Taunt (A Miami Lust Novella Book 3)

by C. M. Lally

  God help me, she’s so damn gorgeous. My dick is hard again, so I push it down and re-adjust it in my pants. Fuck. I’ve got to get her out of my mind. Pitching my garbage in the trash, I stroll back out to the club and wait for Perry and his new hire to show. Fucking paperwork. It’s so monotonous.

  I’m grateful when Perry and Jake find me early. The faster I can get this over with, the earlier I can start my personal time. And that will certainly involve a hot babe; I just don’t know which one.

  We finish up within the hour and I make my way out to the VIP area. Thiago and Brooke are seated in his booth and he waves me over. I bend forward and kiss Brooke on the cheek before taking a seat next to her. “Hey, Love. When are you gonna realize he’s an old man and you need someone closer to your age?” I ask her.

  “Never. I like my men sexy and mature, not sexy and immature,” she says, throwing a playful punch at my arm.

  “Whoa! She got you there, little bro. Thanks, Sunshine,” Thiago laughs, kissing her hand that’s intertwined in his.

  “Oh, please. Can we stop with the hand holding? What are we eight years old?” I ask grudgingly.

  “Nope. I’m going to hold his hand until every woman in the world knows he’s mine,” she says teasingly.

  “Possessive much?” I ask in return, smiling. They both know I’m teasing.

  “It’s our united front. It shows the world I’m hers, she’s mine, and we go forth into this crazy life together,” he explains. “I don’t expect you to understand until you fall in love.”

  “Which is never happening!” I blurt out a little too quickly because they both give each other knowing looks. “I might fall in lust, but love...nope. I’m not a white picket fence kind of guy.

  “Who’s not a white picket fence kind of guy?” Mateo asks, as he and Cassee approach the table.

  “Ah, great. Now I’m going to look like the third wheel. I’m out,” and I scoot across the bench seat to stand. I wink and kiss Cassee on the cheek before patting Mateo on his ass and leave.

  “Fucking jokester,” he hollers at me. I throw him a beaming smile from across the dance floor.

  I find a stool at the bar and Tito pops open the tab on my summer edition drink, knowing exactly what I want. I take a quick sip and set it down on the napkin.

  “How’d you do that?” I hear a feminine voice ask.

  I turn in that direction and there’s a beautiful Brunette sitting next to me, looking directly at me.

  “Do what? Not order and still get a drink?” I ask.

  “Yes, exactly. It took me ten minutes to get his attention,” she pouts.

  “Really? Well, maybe I’m going to have to get Tito’s vision checked. To be fair though, he’s married. I think all married men are blind. It’s in their marriage vows.” We both laugh, but her face tells me she doesn’t believe me.

  “Not all married men are blind. It’s a sad reality, but you must be single since you seem to have perfect vision,” she says, letting her hair fall over her shoulder to lie across her chest and arm. It grazes my arm as it cascades down, and my dick goes hard again. “Hi, I’m Allie.”

  “Hi, I’m Dante. And to answer your question, I’m one of the owners here,” I concede. She raises her eyebrows to me and smiles, but all I can see is the low cut of her white dress. The neckline plunges down to her waist and the hemline is pulled tight across her tanned thighs. “Are you from Miami?”

  “No. I’m from California. San Diego to be exact,” she says, sipping her Hurricane drink. “I’ve been here all week on a photo shoot. I leave tomorrow morning.”

  The caffeine from my drink has finally hit my bloodstream and I feel like I need to move. “Well, Allie from Cali, do you dance?” I ask, taking her hand as we rise from our stools. She’s got these white heels on that emphasize the length of her legs, and all I can think of is that they’re the perfect height to lay her over the round table in my private room.

  I escort her to the dance floor, and make sure we’re on the opposite side of Thiago and Mat. The DJ starts a mash up of new Top 40 songs, and Allie starts to grind on me cutting through the chase. Yes, in the short time I’ve been in Miami I have learned one thing, girls that come from sunny states are not shy. I thank myself every day for pointing to Miami. I live a great life.

  A few songs go by and Allie admits to being breathless and needs a break. I guide her off the dance floor and ask a waitress passing by to send drinks, some water and a fresh Hurricane, to my private room.

  “Can we go somewhere private?” she asks.

  “We are. I just wanted to get us some drinks first,” explaining as we pass through the carpeted hallway to my room. Mine is the only private room that connects directly to my apartment. Another lucky straw I drew. I nod to Perry and Jake as we pass, but they both ignore us.

  “Where are we going?” she asks, excitement in her eyes, or is that lust? She’s been caressing my arms and back as we walk. I’m as hard as a bullet that needs to be fired, and I’m ready for some target practice.

  “I have a private room here in the back that leads to my apartment,” I tell her. “How does that sound?” We stop in front of my door, and I know she’s eager because she turns the handle wanting to get inside. Before I can finish closing the door behind me, she starts untying the halter top of her dress and lets the long lapels fall down. Her breasts are pert and perfectly in place, nipples hard and pointing at me.

  There’s a knock at the door and her face doesn’t flinch with any modesty. “Drinks,” I remind her. She shrugs her shoulders and turns to wander throughout the room, looking around at everything. I open the door and take the drinks, thanking the usher that brought them. Setting the drinks down on the table, I look up and she’s removed the remainder of her dress, strutting around in a white silk thong and her heels.

  She reaches for the Hurricane, and takes a long sip. My dick springs up in my pants again just watching her lips enclose around the straw and sucking. As I watch her and get lost in my thoughts of her bent over the table, she moves to unbutton and unzip my pants, letting them fall to my knees. Her hand slides into my briefs and pulls my dick out, rubbing it up and down, and scratching at my balls with her well-manicured fingernails. I watch her lick the rim of skin between her thumb and index finger, getting it wet before reaching to stroke me. Now that’s a semi-professional woman there.

  I close my eyes and lock my knees, because her hand feels so fuckin’ good. After a few moments, she tugs on my dick, causing my eyes to open and pulls me over to the table. Did she read my thoughts? Without any direction, she bends over and wiggles her ass at me. Yes, just like I thought— she’s the perfect height in those heels. I pull the little drawer out from the table and wrap a condom around me. She watches me with disinterest, I guess not caring if I used protection or not. I’m not crazy lady.

  I slide into her heat, and melt. She’s fucking hot and wet like one of those tropical depression storms that roll through Miami this time of year. I latch onto her hips and grind into her, pounding into her over and over in a gentle rhythm. My balls start to slap her wet pussy as we pick up the pace, and broken moans escape from her lips. She licks her fingers and starts pulling on her own clit. I reach around and do that for her, because that’s one of my favorite things. I love feeling how fat and swollen pussy lips get when stimulated. Hers are nice and engorged for me. She wants to come bad, because she starts begging me for harder and faster movements.

  I twist her hair and push it off her back, placing my palm down on the center of her back. I pump her harder and harder as a sweat breaks out on my upper lip. “Jesus, Ava. Come for me,” I plead, thrusting harder and harder. Her pussy is squeezing me tight. “Come on my dick, Ava. NOW! I want to feel you gush on me.”

  “It’s Allie. My name is Allie,” she says, but I can’t hear her. My blood is pounding in my ears, and I’m focused on making her come.

  “Fucking come, Ava. I’m not stopping until you come,” I demand. Heavy breathing
fills the room. Grunts and growls escape from both of us. I slap then squeeze her ass, as she screams “Oh God, deeper please!” She licks her fingers and wets her clit again. I reach forward and pull on its hood, like I’m sucking it with my lips as my other arm reaches to tweak her nipples. Loud shrieks release from her throat as her pussy clamps down. Her orgasm peaks and she squirts on my dick, letting it drip down to the floor. Fucking hell, that’s a flood of an orgasm.

  I pull out and pull the condom off me, tying it haphazardly before tossing it to the trash. “Stay there,” I command, and drop to my knees, running my tongue up her thighs and across her lips to collect her juices. I suck on her clit and take her mini-orgasms into my mouth. She’s so fucking wet. “Damn, Ava,” I say. “That was fucking phenomenal.”

  “It’s Allie. I keep telling you my name is Allie,” she stomps her heels and I stop dead in my tracks with hearing her words.

  “What was I calling you?” I ask. I honestly have no clue. I think back to a few seconds ago, but I’m a complete blank.

  “You were calling me Ava,” she hisses with a slight irritation in her voice.

  Fuuuck me. I did call her Ava. I can hear myself saying it now.

  Chapter 4 – Ava

  I LAY ON MY COUCH, feeling groggy and trying to focus in on the clock on the cable box. My eyelids are lead weights. I try to force them open wider, but wince from the pain of my eyelashes ripping through the sleep encrusting them. This is one of the after effects of too much wine at dinner.

  Once I entered my living room, I dropped my bag after grabbing my Kindle and fell down on the couch sinking into the depths of Ty and Lexi’s love affair. I couldn’t wait to get back to the story, so much so that I’m having a hard time distinguishing between a wine hangover and a book hangover. They both feel the same at this point.

  My fuzzy brain finally brings the clock into focus and I see it’s almost 5:00 am. Time to rise and shine with some fasted cardio. Just because I’m tired doesn’t mean the cardio regimen slips. Cardio every day is my mantra—I promised my mama I wouldn’t slip into bad habits again.

  My teenage years were quite destructive with food. Boys didn’t like me and the girls made fun of me. I struggled for years to lose weight and fit in, and when I finally learned to feed my body great nutrition and love exercise the fat poured off me. It’s like they say, ‘Sweat is just fat crying’.

  My feet raise high in the air off the couch in a wide stretch to the ceiling, and then thump down on the hardwood floor. I push my body upwards and I’m standing. That feat alone is a giant leap of progress today. I trudge forward into the laundry room and slip into my workout clothes, stopping by the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and brush my teeth. I spot my perfume on the counter and for a brief moment, I’m reminded of Mr. Hotty CFO and his cologne.

  That man smelled like sin if you could bottle it up. It took all the self control I possessed not to bury my face in the crook of his neck and inhale him inch by inch. I can smell it now like he’s right here. The memory of him is still fresh in my brain. Forget him, Ava. He’s a jerk, remember?

  I throw my yoga mat over my shoulder and take the stairs up to the roof. God, I love my little piece of Heaven up here— two years coming up here and no one has ever disturbed me. After completing my yoga stretches, I tighten my shoelaces and off I go bounding down the stairs until I reach the bottom floor, only to race up them again to the top—all without resting. I do that three times for a complete cardio workout. Who says you need gym equipment to get physically fit?

  My shower calls to me. The rain shower head drenches me, washing away all of the dirt, grime and sweat. I’m a new woman and am ready to conquer this day. Watch out, Dante Solis. I’m coming for you.

  Entering my office, I see my voicemail light is on. It’s Robert adding another quick comment to the email that he says he just sent. The message was left at 7:40 pm. That man needs a life. I say a quick prayer that when I’m in my early 40s, my job is not my life.

  My laptop powers up, and I immediately go straight for Robert’s email. This situation is my top priority today. After skimming through his email, the gist of the solution he offers is to admit our wrongdoing, flood him with apology and kindness, be extremely professional, and offer him a kick-ass deal of promotions for a year knowing that we’ll slowly try to make up ground when they renew or need special rates on new events. He stresses that we need to keep this account since they are the newest and hottest club in Miami. Proximity is giving us value points, but we would look like idiots for not maintaining this account.

  I completely agree with his assessment. A deep groan escapes my throat, as I swallow and prepare to eat crow. Do I send an email? Or call? Should I just show up and ask to see him? If this were me, what would I want? Hmmm. I’d actually want to see someone and be able to read their body language and know that they were sincere with their words and actions. I think I’ll head over right before lunch. Maybe we could go over the proposal questions during a working lunch?

  Time drags by as I wait for 11:30 to arrive. I keep watching the clock every few minutes like I’m going to miss it. I’ve gone over my apology presentation a hundred times already, and...there’s a knock on my door. I look up to see one of the interns standing in the doorway holding a hatbox.

  “Miss Kimball, this came for you,” they say, setting it down and scurrying away.

  Hmmm. It’s not my birthday, or someone’s really early for December. I pull on the white silk rope that hangs from it and drag it across my desk. It’s heavier than I expected, but no noise comes from it. The lid is embossed with the words “For Madame”. Wow, someone’s fancy. I pry the lid off and can’t believe my eyes.

  It’s the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I have ever seen. There are pastel roses of all colors in full bloom, tiny teacup roses, a few mums are scattered about, one large star-gazer lily is tucked in the corner, and in between every flower is a sprig of berries or lamb’s ears.

  The whole box is beautiful, but I don’t see a card. I look around and in between the tissue paper that lines the box, and finally find a tiny envelope. Opening it up it says, “Nothing is more beautiful than a real smile that has struggled through tears. Hopefully this will make up for the tears I caused by bringing a smile to your beautiful face. ~Dante”.

  My first reaction is crap; he knows I was crying when I left. After a few minutes of staring at how pretty the box of flowers is, I can’t help but feel a little soft towards him as I smile like an idiot. At least he made an effort to extend an olive branch. Maybe he regrets how harsh his reaction was. I’m going over there, right now. No more waiting.

  I grab my bag and phone and race to the stairs. Wait, slow down Ava. Why are you racing over there? I want to fix this situation and move on. Chaos and stress are not things I want in my life. If I’m truly being honest with myself, I want to see him again. There was just something in the way he looked at me yesterday. It was like he saw me and not some hot piece of ass in a club like the women that he sees all day long. He focused on me and our conversation. It was business without any flirting or favors being exchanged. Yeah...I’m going over there now.

  The bar is busy this time of day. There are a few scantily-clad dancers scattered about, but it’s nothing like the evening hours when it gets insane. I ignore it by not looking in their direction. I approach the lady at the entrance podium, who is wearing a manager’s badge without a name. She smiles and asks if she can help me.

  “Could you tell me if Mr. Solis is available? Dante Solis, specifically?” I ask.

  “Sure, I can see if he’s available. He’s usually not on the floor this early, but I’ll check,” she says politely. “Please take a seat at the bar while you wait. May I tell him your name?”

  “Yes, I’m Ava Kimball from WHOT,” I inform her. She leaves me at the bar to go in search of him.

  Tito, the bartender from yesterday places water in front of me. “Or would you like something stronger to deal w
ith little bro? A courage booster, if you will?” he asks and winks. What a strange comment.

  “No, I’m fine with water. Thank you,” I say, watching him go about his business with the other patrons. He’s efficient and pleasant, but doesn’t approach me again.

  “Miss Kimball,” I hear, turning slightly to see the manager approaching. He was not readily available for business, but when I told him your name, he said to tell you he’d be out momentarily. She smiles again politely before going back to her business.

  The sights and sounds of the bar area draw my attention back to the dancers as I wait. The one closest to me has hair that varies in shades of purple and gets darker as it spreads to the tips. Her eyes are bright and wide, and what looks to be purple as well from this distance. I could be wrong. She’s dressed in a purple bustier with white satin trimmings with a purple thong to match. Absolutely exquisite is how I’d describe her. I’m mesmerized by the way she dances, owning her body. Why do women degrade themselves with this kind of work? I can’t understand it, so I ignore the thoughts that cause it.

  I wish I could pull that look off though. It’s not that I’m not confident about my body. I’ve worked extremely hard to take control of it again, but I honestly can’t imagine anyone wanting to see me dressed like that. Or dance for that matter. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to be sexy or provocative, let alone entice men to want to stuff dollars down my panties. Hers are full of money, and some of it even sticks to her skin without being tucked in. How does that happen?

  Heat effuses my back as a hand slides down the center to rest near my hips. I smell him without having to turn around. He bends low over my ear and whispers, “You’re more beautiful than she is.”

  “Humph, I doubt that,” I mutter in a low voice, not really meaning for him to hear me.

  “I heard that,” he says, the heat of his breath skims my cheek. He sits down next to me and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s all messed up now, sticking up in places that tell me he just woke up. His blue shirt is surprisingly fresh without any wrinkles. The sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his lean, muscular arms. I know how strong they are when they wrap around you. He’s wearing jeans, a change from what I saw yesterday in his business attire. He actually looks to be in his mid 20s today. Yesterday, it was hard to tell his age, especially when he started quoting his statistics.