Not one to be outranked, I piggyback on Brandon's raunchiness. “Show us how much you appreciate our cocks, princess,” I growl. “I want you to come hard for us,” I command. “Do you hear me, Amelia?”
“Hmmm,” is all she manages.
Brandon picks up his cadence. “Fuck. Amelia, you’re going to make me come.” His face contorts with every word. Every time his cock disappears inside her mouth, my balls tighten. The gagging sounds coming from her just makes it even better. It might not be my cock, but knowing that his is hitting the back of her throat is exhilarating.
“Oohhh, aahhh,” Brandon grunts. His hip movements are more and more restrained. I know that face. He’s done. “Oh sweetie, drink me all up,” he growls in a low voice.
Trembling uncontrollably underneath me, Amelia comes all over my cock. She's so beautiful like this, riding her pleasure as she laps Brandon's release, unwilling to allow even one drop to go to waste. I guess I'm so mesmerized by her, that I don't realize she's not done yet. If I thought feeling her clenching muscles around my cock was intense before, it's nothing compared to this. The way she's enjoying the wave of her post-orgasmic eruption is my own undoing. It's my turn to plunge over the edge.
Goddammit.
My arousal shoots straight to my brain like a drug through my veins. My looming orgasm is robbing me of my strength. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A tidal wave surges inside me. It intensifies with every thrust I pump inside her climatic pussy. I struggle to breathe. I can barely see my best friend in front of me. And then it happens.
“Jesus Christ!!” I roar. My legs start shaking and I squeeze my ass cheeks together, pretending that I have any control over this. “Oh, shit! Amelia!” I shout. I tilt my hips forward and slam her body against me, grinding like an untamed beast as I pour myself inside her.
CHAPTER 54
Amelia
The chauffeur and Officer Roderick drop me off in front of Charlie's building in Hyde Park at seven o'clock. I wave them off and head towards the door. I'm so looking forward to this evening that I'm nearly skipping. There was a last-minute change on her schedule and Charlie ended up attending a meeting in Canary Wharf, which is on the opposite side of the city. We decided to meet at her place instead of her office. It's just easier that way. She already texted me to let me know that she was home and impatiently waiting for me to get my cute little ass up to her place, as she so comically puts it. After not seeing her for eight days, I feel the same. That said, there’s a part of me that's a little apprehensive. So much has happened since Charlie left London. By the time I’ve updated her on everything, she'll feel like she drank water from a fireman’s hose.
After a quick nod to the security guard behind the desk, I make my way to the lifts. I check my phone one last time to see if either of my boys sent me a text. I giggle like a schoolgirl when I see the red dot near the message icon. When I tap on it, I'm excited to see a couple of messages from them. With quick fingers, I reply to their messages and promise I'll swing by their place after I leave Charlie's.
I'm still grinning when I arrive on the ninth floor. When the lift doors open, I tuck my phone inside my handbag and step out. I take a right and stroll all the way down to the end of the corridor until I’m in front of Charlie’s penthouse. I don't bother ringing the doorbell.
"Knock, knock, knock. Open up. It's your favorite person in the whole wide world," I singsong.
"I'm sorry, madam, but you must have the wrong flat," I hear a few short seconds later.
"Charlie." My tone is scornful.
"My best friend would never wear bold colors that force all eyes on her. Surely, you’ve landed on the wrong floor. Perhaps even, you’re in the wrong building," she says from the other side of the door in a pointed British accent.
I explode in laughter.
"Don't be silly," I protest.
"What I see through the peephole is an improbability. The Amelia Cavendish I know would never dare to wear a bright yellow dress, a turquoise handbag and two-tone color sandals. I refuse to believe that only eight days would transform her this much. That’s simply preposterous. Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? I should warn you I have connections in high places."
"Well, if I'm unwelcome, I'll simply turn on my heel and go back to my place," I threaten.
The door swings open. A tall and refined blonde steps out with one hand already pinned to her waist. Even when she isn’t working, Charlie means business. "Don't even think about it, shorty," she says with a huge smile on her face. "Come here and give me a big hug. I've missed you so much." Charlie extends her long arms and hugs the hell out of me. After a few long minutes of bonding, she breaks our embrace. "Look at you," she marvels. "I absolutely love, love, love this outfit. It was designed for your little frame. When did you buy it?"
"Thank you," I gush. "I got it six months ago in Barcelona. Even though I bought it, I don't think I intended on wearing it. I saw it in a window in a quaint shop and it looked amazing. I was completely dazzled by it. I ventured inside and the sales lady convinced me to try it. The long of the short of it is that I gave my credit card a good workout when I purchased everything the mannequin was wearing. You know how Spanish women are. They don't shy away from bold colors. It's been sitting at the back of my wardrobe since then, but this morning, for whatever reason, I felt this was the perfect outfit."
"Good call," Charlie cheers. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you come out of your shell, honey," she says, right before wrapping her arms around me again. “You're doing things that are so out of character and without even being coaxed, may I add." If you only knew.
"You’re one to talk, lady in red." I brush my eyes admiringly up and down the length of her body.
“I had no choice. This is my combat gear. I had a meeting with a client and I wanted to make sure I caught his attention,” she purrs.
I shake my head. "I thought you had a strict policy of not mixing business with pleasure," I say.
"Oh, but this client is very different." She rolls her eyes to the back of her head.
Charlie’s long and thin frame is clad with an outfit I've never seen before. Designer no doubt. She's wearing a form-fitting red skirt that hits her well below the knee—a first. She's paired it with a white blouse that has a beautiful intricate embroidered design. The flowers are in the same shade as her skirt. Of course, Charlie had to sex it up. Her matching red bra peers through the sheer fabric of her blouse. I don't have to guess the color of her knickers. Her strappy skyscraper high-heeled sandals are also crimson adding a vampy element to the outfit. It goes without saying that her toes are painted red. The contrast of the bright color with her platinum blonde hair is absolutely striking. Miss Charlotte Louise Wentworth looks like the quintessential femme fatale. I'm not sure who was on the receiving end of her seduction, but I doubt the bloke was able to resist her. I reckon someone enjoyed an afternoon quickie.
"And who is this god who walks among us? Another American?" I tease.
"My dear friend, there's so much for us to talk about. I promise to tell you everything, but martinis first," she laughs dragging me inside her flat.
"Well, that's an offer I can't refuse," I match her light-heartedness.
Charlie and I have been collecting images of décor for our flats years before we purchased them. Sure, we can both afford the top decorators in the city, but just like our careers, we wanted to make our place our own. Her inspiration is American fashion designer Michael Korchnak’s old and recently purchased New York City penthouses. She went for a hybrid of both clean slick styles and added her own touch to it. Her version is very Charlie—extremely feminine yet tough as nails.
“Sit, I’ll get us a few drinks,” she says as we enter her kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, I already took care of dinner," she announces.
"Not at all. You're as much of an expert in takeaway food as I am," I laugh. "What did you get us?" I ask excitedly.
“I stopped by Julian Kingery’
s food shop because I had this craving for their meat pies. After a week away, I was dying for some real British food."
“Excellent choice.”
“For dessert, I popped by Heavenly Sugar and grabbed their raspberry trifle.”
“Brilliant!” I cheer.
"Make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back with our drinks."
"Shouldn’t we sit in the living room?" I suggest.
"We’ll move after dinner. You'll keep me company while I prepare the appetizer," she announces. Huh?
"You're actually going to cook something?" I shriek. Yikes.
"I'm fully aware of my limitations," she quips.
"Good. I thought you’d forgotten that neither of us can cook," I tell her.
“Don't be silly," she huffs. "Of course, I'm cheating."
"Phew." I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. "You had me worried there. I thought the fire brigade was going to have to come and rescue us from your burning kitchen," I joke.
"If I were you, I wouldn’t quit my day job. This comedian act isn't working for you." The way she frowns clearly indicates that she isn’t impressed by my sense of humor.
"All right, I'll play the role of supportive friend. What are you going to burn? I mean, prepare?"
She exhales loudly and rolls her eyes dramatically. "Are you mocking me?"
"No, not all. I'm sure we can do this together. I'll be right here cheering you on," I say shaking my fist in the air in solidarity.
"That's more like it," she says lifting her chin up. "I stopped by Le Bon Fromage and grabbed their puff pastry wheel stuffed with French camembert cheese.”
"God, that sounds divine," I exclaim.
"I know, right. My job is to put the wheel in the oven for ten minutes. You and I will stand guard in front of the oven to make sure I don’t screw up. I even bought a timer with a ringtone to make sure I don’t forget. I’ll set it up along with the timer on my iPhone,” she blurts out. “Oh, did I mention I also bought a brand new apron? I so want to ace this cooking thing,” she says with the utmost seriousness.
I explode in laughter.
Soon Charlie joins me.
"You’re hilarious. My God, did I ever miss you, Charlie."
"I missed you too. That's why I wanted this evening to be special. While we wait for the cheese wheel to bake, we’ll mellow out with a few champagne martinis and catch up."
Only Charlie would go through this much effort on a Thursday night for a friend.
"I can already taste the martini," I cheer.
Brilliant. Give me a few minutes and I'll be right back. I already have the champagne on ice in the living room."
I watch in amazement as she runs out of the kitchen down the long corridor to the living room where she has a fully stocked bar. Anyone can look clumsy in a pair of five-inch heels, but Charlie makes it look effortless. While she's gone, I drop my handbag on the marble counter and yank my little body onto one of the high stools. It doesn’t take long for music to come through from the ceiling’s speakers. Yup, Charlie has surround sound throughout her entire penthouse, just like I do.
“Who’s singing?” I shout.
“I’m not sure actually. It’s the number one summer chill mix in Greece right now,” Charlie says as she returns to the kitchen balancing a tray. "I'm so happy this whole ordeal is behind me.”
"So, which parts of the Jason Belvedere saga are true?" I ask.
Charlie circles the kitchen island and pulls out a chair right across from me. Once she’s seated, she grabs her drink and lifts it up to eye level. "Before we talk shop, let’s make a toast,” she says ceremoniously.
"You’re right," I declare, matching her formality. "Here's to best friends reuniting," I cheer.
"Hear, hear," she cheers back. We clink our glasses. We’re already giddy and we haven't even had a sip yet. I can only imagine how it's going to be by the time we eat dinner. We take a long gulp of our martinis before setting our glasses back on the counter. "That's much better," she exhales.
“I agree,” I smile.
"To answer your question, yes, most of the rubbish you read in the papers and online is true. Jason was caught with his trousers around his ankles.” She rolls her eyes. “I swear, Jason is nineteen going on eight. In any case, Barrett’s team was able to get the little brat off the hook.” Huh? Did I mishear her? “It was a nightmare, but you know Barrett, he’s a ‘take no prisoners’ type of lawyer.” I guess I heard her right the first time around.
I knit my eyebrows together. “You worked with Barrett on this case? Again?" I ask. I'm so shocked that I drop my glass on the counter to avoid spilling my drink all over my dress.
Charlie’s eyes widen. "Err...” she hesitates. “Yes." She averts her gaze.
"I thought you said you wouldn’t ever work with him after you bailed out the last client who required his expertise. It’s the same thing you said for the client before that," I remind her.
"It wasn't my choice. Jason’s label hired Barrett as his UK lawyer a few weeks ago. Their former lawyer wasn’t up to par.” She pauses. “Barrett is one of the best. What was I to do? My hands were tied." She’s still avoiding my questioning stare. Instead, she grabs her martini glass and nurses her drink.
At thirty-one, Tate Barrett Ascott is one of the sharpest lawyers in the city. As an only child, Barrett has been cutting his teeth at his father's law firm since the tender age of sixteen until he enlisted in the Navy. Once he had served Britain, he was back at his father’s side in the firm. It was only logical for Mr. Ascott to hand over the helm to his only son. His father’s envious half-brothers didn’t see it that way. Two years ago, Barrett’s life became a veritable soap opera. He became involved in a nasty and bitter family feud over the control of the paternal firm. It was so acrimonious, the battle made the front page of every newspaper.
Barrett is extraordinarily smart, as witty as they come, Ivy-school-educated, well-traveled, excessively rich, suave, and he’s so handsome it’s blinding. If his good looks, enviable trust fund and his new money weren’t enough, Barrett can seduce you fluently in four other languages—Croatian, German, French, and Italian. Did I mention he's Charlie’s first and he’s also the only man she’s ever loved? Don't get too excited, she’ll never admit to it. I might be one of the rare people on this planet to know that Barrett’s ruthless ambition killed the relationship Charlie cherished so much. Everything between them changed when Barrett had to fight his father’s half-brothers for the control of the firm after his dad passed away. Charlie has worked with her ex a few times since she broke things off. And every time she swears it will be the last because it always ends the same way—her underneath him. After things fizzled with Barrett, Charlie promised to never give her heart to another man. Since then, she's been using them like disposable tissue. That way she can never get hurt again.
"Now that this ordeal is over will you still have to work with Barrett?" I ask, pretending I wouldn’t rather find out if she made out with her ex or not.
She gives me a one-shoulder shrug. "Only if I have to do damage control." She flips into professional mode.
She tilts her glass back and finishes her drink in one gulp.
Someone is guilty as sin.
"And the chances of that happening are...” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
"All right. All right. Enough with the hard-hitting questions.” She lifts her hand up like a police officer. "I'll admit that once again I succumbed to the man's bloody irresistible charms.” She really means cock. "When we weren’t working at digging Jason out of this royal shithole, I allowed Barrett to ride me like a thoroughbred. And God as my witness, I enjoyed every single fucking thrust. I came so many times, I thought I was going to lose my freaking mind. That man's cock is my fucking addiction." She bloody shouts that last part.
"Is he single?" I ask, concerned.
"You know perfectly well Barrett is married to his career. Nothing else matters. He doesn't date, he shags. But ye
s, he’s single. I may not be over him, but I'm not a home wrecker," Charlie's voice is uncharacteristically low.
I can't believe she said that aloud. She's never been willing to face the truth.
I reach out for her hand. "Sweetie, why do you put yourself through this?"
"Because I'm an absolute idiot and a fool,” she says closing her eyes and tilting her head back.
"Stop it. You're not. You have a long and complicated history with Barrett. After all, you thought he was the one.”
“I really did.” She looks so pained.
“There's still a lot of unresolved stuff between the two of you," I sympathize.
"I just wish I had more willpower when I'm around him," she says in a small voice.
Now I understand the vampy outfit. Every time Charlie reconnects with Barrett and then he casts her aside to go back to conquering the world, she goes through men with a vengeance.
"Who were you trying to seduce with the risqué couture you’re wearing?" I ask with a smile.
“Hmph. You know me too well,” she smiles back.
"I know how you medicate after Barrett," I say.
"He’s a pastor."
I drop her hand and bring mine to my cover my mouth. "A what?”
“A pastor," she repeats as if the second time would soften the blow.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?"
Bad Boy SEALs Page 44