by Evelyn Sola
I relax, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Instead of texting back, I call her on FaceTime, holding my breath again until she answers.
It’s dark where she is, but I know she’s in bed by the sight of her headboard. Her face no longer has any makeup, making her look younger than her twenty-three years. My heart beats faster just at the sight of her.
“Hey,” she says, biting her bottom lip as she looks at the screen.
I decide to get right to the point. “Six-thirty tomorrow.” It’s not a question. I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, and if I pose it as a question, she might decide not to come.
“I don’t know, Mr. Bain,” she says, biting that damn lip again. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
She’s absolutely right. We definitely should not, but the pull I feel is too powerful, too strong.
“It’s too late,” I say to her.
“What are you talking about?” She furrows her brows and scratches her head. “We just met tonight and if you add up all the time we actually spent together, it probably only adds up to an hour. I don’t want to upset my mom. She complains about you, but she loves the job.”
“I don’t understand why she would complain about me. I’ve been nothing but pleasant, but this won’t affect her job. This has nothing to do with her. I just want to see you. If, after tomorrow, you never want to see me again, I’ll drop it.”
I already know I won’t, but that means I’ll have one opportunity to make her not want to walk away.
“I get off at six. I’ll be there after, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, relieved.
“I have to be up early, so I’m going to say good night.”
Satisfied with the conversation, I say, “Good night, Miranda.” She doesn’t say anything else, but I feel a void the minute my screen goes black.
I lie on top of my comforter and stare at the ceiling, confused by what happened tonight. How a woman who is just barely over the drinking age can bring me to my knees with nothing but a smile and a handshake. I think back to when I first met Paige. It was over drinks with Ben and Melissa, who was his girlfriend at the time. They told me they were bringing her, and I admit I found her attractive right away, but there was no rush for me to go after her. There was nothing standing in our way of being together. She was a thirty-year-old woman, and she made it more than obvious she was interested that first night.
Miranda is the daughter of one of my employees. Despite this only starting as something temporary, Uncle Joe has not been shy about making this a more permanent arrangement.
She’s too young for me, and I’m not on the market for a relationship. It’s just one meeting, which will hopefully bring me back to reality. Maybe she’s not as beautiful as I remember. Maybe her smile doesn’t light up a room, and her laugh doesn’t strike me speechless in the middle of a conversation. Maybe it’s the red and black dress she wore that caused my eyes to follow her every move from across the room, not the person wearing the dress.
I can’t think of anything to explain the possessiveness I felt when she was talking and dancing with Glen. Visions of grabbing him by his collar and physically putting him out of the party flashed through my mind the entire night.
I lie and convince myself that’s what tomorrow is about. It’s research, because there is no way that a thirty-six-year-old man can fall for a twenty-three-year-old woman in a matter of seconds.
That does not happen.
CHAPTER 7
NICK
My house is four point seven miles from the South Shore Plaza, which houses the Victoria’s Secret where Miranda works. Allowing for the holiday traffic, it should not take her more than twenty minutes to get here. She’s already ten minutes past the time I expected to hear my doorbell ring.
She never texted me back after I sent her my address, but I know she read the text. I look around the townhouse and for the first time, I wish I had more furniture, but it’s only been two months since I moved in. She will be the first guest who is not related to me.
As big as the place is, the lack of furniture only makes it look bigger. For the first time, I wish I had gotten something smaller.
I check my phone and note that another five minutes have passed with no messages. Irritated, I walk around the empty house, giving her five more minutes before I call. When I see headlights outside, I sprint to the huge bay window and peek through the blinds, relieved when I see a small car in my driveway.
The door opens within seconds, and I watch her as she steps out of the car. She stops mid-step when she sees me, turns and looks back at the car, seemingly uncertain. I step out of the house to stop her from leaving, but she turns back to the house and starts to walk to me.
I step aside and wait for her to stride past me. Once she’s in, I close the door behind us and help her with her long, black coat. It’s a cold December night, and she’s wearing a red knit hat decorated with Santa’s. It has a giant pom-pom on top, giving her an even more youthful look.
She’s wearing hardly any makeup today, and she’s even more beautiful than she was yesterday, so there goes one of my theories about her not being as beautiful as I remembered. She has a small beauty mark underneath her left eye, and I will myself not to run my finger over it. Her full lips are the same shade of red as her hat, and when she looks at me, she smiles, practically bringing me to my knees. Again.
I do the only thing I can do. I walk away from her and hang her coat in the closet, giving my beating heart and my mind a few seconds to calm down. When I turn back to her, I get a sight of her ass as she bends down to remove her black riding boots. She’s in tight, black skinny jeans and a plain red button- down shirt, but it’s her socks that get the first smile out of me today.
“You’re really into the Christmas spirit, aren’t you?” I ask, pointing at her socks that have Rudolph kissing a blushing Mrs. Claus.
“I see you’re not,” she says, looking at my bare first floor. “Where’s your Christmas tree?” She sounds disappointed, and at this moment, I’d do anything to take away that disappointment.
I take her hand in mine, loving the contrast of our skin tones. To my surprise, she links our fingers together. I don’t tell her that I can’t remember the last time I put up a Christmas tree. Paige’s idea of celebrating Christmas was flying to a tropical island somewhere and scheduling a deep tissue massage on Christmas morning.
“I’m late this year,” I tell her. “Maybe you can help me find a tree and decorations.” That gets her attention. She pulls her hand from mine and rubs her hands together as she looks about the room. She runs to a corner right by the window.
“The tree can go right here. You’ll need a big one so the lights can be seen through the window. I know! You should get a real tree. We’ve always just used the same fake one at home, but I’ve always wanted a real one.”
She walks around the room, probably decorating it in her mind. After she spins around, she catches herself and her smile drops as if she’s remembering where she is and who I am.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her. I grab her hand again and lead her to the kitchen.
“A little. I haven’t eaten since about noon.”
“Help yourself to a drink from the fridge, and I’ll get our dinner.”
She slides past me and opens my fridge, pulling out two bottles of water before pulling out a stool from the island to take a seat. She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her eyes on my back as I take the food out of the oven and plate our dinner.
Since I moved in here, this is the first time I’ve used my kitchen for anything other than reheating takeout. Hell, I only have food in the fridge because I went shopping first thing this morning.
“This looks good,” she says, eyeing the lemon chicken and roasted potatoes that I put in front of her. I take the stool next to her, intentionally bumping her shoulder with my body. We sit in silence for the next few minutes as I watch while she eats. Each time the fork goes into her mouth, I will
myself not to groan.
She finally drops her fork, the metal making a loud clanking noise when it hits her plate. She looks down at my body and goes still. When I look down, I notice my erection through my pants and then look into her eyes wide.
“What?” I ask as she continues to stare.
“You keep moaning,” she says, breathless. She takes a piece of her hair and puts it behind her ear. “Every time I try to eat, you moan. And now you have that,” she says, gesturing at my crotch.
She grabs her bottle of water and downs half of it in three gulps. When she puts it down, she licks some stray drops of water from her lips, and this time, when I moan, I’m aware of it.
She looks straight ahead, neither one of us breathing. With my food untouched, I get up from my seat. She’s still looking straight ahead, and when I look down at her chest, I notice she’s not breathing. I offer her my hand, and with no words exchanged between us, she takes it.
I lead her up the stairs and to my bedroom. She doesn’t seem surprised when she steps into the room. This is the only space in the house with actual furniture. I walk her to the front of my king-sized, four-poster bed without break eye contact as I pull her shirt out of her pants and unbutton it.
CHAPTER 8
MIRANDA
I can’t remember the last time I breathed. All I can focus on are the blue eyes I can’t look away from and the throbbing between my legs. It’s like certain parts of me are awake for the first time. There was never a time when I felt like this. When I was this ready for what I know is only moments away. Sure, I can count on one finger the number of sexual partners I’ve had, but even after months of dating and hours of foreplay, I was never this alive.
I stand there, immobile, as he undoes the last button of my shirt. He exhales loudly as he takes the shirt off, revealing my plain, black bra.
I watch as his nostrils flare. He raises both hands up, letting them hover over my bra, waiting for me to either deny or grant him access. He must take my silence as consent because his large palms cover both my breasts.
I finally expel the breath I’ve been holding as my nipples pebble at just his briefest touch. He takes a step closer to me, and as he continues to slowly rub my breasts through the bra, I raise my own hands and slowly unbutton his plain white shirt, revealing smooth tanned skin.
Eager to see the rest of him, I peel the shirt off his body and toss it to the floor. His white t-shirt goes next, revealing his muscular chest. Emboldened, I reach for his belt and start to fumble with the buckle. He must lose his patience because he lets go of my breasts, pushes my hands aside, and has the belt tossed across the room in seconds. Eager to touch him again, I unbutton and unzip his jeans and pull them down, unintentionally pulling down his boxer briefs as well.
When he kicks them away, I finally break eye contact and look down, amazed at the sight of him. He was right. There is nothing tiny about it. He’s longer and thicker than anything I’ve ever seen as his erection points straight at me. I rub my thumb over the tip of his cock, feeling the slippery moisture on my skin.
He closes his eyes and stills at my touch, but before I can rub him again, he pulls my hands away.
“This will be over before it begins if you keep touching me like that.”
It’s his turn to fumble with my belt. I help him push my jeans and underwear down.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice hoarse. He cups my breasts again briefly before he removes my bra. When I’m completely bare before him, he drops to his knees in front of me. I feel no embarrassment when he presses his face into my pussy, inhaling my scent. He parts my lips, and I almost come undone the minute his tongue touches my clit. My knees buckle, but his hands on my hips keep me steady.
“You taste better than I ever could have imagined,” he says, his voice rasping out the words. Having never experienced this before, all I can do is fill his bedroom with my loud moans.
“Oh, shit,” I practically yell into the room when I feel his tongue slip inside of me. I know I’ll have bruises on my hips from his grasp, but I’m too far gone to care. Ready to protest when he removes his tongue from inside of me, the words die in my throat the minute he starts sucking on my clit.
“Fuck. Jesus!” I yell, sticking both hands in his hair. As steady as he’s holding me, this time, my knees do buckle. I let out an unladylike sound when I come on his face. I shudder against him. Despite the heat in the room, my skin is covered in goosebumps.
He still hasn’t removed his face from between my legs, and he pulls on my clit before kissing it. Finally, he stands up, the evidence of what we have done all over his face.
Then he takes my hand and walks me the rest of the way to the bed.
I can feel the slick moisture at the apex of my thighs as I climb on the bed and lie on my back. Before I can fully relax onto his plush mattress, he’s on top of me, his big body covering mine completely.
When he sticks his head in my neck and inhales my scent, I almost lose it, but I rein myself in. He kisses my neck, trailing the tip of his tongue against my hot skin. He raises his head and looks down at me, and when he readjusts his body, I feel his heavy cock bob on my abdomen.
Unable to hold myself back any longer, I lift my head off his pillow, stick my hands in his silky hair, and push his head down to meet me halfway. Finally feeling his full lips on mine is my undoing. I open my mouth and welcome his tongue inside as we kiss deep and hard, reveling at tasting myself on his tongue. I run my hands down his back, cupping his toned, firm ass and grind into him. When he lifts his body up a fraction, I spread my legs as wide as possible and grind some more, coating him with my desire.
He moans in my mouth before kissing his way down my body. He stops at my breasts, alternating as he licks and sucks each nipple. I can practically feel my eyes roll to the back of my head as he kisses and touches me. I bend my knees and throw one leg over his body and lose myself to the sensations of his touch.
I no longer care that I’m not only in the home of a man I’ve known less than twenty-four hours, but that I’m also in his bed, ready to welcome him into my body. The fact that he’s my mother’s boss no longer matters in this moment. All I can think about is the way his body feels on top of mine, how his lips feel against my skin, and how his mouth felt on my pussy.
“I want you so much, Miranda,” he says. Having never heard those words from a man before, all I can do is whimper and nod. “I want to take my time, but I don’t think I can.” When he leaves my body, I let out a groan of despair, but he’s back in no time after reaching for a condom in the drawer from his nightstand.
He rips the package with his teeth and sheaths himself in no time.
“Okay?” he asks, and I nod. Satisfied with my answer, he climbs back on top, and I spread my legs again. He slides his way home in one, slow stroke, filling me completely and pushing me into the mattress.
“Oh, God,” I moan against his mouth. He kisses me deeply, only giving me a moment to adjust to his large girth. He thrusts slowly at first, but as soon as I wrap both legs around him, he increases his pace.
Wanting to feel all of him, I turn my face and kiss his lips. The kiss starts chaste, but the minute I open my mouth to breathe, the kiss turns wet and desperate.
“Nick,” I moan against his mouth after his deep thrust nearly sends me flying over the edge for the second time tonight. He must like the sound of his name on my lips because he thrusts again, harder this time.
I forget everything but him as the kiss deepens and I feel him pinch one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’m coming, Nick,” I moan as my head falls back against the pillow and I tremble underneath him.
“Miranda,” he says right before he bites my bottom lip. He thrusts one last time before he stills on top of me, letting out one final grunt. I grab his ass and squeeze the taut muscle. Finally, he collapses on top of me, his breath hot against my neck.
Much too soon, he rolls off my body, l
eaving me exposed. He gets off the bed, and I watch as he walks his muscular body to the master bathroom. While he’s gone, I climb underneath his white down comforter, shielding my nakedness. I close my eyes as I listen to the water run in the bathroom. He comes back a few seconds after I hear the toilet flush.
He dims the light and climbs in the bed, pulling me into his arms. He kisses my temple and glides his hand to my stomach, where he strokes my skin repeatedly.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
I turn on my side, and he does the same, putting us face-to-face.
“I’m thinking that I just slept with a man I’ve known less than twenty-four hours. And how that’s the least of it because that man is my mother’s boss. Lastly, I’m thinking I have no business being here, but there’s no place else on earth I’d rather be.”
He closes his eyes and reaches for my face, stroking my bottom lip with his thumb. I can smell myself on his fingers, and that realization is like a light switch, turning my body back on.
“We should talk about all of that,” he says. “But not tonight. Tonight, I only want us to focus on each other.” He kisses me again, and this time, the kiss is gentle and slow. We taste each other, and when he puts his hands on my breasts, I close the remaining space between us, grab one of his hands, and put it between my legs, showing him exactly what he does to me.
CHAPTER 9
NICK
By the time we come back downstairs, our food has turned ice cold, and we’re so dehydrated, we both grab fresh bottles of water. I drink all of mine before warming our food. I curse the fact that I don’t have any furniture downstairs other than the two stools I keep at the kitchen island because I want nothing more than for Miranda to sit on my lap while she’s wearing nothing but my t-shirt and a lacy black thong.
