by Ella Brooke
“Yes,” I say on reflex. Shit, that’s lame. He’s talking about the opera, you idiot. “It was . . . beyond anything I could have ever imagined.” Two can play at the double-meaning game. I should thank him again, but it feels weird to say that now. ‘Thank you for giving me the orgasm of the century, Mr. Baxter.’ Jesus.
“I’m glad. And I’m glad you agreed to come with me,” he adds.
I nearly choke at his words. I came, that’s for sure. I’m completely tongue-tied now; no idea how to respond. Helpless, I glance upward at him. He’s so handsome it’s almost painful. I can’t be doing this with him. I’ve got to get out of here, clean myself up. I look away, concentrating on my steps as we work our way through the crowd, inching toward the exits—and freedom.
We reach the massive lobby and I see taxicabs lining up at the curb. Thank God . . . my getaway car. I stop walking as we near the big glass exit doors. Unlocking my arm from his grip, I swallow to clear my choked throat enough to speak. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say, more curtly than I’d intended, and not quite meeting his gaze. “I’d better grab one of those cabs before they’re all taken.” As if of its own volition, my hand stabs into the space between us, goofily asking for a handshake. “Have a great weekend, Mr. Baxter.” Right. First names. “Brent,” I add with a nod. “Goodbye.”
A look of confusion crossing his chiseled features, he takes my offered hand. After a quick motion up and down, I try to withdraw, but he doesn’t let go. I find myself awkwardly pulling against him. “Goodbye?” he repeats, his brow furrowing.
“I mean, goodnight,” I say, goodbye sounding very cold, but every nerve in my body is screaming for me to turn and run. I break my hand free and pivot away from him. I don’t get further than that before he stops me, hooking my elbow and spinning me to face him again. His elegant fingers are creating white marks where his fingertips dig in. “Please let me go,” I say, more like a whimper than a command.
“Cassie,” he says, a gentle urgency in his sexy voice. He reaches beneath my chin, tilting my face upward, forcing me to meet his smoky, shadowed stare. “Have I upset you? If so, I’m sorry. But I don’t want to let the evening end like this. And I certainly don’t want you leaving unescorted. The company car is here; let me take you home. Please.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, my head shaking weakly side to side. “I’ll be fine.” Brent draws me closer, my arm still firmly in his grip. I can’t look away this time. He’s got me in his sights as surely as a long-range rifle.
“Yes, it is necessary,” he murmurs. I feel the heat of him, practically hear his heart beating against my own as he presses my body against his. “I’m responsible for the safety of my employees.” His head tilts inexorably toward me, until our mouths are mere millimeters apart. I’m a boneless lump of flesh in his arms; I have no strength left. His lips touch mine, warm and soft and insistent. I respond, melting into his kiss as though I’d been doing it all my life. I can’t recall a kiss so powerful, so all-consuming and filled with the promise of even better to come.
The crowd around us has ceased to exist, so lost am I in the magic of our lips exploring each other. Brent softly breaks contact, his arms wrapped around my waist. “Let me take you home,” he whispers, his sweet breath caressing my heated face.
He’s stolen every word from my mouth with that kiss. I can’t speak. All I can do is nod. Yes. Please take me.
No Turning Back
Brent
“This is it,” Cassidy says as the limo slows in front of an older apartment building on the Lower East Side, reminding me of the Broadway musical Rent. An utter and complete contrast to my penthouse digs just off Central Park. I have to remember that not everyone gets afforded these kinds of luxuries in life.
I like all kinds of performing arts, from minimalist theater festival plays to the grand production we’ve just seen at the Met. I don’t regret getting Cassie to attend La Traviata with me. The evening’s been spectacular so far, and I’m reluctant to let it end, but I also don’t want to push her too far. Getting a handful of her sweet, wet pussy in an opera booth was certainly testing the envelope, and she appeared to enjoy it. I know I did. A crazy move on my part, but fuck, was it hot. The look on her face and the little quivering pulses around my fingers as she came, right at the apex of the aria, was better than the show itself. I was this close to dropping to my knees and burying my face between her legs. “This is fine right here,” she’s saying to the driver, searching for keys in her purse.
“Hold on now,” I say, taking hold of her arm, urging her to stay her in her seat. “You don’t just jump out of a limousine and dash up the steps. Let the driver get the door.” She looks at me, those blue eyes luminous in the semi-dark of the car, and settles back a little. We barely spoke on the ride here, and she looks like some woodland creature getting ready to bolt from a predator. Is that what she thinks of me? Christ, I’ve really blown it if so; but that kiss we shared tells me otherwise.
“It’s really late,” she says. “I need to go.” The passenger door opens wide.
“I’ll see you up,” I say with a smile.
“No need,” she says, swinging her gorgeous legs over the threshold.
“There’s every need. I won’t have you walking alone. I promised to see you home safely.” I’m around the car and offering her my hand before her feet even touch the ground. She takes it and steps out next to me, her golden hair shining in the moonlight. I want to kiss her again, but the air is chilly and I need to get her inside. “Lead the way.”
She takes my arm as we walk up the entrance steps, her sexy heels clicking on the concrete. Her key opens the interior doors and we step into a dreary vestibule with a single elevator. “I can take it from here,” she says, pushing the button. “You needn’t keep your driver waiting.”
I shake my head. “He gets paid to wait. I’m not leaving until I see you inside your apartment door.”
Cassie sighs and turns to look at me. “I don’t think you want to see it. It’s . . . it’s . . .”
It dawns on me she’s embarrassed by the place she lives in. “I don’t judge,” I say. “As long as you’re safe and warm, it doesn’t matter where a person lives. Now, will you please let me be the gentleman and escort you to your home?” Huh. Fine time to be a gentleman. I wasn’t very gentlemanly in our opera booth.
“Alright,” she acquiesces, still holding on to my arm. A good sign. The elevator is slow and noisy but finally screeches to a halt on the fourth floor. She leads me to the last door on our left at the end of the hallway and fits her key into the lock. “I have a roommate,” she says quietly, standing still before the door.
I wasn’t thinking about her having a roommate, but she’s been a student for four years. It stands to reason she’d have a roommate, but why is she only telling me now? Doesn’t matter. I’m just here to see her inside and thank her again for her company, right?
“But she tends bar on the weekends. She won’t be home until much later . . .” Cassidy says, looking over her shoulder at me as she turns the knob. I can’t help but smile.
“How much later?” I ask innocently.
“At least four a.m.” She pushes the door open.
“Will you be okay until then?”
“I think so,” she says, just as innocently, not moving from her spot. I step close, placing my hands on her shoulders.
“Let me make sure of that,” I whisper, turning her slowly to face me. She fixes me again with those startlingly blue eyes. Without another word I cup the back of her silky blond head and pull her in for another kiss, stronger and harder than before. I feel her lips surrendering to mine, moving in concert, opening to allow me entrance to the warm, wet cave of her mouth. My tongue tangles with hers in an urgent, needful dance.
My other hand presses into the small of her back and brings her close. Her breasts crush against my chest and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of her lungs as her breathing quickens. My hand slips downw
ard to palm the firm, rounded globe of her delectable ass, roving in circles. As I squeeze a handful of that sweet flesh, she pulls her lips away from mine and lowers her head, not meeting my eyes. Puffs of her warm, panting breaths caress the skin of my neck. “Don’t . . .” she gasps. “This is wrong . . .”
I can’t stop this now. I want her, all of her. Heated blood is surging through my veins and pooling in my crotch, fueling another stellar erection. Her protests seem uncertain and unconvincing. I nuzzle her scented hair and murmur into the mass of golden locks. “Does it feel wrong to you? It doesn’t to me.”
I move us across the threshold of her apartment door. The aging place is small and so unlike the sleek, contemporary luxury of my own home. I don’t care. I want her in bed, any bed. I hold her tight as I wait for an answer. She lifts her head and moves it slowly side to side, her eyes wet and moist with welling tears. “No,” she whispers.
I smile and lean down to scoop her into my arms. She’s petite and light despite her generous endowment of womanly curves. “Which room is yours?” I ask, kissing her again on her primed, swelling lips. She motions to one of the doors off the main room, and I carry her inside. Lit by a tiny bedside lamp, the room is like a little princess’s lair. The bed sports white silk coverings edged in pink and a small mountain of pillows and cushions in various shades and prints of pink.
I don’t think about the psychological ramifications of wanting to fuck the daylights out of her in such surroundings. She’s a grown woman despite the little girl trappings, and if she’s a princess, she deserves a strong, virile prince to deliver the happily ever after. I lay her on the waiting white surface of her bed, her long hair flaying out in a golden fan across the silk. Sweet Jesus, she couldn’t look sexier, a long expanse of creamy thigh revealed as her skirt slides higher.
I doff my suit jacket and tie, peel my cotton shirt away, and toss all three in a heap on the floor. Cassie reaches for my designer belt, deftly releasing the silver buckle and unfastening the waistband of my pants. My raging erection swells even more, my cock aching for release.
I pull apart the zipper on the back of her slinky dress. I lower us onto the bed and slip the garment off her shoulders. A lacy black bra encases two magnificent breasts that rise and fall to the rhythm of her excited breathing. My fingertips trace the heaving mounds, and slip beneath a lacy edge to push the material aside. A perfect pink nipple stiffens in the air, hardening further as I drag my thumb across it.
Cassie exhales in a little moan and reaches for the closure of the bra, releasing it. Both breasts tumble free, and I nearly swallow each one in turn, taking in as much of the tender flesh as possible, licking and sucking, coaxing both nipples into excited peaks beneath my tongue. She wriggles free of the dress altogether, and with my mouth still full of her gorgeous tits I cup her pussy, still sheathed in moist black panties, and massage her hard.
Her moans echo in the room with each exhale, and releasing her, I shift my body enough to slide off the bed, hooking a finger in either side of her panties and dragging them slowly down her thighs, over her knees and past her ankles. The filmy black fabric lands atop the growing pile of our clothing on the floor, along with her stiletto pumps and my Italian leather loafers.
I stand, removing my belt, pants, and briefs in a single motion. My cock springs free, standing to attention like the Washington Monument, the head like a red plum ready to burst. She lies on the bed below, her legs parted but her eyes fixed on my rippled mast of penis. Her gleaming, smooth pussy beckons to me, slick and shining in the low light. God, I can’t believe I’m here with her, about to make love to this stunning, youthful goddess. I want to give her every pleasure imaginable; take her to heights no college boy could ever ascend to.
Make her mine.
I kneel at the edge of the bed, taking her dainty feet into my hands and pushing upwards. Her knees bend and fall to the side willingly, and I lean forward into the inviting vee they make. Starting above her ankle, I lick a slow path up the inside of each leg, tracing the curve of her calves and the soft, pale expanse of inner thighs, almost reaching the apex between those lovely legs, then descending back down again.
Her head twists side to side, the silky bedcovers fisted between her clawed fingers. “Brent,” she gasps, over and over, the sound of my name escaping her lovely lips launching my ego and my lust into the stratosphere. It feels like I waited forever to hear it. As much as my straining cock screams for attention, I take my time, reveling in the scent of her arousal as it builds, dragging my tongue in deliberate slowness back down the length of her leg.
Her thighs quiver and goosebumps rise over her creamy flesh as she waits for me to fulfill her obvious desire and need. “Brent,” she says again, almost as a cry for help. She’s at the end of her sexual rope, right where I want to take her. “Brent, please . . .”
I respond, rising from my knees, ignoring the warning twinges of pain in my joints inconveniently reminding me of my age, to cage her gorgeous body underneath mine and nestle my groin in the delicious cradle between her legs. My cock presses against the wet seam of her pussy lips. I cup her breast, relishing the firm but yielding texture of it, feeling the weight of it in my hand. “Cassie,” I whisper between a series of gentle kisses on her cheek, her chin, the edges of her lush mouth. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for weeks. I want this to be good for you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she says. “Oh, yes . . .”
I smile in the dim light and reach down to take hold of my rod, its swollen, aching tip slick with pre-cum, and guide it between her folds to her waiting, hot entrance. It’s like heaven and earth colliding as I breach her feminine gate, push inward, and feel the pressure of her tight, youthful walls encasing me in wet, welcoming warmth. “Ohhh, Cassie . . .” her name slips from my mouth so easily, as if I’ve spoken it a thousand times. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I drive home inside of her, firm but holding back the full force I could deliver. She gasps inward, holding her breath as I reach the deepest parts of her. I withdraw slowly, then surge forward again. Her excited breaths match my thrusts, and at each pass I make sure to impart a healthy bump to her clit, coaxing her to climax.
I slip one arm under her knee and draw her leg upward for maximum access, my thrusts accelerating in speed and force. Little shrieks escape her mouth with each stroke. Her hands are threaded tightly into my hair but I don’t feel a thing except the exquisite sensation of pounding in and out of Cassie’s hot channel, her young parts taut and sleek as a gun barrel. Fuck!
Her nails rake across my scalp as she cries out, orgasm ripping through her. “Yes!” she wails. “Yes!”
My own voice is hoarse with exertion. “That’s it, baby, come for me . . . come for Daddy,” I rasp, shuddering as my balls tighten and release their load, pumping shot after shot of hot cum into her sweet, throbbing pussy. Our words dissolve into exhausted, frantic groans of pleasure. I feel her heart drumming against me, her scent wafting all around me, a mix of perfume and raw sex. I haven’t felt such utter satisfaction in a long time, nor the addictive attraction to a woman as I have for this fresh, free-spirited nymph of a girl half my age. Then it hits me. Did I just say the word ‘Daddy’ out loud?
Fuck. I’m balls-deep in trouble.
The Morning After
Cassidy
My eyes open slowly, stubbornly. I don’t exactly remember dreaming, but I feel relaxed and floaty like I’ve had a really good one. Lying on my stomach, I can see pale sunlight stream across the carpet, cut into slivers by the window blinds. My white and pink room comes into focus, looking the same as always, except . . .
There’s a pile of my clothes on the floor, as though cast off in haste. Panic ignites at the base of my spine and roars upward like wildfire as memory kicks in. I roll over, to find only emptiness and a lonely, lingering whiff of ultra-sexy cologne.
Brent’s cologne. My boss’s cologne. My ex-boyfriend’s dad’s cologne!
Something
like terror grips my stomach, but it’s not terror. It’s a mix of so many emotions I can’t peel them apart to identify individually. Relief, regret, annoyance, shame, but also pleasure, satisfaction, excitement. I slept with Brent Baxter. On the surface I’m horrified, but deep down I know I wouldn’t have done any differently under the circumstances. I was utterly seduced, and dammit, I wanted it to happen. Aside from the moral implications, I can’t lie. He gave me the fuck of the century and I loved every minute of it.
But that was last night. Things have an annoying way of looking different in the cold light of day. I have no idea how he feels; the fact he isn’t here, that he slipped out in the night like a cat—or if I were to use an opera metaphor, like Don Juan, certainly sings volumes. I’ve seen the opera Don Giovanni, aka Don Juan, and The Libertine. Wealthy, handsome, charming, sinister; a true scoundrel who made a career out of seducing young women.
Ugh! With a sick feeling in my stomach, I remind myself I wasn’t the original target, merely a substitute for who he really wanted to take to the opera. Maybe I wasn’t far off in thinking he does this all the time. Is Brent Baxter a player, a serial seducer? Of course he is, you simp! He’s a gorgeous, billionaire widower; women must be falling at his feet non-stop.
Now I’m doubting the entire situation. Was the job offer a complete ruse? An elaborate plot to lure me into his web of sexual conquests? I don’t want to believe that. He’s been nothing but generous, supportive, and professional with me in the short time I’ve been working at Baxter Securities. And besides, he must have understood how Ryan might feel, moving in on his ex-girlfriend, his very-recently-ex-girlfriend. He wouldn’t do that on purpose. Was it just an accident, then? A lapse of judgment in a heated, sexually charged moment? Or does he, in some crazy way, actually care for me?