by Mj Fields
He sees it, rolls his eyes, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward an elevator. “There’s one more thing you need to see.”
In the elevator, I stand in front of him, his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place.
“You denied me … in the salon.”
“The salon?”
“Simply Stella’s Salon?”
He pulls me a little closer.
“I get it. You’re embarrassed about all your secret, little childhood obsessions with little ole me. I mean, how crazy can you get? You should be totally hiding in a corner right now. I mean, you’re totally transparent. You give me a car, a home, a business … You obviously think you’re getting laid.”
He steps closer. “Knock”—his erection hits me in the back—“knock.” He thrusts against me again.
I giggle. “Who’s there?”
“Ben Hur.”
“Ben Hur who?”
“Ben Hur over in just a minute and give it to her from behind.”
I laugh as the elevator door opens and he guides me out.
“What do you think?”
“Well …” I look around at the bare walls and random pieces of furniture scattered around, covered in painter tarps.
He laughs, and I look up and over my shoulder at him.
I smile. “It has potential.”
“You think we could make it work?”
I turn and reach for his bulge.
“You’ve been very misbehaved, Stella McCarty.” He turns his back to me, walking over to a covered piece of furniture in the corner. When he pulls the fabric off with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, I grin.
It’s the blue thinking chair.
“I think you need to come over here and think about your choices.”
I step out of my heels and pout out my bottom lip.
He shakes his head.
“Shoes on?”
“No.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ball of yellow fabric, tossing it to me. “Put these on, and then skip on over.”
I turn then bend over, giving him a peek at my ass as I slowly pull on the yellow knee socks, one then the other. When I turn back around, he tosses something else at me.
“This, too.”
I catch it and open my hand. It’s a hair bow.
“You have a plaid skirt in one of your pockets, too?”
He smirks. “Different fantasy. Now, play along.”
I skip over, smiling and twirling my hair around one finger, watching him try not to laugh. Then I sit in the thinking chair and turn my body around, letting my head hang over the edge.
“Is that a crayon in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
“You’re supposed to be quiet when you’re in this chair.”
“You’re supposed to keep a straight face when you’re role-playing.”
He rubs his hand up and down his face. “Yeah, this isn’t gonna work for me.”
I spread my legs and pull my skirt up. “I think I could change your mind, Daddy.”
“No. No! Now you’ve really fucked it up for me. I’m picturing your old man, holding a gun to my head.”
I hook my thumbs in my panties and pull them up and off. “What are you picturing now?” I ask as I fling them at him.
His jaw muscles twitch.
I put my finger in my mouth and suck it. “Mmm …”
“Fuck,” he groans.
I place the same finger between my legs, circling it around my clit, then lift it to my mouth and suck.
In an attempt to get him worked up, I have managed to get myself far more so.
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side.
“I get to look at you every day, and every time I see that move, I get so turned on.”
“Yeah?” He leans over the arm of the chair and slides his fingers between my pussy lips. “Try being me. All I can think about is making you come. Christ.” He pushes a finger inside me and my back arches. “You come apart in a way that makes me need to do it again.”
I reach over and unbutton his jeans then pull him out. Stroking him, my eyes nearly water. “Your cock is so big, so hard.” I lick my lips then moan when he pushes another finger inside me. “I want it in my mouth.”
“Stella,” he groans as I stroke my hand up and down his shaft.
“I want to taste that bead of cum on the tip of your cock. I’ve never wanted anything so bad.”
“How about an orgasm?” He bends down and licks my lips, and I pull him toward me. “Stella, I don’t need that. Let me—”
“I do, dammit.” I whimper, sounding as needy as I actually am.
“Baby,” he sighs.
“I’m serious.” I pull him toward me again, but he hesitates.
“Please, Aaron,” I all but beg.
He moves around the arm of the chair, looking down at me. His eyes are wide, and his jaw is tight.
I hold his cock up and lick from root to tip, swirling my tongue around his head and moaning at the taste of his clear cum. I clench my thighs together around his hand and rock my hips against his touch as I open my mouth and suck one of his balls lightly into my mouth.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hisses between clenched teeth.
I use my other hand to gently cup his sack as I stroke him a little faster. His mouth opens slightly as he watches me in awe while continuing to finger my now soaked pussy. Then I lick my lips before tracing his tip with my tongue. He moans, widening his legs, his sack hanging heavy between them. Seeing them, I lean back and cup his balls, licking the underside, then sucking one and then the other into my mouth. I can’t help licking the smooth skin and continuing all the way up to his head.
“Christ, Stella,” he groans.
I suck slowly down him, taking nearly all of his length. His head falls back as he growls obscenities, curses, and my name in one breath.
I reach around him and grip his ass, pulling him hard against me and gagging myself.
He pulls away. “Stella.” He tries to be stern, but his eyes are liquid heat.
“I want more.”
“God damn you,” he snarls as he spreads his legs so my head is between them and, without notice, begins licking my pussy with profuse need.
I grip the base of his cock and suck on his balls hungrily.
When I feel him flick his tongue across my asshole, I copy his move. When he tries to pull away, I dig my nails into his rock-hard ass cheeks and do it again.
“Suck my cock, baby,” he demands before devouring my pussy.
I take him deep into my throat and am able to stop myself from gagging as I move up and down his rock-hard cock.
He presses his finger into me again. “Don’t stop sucking my cock, Stella. So fucking good. Too fucking good.”
I cry out as he curls his fingers up and sucks on my clit.
“Suck my cock, Stella,” he demands.
Mouth wide open from crying out, I take him in, stroking, sucking, and moaning as I cup his huge balls in my hand and gently roll them.
“Fuck yes,” he snarls, thrusting his hips in and out of my mouth as he licks me, fingers me, devours me.
When he flicks his tongue across my clit again, I cry out, mouth still full of him.
He begins thrusting his fingers in and out, faster and faster until I come. Then he pulls out of my mouth, steps back, turns around, and slides down my body a little. With my shoulders on the ground, he straddles me and guides his dick to my entrance.
“I’m gonna fuck you like this.” Looking down at our connection, he closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“What?”
“Knock, knock.”
I roll my eyes. “Who’s there?”
“Gladiator.”
“Gladiator who?”
“Glad I ate her before I fucked her because I’m gonna come so much I would have drowned in it.”
“Oh my—”
He slams into me then stops.
“Please, pleas
e, please,” I beg for more.
He thrusts into me again and again and again.
“Your pussy is so fucking beautiful.”
“I love you!” I cry out.
He reaches down, dick still in me, and then lifts me up from under my arms and sits in the chair. “Ride my cock, baby.”
I ride fast and hard and come while biting his shoulder as he thrusts, relentlessly pounding into me from underneath as I hold on to him, losing count of the orgasms, time, space, everything but him and me, and the fact that I never want anything to come between us.
The beautiful thing is … I know it won’t.
Lying against him as we both try to catch our breaths, he trails his hand up and down my spine. “We okay?”
I smile at the fact it’s we. “Yes, we are.”
“You know what I was thinking?” He chuckles.
“I can only imagine.” I grin against his bare skin.
“It’s not truly love till you lick that ass.”
“Yeah, I have no idea what I was thinking,” I push my face into his neck. “You just bring something out in me.”
“So, um …” He pauses. “First time then?”
“Hell yes!” I laugh.
He pulls me in tighter, and I kiss his shoulder over and over again.
“So, what do you think?”
“Oh my God, really?” I laugh.
“I’m talking about the place.” He squeezes my ass. “Can you be happy here?”
“You gonna stay, too?”
He chuckles. “What kind of question is that?”
“Then, of course, I’ll be happy. I told you, I’d be happy with you in a cardboard box.”
He kisses my cheek. “Reason eight hundred and sixty-eight billion, seven hundred and fifty million, seven hundred and eighty-nine thousand, seven hundred and ninety-eight I love Stella McCarty—she truly has the biggest heart.”
“Reason eight hundred and sixty-eight billion, seven hundred and fifty million, seven hundred and eighty-nine thousand, seven hundred and ninety-nine I love Aaron Esposito—he does, too.”
“That’s it?” He laughs.
“Nope. Also because he’s going to turn this place into something like his New York City, Chelsea place.”
“Yeah?”
“Most definitely love your style, Esposito.”
“You promise to give it some pop, color our world, and it’s a deal.”
Epilogue
I never thought that I would be able to talk to someone openly about all the things I feel I’ve fucked up in my life. But she has a way of making it less difficult. Normally these talks are while we’re drawing or working on the apartment, she asked me if I thought the accident, that killed my mother had anything to do with Benton’s financial failures and mental health.
I told her the truth, for years I believed the bullshit ‘our ex,’ had spewed about our parents. It wasn’t like they didn’t fight about Benton and getting rid of the company that was too time-consuming and after 9/11, not nearly as profitable. Mom knew it stressed my father out and tried to get him to walk away from his stressors. Dad felt guilty because he knew the kind of man Benton was. A genius, but also self-absorbed, with erratic behaviors. He felt sorry for his kids, which was why he and Elijah became close. It’s why he took him under his wing, and it was why every time Elijah had financial issues, Dad bailed him out, regardless of how he shit talked my family.
My father reminded me of Stella in that way. When I told her that, she told me Freud would have a field day with me. She’s not wrong.
Dad was wildly successful in every business venture he became part of. It was his charisma. He wanted everyone around him to feel that rush, that high, that love for life. That’s why when he was suspected, accused, of hurting my mom, he left. He regrets not making me go with him but thought mom’s family was better for me than he alone was. It took him years to pull himself out of the depression caused by losing her.
Dad was a big part of me going after Stella. Not just because of love, but he believed Elijah had become just like Benton. He didn’t want the girl I love to face the same fate. He told me that’s why he keeps Roger, my mothers’ driver on.
Both of them had suspicions that Benton had ill will towards Mom because she was ‘bad cop’ with the business, the one who pulled the plug. They think he had made up some bullshit excuse to get her in a car. She never rode with anyone except Dad or Roger. Ever.
Although Dad never said it, I believe Benton made up something to do with Elijah and I having problems at the school. Got into some trouble maybe? Who knows, but I remember the night. I was at a school dance, and of course, Elijah was with me. We were fifteen when Roger picked us up from the dance because his dad never showed, and neither did Mom. They were gone.
I can almost bet Elijah knows this or suspects it too. But that was a lifetime ago.
Things like that, simple things like talking to someone who truly wants to know you, not just fuck you, or sponge off you are what makes her the only woman in the world I could ever love. She gives a fuck.
We grow closer every day.
Six months ago, Stella and I had dinner with Natasha and Oliver. When she asked Natasha to go to the bathroom with her, I knew before she whispered in her ear that she was going to tell her about Simply Stella.
Oliver and I sat waiting for thirty minutes for them to return, and when they did, they were both smiling with red, puffy eyes.
“You stole my assistant, huh?” Natasha asks when she sits down.
Stella laughs. “No, he didn’t. I’m staying on. I love my job.”
Natasha smirks, handing Oliver the trifold pamphlet. “Look at this.”
Oliver looks it over fully, then looks at me. “You stole my wife’s assistant.”
I shrug. “She thinks she’s staying on with de la Porte.”
Oliver sets the pamphlet down in front of Natasha. “And what do you think?”
“I think, when this goes live, I’m going to lose my assistant, but my best friend will still be right down the street.”
Stella laughs again. “It’s not going to be that big.”
“We could use some of these in our Paris show—”
“No way,” Stella cuts him off. “This is not anything like de la Porte. It’s accessories, for God’s sake, not couture fashion.”
When Oliver looks at me, I shake my head. “She wants it to fly on its own.”
He looks at Natasha. “While you’re still her boss, demand she not be so stubborn, and if it doesn’t take off within a week of launch, we give it some breath.”
“As her friend, not her boss, I plan to do it without asking permission.”
“I love you, Natasha, but I really want this to stay small. And if it doesn’t go crazy, then so what? I’m already living my dream. Best boss, best friend, best city in the world, best boyfriend.”
“Well, as your boss, please schedule Tuesday and Thursday power meetings with Simply Stella. As your friend, make sure there’s wine.”
Five months ago, Donahue and Hearst was no longer, and that was the second-best thing that happened to me these past few months.
If I didn’t hate him for how he treated Stella, I’d feel sorry for him. But I don’t. He made his bed, and I hope he enjoys laying in it, next to a woman who is exactly who he always told me I was. The sad thing is that he’s a manipulative fuck and will probably always come out of whatever situation he lands in unscathed.
Four months ago, while having our weekly dinner with Oliver and Natasha that was supposed to be simply that but always turned into business talk, I introduced the idea of having a site launched—no stores, no salon. I did it partially because Stella hated every plan she came up with the day after she had decided it was “the one,” and partially because I enjoy the freedom of working from my computer and not having to “man a storefront.” A more minimalistic approach.
Stella didn’t love the idea at first, but Oliver rapid-fired a million quest
ions and actually took notes.
The sites would have a limited amount of product available, as well as interactive computers for people to order directly from Simply Stella’s launch site, which would not pull from the same inventory as the ads we lined up on social media platforms. The sites computers would also have links to sign up for our future line launches and the ability to preorder the items to be available at the Chelsea, London and Chelsea, New York City site locations.
When Oliver asked if I would be willing to share the data after the launch and possibly use the two locations following the same formula for de la Porte’s next line release, I said absolutely. It would create a buzz, an urgency. And the most important part was that people actually got to interact and fall in love with Stella’s style, together, in a social setting.
We limited two pieces per person to ward off product scalpers, both online and onsite.
A month ago, the sites were ready. The décor was simple with a pop of yellow. The pre-launch campaign was also put in effect on social media at the same time.
Two weeks ago, the product arrived. And this week, was all about site testing. We needed to ensure the sites online were able to handle the demand I had projected.
Today, we launch. We are opening both sites, as well as the online stores, simultaneously at two p.m. London time.
Ginny, Stella’s mom, doesn’t fly if she can avoid it—understandable—so she, Stella’s stepfather, and some of our high school friends are running the Chelsea, New York site, and we will have twenty de la Porte employees here helping us.
We have live feeds with large screens set up in both locations so we can interact together as well as online. Stella thought that was a bit much, a contradiction to the excitement she felt about it when we put it in effect.
She’s nervous, and she’s making Natasha just as nervous. We’re an hour from opening and she’s running around the apartment in her panties and a bra, throwing clothes out of the closet or leaving them in front of every mirror in the place. It’s a fucking mess, but it’s also kind of adorable because she’s still smiling, even when she’s swearing like a sailor.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
I look over my shoulder as Autumn walks off the elevator.