Chandler

by Laurelin Paige

  Puppies! Kittens! Nathan Murphy in the boardroom with Hudson!

  I manage to get myself under control and direct every bit of my attention on Nathan and not the blushing beauty next to me. Definitely not thinking about the inappropriate comments I just made to her.

  I almost don’t notice when she politely excuses herself from the table.

  Okay, it’s a lie. I totally notice.

  “Excuse me. Too much wine,” she says. Which is clearly untrue since she’s barely touched the cabernet in front of her. I’m convinced I flustered her.

  I’m thoroughly pleased.

  While she’s gone, I find it easier to concentrate, and somehow Nathan and I manage enough of an exchange for me to solidify his interest and mentally mark him as a possible candidate for the job.

  Genny returns a few minutes later. After she sits, she moves her hand to mine under the table. I eagerly grab at it, desperate to feel her skin under the caress of my thumb, but she doesn’t let me hold it, pulling away after she drops something in my palm.

  Something rough. Something flimsy. Something familiar.

  I’m smart enough to not bring the material out into plain sight, but I’m too much of a guy not to look. When I’m confident no one’s watching me, I sneak a peek, and sure enough I’m holding a pair of black lace panties.

  As discreetly as I can, I tuck the souvenir into my pocket. I’m biting back a grin when I next glance over at her. A big, big grin. And a semi, but that one’s easier to hide thanks to the whole I’m-still-sitting thing.

  Her smile in return is tight. “You wanted to know,” she says softly. Cruelly.

  Wanted to know what was under her dress. Yes, I did say that. Though I was more interested in the part that doesn’t come off. The part that the panties were covering.

  Jesus, she’s not wearing anything now.

  I am officially never going to make it through this meal.

  “What was that, princess?” Edward asks, and it takes me a second to realize he’s heard what Genny just said. I’m beyond glad the question isn’t directed at me because I’d have no idea how to answer.

  Thankfully, she’s on top of it. “Chandler has a headache,” she says, patting my leg. “He just gave me a miserable look, and I asked him if he wanted to go.”

  Oh, that’s good. Want to go does sound like wanted to know.

  He buys it. “Sorry to hear that, Chandler. You do seem a little pale.”

  Probably because I’m still in shock about the gift she’s brought me. And more in shock that she’s doing this to me on purpose. Throwing me off my game for…what? Spite?

  “I’m fine. Probably just low blood sugar.” Or rather all the blood running to the wrong part of my body. “I’ll feel better once I finish eating, I’m sure.”

  Except, try as I might, I’m no longer interested in eating. Not food, anyway. The only thing I want to feast on is half a foot away, bare under a small skirt of thin material. I barely tasted her today, and all of a sudden it’s the only taste in my mouth. The only taste I want more of.

  Especially when she’s playing it so cool. I totally want to knock her off that throne. Want to show her I can get to her the way she gets to me.

  I am smart enough to realize that the worst thing I could possibly do at the moment is reach over and stick my hand up her dress. I know this.

  But it’s all I can think about.

  I pick at my food. Conversation gets harder to follow. I say less and less because of it. At one point, I swear I hear Nathan say, “She’s good and wet.”

  Luckily, before my eyes pop out of my head, I realize he really said, “She’s a good bet,” in reference to a stock exchange he and Edward are discussing.

  Then dinner is cleared and coffee is served and the lights dim for the award ceremony, and I find that now that I’m not pretending to eat, I no longer have anything to occupy my hands. So it’s not really my fault that my fingers find their way over to her lap. And under her skirt.

  Her eyes widen. Her mouth drops. But she doesn’t brush me away. She could easily, too, without anyone seeing. And she doesn’t.

  So my hand rests there. Rests on her silky soft thigh, and I think for a minute that this is enough, that I don’t need more.

  But I’m kidding myself.

  Then she parts her legs slightly, and maybe it’s not an invitation, but it definitely seems like one and how can I know without taking the bait?

  Slowly I climb higher, higher, past the natural swell of her leg, to the place I want to be most. My finger brushes against the lips of her pussy, and her breath hitches. I scan the others at the table, then, when I’m sure no one noticed, I make a second pass. This time I continue down to circle the rim of her hole.

  And yes. She is good and wet.

  Damn, it’s amazing.

  Paybacks are a bitch though, because not only am I rock hard, but next thing I know, her palm is cupping my groin. She squeezes, and god, it’s all I can do not to let out a moan.

  That’s it. I’m going in. I slide two fingers inside her opening. She’s so tight, so perfect. I want to be in farther. Want it to be my cock inside her. I turn so I can get a better angle.

  Suddenly, our gazes crash into each other, and I know from the look on her face she’s had the same epiphany I’ve just had—we’re groping each other in public. Where who knows who could see.

  She stands up and braces the teacup she’s just knocked from rising so quickly. “I’ve…got to go,” she says hurriedly then takes off.

  “I’ll make sure she’s okay,” I say, following right behind.

  It’s such an obvious exit. But who the fuck cares anymore? Everyone else was so enthralled in the awards, I’m not even sure they remembered we were there.

  I keep my eyes pinned on Genny as I wind around the tables. She heads to the bathrooms, and for a moment I feel defeat when I think she’ll disappear into the ladies’ room.

  But she passes it. And goes instead to the single-family bathroom beside it. I’m practically on her heels, but I freeze several feet away. Does she want me to go in after her?

  I want to go in after her.

  If the door’s unlocked, I decide as I head toward it, then it’s an invitation. I reach for the handle and turn it…

  The door clicks open.

  She’s facing me when I walk in, as though she were waiting. I lock the door behind me, and with two steps, I have her backed up against the wall.

  “You are such a naughty, naughty girl.” I’m already pulling at my belt.

  “And you’re an arsehole,” she says breathlessly, her eyes darting from my lips to my eyes and back again.

  “I was only acting defensively. You’re the one who was naughty first.”

  “Because I took off my knickers?”

  Yes, because of that. Also because she’s the one undoing my belt. She’s the one unzipping my fly.

  And I’m naughty too. I’m naughty because I help her find what she’s looking for, drawing out the steel rod that has taken residence in my tuxedo pants.

  She rubs her hand over my head and meets my eyes. “Tell me again why I’m so bad.”

  I lift her legs up around my waist and rock forward so she can feel my cock against her bare pussy. “Because you did this. You gave me this.”

  I pull out a condom from my wallet, and she wriggles against me as I suit up.

  “Seems like we’re even since I’m dripping.” Her hands grip the handicap railing for support.

  Good. She’s going to need it.

  “You’re not dripping nearly as much as you’re going to be.” I dig my fingers into the lush skin of her ass, position my cock at her entrance and slam inside.

  We gasp in unison.

  She’s snug and hot, and I feel like a jackhammer the way I can’t stop pounding into her. Relentlessly. Without mercy.

  “You wanted this, didn’t you?” I know she did, but I want to hear her say it. “You were such a naughty girl because you wante
d me to come in here. In you.”

  She nods her head, but she’s already tightening at orgasm’s edge, and her lids are closed and her chin is tucked into her chest, and I’m frustrated because I want her to look at me. Want her to answer in words, while she’s looking me in the eye.

  I raise her higher until her ass is braced against the handicap bar. Now my hand is free, and I grip her jaw and jerk her chin up. “You look at me when I’m making you come, Genny. Do you understand?”

  She’s staring up at me now, but she answers again with just a nod.

  “Words. Tell me in words how much you wanted this.” I’m desperate to hear her say it, and it’s only partly because I need the reassurance. The other reasons are less easy to put a finger on. They’re more base. More primal. I need her to say it because, in this moment, I’m half-caveman and crazed with lust.

  I need her to say it because I know when she does, it’s going to be the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

  Her expression twists into anguish, her eyes water, and she’s so fucking beautiful like this that I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do if she tells me that she didn’t want this because, Christ, I can’t stop.

  And she still hasn’t answered me.

  I tilt her chin up harder and move my face inches from hers. At the same time, I press my pelvis forward so that I rub against her clit each time I drive in. She grows tighter, but like fuck am I letting her come before she responds. “Answer me, Genny. Tell me that you played with me out there because you wanted to be fucked.”

  “Yes,” she says, panting. “I wanted to be fucked.”

  “And you wanted me to touch you. Under the table. So you took off your panties and taunted me.”

  “Yes. I wanted you to put your fingers inside me.”

  It’s my turn to nod. Because I’m speechless. Hearing her breath ragged, her voice thin from exertion—it really is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

  With her chin still pinched between my thumb and forefinger, I stare down at her open mouth. Then I lean down and suck on her lower lip. “Good,” I tell her before slipping my tongue along hers. “You’re so, so good.”

  All of it is so, so good. Every last piece of this moment is perfection.

  She orgasms first, but I’m right behind her, spiraling so hard and so fast I can’t hold her anymore. I let her go, keeping her caged against the wall. My legs are shaking; my vision is black. I press my forehead to hers and gulp in air like I’ve just finished running a mile at a full sprint.

  When I’m calm enough to speak, I wipe at her smudged mascara with my thumb. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she sighs, her eyes closed.

  Then, suddenly, her body goes rigid and her lids fly open. I step aside when she nudges me off of her. She crosses to the sink and examines herself in the mirror. “Jesus,” she mutters, sweeping her fingers along the lash line under her eyes. “What did we just do?”

  I turn and lean against the wall, not quite ready to stand by myself. “Uh, do you need an instant replay?”

  An instant replay. I practically feel myself getting hard again thinking about it.

  Genny rubs the remnants of lipstick off her mouth, washes her hands, then crosses to the door.

  “I’m going out first,” she says over her shoulder. “Give me at least five minutes before you follow.”

  Not a problem. Because I need at least five minutes to recover. When I can move, I cross to the mirror and echo her previous sentiment. “What the hell did we just do?”

  She’s still not in her seat when I return, which is odd since I waited a while before coming after her, but maybe she really went to the bathroom this time. Or maybe she saw someone she knew. I glance around and don’t see her, which makes me unexplainably anxious.

  I wait until the current speaker sits down before leaning toward Hagan. “Do you think Genevieve is all right?”

  He blinks a couple of times as though he needs a second to remember who I’m talking about. Then he says, “Oh. She came back while you were still gone and said she wasn’t feeling well. Sorry. I assumed she’d already told you.”

  “Ah, no. I didn’t get that.” Had she said something that suggested she was leaving? Did I miss a cue?

  I sit back in my chair, now more anxious than ever. What is it with this girl? Twice today I’ve had sex with her, thinking it was pretty damn fantastic, and twice she’s blown me off afterward. Am I seriously so twisted up about her that I don’t realize she’s not having a good time?

  No. Impossible. She wanted it. She told me she wanted it.

  This time I’m not waiting a week to chase her down. If she’s going to compare this experience to something banal and everyday like pizza, I need to hear it tonight.

  I wish I had her number, but because of the way she took off, I’m pretty positive she wouldn’t respond to a text anyway. Besides, this is face-to-face subject matter.

  So, once again, I lean over toward her brother. “I should send her some flowers. I know where she’s staying. Do you have her room number?”

  Sucker gives it to me without a second thought.

  I mean, it’s not like I’m going to do anything terrible with the information. Maybe I’ll even really have flowers when I show up there later on. We’ll see.

  8

  I end up foregoing the flowers.

  Mainly because by the time the awards banquet is over, it’s after eleven and I don’t want to take the time to find a bouquet in the middle of the night. Anything I located would be shit leftover that didn’t sell during the day, anyway. Genevieve deserves more than that.

  She deserves more than me standing at her door empty-handed, too, but if my gut is correct, all she really wants is for me to show up. And I have.

  The Do Not Disturb sign is up, but I decide it doesn’t refer to me and knock quietly. A minute later, I hear her moving on the other side of the door, looking through the peephole, I assume.

  “What are you doing here?” she says, irritation lining her tone, though I’d guess that half of it is put on.

  Or at least I hope that it’s put on.

  “You left,” I say, not wanting to have this conversation in the hall.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to show up at a woman’s room uninvited?”

  I smile tightly at the scowling couple that passes by. Another two minutes out here, and I’m going to get reported for harassment. “Genevieve, please. Let me in. We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

  “Whatever is going on between us needs to stop. You should go.”

  I’m conflicted. Her words say one thing, but I also hear her subtext. It matches much of what’s going on inside me—confusion, excitement. Maybe a little bit of fear.

  Okay, more than a little bit.

  And maybe I’m making it all up, and she doesn’t really feel the same way I do. I lean my head against her door. “Do you really want me to go?”

  She’s quiet, but I sense her there, on the other side of this barrier, and I want her more than ever. “Tell you what.” I pray I don’t sound like I’m begging, even though I kind of am. “You let me in and explain what happened tonight, and then I’ll go. I think I’m entitled to that much, don’t you?”

  There’s another beat of silence.

  Then the deadbolt clicks and the door swings open. There she is, her hair down and damp from a shower, her face freshly scrubbed, wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a tight tank that perfectly outlines her tits.

  She’s so beautiful, it makes my stomach hurt. Or higher than my stomach, somewhere in the middle of my chest, a pinching feeling that makes me feel both a little sick and a little amazing.

  “Come on in then,” she says, sweeping her arm out in invitation. As I step past her, she adds, “But keep you bits in your trousers, please.”

  Jesus, she sounds like my brother.

  I move into the room, giving her space. “I will keep my pants zipped, as long as you promise never
to refer to it as a ‘bit’ again. Monster would be preferable. Lord could work. Great Big Dick of Amazingness would earn lots of points with me.”

  She folds her arms across her chest and smirks. “Do I need points from you?”

  It’s a tad embarrassing how transparent my interest is. But I own up to it. “No, you really don’t.” I unbutton my jacket and turn toward her, my hands in my pockets. “It seems like I need points from you.”

  Her shoulders relax slightly. “Don’t be charming.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or we’ll end up with your bits back out of your trousers. Excuse me,” she says, correcting herself. “Your Great Big Dick of Amazingness.”

  I can’t express how happy it makes me to hear that phrase come out of her sexy little mouth.

  It’s a relief, too, that she’s obviously still interested in my Great Big Dick of Amazingness. I sprawl out on my side on her bed, all suave-like. “And that’s a problem because?”

  She throws her hands in the air and starts to pace the room. “Because I don’t have time for you! You’re an obstacle on the path to my dream career. A distraction. Tonight, I should have been on my A-game. I should have spoken up and given my ideas instead of letting my father and Hagan take all the limelight. You know that subscription service idea? It was mine originally. Hagan ran with it after I mentioned it in passing. I should have taken credit. It’s still got merit but too small in scope, as far as I’m concerned.”

  I take half a second to bask in her acknowledgment that she’s into me. I’d like to spend more time on the topic, but that’s not what she needs from me. So after I get past my ego, I mentally make a note to tell Hudson about the subscription service before Hagan has a chance to claim it as his.

  Propping my head up with my elbow, I consider what else she said. “Now you’ve learned that you should hide your cards in front of others. And you did, for the most part. That’s smart. Sounds like A-game to me.”

  “Except that wasn’t my reason for keeping silent.” She continues to wear a path back and forth across the room. “I was too wrapped up in thoughts of you to even think of that.”