by Hamel, B. B.
“Found it in the kitchen,” I said, and joined her, standing close. I sipped from my glass and savored the smoky, biting warmth as it spread into my stomach. “I guess they need something to take the edge off their employer.”
That got a smile—but a quiet one. “He’s a little abrasive. And that cross.”
I looked over my shoulder. It was still there, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of gold, just lying in the grass. “I know.”
“How are you even considering his proposal?” Her words came out in a rush and she turned to me, anger in her eyes. She took another sip and coughed, which only pissed her off. I smiled, unable to help myself.
“It’s not like that,” I said, shaking my head.
“What’s it like then? You’re considering it, aren’t you?”
“For show,” I said softly. “I’m not going to sign any contract. I’m not going to let him tell me who I can or can’t date.”
She bit her lip and stared at me. I could tell she wasn’t sure if she could believe me, but it was the truth. “Explain,” she said.
“If I said no from the start, he would’ve sent us home,” I said, and took another sip. She mirrored me, drinking from the bottle. “I still think I can change his mind and get his investment without making any concessions. I need him to think I’m taking him seriously, or else we have no chance.”
“So it’s all a game?” she asked, making a face. “That’s all it is?”
“You could’ve asked me, you know,” I said, tilting my head. “I would’ve told you.”
“Or you could’ve talked to me about it,” she said, biting off the words, then too ka deep breath. “So you’re not really going to do it?
“No,” I said. “And I never was.”
She sighed and leaned her head back, looking up at the moon. It was nearly full, one sliver away, and tomorrow it would shine like ice on a sunny day. “I should’ve guessed that,” she said. “You’re not the kind of man to give up control, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” I admitted, smiling a little. “But I have to ask, why do you care so much if I do take the deal?”
“Because,” she started, then stopped herself and looked toward the opposite side of the deck, where a group of chairs and loungers were gathered around a fire pit. “It feels like our deal doesn’t matter to you. Like this whole fake relationship isn’t part of your plan anymore.”
“Does that matter?” I pressed. “You’re in this for the money. Isn’t it better if you don’t have to act?”
“Maybe,” she said, looking at me, and I saw something there, yearning and angry and confused, and I knew that look mirrored my own feelings, locked up deep in my chest. I took another drink and savored it—then moved closer to her, closing the gap between us.
She kept her eyes on mine, and didn’t try to pull away.
“Maybe it’s something more,” I said. “Maybe you’re starting to feel something.”
“Rees,” she said, her jaw flexing. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” I reached out and touched her face. She leaned against my palm, then looked up into my eyes. “You can keep pretending, if you want. But this stopping being a game for me a while ago.”
She chewed on her lip and I didn’t wait for her to answer.
I turned, pinned her against the railing, and kissed her.
She kissed me back, almost right away, and dropped the bottle onto the desk.
It hit with a hollow thud—but didn’t break. We stopped the kiss and watched it roll away, spilling whisky as it went.
Then I kissed her again, and didn’t give a damn about anything else. My hands on her hips, moving up her waist, over her breasts, into her hair. My glass fell to the ground, bounced, rolled off. I moved her toward the loungers and pulled her down on top of me, and she let out a little gasp, but neither of us spoke as I stripped off her shirt, her pale skin so beautiful in the moonlight, my hands on her breasts, her bra tossed aside, her lips on mine, her skin smooth and supple—
And I knew I’d never experienced something like this before. It was illicit, kissing her here, touching her, taking off her clothes, undressing her slowly, right on Modesto’s porch. If we got caught, my career could be over. Modesto would destroy me, and he wouldn’t even hesitate. He’d see this as a challenge to him, a direct insult, even if he had anything to do with it.
And somehow, that made it better. Every kiss, every caress, it made me realize that she was worth risking something for. I’d spent so long building my career, making my empire, and growing my business—and I had nothing to show for it but things and money.
I wanted something more. I wanted Millie.
I pulled her hair and made her gasp as my tongue found her hard, pink nipple. Her breasts were supple and firm and drove me wild. She moaned as I kiss her throat and pulled her hard against me.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she whispered in my ear as I kissed her neck. “Modesto— he’d kill us.”
“Good,” I said. “If you want to stop, we can stop. But I’m tired of stopping.”
“Me too,” she said, and kissed me again.
It was what I needed. She stood, stripped off her yoga pants like a goddess. I pulled her to me, still standing, and kissed her black panties, smelling her, sweet and bitter and delicious. I kissed her stomach, then pulled them down, and kissed her soft, wet spot, her clit, her lips, licking her, spreading her legs. She moaned, then dropped to her knees as I took off my shirt, and he pulled down my sweats. My cock strained against my boxer briefs and she stroked me, kissing my lips before taking me into her mouth, deep into her throat.
I growled delight as she sucked me, slowly then faster, and my blood coursed through my veins, and I knew that I’d do anything for her—right now, in this moment, I knew I’d take any risk and go to any length to have her. I’d turn Modesto down, I’d blow up my whole business— so long as I kept her.
She pulled back with a gasp and I kissed her, then pulled her on top of me again. Her back arched and I felt her then, slick and warm, and I slid deep into her. She let out the most gorgeous, sexy, adorable sight and moan as I filled her deep, and she held herself there, with me inside of her, finally inside of her, and we kissed, biting her lip, tongues rolling, her taste and smell all around me.
Then she began to move, writhing her hips, riding me up and down, slick and incredible. I held her ass, spread her wide, pulled her hair. She moaned, maybe too loud, but it didn’t matter. Let the house wake up. Let us get caught. I fucked her, took her, let her ride then pulled back and turned her. I pinned her back to the chair, spread her legs, and took her.
The world ceased. There was on the contact between her slick spot and my hard cock, sliding, fucking, taking. She moaned in my ear, warm and gorgeous, whispering my name. I whispered hers back, like a spell, like a chant. I licked sweat from her nipples and took her faster, faster, fucking her deep and right, grinding our bodies together until there was only pleasure.
“Every day, when you come into my office, I think about this,” I whispered in her ear, admitting to the dirty, filthy fantasies I’d been having about her. “I picture fucking you over my desk. I picture you sucking my cock in those sexy little skirt suits you wear. Fuck you don’t know how insane you make me. I’m half hard sitting at my desk watching you read financial reports and thinking about those lips wrapped around my shaft.”
“You know what’s messed up?” she moaned, then looked into my eyes. “I think about the same thing.”
I took her faster, and we hit a stride, fell into a rhythm. It was then that words failed, and there was only the language of skin and moans, of pants and gasps and breaths, and we kept moving, faster, heading toward something together, both of us yearning for that thing we’d needed for so long, the thing that would complete us, each of us individually, but also each of us together.
I felt her clamp down and her back arched. She moaned and I covered her mouth in a fit of panic and passion, and she bit down on my
fingers. I growled and fucked her harder, taking her as mine, my Millie, and she came with my mouth covering her lips, came in wild fits, came with her whole body, came with her pussy soaked and clenched around my shaft, and I couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the way her breasts shook, couldn’t handle her hard nipples, the small beauty mark on her right chest, the scar near her collar bone, the small marks of her history, each of them telling their own sort of story, and I wanted to read them all, wanted to know them all, as I let out a gasp, and a growl, and came inside of her, deep between her legs.
We finished in a panting, sweating mess, and lay there on the lounger on the porch of a very religious man who would kill us if he knew we’d just fucked anywhere near his house.
“Did you mean it when you said you’ve been fantasizing about me?” she asked, sounding almost naive.
I laughed and kissed her shoulder. “Absolutely,” I said. “Did you?”
“Yes.” I wished I could see her face. I knew she’d be blushing. “But I don’t usually admit to that sort of thing.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Good.” She turned to face me. “What do we do now?”
“Well, we can stay here for a while,” I said, holding her against me, enjoying the feel of her skin, warm and soft against mine. “And then in the morning, we’ll try and convince Modesto that he should stop being such a fucking prick.”
She laughed and kissed me. “I can do that.”
“Or, we can stay like this, and I can fuck you again until you scream, and maybe he’ll hear, come down, and murder us both.” I shrugged a little, kissed her neck. “That’s always an option.”
“Let’s go with the first thing,” she said, kissed me, and pulled away.
I watched her go with pure regret. I wanted her back as soon as she stood, but god damn, what a sight. She got dressed slowly, then stretched, and walked over to grab the whisky bottle. She handed it to me, and I took a sip—there was a little left.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Got what I wanted.” She grinned at me and I laughed, stretching my legs.
“I can’t complain,” I said, finishing the whisky.
She walked to the sliding door and looked at me for a second, lingering there, before slipping inside and leaving me in the dark and the quiet.
I wondered what it meant, what had just happened—sleeping with her on this porch, on this night, when it felt like everything was about to fall apart.
But maybe it meant nothing. It was only what we both needed—and the question became whether we’d keep needing it.
Though I knew the answer for me. The moment her skin stopped touching mine, I wanted it back, and knew I’d keep on wanting it.
17
Millie
Modesto didn’t show for breakfast, and I started to worry that he’d heard something last night.
I hadn’t been quiet. I didn’t think I could be quiet—not with Rees inside of me, massive Rees. Every time I thought of him, of his hands and lips and cock between my legs, my cheeks turned pink. I kept wondering if he knew what was running through my mind, and he must have, or at least he assumed—that arrogant bastard.
We spent the afternoon out by the pool. Rees talked to me about the early days of his business—about his relationship with Desmond and Alvin, how they’d been friends at first. “It was good until it wasn’t,” he said. “Money complicates everything, and soon the fighting began.” He talked about the falling out, and how much it had hurt him—and how after that, he’d pushed everyone away, and promised to rely on only himself going forward.
“That must be lonely,” I said, tilting my head toward him. The water in the pool lapped in the gentle breeze. “I mean, keeping everyone at a distance.”
“It worked,” he said, but he sounded bitter about it. “Jack’s the closest thing I have to a friend at work, and even still, we keep things professional mostly.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, staring at the water. I told him about law school: about the rich boys and their rich families, and how I was always an outsider, a poor girl with nothing. I worked ten times harder than all of them, and while I graduated at the top of my class, it never felt like I belonged. “No matter how many tests I aced, or how many professors gushed about my future, I still felt like it was their club, their world.”
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said, shaking his head. “I know all those guys, even if I don’t actually know them. They don’t know what they’re doing, and half of them are idiots.”
“Even still,” I said, letting out a breath. “It’s a fact of birth. They were born into privilege and I had to work to attained even the faintest whiff of it.”
“We have that in common then then,” he said, and it made me laugh—because he was right in a lot of ways. Although I wasn’t ultra wealthy, and he hadn’t been as poor growing up as I was, we still rose above our stations in life, and would forever be seen as outsiders. Maybe that was why I felt a pull toward him that I couldn’t really explain.
Maybe that, or the handsome face and the chiseled body. Those didn’t hurt.
Modesto appeared a few hours later, right after we finished lunch. Ever since waking up, we’d seen only house staff, and it was like staying at some private hotel. But Modesto materialized in the living room and sprawled out on a couch, his cheeks flush like he’d been for a run.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, gesturing for both of us to join him. I sat at the very end, and Rees sat at the midpoint. We were still ten feet apart at least—the couch was bigger than my entire apartment. “I had a meeting this morning that went late.”
“What kind of meeting?” Rees asked, head tilted. “And did it take place on a golf course.”
Modesto laughed loudly and nodded. “You got me, you got me. I’m not very good at hiding it. I’ll admit, I have an addiction. Golf’s fickle, but it treats me well.”
“I’m sure,” Rees said. “But you’re here now.”
“Let’s talk about our deal.” Modesto sat forward, elbows onto his knees, and his eyes flashed to mine. For one second, I thought he knew—he’d heard us, heard me moaning the night before—but no, he looked away, back to Rees, and was smiling again. “Did you rethink my offer?”
“I did,” Rees said. “And I can’t accept. You know I’d never sign a morality contract like that. But you should still invest with me. I’d be happy to give you a good deal, and any promises you’d need.”
“But nothing in writing,” Modesto said, his tone sounding flat, his face slowly falling from that charming smile to something else.
“Nothing in writing,” Rees said.
“Hm,” Modesto said, and stood. He paced away, toward the TV, hands behind his back. “Here’s the thing. I got a call before you showed up from Desmond, and he told me something I didn’t like. He said you’ve been dating your assistant—“ He stopped pacing, glanced at me, then started again. “—and that I should run this morality contract thing past you if I didn’t believe it, just to see what you’d say. It’s true that you two are together, isn’t it, and that’s why you won’t sign.”
Rees looked at me, and I sat there, eyes wide and surprised—not sure what to say. The reporter must’ve told it to Desmond, or he found out some other way, though I had no clue how. And I realized then that maybe, just maybe, that hadn’t been a reporter at all, and it felt like I might be sick.
“That’s right,” Rees said, and I squirmed in my seat as Modesto stared at me like I was a harlot—as if he had any right to judge, based on his gaudy home and all the disgusting millions he spent on himself instead of on people he could actually help. “I’ve been seeing Millie, and I don’t plan on stopping. But I wouldn’t sign even if that weren’t true.”
“I see,” Modesto said, and stopped walking again. This time, he faced Rees, with a sharp edge to his expression. “I think we can’t do business, you and me. I think you
should maybe leave.”
“Modesto—“ Rees started.
But Modesto spoke over him. “I think you brought a harlot into my house. You know how I feel about loose women, Rees. I don’t appreciate this, not one bit.”
Rees stood, and I leaned back in fright. His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, shoulders tensed, hands balled into fists. I thought back to that first meeting, to him cracking Mirko in the face.
“Rees,” I said, warning.
“You won’t talk to her like that,” Rees said, staring at Modesto—and to Modesto’s credit, he didn’t back down. “You will apologize for calling her a harlot.”
“This is my house, Rees,” Modesto said. “I do not scare easy.”
Rees took a step forward, and Modesto flinched.
“Stop it,” I said, getting to my feet. “Enough, Rees. He’s an asshole, but you’re not going to hit him. Stop right now.”
Rees grinned, showing all his teeth. “Lucky you, Modesto.”
“Get out of my house.” Modesto’s voice shook as he walked away. “I’m showering. When I’m done, I want you both gone. Get out of my home, and get out now.”
“Gladly,” Rees said. “You fake fuck. I know you’ve been sleeping with your pretty little bible interns, you asshole. And your stupid cross is tacky as hell.”
Modesto walked off, shaking his head, and Rees stood there vibrating with rage. I gaped at him, and once Modesto was out of the room, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself—that was such a crazy display of pure rage, and calling the cross tacky was hilarious.
“Is that true?” I asked him as we headed upstairs to get our things. “About the interns?”
“Probably,” he said, and grinned at me. “There are rumors. Based on his reaction, I’d say yes.”
I sighed, shook my head—then stopped him and kissed him. He kissed me back, hand on my hip, and grinned viciously.
“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, took my head, and tugged me along after him.