by jm blake
I didn’t know what hit me.
On the first kiss, I mumbled some sort of ashamed excuse, and he tongued me right into silence. Before I knew it, his head was between my legs and, well, you get where this went. Not even in my wildest fantasies could I have imagined that a man could make me orgasm that much. One kept bleeding into another, and I finally begged him to give me a break. His deep, smug chuckle danced over my skin, and I fell into a drowned, sated sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, I was trapped underneath a heavy muscular arm facing him on a shared pillow. The little bit of light lit his handsome face, and I traced his thick dark brows and perfect nose with my pinky finger. He had a light patch of blonde hair over his right temple (a Mallen streak or poliosis for us science nerds), and while his hair was somewhat short, you could tell that it tended to curl. I maneuvered my way out from under him slowly and tiptoed into the bathroom to pee. A light automatically came on, and when turned to exit, I saw a drawer slightly open.
Okay, this is where half of humanity tells me not to snoop, that curiosity killed the cat, privacy rules blah blah blah—the other half telling me, girl, open that drawer. So I did.
There were at least four dozen XL condoms, several tubes of lube, as well as some new-in-package vibrators. I blinked several times and pulled the drawer open a little wider. Butt plugs. There were butt plugs in here. And handcuffs. And twist ties. Jumping Jesus, he has the whole shebang in here. A horrifying thought burst through my mind. What if he’s a professional? Like what if when he wakes up and expects me to pay him? How do they charge? Per orgasm? Shit, I’ll be in debt after I came so many times.
I gotta get out of here.
I slipped out of the bathroom and slid the door closed to stop the light from waking him up. I grabbed up all my clothes and quickly got dressed in the living room. I’m praying that I don’t need a damn card key to get out of here, but luckily there’s a simple button that can help me escape. The longest minute of my life elapsed while I waited, and I kept checking over my shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t about to pounce on me from the shadows. I managed to make it downstairs and out of the hotel without incident, and now here I am. Trying to explain to my sister why there are fingerprint marks on my ass, not to mention the bite mark on my shoulder.
“Um, there’s nothing to tell. You know. Pilates.” I stammer out with a nervous laugh.
Pilates?
Pathetic.
“You don’t do Pilates, Cass. What gives?” A screech sounds from my iPad. “Did you meet someone?” Another screech. “Wait, did you sleep with someone? Omgee, tell me everything!” She is bouncing around so much that she keeps dodging in and out of the screen.
I sigh and sit on the bed in my underwear. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. It was a one-night thing, and it was great, but it will never happen again.”
“Hell no, girl. You better start spilling the deets. Did my genius sister finally have her first one night stand? I need to get a full blow-by-blow. Ohhh, I need to call Brin!”
“Gem!” I scream out. The last thing I need is my very serious older sister giving me a lecture. “Can you not? Let me get through this meeting and then I promise I will tell you everything when I get home. Okay?” I plead with her.
“Okay, fine,” she agrees with her arms crossed over her chest, “But as soon as you get home, I’m getting the four-one-one. Now try the blue dress on.”
So I managed to avoid the inquisition, and we decided on this stupid skirt and blouse combo with these stupid shoes. I knew that today was going to be a challenge when I wobbled out of my rental, and the Uber driver leered at me from the driver’s seat.
It only got worse when the security guard at DevCo insisted on personally escorting me to the executive floor while staring at my legs openly. Now the CEO’s secretary is unabashedly gawking at me, and I just want to run out of here. I’m sure that some of her fascination is because the VP who had been contacting me thought that I was a man. It was a common mistake since I went by C. Michael Masters and not by Cassidy. My assistant back home got sick pleasure out of not telling random callers I was a woman and waited until l showed up to pour shame on them. I am a very stringent supporter of women in science, so I whole-heartedly support her diabolique.
“They are ready for you, Dr. Masters. Please follow me.”
I stand up and am proud of the fact that I can balance on these ridiculous heels my sister made me wear. I walk behind her sedate gait, and she pushes the ornate door open. “Sirs, Dr. Cassidy Michael Masters,” she announces as steps out of my way. The four men in the room automatically stand up, all in some sort of ill-disguised shock. The one closest to me, a wickedly handsome devil (what is with all of these gorgeous British men?) who seems a little familiar is the first one to reach out and shake my hand. He isn’t subtle about inspecting me from top to bottom before looking me in the eyes. “Dr. Masters? I’m Sebastian St. Devane. It’s a pleasure.” He grins at me, eyes crinkling a little while he introduces me to the other men in the room. I smile at them all and return their greetings, while Sebastian does not let go of my hand. I hear his weird intake of breath when I smile and then an odd little chuckle.
“I’m sorry that my brother isn’t quite ready.” He smiles at me, and the familiarity once again strikes me. “He should be out momentarily.”
“It’s fine. I’m anxious to hear what you have been working on and how I can help.” The other guys are weirdly silent, and I want to turn around and make sure they aren’t staring at my ass when Sebastian squeezes my hand. “Ah, here’s my brother now. Ayden, this is Dr. Cassidy Michael Masters.” He gestures behind me, and I swear before God, I have never wished for an imminent volcanic eruption before. Holy shit.
It’s. Him.
Mr. Condoms-And-Other-Sex-Paraphernalia is Ayden St. Devane. CEO of DevCo. My client.
Someone kill me right now. I honestly feel the blood rush down to my feet, and for a second, I think I may faint. Or spontaneously burst into flames. Something.
He’s leaning on a corner near his desk, hands tucked into his pockets. His tailored shirt shows off his muscular, lean arms, and he looks a little less polished- hair messy and a five o’clock shadow. Of course, this does nothing but make him look even hotter, which doesn’t help my nerves. The teensy-weensy part of me that hoped he didn’t recognize me died once he lifts an eyebrow in arrogant expectation. I narrow mine in response and take a step forward. Feet don’t fail me now.
“Mr. St. Devane. Thank you for inviting me. Shall we get started?” I turn my back on him and take a seat on one of the plush chairs set in a semi-circle. I swear I can feel the heat of his stare on my back and take a deep breath. He strolls forward and takes the seat directly across from me. I peek at Sebastian, who has the world’s biggest shit-eating grin on his face and grimace. Fuck, he knows.
The other men settle in, and the other VP, Mr. Wilton, begins outlining the project and all of the issues they’ve been experiencing. Sebastian chimes in, as well as the two guys from the lab, Alec and Chris. Ayden says nothing, just sits quietly. I can feel his eyes on me, and I’m torn between wanting to throw a shoe at him and jump his bones.
“So, as you can see, we are at a stalemate. We’re hoping that you can help us figure out where we are going wrong. Any little thing you can tell us would be helpful.” Sebastian leans forward, his elbows on his thighs. He’s been speaking for over an hour, with me interrupting with questions and taking notes. At one point I took out my glasses and saw Ayden bite his lip. Nope. Not looking again. “What are your thoughts?”
“I’d like to hear Dr. Masters’ qualifications before we continue. This is a critical project and no offense, but we cannot just trust anyone to consult on it.” Ayden cuts me off from responding, and though his voice sounds even, there is an undercurrent there, a challenge lying just beneath the surface. My hackles jump, and I puff up. Qualifications? Okay, asshole.
“I have a double doctorate- One in Materials Science a
nd Engineering and another one in Nanoscience. I have consulted on over fifteen different government contracts, and I have top-secret clearance. I am currently on staff at UC Berkeley, where I head up an experimental teaching program. They afford me the flexibility to take on projects and research while I help raise money and awareness for the program. I can assure you that your project is within my wheelhouse.” I practically spit out the last sentence and glare at him. He answers with that damn arrogant smile and nods briefly.
“All of that at the advanced age of..?” Fishing. This fucker is fishing.
“I’m twenty-eight. I started college at fifteen, published at eighteen, and got my first Ph.D. at twenty-one. Anything else you need to know?”
One wrong word and I will walk out of here. I have already pinpointed about three things that they are doing wrong—I can fix his little experiment in no time. My face must have conveyed all of this because he gives me a nonchalant shrug and waves his hand. “Not right now.”
Ooh, he’s gonna get it. Not right now? I grit my teeth and turn to Sebastian, who has asked me to call him Bash. “If you like, I can type up some recommendations, or I can brief you tomorrow after I have toured the facility?” Bash assures me that he would prefer a complete assessment after I have toured the lab. I agree and stand up to shake everyone’s hand, except you know who, who remains seated like some sort of royalty. Asshole times three.
Mr. Wilton tells me they will send a car for me tomorrow morning, and I am about to run out of here like my panties are on fire when it happens.
“Before you leave, Dr. Masters. A word?” His raspy voice taps me on the shoulder, and I can’t help it. I gulp. Out loud.
Bash coughs which I’m convinced is covering a laugh. The other guys file out, and I’m left alone with Ayden. I turn and face him, and he taps his thigh like he wants me to sit on it. Excuse me? No way, playboy.
I sit instead on the furthest chair possible, chair Siberia if you will, and cross my legs. His gold-flecked eyes watch the movement, and his pupils dilate. We just stare at each other. Long minutes go by before he abruptly stands up and paces restlessly.
“Why did you leave me like that?” He runs his hand through his cropped hair and drops it to his side angrily.
Wait? What?
Ayden
Fuck, I didn’t mean to blurt that out.
The last two hours have been torture. I sat there and listened to Bash, and the other men throw information at her that would have made anyone else’s head spin. Instead, she absorbed all of it, asking a few pointed and brilliant questions. I take in every detail of her, from the spiky black heels (that I’m positive she hates wearing) to her smooth, shapely legs, crossed at the ankles and her generous breasts straining against the buttons of her blouse. At one point, she put on her thick-framed glasses, and I almost groaned out loud. I had to bite my lip to prevent any sound from coming out and giving me away —the annoyed look she gave me only making me hotter. Her wavy black hair is tucked into a neat bun at the back of her head, and despite her trim and professional look, I’m convinced she still isn’t wearing any cosmetics. Not that her brand of perfection needs any.
Bash is onto me—I don’t know how he figured it out, but the number of times he waggled his brows at me was annoying. When I challenged her qualifications, I swear dragon fire shot out of her beautiful blue eyes. I was wholly impressed by her, and honestly, that was what I had planned on telling her when I asked her to stay behind.
Ok, maybe that’s not true.
Seeing her in the daylight, groomed and gorgeous with blazing genius pouring out of her, set me on fire- sexually, but also pissed me off. Why did she leave like that?
I jump out of my chair and pace around my office before spitting it out like a complete wanker. “Why did you leave me like that?”
Brilliant. I sound like a teenage boy begging a girl for attention. My arm falls to my leg in a slapping motion, and I glare at her. Her Play-Doh lips are open in confusion, and I want nothing more than to pounce on her. “Well?”
A dozen emotions cross her expressive face - confusion, embarrassment, and anger. Her stubborn chin lifts, and she purses her lips. Her dimples pop out in a grimace. “I didn’t want to be there when you woke up.”
What??
“Why not? Did I do something wrong?” I wrack my brain for any missteps I may have made. Could too many orgasms be an issue?
“No, that’s not…no you didn’t do anything wrong. I told you that I don’t have one-night stands. I don’t know the etiquette involved, ok? I thought it would be better if I were gone when you woke up.” Her eyes flit to the side and mine narrow. She’s lying.
“And?” I know there’s more to this. “That can’t be the only reason.”
She squirms in her chair and fiddles with the frame of her glasses. I take a breath and sit next to her. The scent of her- warm and floral- tickles my nose. I want to grab her and pull her onto my lap, tug her hair out of that tight bun and kiss the hell out of her. Instead, I twist my hands together and lean forward. “Cassidy? What’s the real reason.”
Her body jumps slightly at the sound of me saying her name, and her teeth make an appearance digging into her lip. I can’t help but reach over and tug it out, running my thumb across her soft mouth. We both take a breath and she stumbles to her feet.
“Don’t.”
She smoothes down that tight skirt and takes a few steps of space. She winds up behind my office chair, staring out at the London skyline. I don’t move- out of fear of her bolting, and also fear that I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. She rubs a slim hand across her forehead and faces me. “I…” Her eyes rivet to the top of the desk, and her face contorts in horror. “Are you married?” She takes about four steps to the right- closer to the door.
“What?” What is she going on about? Then I recall the framed photos on my desk. I jump up and block her exit.
“No, I’m not married.” I grab one of the pictures and the one next to it that she failed to see. “This isn’t my baby; it’s my godson, Erik. The woman is his mother and my best friend’s wife.” I hand her the second picture, which is of Nick, his wife, and two sons with me flanking them. Nick is beaming while holding his wife in an extremely possessive embrace. I teased him that he must be afraid that she was going to run away with me, but considering their history, he probably meant it when he muttered that he was going to dismember me. Staring at the woman in front of me—I can completely sympathize.
“I don’t have a wife or even a girlfriend. If I did, I wouldn’t be standing here waiting for you to explain yourself.” I cross my arms tightly against my chest and try the glare again. She points one right back at me, and unfortunately, she looks so adorable that mine melts off of my face. “I told you that I just felt it was a good idea, ok? Can you please drop it?” She takes a cautious step toward the door, and I match it with a blocking one. A mini-growl pops out of her throat— I barely stifle a chuckle.
“Can you stop? This is weird enough as it is,” she huffs in annoyance. “In America, I’m sure that this counts as kidnapping. Now let me pass.” Her foot stamps in anger, and she wobbles a bit. I reach out to steady her, and in her quest to evade me, she stumbles again. I grab onto her with her body aligned to mine, holding her tight. Her arms are pinned to her sides, and her perfect breasts push into my chest. My cock is exceptionally pleased and twitches hard to tell me so. I stare down into her gorgeous eyes and smile.
“Now, Dr. Masters, let’s get this straight. Perhaps you won’t tell me the real reason that you ran out like a house on fire, but going forward, I would appreciate it if you waited until I was conscious before you legged it. So, where are you staying? I can pick you up for dinner, or we can dine in. What do you prefer?” I’m hoping she opts for eating in- so that I can eat her instead. I think there is a tinge of begging in my voice, but I choose to believe it’s commanding.
Humor me.
Now, this is the part where most women I h
ave fucked would be dreaming up wedding plans and plotting out how many children we would have. I don’t do repeats, I don’t hang out with women, and I don’t do any sort of pleading. So, of course, this American vixen looks at me like I’ve escaped from an asylum and laughs.
She laughs at me.
“Well, first of all, Mr. St. Devane,” she mimics, “I am not going to tell you where I am staying, because you are not picking me up- for dinner, lunch, a hot dog, or even a granola bar. You are my client- I work for you. Therefore there will be no repeats of the other night- so get that straight out of your head. This whole chase thing you’ve got going on? It ends right after I walk out of this office.” She jerks her head toward the door. “You asked me to come here because your project is in trouble, and you need my help. And that is exactly what I am going to do-help your project-not your penis. So…please let me go before I decide that jumping on the first plane back to San Francisco sounds like a better option.” Her voice is cold and determined, and if I were a better man, I would just agree with her and move on.