Dirty Deal

by Crystal Kaswell

  The elevator doors open. I step inside and wave my key card for access to the penthouse floor.

  The mirrors reflect my running makeup. I did my best college girl cat eye, but most of it has melted off. No matter. The only thing I want besides a glass of cold water is a shower.

  Ding. I step into the hallway and dig into my backpack front pocket for my keys. It's silly that this door locks at all. The only way to get to the floor is with a key card. A lock is overkill. Three locks is insanity.

  But it's so Blake.

  There. I slide my key into the door, turn the lock, and step inside.

  It's dark.

  The lights are off.

  The curtains are drawn.

  Huh?

  Something whizzes past me and bounces off the wall. Something small. A cork.

  The curtains pull open.

  Blake is standing in front of the window holding a foaming bottle of champagne. That explains the cork.

  He points to the ceiling. There are a few dozen balloons in blue and white. Columbia colors. There's a banner hanging across the incredibly long main room. Congratulations, Kat.

  And, my God, he's wearing one of those silly men's racerback tank tops. Blue, with Columbia in big, white letters.

  He catches me staring. "If you think that's something, you should see the matching boxers."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  He nods, takes three steps closer, picks up the champagne flutes on the coffee table, and hands one to me.

  "Aren't you glad you started college old enough to drink?" he asks.

  "You graduated too young to drink."

  "Don't compare yourself to an old man." He smiles.

  "Old at twenty-six?"

  "Ancient." He pulls my backpack off my shoulders and sets it next to the couch. "Your shoulders aching from carrying that thing around?" He runs his finger up my arm.

  Desire courses through me. Those are some amazing fingers. I clear my throat, getting ahold of my senses. "More like my neck."

  He rubs my neck with his palm. Traces the neckline of my tank top with his other hand. "I don't like you wearing that to class."

  "Would you feel better if I wrote Property of Blake Sterling on it?"

  "Yes." He presses his lips against my neck. "But I don't suppose you're offering."

  "Well, maybe if I hadn't bought the tank top."

  He laughs. It's a hearty laugh. Ever since we flew to Paris together, I've heard a lot of that laugh.

  I hear it every day and it still makes me melt. It's still the sweetest sound in the whole damn world.

  He presses his lips to my neck and lets out a low groan.

  Okay. That sound is a close second. A very, very close second.

  I take a sip of my champagne. Sweet, fruity bubbles slide down my throat. Damn. It's good. I finish my glass with one long swig.

  Blake places it on the coffee table. He brushes the messy hair from my eyes. "I got you something."

  I fight my urge to clap. Surprise presents are always such a nice, well, surprise. "Let me see."

  He laughs. His grin is ear to ear. His eyes crinkle. His cheek dimples. He shakes his head like I'm just so ridiculous, and he grabs a wrapped present from the bookshelf.

  He hands it to me. "You'll like it."

  "You're not supposed to say that."

  "You're not supposed to say let me see."

  "Oh, using my own words against me, are you?" I pull the wrapping off the present. It's a graphic novel. Falling Petals. The same thing I titled my portfolio project. And the cover image is one of my drawings. A self-portrait.

  Right there where the author name is supposed to go it says Kat Wilder.

  Shit. I'm the author. This is my portfolio project, the latest version of it.

  "It's a mockup," he says. "You do like it?"

  My jaw must be hanging open. It's a mockup of my portfolio project, and it looks like a real graphic novel. It looks amazing.

  I flip through the pages. It's laid out perfectly. Each vignette is shaded with a different color and each one is just right, as vivid or muted as it was in my original drawing.

  I let out all the air in my lungs. "I love it."

  "It's meant to inspire you."

  He picks at the pages, flipping to the vignette about Blake, well, inspired by Blake. It's all technically fiction.

  He flips right to a page where the two characters are about to have sex. "I know it inspires me."

  "Pervert."

  Blake points to the panel at the bottom of the page—the one where the bedroom door shuts. "Cruel of you not to let your readers see what happens."

  "Is that right?"

  He nods. "Sadistic, even." He nips at my ear as he sets the book on the coffee table.

  "It's not that kind of story."

  "It could be." He works his way down my neck. His fingertips side over the waist of my denim shorts.

  "Hey, Sterling. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it my way." There, I throw his words back at him. Though I am really fond of those words. And of his way.

  He pulls back, straightening his Columbia tank top like he's my apt pupil. "And what is your way?"

  I plant my hand on my hip. "Take off your clothes."

  "Where have I heard that before?"

  "Don't make me ask twice." I fight a giggle. I'm not pulling this off.

  But he's indulging me anyway.

  Blake pulls his tank top over his head. The light from the window streams over his body, highlighting all those deep, perfect lines. The man is cut. He's like a statue.

  He slides out of his shorts and tugs at his boxers. He points to a label on the side. Columbia.

  A laugh escapes my lips. "That's commitment. But take it off."

  He slides his boxers to his knees.

  Oh hell yes.

  I motion come here. "Take off mine now."

  We work together. I lift my arms as he pulls my shirt over my head. I shimmy my hips as he slides my shorts to my feet. He runs his fingertips over my calves, outer thighs, hips, stomach, back.

  Want buzzes through my body.

  His way or my way, we're doing this.

  "I didn't tell you to do that," I say.

  He unhooks my bra and pulls it off my shoulders. His fingers trail over my breasts. Draw slow circles around my nipples.

  "I should give you a spanking for disobeying my orders," I say.

  "You should." He pushes my underwear to my knees, grabs my ass, and pulls our bodies together.

  His cock presses against my pelvis. I rise onto my tiptoes so it's pressing against my clit.

  Oh, hell yes.

  Blake kisses me. It's hard and hungry and sweet all at once. In one smooth motion, he lifts me. My legs hook around his hips. My arms slide around his neck. He carries me to the wall and presses me against it. Yes. Oh hell yes.

  "Hold on tight." He kisses me hard.

  His nails dig into the flesh of my ass as he adjusts me. A nice hint of pain. Just enough to feel good. To draw all of my attention.

  His tip enters me. It's still as good as the first time. Still as good as every time.

  I'll never get tired of fucking this man.

  I kiss Blake, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into me.

  Yes. Oh hell yes.

  He presses me against the wall, rocking into me harder and harder and harder.

  There. Perfect. He digs his nails into my skin, shifting my hips so every thrust goes deeper. My bare chest presses against his. Our bodies still feel so good together. We're so good together.

  This is damn perfect.

  His tongue slides into my mouth, exploring it like it still fascinates him. I do the same. God knows he still fascinates me. I want to know everything there is to know about Blake—about his mind, his heart, his body. Especially his body.

  I dig my nails into his back, and he groans into my mouth. I squeeze my legs around his hips, rocking against him. My clit slides over his pubic bone. It's
a delightful bit of friction.

  Pleasure whirs inside me. It winds tighter. Tighter.

  I pull my lips away, tilt my head back, groan his name.

  His next thrust pushes me over the edge. Bliss fills my body. Free fall. It's everywhere, all around me.

  He holds me tighter.

  His breath hitches as he moves faster, harder. His eyelids press together. Groans escape his lips.

  He's almost there.

  He squeezes me tighter. Presses me against the wall.

  There.

  An orgasm overtakes him. He groans, digging his fingers into my skin as he comes inside me.

  I collapse into his arms. Still, he holds me tight, pressing me against the wall. I unhook my legs and plant my feet on the floor.

  Blake runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting it so we're eye to eye. "I love you."

  I press my lips to his. "I love you too."

  After dinner at the Thai restaurant down the street, we climb into the limo.

  Blake pulls a blindfold from the seatback pocket and places it over my eyes. "The next destination is a surprise."

  "What kind of surprise?"

  He kisses my neck. "Not that kind. Not yet."

  I lean back onto the bench seat. Okay. Our destination is a surprise, and we're not spending the trip having sex. "Want to give me a clue?"

  "No."

  I shake my head. "You're so difficult. I shouldn't put up with you."

  "You shouldn't."

  "Why do I?"

  "My body."

  I laugh. "Not your money?"

  "No. It's the sex."

  "It helps."

  "Only helps?"

  "I also happen to adore you."

  "Not as much as I adore you."

  Blake slides onto the bench seat next to me, trailing his fingertips up and down my inner thigh, right under the hem of my skirt.

  So, so close.

  I yelp when the limo stops and he pulls his hand away.

  "You can take it off," he says.

  I pull the blindfold over my head, toss it aside, and step out of the limo.

  We're in Midtown, in front of a tall building. The Empire State Building. It's blue and white today.

  "For your first day of school," he says. "The whole city is celebrating you."

  "It's celebrating the college, and it was purple for NYU yesterday."

  He takes my hand and leads me into the building. It's past the hours for the observation deck, but a little thing like that would never stop Blake. He motions hello to the guard and steps into the elevator.

  "Last time I checked, you're not afraid of heights," he says.

  "Not at all." There's nothing like the rush you get from being up in the clouds.

  He waves a key card at the elevator and presses the button for the observation deck. I don't even ask myself how he does these things anymore. It's some rich person trick.

  It's just like when I was a kid. The elevator goes so many stories so fast that my ears pop. I swallow three time to unpop them. Ah. Finally.

  The doors slide open, and we step outside. The entire observation deck is empty save for a lone security guard in the corner.

  I press the double doors open and step onto the deck balcony. It's windy up here but the air is warm. Perfect September weather. Perfect for the city.

  The sun is setting behind us. It sets so late this time of year. Blake slides his arm around my hips as I squeeze the guardrail. The city is all around us, and it's beautiful.

  A smile creeps onto his lips. He brushes the hair from my eyes again. He laughs as the wind blows it back. "That shows me."

  He pulls me away from the edge, so we're in the middle of the deck.

  Blake's eyes find mine. He looks at the concrete. It's almost like he's nervous, but that can't be possible. Blake Sterling doesn't get nervous.

  "Let's hope this goes better than last time." He takes my hand and drops to one knee.

  Holy shit.

  "Kat Wilder, I'm madly in love with you, and the only thing missing in my life—" he pulls a ring box from his pocket and pops it open "—is making you my wife."

  I stare at the ring.

  "It's the same one," he admits. "It really does suit you."

  I reach for the words. My voice cracks. "Yes. Of course."

  He slides the ring on my finger.

  I tug at his hands, pulling him to his feet. He slides his arms around me, leans in close, and kisses me.

  He kisses me like he never wants to come up for air.

  Extended Epilogue: Dirty Holiday

  Chapter 1

  December 22nd

  There are only four blocks between my subway exit and the apartment. Today, they feel like four miles. It's not quite freezing, but the wind is heavy enough to send a chill through my wool coat. My boots are leaking. My jeans are soaked.

  None of that matters when I see Blake. He's standing in the lobby, hands in his suit pockets, shoulders pulled back, hard expression on his face.

  He softens when I step into the door. His eyes find mine. I can't help but smile. I can't help but throw myself into his arms. I'm sure my boots are dirtying his perfect grey suit, but I don't care.

  Blake runs his fingers through my hair. "How was it?"

  "Manageable. Good thing I had such an excellent physics tutor." I press my lips into his. Mmm. He tastes like vanilla. "I think I passed. Maybe even got a B."

  "I'm sure it's an A. I'm proud of you."

  I plant my legs on the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

  "Yes."

  "You're ditching work for me?"

  "We have something to discuss." His voice is heavy. Which means bad news.

  I hate bad news.

  I stop to admire the giant Christmas tree in the lobby. It's been here a few weeks, but I've been too focused on school to take a decent mental picture. It would look amazing in a comic panel— the image of untouchable, elegant decadence.

  Even three feet away, I can smell the pine needles. I move closer, run my fingers over the soft red tinsel. This tree is huge. Ridiculous even. It’s thirty feet tall and utterly flawless.

  But not in that Beyonce kind of way.

  In a lifeless, belongs in a magazine and not reality kind of way.

  I imagine drawing it. I'd have to give it an entire page. I'd have to find a way to capture its majesty and its lack of soul all at once.

  Blake runs his fingers over my chin. "Kat."

  I turn back to him, examine the expression in his eyes. He's fighting something. "What's wrong?"

  "We'll talk in the penthouse." Blake nods a hello/goodbye to the guard. His grip tightens around my wrist as he pulls me to the elevators.

  It's rougher than usual. I know better than to ask. Blake isn't closed off when we're alone. But in public, he's a wall of steel.

  Inside, the penthouse is as sparse as always. It’s free of holiday cheer. If it weren't for the bleak white sky bleeding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, it could be June.

  Okay, that's not quite true. The trees in the park are barren, brown and gray instead of vibrant green, and all the people on the street are wearing heavy coats.

  I kick off my boots and hang my coat on the rack. Blake sets my backpack next to the couch. That's where I sit when I draw. And he hates when my stuff is on the couch. He must know how much I want to sketch the scenery.

  "Coffee?" he asks.

  "Sure."

  I watch as he fixes two cups and hands one to me.

  The drink warms my fingers. Sweet, rich, vanilla. Like his lips. "I know it's cutting it a little close, but I was thinking we could get a Christmas tree tomorrow. Or even today. It's only noon. We have time to go to the lot on Fifty-Ninth or to grab a plastic tree at Target."

  His expression hardens. He turns to the window, steps into the soft glow. Winter light is beautiful. I need to immortalize him. To capture the highlights and shadows and all the hurt in his eyes.

  I
move closer. Run my fingertips over his cheek. He leans into my touch, letting out a long, heavy breath. Not quite a sigh but close.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  His eyes stay on the window. "I don't celebrate Christmas." He takes a long sip of his coffee, breaking my touch. "Your sister will be here tomorrow. Celebrate here or use the company jet to take her to Aruba. I'll be at the office until the twenty-sixth."

  I play with my giant engagement ring. It's hard, expensive, elegant. Like his apartment. Like his company. Like him. "Are you going to explain?"

  His facade cracks. Hurt spreads over his face. His lip corners turn down. His eyebrows screw in frustration. For once, his posture isn't strong and impervious.

  My voice gets soft. "You can run away if you want, but I need to know why."

  “There are too many ugly memories.”

  I nod. Blake hasn't had an easy life. His father was a horrible, abusive man. Blake had to keep everything together for his mom and his sister, even when he was a little boy. "So you disappear into work?"

  He nods.

  "Every year?"

  Again, he nods.

  "And you waited until the twenty-second to drop this on me?"

  "School comes first."

  I don't know whether I want to hug him or slap him. He really does want my schoolwork to come first. Even before him. Even when he needs me desperately.

  My fingers curl into fists. The anger is winning. "So, what, you're totally bailing on Christmas?"

  Blake is stone even as he turns to face me. "Celebrate however you want. I won't get in your way."

  "I want to celebrate with you."

  His voice wavers. "I'm sorry, Kat."

  Fuck this. I'm not going to let Blake lock me out. Not over something this important. "No." I press my heel into the hardwood. Only, it's a sock and the floor is just waxed. I slip, landing on my hands and knees.

  Blake looks down at me. He smiles, endeared by either my clumsiness or my rejection.

  I look up at him. "When is the last time you did anything to celebrate?"

  His expression hardens.

  "Ten years? More?"

  He nods.

  "Maybe you'll like it now. If you give it a chance."

  He kneels, offering to help me up. I grab his hand but use it to pull him onto the floor with me.