Part of me already knows what she’s going to say — that we shouldn’t be doing this. That it’s bad for both of our businesses. That we’re adults and we should be able to keep our hands off each other.

  She’d be right too, if that’s what she said. I think of Trent guiltily, and what he would say if he knew what I was doing. Or more specifically, who I was doing it with. I think of George Shapiro and his damn investors. I’m definitely not doing anything to counter their impression that I’m a playboy.

  “I’ll let you go out first,” I say, gesturing to the locked bathroom door.

  She hesitates, as if she wants to say something else, but then she just nods.

  “Thank you.” And then she unlocks the door and slips out of the room, leaving me alone in the bathroom.

  I take another minute or two before I leave, not wanting to risk running into anyone who may have seen Bree leave. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror in that time. I don’t want to see what I already know is written on my face — confusion, guilt, and the complete certainty that I’m about to get completely in over my head.

  14

  Bree

  “I just don’t see how this is a good idea,” I say. “Nothing good can come of it.”