JENNIE
..
..
So maybe swoony That Girl isn't that bad. Her timing is just off. Like this morning when I wanted her to care about me and she didn't. Then later this morning when I wanted her to not care about me and she did. In the end, I got what I wanted. Just not when I wanted it.
Well…some of what I wanted anyway.
I'd already had my lady parts inspected on her desk. Then she'd ordered us breakfast—even asking what I wanted. I'd settled for bacon, eggs, pancakes, fresh fruit and some of that oatmeal from McDonalds with the raisins in it.
Did you know that Uber will bring you food? In a blizzard? They call it Uber Eats. That might not be a big deal to some people, but when you're from a town where even the local Pizza Hut doesn't deliver, hearing news like this will blow your mind.
Anyway, after that, I finally got those two Ibuprofen and tall glass of water, along with the demand to rest. Which is exactly what I did. Only I slept on the couch instead of her bed, because I was too full from all the shit Uber Eats delivered to make it up the stairs.
After a three-hour nap, I took a hot shower to wake me up. When I got finished with that, I was instructed to, hurry the hell up before I made us late. I started to complain that I had nothing to wear, but then I found an outfit already laid out on the guest bed for me. And every cosmetic I could ask for was lying on the bathroom counter.
I left my thick curls untamed so they were wild and crazy, but somehow stylishly cute. Spritzed them, my neck and my wrists with Chanel. Went heavy on the mascara to make my eyes really pop. Light on the lipstick so I had that glossy, natural pink, Kim Kardashian thing going. Marveled at my skin that glowed against the stark white, off-the-shoulder blouse that flared slightly at the waist. Thanked Chaeng for the Pilates class she signed me up for, which had tightened my ass and toned my legs, that looked really great in the black, leather, stiletto pants. And took seventeen pictures of the Louboutin heels that were white on top and red on the bottom.
"Jennie!"
I snap a quick, bathroom mirror, duck face selfie and send it to Chaeng.
Wait for her response.
Get the same one I get every time I send her a pic.
The middle finger emoji.
"We've got to…" Lisa's voice trails off as she drinks me in, fucks me down, turns me on and twists me inside out all with a look. "…Go."
"Do I look pretty?" I flash her a smile and curtsy.
"You look like dessert."
Heat is just…it's everywhere. Burning me the fuck up. I part my lips to get more air and pant while she takes her time looking at me. "Do you like dessert?"
She meets my eyes. "It's quickly becoming my favorite thing to eat."
Kryptonite…Still got it.
I'm feeling a little weak, too. The girl is wearing a suit, which isn't unusual for her. But this one? All black. Jet black. Even her tie is black. She looks like a CEO bad girl. And that big Rolex on her wrist isn't helping to quell my desire.
I'm not a materialistic person or anything, but when you've only dated the kind of dudes who wear a Timex, you can't help but get a little excited over seeing a person with a diamond encrusted piece of jewelry that, no matter the quality, still just tells fucking time. Like, literally. That's it's only purpose. Hottest waste of money ever.
The ogling between us lasts a minute longer before she clears her throat and grabs the black leather jacket she'd laid out for me. Her hungry prowl is that of a panther. And I'm a gazelle. About to be eaten for dessert. Because I look like dessert. Or, so says Lisa Manoban.
Even in these heels that are every bit of four inches, she towers over me. When she steps behind me to assist with my jacket, I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. She takes a deep breath too. Only her nose is buried in my curls.
"You smell divine."
I turn to face her and the smoldering look she's giving me has my nerve endings sending signals to my brain that result in me doing that thing I always do when I'm nervous. "Still not of the sea variety, eh?" River dance, finger snap, finger guns.
"You are so fucking strange. Anyone ever told you that?"
I waggle my eyebrows. "Only the people who like me."
"It's because they want you to change."
I tilt my head and narrow my gaze. "But do they really?"
She grunts. "Let's go."
I'm shocked and a little flattered when Lisa takes my hand. That fades when I realize it's so she can set our pace—really fast. I'm not surprised when she huffs about having to slow down because I can't keep up in these shoes. I'm not surprised when she gives me the stupid-stare in the elevator as I hum. Or when she keeps her head in her phone and doesn't speak to me the entire ride to the restaurant. This is typical Lisa Manoban behavior.
But it's when we arrive at our destination that I discover a chivalrous side to Lisa that makes this hopeless romantic swoon harder than I ever have. Like dancing, this isn't even on That Girl's list of must-have's. It's all Lisa. Which somehow makes it even hotter.
The small Italian restaurant is tucked neatly between two massive brick buildings. The glass front with its view of the white linen covered tables, muted lighting, overhead awning and hanging baskets of greenery dusted in snow, looks like a picture of Paris. It's a burst of warmth on what could be the coldest day in Chicago's history.
But the front of the restaurant is just that—a front. There's no door for entry. And the parking lot in the back sits a good hundred feet from the entrance due to the garden patio. I take Lisa's offered hand and step out of the car and into the bitter cold. The asphalt, though it's been salted, is an icy death trap for my Louboutin's.
With Lisa's hand still in mine, I feel positive she'll catch me before I bust my ass. But I haven't even taken a step when my feet are swept out from under me. I let out a squeal, and feel my heart sink to my knees.
Lisa's rumbling laughter cuts through the cold and hits me dead in my chest. Warmth spreads throughout my body when the panic passes and I process what's really happening.
She's carrying me.
One arm around my waist.
The other under my knees.
Looking down at me with a smile.
Closing her eye on a wink.
Teasing me with her words. "Those heels are for my viewing pleasure, baby. Not for walking on ice."
Lord, please let this restaurant have ice chairs. Because I'm pretty sure these pants are for her viewing pleasure, too.
"I'll probably go to hell for saying this, but I've never found praying hot until now."
"H-how did you know I was praying?"
She laughs. Bites her lip to stifle it only to end up chuckling. When she sets me down just outside the entrance, she grabs my chin, tilts my head back and gives me a handsome, devilish smirk.
"You said, amen."
Of course I did.
..
"Go Jennie!"
"Go Jennie!"
"Go Jennie!"
The crowd of people gathered around me chant my name as I stand on the bar of Chicago's most elite night club and do The Running Man. I wave toward Amber and Mary, Jim Canton's two daughters, to join me on the bar. Then everyone on the dance floor below joins in. Now the entire club is doing The Running Man.
Turns out, all Jim's daughters needed to persuade them to sell their stock was to see the numbers in black and white. When Lisa slid the envelope containing her offer across the linen tablecloth to Amber, the oldest daughter, her eyes went wide and she screamed. Then she showed it to Mary who also screamed. It took several minutes for their father to calm them down.
Everyone was staring. It was weird. And I was sad because I didn't get to see how much the offer was. I mean, how much can an irrigation system cost?
Jim wanted to go back to the hotel room with Lisa to review the paperwork before everyone signed and made it official. His daughters wanted to celebrate. So we all went back to the hotel and Lisa and Jim went to the room. Me, Amber and Mary went to the hotel bar.
Things got a little crazy after that.
Lisa, in a moment of stunned excitement, had very stupidly given me her credit card and told me tonight was on her. She'd also called Chan to come to the hotel bar to "look after us" and make sure we didn't get into any trouble. When the girls told Chan they wanted to party Chicago style, he told them he knew just the place.
That was hours ago.
Now, I'm drunk.
The sisters are drunk.
Chan is trying to get lucky.
And Lisa just walked through the door.
Black suit. Black hair. Swaggered walk. Eyes searching. Scanning. Appraising. Following the chant. Lifting up, up, up, and finally settling on my face. I beam at her, though I half expect her to be angry at me for…something. Getting the Canton Sisters drunk and convincing them to dance on a bar seems like something she wouldn't approve of.
To my surprise, her lips turn up on one side in a sexy grin. I'm trying to stay in tune to DNCE's Cake by the Ocean. But that damn face of her has a way of rendering me stupid.
The same man who treated us like royalty the moment I flashed him Lisa's black Amex card, walks up and greets her. Moments later, Lisa is escorted to our VIP suite on the second floor. She disappears a moment from my view and my smile falls. Then it's back when I see her lean over the rail, drink in hand and immediately find me with her eyes.
I've got it so fucking bad….
I look up and give her a little wave. She wiggles her fingers at me and smiles. I've never seen her so content. I wonder if she's always like this when she closes a deal. Or if it's just this one in particular. I make a mental note to ask her later when we're alone. Maybe in those sleepy moments when we're cuddling in post-coital bliss.
"I'll be back!" I shout to the sisters who are too busy making a Chan sandwich to care.
I hold out my hands to two dudes below me and they're more than happy to lower me to the floor. I can't tell you what they look like. I don't know. Don't care. Doesn't matter. They won't compare to Lisa.
The music dulls as I head up the stairs to the VIP suite. She's watching me when I finally make it to the landing.
"Nice moves."
"I know right?" I do The Running Man just for her. Then I switch to my river dance. By the time I snap my fingers and pull out my pistols, I'm touching her chest with the tips of my finger guns.
"That river dance of yours, though…."
I grin up at her. "Does something to you, doesn't it?"
"Mmm." Her smile is wide. Teeth pretty and white and glowing in the black light.
"I wish you could've been here earlier. You missed me doing the Watermelon Crawl."
She tucks my hair behind my ear. "Someone had to work so the rest of you would have something to celebrate."
"You closed the deal? It's official?"
"We went over the details. But I need our lawyers to close. We'll set up a meeting sometime in the next couple of days, depending on the weather, to finalize it." Her fingers ghost the neckline of my shirt. "Stay with me until it's done." She looks up at me from beneath her lashes and grins. "Just in case the sisters sober up and change their mind?"
OMG.
She's asking me to stay.
Shit!
I'm not sure I can.
"For how long?"
She smirks. "Trying to play hard to get?"
I shrug. I'll let her believe whatever she wants. But I still need an answer. And it takes her a few moments to realize I'm waiting on one. "You're serious?"
"Yes. How long are you asking me to stay?"
"What's it matter? Do you have to check your schedule or something?"
"Or something. How long?"
Her eyes narrow. "A couple days at most."
"So, two days? That's it?"
"Yes, Jennie. Two days. Will you stay with me for two more days?"
I grin. "Okay. I can do two days."
"You are so odd."
"Tell me something I don't know. Like why you agreed to dinner with him and his daughters tonight if you weren't doing it to close the deal? I didn't think rich people did anything on their own. I figured you had a team that would handle things like that."
"I prefer a more…hands on approach"
"Was that a sexual innuendo?"
She laughs. "Not if I have to explain it."
Her hand clasps mine and she leads me to a seat on one of the velvet couches and passes me a bottle of water from the wet bar. This VIP suite is the shit. They even have chicken wings.
"I do a lot of business with people like Jim Canton. People who put their heart and souls into their projects," she explains, taking a seat on the couch opposite me and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "A lot of them risked everything to bring their ideas to life. Invested everything they had. I admire that. I respect it. So I make it personal. I don't want them to feel like they're selling out to a suit. I want them to feel good about the decision to sell. And know that I'm going to treat their product like it was my own."
Wow.
Who knew she could get sexier?
"That room in my house? The one with the code on the door that you think is some kind of sex dungeon? It's where I keep all my files. The original copies of the blueprints on patents. All my clients' personal information. Prototypes. It's all there. Where I never have to doubt if it's secure. I don't even trust that kind of information in the hands of the people who work for me."
"That's…I wasn't expecting that."
"What part? How I make every investment personal or the locked room being a file room rather than a sex room?"
"Well, I'm disappointed the file room isn't a sex room." She laughs. It's such a great laugh. "But the other? You making it so personal? That's pretty awe-inspiring."
She sobers. "It's good business. And it's why I'm successful. Like you said, I'm not creative enough to come up with my own ideas." Her left eye closes on a wink. My vagina quivers. "But I know business. I like investing in things that are often overlooked. It makes it even more satisfying when it becomes a global phenomenon."
"Global phenomenon? Really?"
She shrugs. It's just a lift of her shoulder, but the humble move says so much more about her. "I know something good when I see it."
Her eyes sweep over my body. Like I'm something good.
I straighten, try to perk my tits up a little. Arch my neck. Pout my lips. I'm not very subtle.
She catches on quick and smirks at me. Then her eyes darken. And her lips part. And I feel like dessert.
"You want to get out of here?"
"Yes. Please. Yes. I do." Idiot….
..
I feel like I'm in a haze as we walk through the club. The mist is just a blur of lights and music, Chan promising to get the sisters home, Ross opening the door of the car and the hard wall of muscle sliding onto the seat next to me.
My drunken fog has nothing to do with alcohol. I'm stoned on Lisa Manoban. High on sexual tension. Boneless and horny and jacked up on endorphins.
Lips are on my lips. Tongue dancing with my tongue. Thick, deft fingers flipping open the button on my pants. One masculine hand sliding beneath my panties. A feral growl in my ear. A harsh whisper confirming my desire, "Your pussy is fucking soaked."
I moan. She silences me with her mouth. But the closer she takes me to the edge, the louder I get. The harder it is to breathe. And soon, I'm breaking away from her mouth and panting as the build becomes too much. Too intense. I cry out and her free hand clamps over my mouth.
Motherfucker.
It's the hottest thing ever.
"I love how hard you come."
Okay…maybe that's the hottest thing ever. Maybe it's just all of it—her finger doing wicked things to my clit. Her words that are rough and low and barely above a whisper. And that hand, clamped over my mouth. Muffling my cries of pleasure as my back arches off the seat. Hips buck. Legs wide. One thrown over her, the other spread lifelessly across the car.
Yeah.
It's all pretty damn sexy.
But wait.
She hasn't done the typical That Girl move which would be the sexiest move by far. And as I come down from my orgasmic high, I find myself staring at her expectantly. Waiting. anticipating the part that comes next. The part she's not doing.
She zips my pants. Kisses my shoulder. Squeezes her cock through her pants and groans. Her eyes lift to mine and she blinks a few times before tilting her head to study me. "Are you having a seizure?"
"What? No. Why would you ask that?"
"Because you're staring at me like you're crazy. And you haven't blinked."
"Maybe I'm waiting for something…." I try to sound sultry. Bat my lashes. It just confuses her more. She analyzes every feature in my face. Looking for a hint. She thinks she has it figured out and smirks. But before she even opens her mouth, I know she hasn't figured out a damn thing.
"Don't worry, baby. You'll get that something and a whole lot more. But I'm not fucking you in the back of this car. It's going to take a lot longer than ten minutes to do what I plan to do."
Blah.
Blah.
Blah.
"That's not what I'm waiting for," I deadpan.
Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline and she laughs. "Don't hold back, gorgeous. Tell me how you really feel."
"It's not about how I feel. It's about what I want." I button my pants, cross my legs and stare out the window so I don't have to look at her. "You sure do suck at being That Girl sometimes."
She slides one big digit across my jaw—the same big digit that she should be sucking on while her eyes roll back in her head and she groans deep in her chest because the taste of my essence triggers some overwhelming, primal desire to claim me.
She pinches my chin and turns my head to face her. Of course she's entertained by my pouty attitude and has that stupid smirk on her face.
"What?"
"What…what?"
"What do you want, Jennie?"
"It doesn't matter now, Lisa. You've already ruined it."
She leans in. Kisses my top lip. My bottom lip. Still holding my chin between her fingers that are now so close to her mouth….
"Tell me. What That Girl move have I fucked up this time?"
"I know you think this is funny, but if you're ever going to learn, you need to know."
I pull away and put a little distance between us. Her amusement only grows. She's barely able to contain her smile as she tries to look serious, holds her hands up and leans back into her seat. "Please. Enlighten me."
I waste no time. "In every romance novel, the hero, aka That Girl, always follows up a good backseat fingering with a move that sets the heroine's panties on fire. It ignites those feelings all over again, so that even as she comes down from her first orgasm, she's already anticipating the next one."
She's no longer fighting her smile. "So what did I do wrong?"
"You pulled your hand out of my pants and wiped your fingers on your pants like they were damp due to condensation from your water glass, rather than the sweet, sinful, innocently sexy kryptonite honey flowing from my vagina."
She shakes her head at me. "The shit you say."
"The shit you don't do," I fire back.
"Uh-huh. And what exactly was I supposed to do, Jennie? You know, with all that sweet honey of yours?"
"Um, duh. Lick your fingers. Growl. Say something possessive and profane."
"Lick my fingers?"
"Yeah. To get my taste. Because you can't help yourself."
Her voice does that growl thing. "Why settle for just a taste?"
She shifts. Grabs me under my knee. Spins me to face her. Pulls me forward. Lifts my hips and forces me to my back. I land with an oomph. Then she unzips my pants. Jerks them to my knees. Leans in and licks the length of my slit. Over my satin panties. And somehow, that's better than being completely bare.
"W-what are you doing?" I glance at the blacked out glass separating us from Ross. Out the window at the passing buildings, wondering how close we are to her apartment. And finally, between my legs at her. She's hovering over me. Her chin tickling me through the thin material of my underwear.
"I'm giving you something you want."
I shake my head. Swallow hard. Find my breath. And hope like hell I can be heard over the thundering in my chest. "Y-you said there wasn't enough time. Remember? Like, two seconds ago. Not enough time. That's what you said."
"There's enough time for this."
"But I just wanted you to lick your fingers."
"Sorry, baby." She drags her nose across my panties and inhales. I almost die. "Like you said…" She takes this big fucking dramatic pause and winks and I'm scared that whatever she's about to say might finish me off for good. "…I just can't help myself."
And…I'm dead.
..
I'm a coming machine.
Give me the pressure of a deadline, the possibility of getting caught and Lisa Manoban's tongue and I can make it rain in this bitch.
Seriously.
Liquid kryptonite just…everywhere.
I thought I wouldn't be able to move considering the intense tongue fucking I just endured, but like I said….
I'm a machine.
And the promise of Lisa's cock inside me puts an extra pep in my step as we exit the car, make our way through the lobby, up the elevator—me in the corner, humming like a crazy person while she watches—through the front door of her apartment and to her office.
I don't know why we're in her office. She just said, "office." And I listened. Because the idea of her fucking me on her desk, picking up where she left off this morning, has me abandoning this little voice in the back of my mind that says a repeat of last night isn't what I truly want, and has me stripping off my clothes to save time. But the walk is short so I'm still dressed from the waist down when I make it to her desk and turn to face her. And she's….
Have mercy, she's naked.
Not a stitch of clothing.
She's even managed to remove her shoes and socks.
Seeing this…vision.
This…Adonis.
This…yeah, I've got nothing else.
Because this girl is the finest motherfucker I've ever seen in my life and there is nothing worthy of comparison to a naked Lisa Manoban. I've never seen her completely naked. Witnessing her bare chested was hard enough. Add some smooth feet, a couple fit thighs and that thing I refuse to look at that hangs between those thighs, to the picture and I suddenly feel like maybe I should've left my clothes on.
I thought I looked good tonight.
Compared to her? I look homely as hell.
It doesn't help my nerves any that for her to have gotten this naked in the thirteen steps it took us to arrive at her desk, she had to have pulled off some real magical shit.
"Abracadabra." I give my imaginary wand a twirl.
She advances on me slowly. "Why are you nervous?"
I've watched her pull her cock from her pants. Seen it fisted in her hand. But I've never seen it like this. Just…swinging between her legs like a pendulum.
I close my eyes to block out the sight.
But it's too late.
I saw it.
Swaying.
Helicoptering.
Oscillating like the blades on a Leolucasdaddy box fan.
And I can still see it.
Behind my eyes.
Forever.
Likely the only thing I'll ever see again.
"Jennie?"
I keep my eyes closed. "Hmm?"
"You said 'abracadabra.' Because you're nervous. Why are you nervous?"
"B-because you're naked. Got that way really quick, too. Magician moves."
"Ahh…." I crack open one eye just in time to see her nod in understanding, three feet from me. "Magician." Two feet. "Explains the wand." She's in front of me. "Touch me."
Okay.
I'm so relieved for my fidgeting hands to have some direction, I slap them against her chest a little too hard. She stifles a groan. My palms tingle. Her blood rushes to darken the handprints on her pecs. All my blood rushes to my cheeks.
"As charming as it is to see this shy and nervous version of you, I prefer the you that screams and thrashes and doesn't give a damn about anything other than how fucking good it feels."
My finger traces the outline of handprints. I open my mouth. Close it. Take a breath. Force myself to look her in the eye, and reveal a small truth to her. "It's only ever felt that good with you."
I feel her chest rumble beneath my touch, but hear no sound. She traps my wrists in her hands and presses her forehead to mine. "That mouth of yours, Jennie Kim, will be my demise."
The kiss that comes next is a warning as much as it is a promise. A warning that she's about to ravage me. And a promise that I'll love every second of it.
Though her movements are rushed and greedy, they're precise and rewarding. She strips my pants down my legs in one, fluid motion. But when she kneels to remove my heels so she can free my pants from around my ankles, she takes a second longer to caress the arch of my foot with her thumb.
She cups my ass with her palms, lifts me to sit on the edge of her desk, steps between my legs and pulls me roughly against her. But her touch is soft when she drags a single finger down the center of my chest before flattening her hand on my stomach and urging me to my back.
Her grip on my hips is rough. Fingers kneading then releasing. Eyes wild and hungry. Bottom lip trapped between her teeth. But when she slides the length of her shaft up and down my slit, she does it with a sense of tenderness. As if the need to feel me against her is greater than the desire to just bury herself inside me. It's confusing. And that voice in the back of my mind—the one telling me this isn't what I truly want—is back.
She fists her cock and teases me with the head. Her eyes travel over my naked torso, worshipping every inch of my skin before meeting my hooded gaze. "I need a condom. But fuck, you feel so good like this."
The intensity in which she looks at me, as if she's trying to read my thoughts on the matter, takes me out of the moment and makes me question if beneath all her hotness, she's actually an idiot.
She's super rich.
I'm super poor.
Why would she take a chance on getting me pregnant? The only reasonable explanation is that she's fallen in love and wants to trap me for the rest of my life.
I'm good with that.
But it's another thought that has me forgetting that I'm naked, spread eagle on her desk with the head of her unprotected penis pressed against the opening of my vagina.
Why would she risk catching a disease from someone she barely knows?
Did you know, people can have a STD even if there are no visual signs of one? And that an unseen STD can still be transmitted without a current breakout? Not that I have any STDs, but she doesn't know that. Which makes her really stupid.
Does it make me stupid to sleep with her without protection? Considering she could have an STD and I could be on the receiving end of it?
Hell no.
Why?
Because she's rich. And if she gives me something that won't wash off in the shower, then I'm going to sue the shit out of her. She's smart, aside from this rare moment of stupidity, so she'll settle out of court. And guess what.
I'll be rich.
As.
Fuck.
A few million dollars makes having herpes totally worth it. Plus, there's all this advanced medicine these days. It's a win-win for me. For her? Not so much.
I mean, she didn't even ask me if I had a clean bill of health or confirm that she had one like all the heroes do. Which, by the way, blows my fucking mind. Like who does that? Just gets randomly checked for diseases, though they swear they've never fucked bareback in their life.
Romance novels, am I right?
"I'm almost positive that whatever crazy shit you're thinking this time, actually has the power to turn me off." Her gaze might be stoic, but I can see the plea deep in her eyes that begs me to not say what I'm thinking.
"You're probably right. And just in case, we should use protection. I'm not on the pill." I add that last part because I don't want her to think she needs to use protection for any other reason than an unplanned pregnancy. Which is also why I don't tell her I'm on the shot.
She holds up a condom between her fingers. "Yeah. I decided that the moment you said, 'Rich as fuck.'"
My eyes widen. "It's not what you think. I swear."
I shut up when she places a finger over her lips and shakes her head. She flicks the condom and it lands next to my head. When I look over at it, I see it's just the empty wrapper. My eyes drift to her cock that is now sheathed in latex.
A—How did she manage to fit that thirty-three-gallon lawn and leaf bag covering her penis in that little bitty foil wrapper?
B—Just where in the hell did she get that condom?
C—When did she put it on without me knowing?
I look up at her and she smiles. "Abracadabra."
"Smooth, Manoban. Real smooth."
"I know."
"Well, if you're finished now, maybe we can move on to the next act in your magic show."
Without warning, she thrust inside me. Shit she's deep. I'm taken back to last night. Us on the couch. That fear of paralysis. Cock overload. Coke Can. Narrow channel. Yeah, I'm done.
"Breathe, sweet girl." Lisa's body over mine keeps me from jumping off the desk. Her words remind me that I probably do need to breathe. And her sweet kisses on the side of my neck liquefy me.
I adjust to her quickly. The initial punch to the cervix that nearly rendered me unconscious has softened to a dull ache. Not a painful ache. A desperate ache. When I hear that voice in my head again, a little louder this time, I drown it out with begging. "Oh, please. Fuck me, please."
Her cock jerks inside me, but her body doesn't move. "Be careful what you wish for, baby."
Shit. She's right.
"Just…Don't…Well…."
"Say it, Jennie. I can't read you like this. When you're thinking too much. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. When I do, you'll forget everything. Then I won't need your pretty little mouth to tell me what you want. Your body will." She places a kiss right behind my ear. And just like in the books, that's the spot.
"Slow, Lisa. Fuck me slow. And touch me. Everywhere. I like when you touch me."
She does just what I ask. Slow thrusts. Deep and measured. Hands all over me. Caressing this. Cupping that. Lips here. Tongue there. But something isn't right. And though I know exactly what it is, and have known the entire time—thanks to that voice in my head—I can't bring myself to say it.
I don't want her to see me as weak. I don't want her to know how bad she hurt me. And I'm not sure if that's because I'm ashamed of how she made me feel, or because I don't want her to regret making me feel that way.
"Talk to me, baby."
God I want to.
"Just say it, gorgeous."
Even the endearments aren't helping.
She stills inside me. Kisses me softly. Looks at me even softer. Then the words I needed to hear fall from her lips like the sweetest kind of pained melody that has the power to twist you up inside and make you long for something you didn't realize you were so desperate for.
"Trust me, Jennie. I've got you."
Without giving it further thought, I surrender. And for the second time tonight, I give a little piece of myself to this girl.
"I want this. But I don't want to feel like I felt last night. That's not who I am, Lisa. I'm not…them."
Them.
The Miss Sims.
The others.
The women before me.
The hired whores left alone on a couch.
Fucked and forgotten.
I may not mean more to her than they did.
I may not be more to her than they were.
But I can't let her treat me like I'm just a piece of ass.
Not again.
She hasn't said anything. Not a word. Just pinned me with that stoic, thoughtful gaze of hers.
Fucking hell.
I knew better.
I flatten my hands against her chest and avert my eyes. "Look…I…." I let out a breath of nervous laughter. I hate being this exposed. This vulnerable.
Stupid fucking trust.
Stupid fucking voice.
Stupid fucking Jennie.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
She cuts me off with a kiss. A searing kiss that bruises my lips and completely negates the way she cradles my face in her hands like porcelain. It makes my head spin. Her breath is controlled but a little harsh when she pulls away and whispers against my lips, "You are not them. Do you hear me?"
I nod.
She captures my mouth again. This kiss sweeter than the last. Softer. Slower. She wraps my hands around her neck. My legs around her waist. Keeps herself buried inside me as she stands with me in her arms. "You will never fucking be them."
Every few steps she kisses me. My lips. My neck. Cheek. Nose. Corner of my mouth. Temple….
Gah.
Those temple kisses….
I kiss her too. Her jaw. Ear. Chin. Neck. Mouth…that is now claiming mine. I'm dizzy with lust and swimming in warmth that has to do with something that has nothing to do with sex. But I don't shake it away. I revel in it. I live in the moment. I let go so my pretty mouth doesn't have to speak and my body can do the talking.
And I learn very quickly that I should let my body do the talking all the time.
I'm on a bed. A large hand pins my wrists over my head. The other touches me in that way I love to be touched. It slides down my chest, across my breast, over my ribs and curls around my hip.
I look down at the sight before me. The body above me. Ripple of four pack abs that disappear into the V. And beneath that V, the thick, beautiful—for a cock—shaft that slowly pulls almost all the way out of me. Then Lisa lifts her hips, pulls me to her and drives back in.
Over and over. Until I can't hold my head up anymore. Until I squeeze my eyes closed and move my body to meet hers. Until I shatter beneath her when she tells me, "So fucking perfect." And when she says, "I'm not through with you yet, gorgeous," I mewl and cry and beg for mercy and more and something and everything until I have it all.
Mercy, when her thrusts become a little harsher so that the dull, distant, slow burning throb inside me becomes a crescendo.
More, when she shifts our bodies and finds that spot deep inside me so that the feeling is prolonged.
Something, turns out to be a pinch of pain when she pulls my nipple between her teeth and then soothes it with her tongue followed by a breath of cold air.
The everything both scares and delights me. It's the forbidden. The one place her mouth touches when she flips me to my knees, and then her finger finds when her cock is once again buried inside me. I pull away—shame overpowering desire.
"Easy, baby."
Easy for her to say. She doesn't have a finger in her butt.
"Stop thinking. Feel."
I do feel…a finger in my fucking butt.
Then I feel a deep thrust that steals all the air from my lungs. Sensation in my toes. And thoughts from my head.
I come so hard I collapse face down. Ass still up. She's still fucking my brains out and I can't find gravity. I don't want to find gravity. Fuck gravity. Unless gravity is Lisa Manoban. Who can put whatever she wants in my butt as long as it feels as good as this does.
She comes on a warrior cry that has me arching my brow—wondering if maybe she's a descendant of Arminius. Or part werewolf. Not just from the cry either. But from her never-ending stamina. She has to be exhausted. She's done all the work. So werewolf or warrior descendant is the only explanation for where she finds the strength to kiss her way down my spine, then back up again, flip me over, position me in the bed so my head is on a pillow and walk to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
All I did was grunt and I can't get these heart palpitations under control.
I'm almost asleep when she crawls into bed, pulls the covers arounds me, leans over and kisses the corner of my mouth. "How are you feeling, baby?"
The question strips me of my humor. I wear it like armor and without it I'm a coward. Which is why I pretend to be asleep so I don't have to answer because I'm afraid I might tell her the truth. And I'm not sure what she'll do with that truth. How she'll feel about it. Or how her reaction will affect me.
She doesn't ask again.
She doesn't leave me alone either.
She lays down beside me. Curls an arm around me. Pulls me to her and buries her face in my hair. Kisses my head. I feel her whole body relax against mine. It's in that moment I find my courage.
I want her to ask me again. I'm not strong enough to say it on my own, but if she asks, I'll tell the truth.
I pray that she asks.
My prayer is answered with her silence and the slow, deep breathing that tells me she's asleep.
So I stuff my truth into my bottle of emotions and save it for the next time she asks me how I feel. Which is nothing like Miss Sims.
And just like I'm falling in love.
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