by Score, Lucy
Me: Not true. Cristoff grills tuna steaks.
Derek: I need to give you my oral apology, and I’d like to do so by your pool.
I dropped my phone with a clatter on the desktop.
Lona looked up and plucked her earbuds from her ears.
I still had a good hour’s worth of catch-up to play here at the office. But…
It was a beautiful day. Normal people would have left work early today. Normal people would be meeting for beers on Ocean Drive.
“I think I have the beginnings of a sinus headache,” I lied. “Let’s call it a day.”
* * *
An hour later, Lona was tucked away in one of the guest condos on the other side of the enclave with a comped dinner and a front desk ready to do her bidding. And I was lounging on my bayfront terrace between the sugar white sand and the lip of my saltwater pool while my lover grilled burgers.
Jane and the housekeeping team had been joyfully dismissed from their duties for the night. It was just me and Derek. And Brutus who had wandered over to critique Derek’s grilling.
I’d changed into a scandalously small red bikini and oversized sunglasses, then enjoyed Derek’s undivided attention when I strolled across the patio to my favorite lounge chair.
I had a sci-fi novel I’d borrowed from him open. My phone—the lifeline to my empire—was in the house somewhere. Miraculously, I wasn’t exhibiting any withdrawal symptoms yet.
Somehow, my life had taken a very drastic turn in just a few short weeks. In moments like this, it was hard to be angry with Merritt Van What’s His Name. Because had he not been an idiot, Derek Price would not be studying me over his Ray-Bans with a look that suggested I was the next course.
Of course, I only had another hour carved out for this relaxation. Then it was back to work.
“I can hear your wheels turning,” Derek said, dropping down on my lounger. He ran his hands up my bare legs.
Irresistible. The word still applied to him.
He’d stripped out of the suit and gone for swim trunks and a short-sleeved button-down in dark blue. He hadn’t bothered with the buttons.
“Just contemplating the surface tension of anti-aging cream,” I teased.
“I’m not sure you realize how attractive I find you. Not just for your born-to-wear-that-bikini body, but for the annals of your mind,” Derek said.
I glanced at the visible erection in his shorts. “I think I can make some safe assumptions.”
Gently, he lowered himself over me and pressed a soft, silky kiss to my mouth.
The shrubs parted, and Brutus grumbled his way across the patio to the grill.
“Your sous chef is demanding your attention,” I said, stroking my hand over his jaw.
“How are you?” he asked, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Are you tired?”
I thought about it. “Yes. But in a good way. Not an edge-of-physical exhaustion way,” I promised.
“A lot happened today,” he reminded me.
I could feel the nudge of his hard-on against my leg. “I have a feeling there’s more to come.”
He removed his sunglasses and pushed mine up so we were eye to eye.
It was a long, loaded look.
“You terrify me,” he admitted finally.
“What are you talking about?” I scoffed.
“You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone.”
He was so serious, so broody.
“There’s more to a relationship than necessity, Price.”
“How would you know? It’s been two years since you’ve dated someone.”
A nugget from his dossier on me, I supposed. I wished I had one on him. I wondered if Jane did. “How long has it been since you’ve dated someone monogamously for longer than a month?”
He pressed his crotch into my hand and toyed with the string of my top. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
I reached between us and cupped his shaft. He hissed in a breath at the contact. “Would you rather be needed or wanted?”
“I’d rather be whatever keeps me near you,” he confessed. “And that also scares the daylights out of me.”
I’d confessed a fear to him today, and he was returning the favor. A vulnerability for a vulnerability.
Brutus gave a short warning rumble. Flames were rising from the grill.
“I like my burgers medium rare, not meteorite.”
* * *
The second round of burgers were perfection, and we managed to squeeze in a quick swim before Derek insisted on cleaning up. I returned to my lounger for a few more minutes of relaxation. The lowering sun baked me into a blissful oblivion. I was almost asleep when I felt the tug at my bikini cup.
“Mmm,” I murmured as a warm mouth closed around the tip.
I opened one eye and watched Derek’s cheeks hollow. Impatiently, he brushed the other cup down and played his fingers over that nipple.
It felt so good. So decadent. The late sun. The steady thrum of the surf. The pull of Derek’s mouth on me.
His erection was barely contained by his swim trunks.
“Someone might see us,” I chastised, my voice breathy.
“What a pity.”
He stroked his tongue over my nipple and then leaned across me, latching on to the other one. It felt like fire spiraling through my body. My core pulsed emptily around nothing, and I squeezed my knees together, trying to find some relief from the building pressure.
“You taste so good,” he said, pausing mid-suck.
The man was a wizard. Five seconds of playing with my breasts, and I was ready to come.
The crown of his cock peeked out of the waistband of his trunks. I reached for him, but he grabbed my wrist.
“I’ve thought about this one for a while,” he said, nuzzling at my breast.
He gave my wrist a squeeze and released it. Brushing his stubble across my nipple, he tugged the strings on my bikini bottom loose.
I opened my knees to the sides.
“And how does this one go?” I teased, opening my knees wide to the sides.
Too lightly for the friction I needed, he skimmed his hand under the fabric and over my mound. Back and forth, making me shiver.
“Well, since you asked,” he said, rising on his knees and settling between my legs. He untied the strings on the other side, folding my bikini down, baring me to the fading daylight and his gaze. “I’ll suck on these rosy nipples,” he said, pinching one between his fingers.
“And?” I prodded.
He leaned over me, his cock not close enough for me to brush against.
“And you’ll touch yourself.”
“And?” I squeaked.
“And I’ll touch myself.”
I was dizzy with the idea.
“And we’ll come together?” I told him.
He nodded, head already lowering to my breast. “We’ll come together,” he promised.
It was my last coherent thought as those brutal lips closed over the peak of my breast. My nipples worshipped him, vying for attention.
The rays from the sun warmed my bare skin, and it felt natural for me to slide one hand between my legs to tease between the folds that were already so desperately wet.
Derek growled his approval against my breast.
I watched in fascination as he took his cock out of his swim trunks. So powerfully masculine. Veined and rigid. The head was nearly purple. He stroked down to the root and held there, squeezing with a thin edge of violence.
Oh, yes.
“I fantasized about finding you out here like this. Napping in the sun,” he said, moving back to the other nipple. He stroked the flat of his tongue over it and watched it harden and strain toward him.
Dazzled and needy, I slipped two fingers inside myself.
“Such a good girl, Emily,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.
He began to move the hand that clutched his cock. When his fist rimmed the crown, a trickle of moisture appeared, forced out by the
power of his grip. It dripped down on my stomach.
We both groaned.
“With you laying there like a goddess, it’s not going to take me long to come,” he warned me. His big hand working his cock. Up and down.
I was nearly there myself. With the aggressive way he loomed over me. His mouth teasing my breasts until they ached. With my own fingers working their magic on my clit. It was a living, breathing fantasy.
He grunted again, and I felt more precum leak onto my skin. I bucked my hips against my own hand, wishing it was his cock plunging into me.
One more masterful pull at my breast, and I felt my muscles begin to quiver around my fingers.
“Derek!”
“Fuck it,” he growled.
And then he was guiding his cock inside me. I came instantly. Closing around his thick shaft like a fist.
“So good,” I cried brokenly. I didn’t care if someone could see us. I didn’t care if there was a cruise ship full of paparazzi live streaming video of Derek making me come. All I cared about was the orgasm that was frying my synapses.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck,” he groaned. I felt the first pulse of his release as he let loose inside me. Then he was pulling out and pumping his dick with his hand. He painted me with his orgasm. Sticky ropes of come laced my folds, my clit, my stomach. I’d never seen anything more erotic in my life than an unrestrained Derek coming on me.
He grunted, pained, and fed his cock inside me again. Still hard enough. Still angled just right. I came again, and this time he stayed buried in me until the ripples of my orgasm slowly disappeared.
When he collapsed next to me on the lounger, I licked my way down his body.
“Emily,” he hissed as my mouth found the head of his dick.
I slicked my mouth over him and felt him buck against me.
“I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to come again so soon,” he gritted out.
“Let’s find out.”
40
Emily
The makeup artist reapplied my lipstick with tiny bird-like brushstrokes.
There were ten of us set up in the lab at AHA instead of the high-security Flawless environment. The educational lab across the hall was swarming with a junior high field trip. Ninth graders were poring over microscopes and the water samples they’d collected from around their homes and neighborhoods.
Lona’s photographers, stylists, lighting technicians, and hair and makeup artists had commandeered the other lab and turned the room into what looked like a high-end fashion shoot.
Except the “fashion” was a lab coat.
I’d kept my connection to the building loose, saying only that the DIY lab movement and hands-on science educational initiatives were causes I was proud to support.
But Lona was smart and more than a little sneaky.
Her interview style was rapid-fire with several easy questions back to back lulling the interviewee into a relaxed complacency. And then she’d strike.
“Why do you own two laboratory facilities?” she said after I told her my favorite place for late night sushi in South Beach.
“Dammit, Lona,” I said, trying not to move my lips. “Not everything is up for public consumption.”
“Off the record then. Call me curious.”
The makeup artist finished his touch-up and bustled off to peer over the photographer and shoot director’s shoulders while they reviewed images from the first hour.
I had a newfound respect for supermodels and how incredibly boring their job was. Hold still. Move a fraction of an inch this way. Now the other way. Look attractive and interesting. I wished I were across the hall looking for lead and microorganisms.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my coat, and I glanced at the screen. Trey. I ignored the call and leaned against the work table.
“I like science, okay? I don’t get to play in the Flawless lab. So I come here.”
“You own the company that owns this building. That’s quite an investment for a hobby,” Lona prodded.
“I can afford it,” I quipped.
“Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally. “Do you work on new products here before you bring them to Flawless?”
“Of course not. Across the hall is our educational lab. It’s mainly for getting kids—especially girls—excited about STEM. We do field trips, science clubs, that kind of thing. And with our equipment, they can run more complex and interesting experiments than what most high school labs are capable of.”
On cue, a chorus of cheers erupted across the hall.
“That usually means someone found a parasite or something gross,” I told Lona.
“What about this space?” she asked, undeterred.
“Off the record,” I repeated. “This particular space is a DIY lab. Scientists or those with scientific interests can sign up to use the space and share communal equipment. We’re linked to similar cohorts around the country so each lab can be working on its own data sets and sharing them.”
“This feels like a passion project,” she insisted, not put off by my flippancy. “You’re happier here than you are in your office.”
Why did people feel the need to keep pointing that out?
Of course being hands-on in a lab surrounded by other nerds was more exciting than my ass going numb in a meeting about other people’s work. But I was a CEO. I steered the ship, not stoked the engines. I maintained the vision.
“I enjoy dabbling,” I said carefully. Off the record or not, this was a piece of my life that I kept quiet. “But I’m not the focus here.”
“Said the woman on hour two of her photo shoot,” she reminded me.
“What I mean,” I said dryly. “Is the focus here is on education and process. Not who owns what and what her hair looks like today. I opened these doors so kids who want to learn and so fellow nerds who don’t have access to their own state-of-the-art lab space can have a place to experiment and grow.”
“Okay. Fine. Tell me something I can use on the record about DIY labs,” she said.
“Big things are coming out of DIY labs every day. They don’t need grants and funding and can specialize in areas that private companies and Big Pharma aren’t interested in. DIY labs are the future of disease eradication because they can take the business out of science. They can develop a cheap malaria vaccine or study antibiotic resistance because there’s no large corporation behind them making decisions based on profits and losses.”
“So what’s this DIY lab working on?” she pressed.
“Ms. Stanton, we’re ready for you,” the assistant director called from the gray backdrop they’d erected.
“That’s need to know,” I told her, starting for the front of the room. “And it’s pretty freaking cool.”
“Tease.”
My phone signaled again in my pocket. Trey again.
“I just need a second,” I told the assistant and ducked out into the hallway. “Trey, what’s up? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Hey, listen. Is that offer for some cash still good?”
We hadn’t spoken since the gala. More specifically, since his hissy fit at the gala. And I hadn’t actually offered him cash then. But that was just like Trey.
I thought about Derek, his family, about Jane and Cam and Luna and Daisy. I shoved my hand through my hair and remembered. I was a badass.
“Actually, Trey. I’m busy, and there was no offer. There won’t be an offer. It’s time for you to figure your own shit out.”
“Whoa, someone gets herself an edgy haircut and suddenly thinks she’s above it all. Real dick move, Ems.”
My brother was so used to getting what he wanted, he wasn’t even capable of asking nicely. It was sad, disgusting.
“You would know,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You don’t think of me as a sister. You think of me as a blank check. You don’t even know what family is supposed to be.”
“Let’s be real. None of us do. Not our fault. Listen, I’m in trouble, Em. The festi
val fell through, and there’s not enough money for refunds. Lawyers are involved.”
I closed my eyes. Took a breath. My adult brother was not my responsibility. I couldn’t fix him. My money, my help couldn’t make him a better brother, a better son, and a better person. The only chance he had was suffering the consequences of his actions.
“It’s your mess to clean up.”
He sputtered into my ear. “You don’t get it. This is serious shit. They’re talking fraud charges.”
My heart clenched in my chest.
I could probably make this go away. I could save him. But it would cost me. And not just money. And in the end, it would cost Trey even more.
“I can’t help you, Trey. But you can handle this.”
The silence was deafening. In it, I heard the cracks that had always existed in our relationship splinter wide open.
“So you’re picking your money over your only brother?” His laugh was mirthless. “That’s heartless, even for you. You’ve got enough to spare.”
“What’s mine is not yours. You haven’t earned anything except trouble. Take your lumps. Get through it. And come out a better person.”
“God. What is your problem?” he snapped, all casual joviality vanished. “You’re my fucking sister. I need help. I need cash. I need lawyers. I need you to wire me the fucking money. A couple hundred thousand. I need you to take care of this!” He sounded desperate yet still so sure that the help was coming.
“Not this time, Trey. Not anymore. I’m done with the bailouts. Call me when you want an actual relationship.”
I wanted to hang up on him, to cut him off mid-tirade. But I also needed to hear him. Hear the names, the threats. Really hear it this time. Because as of this moment, I didn’t have room for my brother in my life. Not as anything more than a casual acquaintance across the dinner table once or twice a year. He was toxic, and I was too busy to be disrespected.
He hung up on a bitter “Fuck you!”
I leaned against the wall, hands falling to my sides. All alone in the middle of two worlds. Ninth graders gleefully sketched out superbugs on whiteboards to my left. To my right, a dozen people were waiting to take pictures of me.
