No Prince Charming

by Angel Payne

  “And you, too,” I interjected. “You get fulfillment, too?”

  “Hell yes. I want to take you hard, from behind. I picture your pussy riding my shaft while I explore your beautiful back entrance with my finger. After I’ve come inside you like that, I can’t wait to watch you wrap your pouty mouth around my cock before taking me deep in your throat.”

  My lungs gave me air in ragged spurts. Dear God, the havoc this man wreaked on my body with a few growled words. “You’ve—you’ve been putting a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

  “Mild understatement.” As he paused, I heard the sound of flesh sliding on flesh. The strokes corresponded to his heavy huffs on the line. “What are you doing now?”

  “Kicking off my pants.”

  “And those sexy tube socks?”

  “Those, too.”

  “Goddamn.”

  “I’m naked now, Killian. I’m lying on my bed, hot and achy. My pussy is bare and open and waiting for you.”

  “Taunting temptress.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re right.” I sighed into the line. “I’m not sorry. Just warm and wet, with a quivering, needy clit. Tell me what to do, Mr. Stone.”

  “Don’t be coy, Miss Montgomery. You know exactly what to do. Rub that gorgeous pussy of yours. Pretend your finger is my tongue, sucking at every bit of you there. Do you remember how it felt when I tasted your flesh for the first time?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” My voice was breathy and shameless as I slipped my hand between my thighs. The moist folds of my sex waited, pulsing in readiness when my fingers made contact. I keened softly, answered by the increased tempo of Killian’s breathing. I could tell he pumped his cock ruthlessly now. With increasing speed, I circled my swollen bud before pressing in, spiking the thrill at my core.

  “Killian…”

  “Yeah?”

  “It feels so good. Touch me some more.” I released my imagination to our fantasy. In my mind, his hands were all over my skin, his mouth covering mine, pulling the air from my lungs, the thoughts from my head.

  How the hell had this happened? For ten days, I’d been so careful to keep these memories locked away, but in less than fifteen minutes, he’d hauled all of them out of my mind, beyond my control.

  “Talk to me,” he ordered. “Tell me everything, Claire. Tell me exactly how you want me.” He panted like he’d just sprinted through the Beijing pollution.

  “Inside me.” Stressing about the dream wasn’t going to erase it now. I bucked my hips, surrendering to the power our words created. “Please, Killian. I’m spreading my legs farther for you. Fill me with your cock.” I slipped my middle finger into my channel, thick cream coating me right away. “Ohhhh, God.”

  His answer gave life to the panther I always likened him to. “Slide a finger into your cunt, sweet girl.”

  My breath clutched. I tried to laugh. His nasty words turned my senses upside down and my sex to pure butter. “One step ahead of you,” I replied.

  “Then add another.”

  As I followed his dictate, my breathing sped up to match his. I slowly worked both digits in, gasping as pressure and lust pulsed through me. This had to be one of the dirtiest things I’d ever done—and because of the strength in Killian’s presence, even from the other side of the world, I reveled in every illicit moment of it.

  “I’m so wet for you,” I whispered to him. “My pussy walls are so tight. They’re clamping down on me, just like they’d squeeze your cock while you fuck me…”

  “Damn. Damn, girl, I love your naughty mouth. Keep talking. I’m so close, Claire.”

  “Me, too. Don’t leave me like this, so hot and needy. I need more of you, Killian. More of your body filling mine, more of your cock fucking me hard.” As the words left my lips, my mind lived out the fantasy. I imagined his thighs encased by mine, his shoulders straining with each fierce thrust, the rugged plateaus of his face etched in passion. “Take me with you,” I begged between heavy gasps “Let’s come together.”

  “Oh baby, it’s good. So…fucking…good.”

  “Mmmm…hmmm.”

  We groaned, moaned, gasped, and grunted together. Miles apart…breaths apart.

  “Come for me, Claire.”

  “Yes…”

  “Say my name again. Scream it as you explode for me.”

  “Oh yes, Killian. Yessss…” My lungs held the rest of it, too selfish to free my breath, afraid to acknowledge the cataclysm about to strike my body and carry me away.

  “Now, Claire!” It was a grinding growl.

  “Oh…Killian…”

  And then I was mute. Lost to the pleasure traveling through my torso and out my limbs. The orgasm rocked me for what felt like forever yet ended all too soon. I floated back to my bed in the dark, sucking air through my nose, trying to settle my breathing—when I remembered the phone in my hand.

  Shit.

  Embarrassment flattened my pleasure. I slammed a hand to my forehead. What the hell had I just done? My thrumming body and vibrating pussy provided the glaring answer to that. Once again, that man had smashed past my barriers and made me fly in skies I’d never imagined in my life.

  Phone sex. With my boss.

  It had been fucking fantastic.

  And completely inappropriate.

  It’s a little late to be concerned about “appropriate” behavior here, Claire.

  There was telling silence from Killian’s end of the call. Seven thousand miles stretched farther with every second that passed…and every minute of wordless silence that we allowed. God. I could practically see his uncomfortable scowl, even in the gloom of my room. I could sure as hell feel his uneasiness—as well as my own mortification and self-doubt.

  One of us had to say something. “Well, ahhh…I need to be up in four hours, so…I hope the rest of your day goes well and—umm—” I picked at the sheets, stumbling for something droll but instead blurting, “Thanks?”

  He grunted hard. “Thanks?”

  I prayed for a freak interruption in our connection. No such luck. “Sorry. I forgot to read Miss Manners the day she addressed correct follow-up for phone fornication.”

  “Why are you being so odd?”

  “What’s your point? This whole thing is odd, Killian.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” His voice was quiet.

  “Of course it does.” The words and tone were pure bitch but the man had me tied up in enough knots to justify it. “Everything with you just…is.”

  “That’s not fair.” Now he sounded wounded, and I wished I could take my words back. The “odd” in this equation wasn’t solely his fault. That meant the knots weren’t, either.

  “You’re right,” I mumbled. “I apologize. I’m just really tired.”

  “Are you sure that’s it?”

  Great. He had to pick now to convert his take-no-prisoners Attila into a cable-sweatered sweetheart.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to hang up. I’ll—I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Have sweet dreams, baby.”

  “Have a good day, Mr. Stone.”

  I pressed the End button before an electron of his hurt could invade the line—or an ounce more of my remorse could crush my chest. Could I have concluded our conversation with more callousness? But what alternatives did I have, aside from spilling the tears that slid down my cheeks now, spurred by the confusion that crushed me all over again.

  I’d violated my own mandate. Let myself give in to the man again. The tryst on his plane was supposed to be the dessert I sampled just once, a sin never to be repeated, a secret never to be discovered. Staying out of jail was damn good motivation for the resolve. Keeping my heart intact was a better reason. Maintaining my sanity was the best of all.

  Because this person I became around Killian…she was not logical. Or sensible. Or safe. She wasn’t the Claire I knew, who damn well knew the difference between sex a
nd attachment, who kept her heart and soul away from a man’s pretty words and whispered seductions. A Claire who was missing so blatantly now, I contemplated slapping her face on a milk carton.

  Trouble was…I liked the new Claire.

  The bigger trouble? She wasn’t new at all. I’d seen her before. She’d trusted a man named Nick McCoy, and ended up with a torched heart and a blackmail threat because of it.

  This was a mess.

  But moping in bed wasn’t going to make it any better, despite the temptation to order everything from the room service menu with chocolate on it, along with a box of tissues and the newest Nicholas Sparks release on my e-reader. I forced myself out of bed and slunk down the hall for some ice to jam over my puffy eyes, not even looking forward to my normal work-until-I-dropped therapy. Every minute of every task would only remind me of Killian.

  The sun wasn’t up yet, and my day was already screwed.

  * * * * *

  Later in the day, the entire team was in the conference room, everyone diligent at work on tasks set before them. Though nothing on my list went ignored, I accomplished things with a splitting headache and eyes that felt like I’d crossed the desert on my way in this morning. But being on Andrea’s team meant “sick” was a worse four-letter word than the big effer, especially with the Lincoln Park Zoo’s gala fundraiser a handful of days away. In addition to normal project duties, everyone’s “To-Do” list was longer than both their arms.

  Fortunately, Andrea let us keep the mood light. Good-natured ribbings helped keep the stress low, even when the woman left for her weekly mani/pedi—until Margaux lobbed one too many digs at Chad about his “hard drive” being underused lately. When Chad looked up from his monitor with an evil glint behind his glasses, I almost warned Margaux to duck and take cover.

  “Well, holy hell,” he called out. “Who’s this bombshell the Kilmeister is tripping around Beijing with?”

  Margaux pursed her lips. “The who? With who?”

  “Aww, come on, Margie. You know who. I must admit, your Stone stud looks mighty fine in these shots. The paparazzi loves him this week. And her.”

  Michael, taking full advantage of the moment, rolled his chair next to Chad’s and leaned over. “Goddamn. No kidding. Doesn’t Kil-boy look like he’s freakin’ to the happy dance here? And here? And here?”

  My head throbbed harder. Duck and cover? Perhaps it was advice I should’ve taken. Fortunately, there was a chair next to him. I let my knees go to water and dropped into the thing, covering my motion with a weak laugh.

  “Where are they at here? A damn shoe store? Did he take her shoe shopping? Okay, now I’m just going to whoop his ass for betraying the gender, boss or not.”

  “Hold on. I think she’s a boss, too. Isn’t she the woman who was here beginning of last week?” Michael swiveled Chad’s monitor a little, pointing a long index finger at the screen. “Claire, you met her in his office. She’s the head of the Asian division. Kim something.”

  “Xu,” Margaux snarled. “Her name is Kim Xu, and I really don’t see what the two of you are carrying on about. I met her, too, and I didn’t get any ‘relationship’ vibe off them at all.”

  Chad snorted. “Of course not.”

  “She’s not all that.”

  Michael frowned. “All that what?”

  “Pretty,” Margaux snapped. “Attractive. Sexy. I mean, my God, I suppose if you’re into—”

  “Diamonds, leather, and the hottest ass on the planet?” Chad issued it while scrolling through more paparazzi shots of Killian and Kim. The drool he nearly trailed on his screen did not help the bile level in my stomach. “Damn,” he blurted. “Maybe I’d take her shoe shopping, too.”

  Margaux folded her arms and rocked back on her Louboutins. “He’s probably forced to be seen with her for publicity. I mean, look at that dress. Claire, would you be caught dead in that dress? All those lace cut-outs…”

  “Yeah,” Chad drawled, his eyes all but beaming cartoon hearts. “All those lace cut-outs.”

  “God, and those shoes. Can you believe she actually wore those?” She tapped a talon at the screen, waiting for me to walk over and be her “wing woman” on the call.

  The last thing I wanted to do was walk over there. The worst ordeal I could imagine was feigning a girl-power face while perusing pictures of the man I had phone sex with last night with another woman hanging on him like a cheap accessory.

  But I had to. Not for Margaux. For me.

  Acid churned higher in my belly when I finally peered at Chad’s monitor. Trying desperately to play off my agony, I cleared my throat and jutted my chin, all with a look of disgust that comprised the one truth about my performance. “Wow, just look at the two of them. Yep, they sure seem…cozy.”

  I couldn’t say anything else. I stared at the shots of Killian and Kim, brilliant with their combined gorgeousness and happiness, convinced that my hidden masochistic streak had picked the shittiest time to resurface.

  Finally, I ripped my gaze away and raced back to my seat. As I did, Chad chuckled a little. “So much for staking your claim, eh Margie?”

  I was almost grateful for my friend’s crazy cojones. Chad was really asking for it today. Michael clearly agreed with my assessment, choking on his water when Chad dished out the new—and awful—nickname for Margaux. The daggers Margaux threw in response were scary. Thank God for Michael, who always knew when to jump in and play peacemaker.

  “Chad, cut the shit. We all know Margaux could have any man she set her sights on. Stone would be an asshat not to see that.” He finished with a convincing and affectionate wink, succeeding in visibly relaxing Margaux. We would all pay the price if she got too pissed off.

  At least somebody felt calm again.

  I forced myself to load the same set of pictures onto my own screen, despite how my stomach roiled all over again. As soon as they filled the screen, I cursed myself for a damn fool. Those pictures were all taken before last night except one, which must have been only hours after my phone “conversation” with Killian.

  I clicked on that one, figuring more torque to the torture rack was a great way to reward my idiocy. With another touch on the mouse, it enlarged and filled the screen.

  Of course he looked glorious. His hair was actually tousled, and he wore a sexy-as-hell leather jacket over his shirt, loosened tie, and black denim jeans. And he actually smiled. The press rarely caught pictures of Killian Stone with that look on his face, so they’d feasted their lenses on the obvious changes.

  The photo’s caption said it all.

  Billionaire Playboy Killian Stone and his new “friend,” SGC hotshot exec Kim Xu,

  are out on the town in beautiful Beijing once again.

  This makes almost two weeks in a row with the same arm candy,

  a notable record for ‘The Kil.’ Looking good, you two!

  I shut down my computer and hurried down the hall to the ladies room, where I lost my entire lunch in stall number two. My initial assessment was turning to disgusting prophecy. The day was screwed to shit in just about every way possible.

  * * * * *

  It was almost time to let out a breath of relief.

  The gala was in full swing and Trey was the epitome of a reformed rake, thank God. We’d spent the last three days coaching him on behavior, attitude, and etiquette, especially with the media. Now, the press all but swarmed him, eating from the palm of his manicured hand.

  I looked on with pride, a tiny part of me even wishing Killian were here to see his brother’s transformation. Since I’d severed every communication with the man except the bare minimum required to give him project updates, I didn’t know the details behind his delay returning from Beijing, only that he’d told Andrea some suppliers needed extra attention and he didn’t feel optimistic about making it to the gala in time.

  I snorted softly to myself. “Suppliers.” My ass. “Extra attention.” That’s a little more accurate.

  As soon as I indul
ged in the jealousy, I mentally kicked myself. You walked off that plane swearing you’d both gotten what you wanted and were done. But then you got naked for him again, those seven thousand miles be damned, before flipping the tables on him again and damn near hanging up in his ear.

  So who’s the rightful winner of the mixed signals trophy, Claire?

  Michael couldn’t have picked a better moment to appear, ready for me to hand off the “Trey Watch” duties. After giving a glowing report, I excused myself to get another cocktail from the bar, admiring how the gala committee had transformed the Peninsula Hotel’s ground floor in keeping with their theme, A Wild Night at the Ball. In a nutshell, it was “Cinderella goes to the jungle,” complete with “palace walls” draped in tropical vines and a midnight countdown clock fashioned out of stacked tribal drums and palm fronds.

  Despite the opulence of the surroundings, I was relieved the night would be over soon, allowing me to cab-it back to our hotel—and my private misery. The last few days had been hell. The press had glommed onto Killian and Kim like moss, meaning I’d seen more pictures of the Stone brothers in the past two weeks than I had in my entire life. The realization made me shoot a morose grin at the floor. Hell. If I could move better in the bodice of this gown, a clingy one-shouldered Grecian in light blue, I’d give myself a pat on the back. We came to do a job and everything couldn’t be going better. Killian was a media darling, with his brother as the next obvious contender for the position. Almost. Wooten still hadn’t made a move with the pregnancy claims, so we all continued to hold our breath. Tonight’s success would help our efforts along for days.

  I leaned against the bar to accept a fresh glass of Chardonnay, attempting to relax a little while watching an older couple glide by on the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes. Now all I had to do was ignore the pang in my heart that followed.

  “You’re getting ridiculous.” I fired the reprimand at myself from locked teeth. What was next? Bursting into tears if the band started a sappy tune? Returning to my room and crying over the life insurance commercials?