If he had fucked her, laid her down and ran his cock over her body? Pressed against her sweet pussy and pushed deeper with his cock? Felt that hot bundle of muscles squeeze and tighten, slow thrusting inside of her until they both came? It would have been disastrous. For both of their jobs, for her innocence, and for his sanity. Better that he released his sexual tension with Alexis.
Abstinence was not a strength of his.
He stood, straightening his suit, and running a hand through his hair. Julia was probably waiting, nervously gripping a martini glass and looking for his face. She was no doubt anxious, her mind tracking down where he could be and drawing conclusions.
He stepped out of the office and was hit with a wave of cheers from down below—a large crowd swelling and building, like an anthill out of control, climbing on chairs and tables to get a better look. He followed the curve of the crowd wondering what, or who, had their attention.
He should have known better.
dangerous ground
He avoided the crowds and moved higher, stepping into a VIP alcove three stories above the dance floor to privately watch the action below—namely, Julia and Montana, and the crowd surrounding them. The bouncers were keeping the crowd under control, the girls safe, but the surge of men made him nervous. Nervous and completely fucking turned on. Their cries, cheers, raw eagerness to get to the woman that he, in some ridiculous way, thought of as his had his cock hard again almost instantly.
He unplugged the security cam to the space and stood at the edge, experiencing one heat-filled moment when Julia raised her head and their eyes connected. She smiled, a seductive gleam in her eyes that terrified him.
He had no idea who she was. This was a woman who had taken sweet, innocent Julia and dunked her into a sea of sex, allowing the liquid heat to swim through her blood, blaze through her eyes, and float from her skin like a strong perfume.
The woman on stage had no inhibitions, a smile illuminating her face, lust in her eyes as she leaned forward and pulled Montana’s head to hers, her hands stealing into her hair, their kiss lengthening as the two women drew closer.
He sat, his hand moving down to adjust himself, the pulsing of his thick cock incessant, as if the fuck downstairs hadn’t satisfied it. Being around her was pure intoxication, even with a hundred feet of separation between them. His eyes glued to the pair, he watched the minx who was Julia.
She pushed gently on Montana’s chest, laying the girl back, her head lowering and trailing along her neck and down to the dip between her cleavage, her hands squeezing and pressing the breasts around her own face. The crowd roared, and Julia sat up, her dress fully falling down, her own bare breasts now on display for the crowd. A vibrating energy swept through the club in a physical wave.
It was too much, the crowd reaching a fever status, and he stood, reaching for his cell. Janine answered before it even completed a full ring. “Can I stop it?”
“Please,” he growled. “Get them out of there.”
He met them downstairs, in the girls’ dressing room, naked bodies everywhere, Julia and Montana all over one another. Montana’s hand trailed up Julia’s leg, tugging her dress higher. He glowered at Montana, causing the girl to giggle.
“How much did they have to drink?” he asked Janine, his eyes locking with Julia. She bit her bottom lip, grinning at him, a grin that instantly turned every sensor in his body to full fledged arousal. He held her stare, willing his mind to come under control, barely listening when Janine responded.
“Five shots each—tequila.”
“Get me some water,” he ground out. “And have Leonard pull up the car.”
He watched her sleep, her beautiful head nodding to the side as soon as the car started its forward movement. He was grateful for her sleep, grateful that those fiery eyes were closed, and he no longer had to worry about their effect on him. Her passion electrified him, frying intelligent thought patterns and making him bend to her will. And, try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of her, on stage with Montana, out of his mind.
That was not the girl he knew—thought he knew. He didn’t really know anything about her at all. She was a complete mystery, a bundle of surprises tied together with one hell of a sexy bow. Seeing her tonight, the sexuality oozing from her, her playful eroticism on display, turning on every warm-blooded man in the club … it was wreaking havoc on his already limited self-control. She had shown, in those moments, her potential. And that thought drove him absolutely crazy.
He carried her inside, pushing the door shut with his foot, and walked into the bedroom, setting her gently on the bed. Opening her suitcase, he pawed through sequins and glitter until he found a pair of worn pajama pants and a shirt. He smiled at her choice of packing, conservative over sexual. Walking back into the room, he slid the pants over her limp legs, moving briskly, trying to keep his mind in line and out of the gutter. She sat up slightly when he pulled her dress over her head, cooperating when he worked her arms into the shirt and over her head.
He said her name three times before she opened her eyes, blinking groggily at him with a slight frown on her face.
“What?” she asked, annoyed.
“I’d like you to drink some water. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
She swallowed, her eyes on his, blinking again as she started to wake up. Then she nodded. “Yes.”
He waited in the room, pouring her a glass of water and getting two aspirin. He set them on the dresser, unbuttoning his shirt and untucking it from his pants.
She stumbled in, eyeing him as she grabbed the water, gulping it down. He moved to help her, pulling back the covers and guiding her into bed. She rolled onto her back, looking up at him through heavy eyes.
“God, you are hot,” she mumbled, a half smile on her lips. He grinned, pulling up the covers and reaching for the light switch. The lamp extinguished, she was in partial darkness, her beauty no less devastating in the soft, shadowy light. She freed a hand from the covers, reaching out and gripping his belt, sliding her fingers under the hem of his pants and tugging him toward her. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and brushing her hair away from her face, his eyes surveying the beautiful lines of her face.
She watched him, their eyes connecting. “You are going to be so bad for me,” she whispered, her words slurring slightly. She lifted her hand, trailing it over the muscles in his chest, running it down the ridges of his stomach. “So bad,” she whispered. Her eyes closed with a heavy sigh. “Tomorrow,” she murmured. “Tomorrow, I’ll stay away.”
He leaned over, pressing his lips softly to her forehead, listening to her breath as it evened, her hand limp as it fell to the bed. Then he straightened, watching her sleep, his eyes dark.
the parting
One evening later.
Hot night around them, he stood at her front door—weeds and dirt underfoot, the structure before him barely habitable. She unlocked the house, taking her bags from his hand and tossing them inside. She leaned against the door, blocking him from any thought of entry.
“I had fun,” she said.
Fun. Like he had taken her to Dairy Queen and a movie. He stared at her, wanting to come in, wanting more of what he had experienced with her in that shower—wanting her heat around his cock.
He stepped forward, her perfect face tilting up, looking into his eyes. He studied her, thinking about the weekend. Even though he had broken every rule he had set, had touched her in ways he shouldn’t, he didn’t regret the trip. Didn’t regret accepting her advance, spending that half hour inside of her—a half hour of fucking that could destroy everything. He didn’t regret the opportunity to know her, even if it was for only those brief moments in time.
I don’t want a damn boyfriend. I want your cock.
Had she meant it? The next few days would be the real test. Would show how much crazy lived behind those intelligent brown eyes. He leaned down, pressed his lips gently again hers. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
She gave him a small wave and a tired smile and shut the door.
He watched the white door swing, heard the loose rattle as it fully shut, and wondered how long she’d wait before calling.
The porch light went out, draping him in darkness.
Brad sat at his desk, listening to the men in front of him with half an ear. This meeting was important, a strategy session for a big case, but he couldn’t focus.
It was Wednesday, three days since he had dropped Julia off at her home in crack town. And no call, no email, no surprise drop-by in the East Wing.
It was a relief, having a detached conquest. He should be back-flipping happy. But it was too early for that. Three days was a good sign, but not long enough to put him in the clear. Give it a week, and then he would relax.
Eight days. Brad ground a cube of ice between his teeth, rattling the cold glass before sliding it across the counter. Eight days and no contact from Julia. It had gone from being refreshing to being annoying. Women always called. They called after he spent fifteen minutes fucking them on his desk, much less after two days drowning in limos and caviar under the Vegas skyline.
He had spelled it out in Vegas. Explained to her how he regarded sex. As entertainment, joint pleasure. How stock shouldn’t be put in the act, how relationships shouldn’t form just because of a sexual connection. He had told her that he couldn’t be a boyfriend, couldn’t be what she wanted or needed in a man.
But she should still be texting, emailing, calling, begging for more of him, especially when he had delivered more than any partner before, with both his mouth and his cock.
Instead, silence. She was doing godknowswhat with godsknowswhom and not giving him a second thought. It was maddening, made even worse by his realization that he had noticed the slight. He stood, tossing a twenty on the bar and headed home.
competition
Ten days later.
Brad stood at the conference room table, bent over, signing documents as they were presented, a flurry of pages before him.
Flip.
Sign.
Flip.
Sign.
The woman on his left notarized, the woman to her left witnessed, and the stack moved, page after page, motion after motion. He heard, through the open door, a conversation occurring in the lobby and paused, halfway through a signature.
“Naw, they finished up. Word is Broward is closing the West Wing down early, letting everyone off at five.”
“About damn time. Let’s go out tonight, the group of us. I’ll invite Julia.”
“You get a piece of that yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll run over there now and make sure she comes.”
He tilted his head, listening as the pair moved on, the sounds of the office reentering his subconscious, his attention returning to the monotonous task before him, his mind turning, moving without his control in a direction he knew was dangerous.
He straightened, setting down the pen and walking to his office, shutting the door before picking up his phone. Back in the conference room, the women exchanged confused looks.
She answered quickly, a lilt in her tone, no sign of mourning or anguish in her greeting. “Julia Campbell.”
“What are you doing?” He aimed for a manner that was casual, just-calling-to-chat, but the words came out rough, uncivilized. He took a deep breath, loosening his tie, and willing the anger in his body to cool.
“Just sitting here.”
“With who?” He bit out the words, wanting her in front of him. Wanting to push her back on his desk and see the vigor in her eyes.
Her voice sharpened. “I assume you know or you wouldn’t be calling.”
Vain woman. As if he would care about her daily comings and goings. “Meaning?” he growled.
“I’m talking to Todd,” she said sweetly, as if that was fucking normal, everyday business. For a brief moment, he wondered if it was.
“Let me talk to him.”
“Why?” She was irritated, the emotion seeping into my voice.
“Because I need to, and he left his cell phone here.”
“Just tell me the message, and I’ll pass it on.”
This woman would be the death of him. He growled into the phone, wanting to punish her in the only way he could think. On her hands and knees, with her sweet mouth begging him for more. Jesus. He was getting hard. His words came out clipped and measured. “Stop being difficult.”
“I just feel like we’ve been here before—the only thing missing is your intimidating self darkening my doorstep.”
That could be fixed. He could go four thousand square feet west and see her, tell her exactly where she could put that sassy mouth. “Just tell him to get his ass back here.” He ended the call, slamming the phone down and striding to the door. He flung it open, catching the attention of the women seated before him, their dignified suits rising to see what it was he needed.
“When Todd gets back, send him in here. Immediately.” He shut the door and paced to his desk, cursing every bone in that delectable woman’s body.
the fight
Four hours later.
Brad ran—through the streets of downtown, weaving and ducking through three-piece suits and haggard crowds. Through neighborhoods his family controlled, streets he had been raised on, through alleys and strip malls, his legs pounding up hills, then coasting down. He breathed easily, his mind clear, peace in his eyes. He finally felt back. In control. Todd was staying away from Julia, he would stay away from Julia, and everything would return to normal. His life back in balance, work and pussy regaining their appropriate places on his score sheet. He slowed as he turned down his street, pavement turning to cobblestone, towering trees casting his body in shade, large homes set back from the street watching him as he passed. He stopped running, walking the lane of his driveway, stepping up and onto the large back porch, waving to the Mercedes as it pulled in, its confident path leading it into the garage, the doors sliding shut behind it.
He was sitting there, thirty minutes later, a tennis ball in hand, his cell phone positioned in the crook of his neck, when he heard a sound, and looked over his shoulder to see five feet eight inches of furious beauty.
Possessiveness didn’t seem to go over well with Julia. Didn’t make her heart fawn, pale cheeks blush, create oh-lucky-me stars in her eyes. She was pissed and spelled out her emotions clearly, despite the sway in her step and the haze over her eyes.
“You made it very clear that you didn’t want a relationship. Yet you ran off Bob. Yet you told Todd to stay away from me. You are not my father, you are not my boyfriend, you are not my boss. You don’t have the right to fuck with my life!”
So Todd had told her. Not that he was surprised. Based on the look she was giving him, she seemed capable of strangling the information out of a man. He stepped closer, close enough to smell her, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her skin, cataloguing every line, curve, quiver of her breath. It had been over two weeks. He had almost forgotten how incredible she was. “Do you like Todd this much? Is that what this is about?” His eyes watched her closely, very interested in her response. She couldn’t like him—not that boy who skipped between offices, his innocence practically painted on like a billboard sign. Todd wasn’t good enough, strong enough, or man enough for her.
“That’s not the point. The point is if I did really like Todd, or Bob, or someone else, I don’t need you walking around, scaring the hell outta people. That’s not your place. It’s like you don’t want me, and you don’t want anyone else to have me. That’s bullshit, especially because you’re the fucking town slut!”
“Who says I don’t want you?” He stepped forward, the air quivering between them, her eyes dropping, letting him fully examine her without risk of being caught. The flutter in her neck, the swell of her lips, the flush of delicate skin. He suddenly needed to see her eyes, needed a drink of the woman he had been without. His hand forced her chin up, and their eyes met. There was a shake in hers, vulnerabilit
y, almond pools of what looked like fear. Then she blinked, and they came to life, a tiger curving through their depths and snarling at him.
She pushed at his hand. “Okay, I misspoke. It’s like you don’t want to date me exclusively. God, I forgot I was talking to an attorney and had to clarify everything.”
“Let’s go to dinner.” He cursed the words as soon as they left his mouth. He had been free of her, and now he was digging his own grave … again. Wrestling his body into rich dirt where he would be eaten alive by scavengers.
The Diary of Brad De Luca Page 3