Sinful Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  His tongue darts out and takes a swipe over my clit. The sensation ripples up my body, and my hips jolt further off the bed.

  “Then, I’ll leave.” He places his hands on my thighs, holding them wide and in place as he licks again.

  My fingers dig into the thousand thread count sheets.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” I breathe.

  With a grin, he looks up at me and says, “Good, because I have been dying to touch you since you tried to steal my cab.”

  “It wasn’t your—” My words are swallowed by my inhale when Ryan goes back down and licks my clit again.

  This time, he doesn’t stop.

  His tongue is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. With every swipe, my desire builds. My fingers run through his hair. When he dips a finger and caresses me from the inside, I grab my own hair and scream out.

  The act only makes Ryan continue on. His tongue is firm and fast, unrelenting. When I look down at him, the sight only makes me burn further with need.

  I have a terrible confession to make. I’ve never come from a man going down on me. It takes me forever, so I cut the act short and jump right into sex. But this feeling burning through me, this build happening inside—paired with the sensation of his hands on my thighs, his mouth moving with vigor, and the groans of satisfaction he gives with every cry from my mouth—makes me lose myself in the moment.

  “Touch yourself,” he moans, his hands and mouth still on me.

  I lower my hands to my breasts and circle my nipples. It’s exactly what I need to send me over the edge. The sensations are exquisite. The desire builds higher and stronger inside me. I close my eyes and arch my back. My body ignites, and as he sucks on my clit one more time, I explode, screaming his name into the dead of night.

  My core throbs and pulses, tightening with the intense orgasm.

  Ryan doesn’t stop. He takes me through the waves and doesn’t relent until my body sinks into the bed with erratic breaths.

  I raise my hands above my head and enjoy the post-orgasmic bliss.

  My first oral orgasm. It only took thirty-one years.

  Ryan climbs up my body and holds himself up at arm’s length. “Should I go now?”

  His words force my eyes open, and I see a devilish gleam.

  “Hell no.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me.

  His throbbing erection sinks into my thigh, but he makes no move to enter. Instead, he kisses me. These kisses aren’t the rushed movements of someone who wants to get in and get out. No, he kisses me like the act is more sensual and orgasmic than anything else we’ve done so far tonight.

  His mouth is slow, purposeful.

  With our lips still attached, Ryan lies down on his side, pulling me into him. Our lips and tongues fall into the dark abyss. While his hand is in my hair and the other is on my hip, my hands wander over his body, feeling every curve and delicious indent. His mouth moves to my jaw and neck, and when he comes back to my mouth, I realize that I missed his lips, even for those brief seconds.

  And just knowing that his swollen cock is inches from my needy core is making me desperate for him to be deep inside me.

  I roll to my side. My hand hovers over the handle of my nightstand.

  What must he think of me? How we met, what I was wearing, where we are now? I make no excuses for my lifestyle. I don’t regret my decisions. Yet I don’t want Ryan to think I am someone who just has sex with anyone. If I open this drawer and he sees what’s inside, will he think less of me?

  A soft kiss on my shoulder gets my attention. That sweet gesture is overwhelming.

  “Hey,” he says, his hand under my chin, forcing me around. His knuckle caresses my face. “In my pocket is my wallet. It’s smart to always be prepared.”

  My head falls onto his shoulder, and a slight smile lifts my face. I nod and then roll over. I grab his pants off the floor. I hand him his wallet and watch as he pulls the condom out and sheaths himself in it.

  “Turn around.”

  I do as he says.

  With my back to him, Ryan slides an arm under my neck. His other arm lifts my leg up and over his outer thigh. He guides himself inside me from behind. When he is fully in, we both cry out. Wrapping his hand around my lower stomach, he pumps in and out in intense, controlled movements. His hips roll into me, hitting the very sensitive spot no man has ever cared to claim.

  “I need you,” he says, pulling my head toward him.

  And I need him, too. Not until this moment did I know how lonely my life has been.

  He kisses me, holding me, grinding deep into me.

  I let him touch me.

  I let him caress me.

  I let him love me like I’ve never been loved before.

  The level of intimacy is sweet.

  It’s empowering.

  It’s sexy.

  It’s erotic as sin.

  The early morning sunlight casts its rays through the blinds while the sound of my alarm wakes me up. Naked and draped in white sheets, I roll over to turn it off.

  My body is sated. Ryan made good on his word and made love to me until the sun came up. That was only two hours ago.

  I roll over and feel an empty side of the bed.

  Where he should be is a note and a lavender rose. I lift the flower to my nose and inhale the scent. It’s nothing compared to the smell of him in my arms.

  Heather,

  I would have made you breakfast in bed, but I had to be at work. Lucky for me, the bakery on the corner was open. Since you don’t like coffee and you’re from New York, I took a chance on tea and a bagel. Tonight, you can tell me if I was right.

  I’ll be here at eight.

  Ryan

  P.S. Since you weren’t up to vouch for your safety, I am walking around the streets of Chicago, shoeless.

  The biggest grin is on my face right now. He’s funny and charming and hot as hell.

  Looking on my nightstand, I see the pastry bag and a to-go cup. I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot with this one.

  Jackpot.

  My shoulders fall as I blow all the excitement out of my lungs. A jackpot is the one thing Ryan doesn’t have. I won’t lie to myself and say it doesn’t bother me. I really like him.

  Fine, I know. I know nothing about him. Yet just the thought of him makes me smile, and that’s gotta count for something, right?

  Running the petals of the rose across my face, I close my eyes and think of him. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that was made for loving…

  Yeah, I’ve got it bad.

  I get up and start to get ready. In the shower, I think of Ryan’s hands on me. As I blow out my hair, I think of his hands wrapped in it as he kissed me. When I get dressed, I think of what I should wear when I see him later tonight.

  I pull out a lavender dress to match the rose. I’m being corny. And you know what? I like corny.

  “Why are you smiling?” Meg asks suspiciously from her place at her desk.

  “Any calls?” I ask, ignoring her peaked eyebrows from behind the thick red frames of her glasses.

  “Uh, yeah.” She fumbles nervously around her desk, her brown ponytail swaying with the movement.

  I start to walk to my office.

  When she finds the notepad, she gets up and follows me down the hall. Holding up the notebook, she speaks quickly, “Bruce from CAA confirmed the appointment for next Thursday, Sheryl from props wants to talk to you about the budget for the summer fun demo, and Jarrod is waiting for you in your office.”

  She says that last line as I open my office door and see the dark skin and lightly salt and peppered hair of the two-timing desire of my yesterday’s affection.

  Jarrod rises and holds out his hands. “Heather, you’re late.”

  “I know.” I walk past him and around to my desk.

  Meg is still standing in the doorway.

  I raise my hand and shoo her away. “That’s all.” Then, I turn my attention to Jarrod and shoo him away, to
o.

  He feigns a hurt expression. “Baby, you’re not upset about last night, are you?”

  Turning on my computer, I click the mouse, pretending to be intrigued by what is on the screen.

  “Let me make it up to you.” He places a hand inside his lapel and produces a long and thin velvet box, probably containing a bracelet.

  “When did you get that?” I ask.

  “Does it matter?”

  I look around and wonder how I was ever attracted to such a vile man. Okay, I know why I was attracted to him, but his utter lack of concern about this situation is making me cringe.

  I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. “Do you keep I’m-sorry jewelry on standby?”

  He steps backward and appraises me. His eyes crease. “What’s gotten into you?”

  I blink a few times, trying to decide if he’s being facetious. “You were fucking Misty Waters on your desk.”

  His mouth purses as his head tilts. That rise of his brows, acting like he doesn’t see the problem, makes my eyes bug out.

  “Heather, I think you might be confused as to what kind of relationship this is. I want you. I plan to make this official. We’ve spoken of that. But I don’t plan on giving up other women. If we are going to make this work, then you need to understand that.”

  “By official, you mean…”

  “Marriage. I’m forty years old. It’s time I started a family. You’re young and beautiful. You understand my business and appeal to me in every way.” He steps around the side of my desk, taking a seat in front of me. Placing the velvet box on his lap, Jarrod leans into me and explains, “I plan on marrying only once. I don’t like divorce. They’re messy, and frankly, I don’t like parting with money.” His straight face lets me know he’s not kidding. “You will want for nothing for the rest of your life. And neither will I.”

  He opens the box. Inside is a bracelet of diamonds and rubies. The stones glisten, even in the terrible overhead lighting of my office.

  As beautiful as the bracelet is, I turn my attention away and up to Jarrod. “Let me get this straight. I can be your wife, but you will also be with other women. Does that mean I can be with other men?”

  The velvet box snaps shut.

  “There will be a prenup in place. You stray, you pay.”

  My stomach falters. I hate the way my conscience is making an appearance right now.

  “Why do you want to marry me if I’m not enough?”

  He leans in and places a kiss on my cheek. “Because, my darling, you and I only care about one thing. I can’t marry someone who loves me. I need someone who loves my money.”

  Had the proposal presented itself yesterday, I would have said yes.

  Today, something feels wrong.

  “I don’t think I can. Things have”—I pause, looking for the right word—“changed.”

  He sits back and studies me for a moment. This conversation is not going as he expected. “Your loss.” He stands up, taking the bracelet with him, and walks to my doorway. His body stills and then turns around. “Something happened, and it has nothing to do with Misty Waters. I have a feeling, you’ll change your mind.”

  When he is gone, my head falls to my desk, and I lightly bang it on the wood. The sight of my lavender dress catches my attention, and I shake my head.

  And then I bang my head again on the wood.

  Spinning around on my desk chair, I look out the window at Chicagoland. It’s a unique city with a river that runs through it. Large steel structures, immense in power and integrity, are separated by the Chicago River that winds its turquoise beauty between the coldness of the city, bringing light and beauty into it.

  I feel a simmer under my skin. The blood flowing freely through my heart is just like the river that flows into the lake.

  How can I be falling for this guy so hard, so fast?

  “You’d better be worth it, Ryan Pierson,” I say to myself with a sigh.

  “Heather?” Meg is knocking at my door. She pops her head in. “Here are your notes for the production meeting.”

  Good. Work. I need something to distract me from the inner turmoil of my subconscious.

  Taking the folder from Meg, I walk down the hall, and she follows me. When I get to the conference room, I walk into the full room, passing the employees I have no interest in ever socializing with, and take my seat on the right, next to where Jarrod sits. Meg sits behind me in a chair against the wall. I need her close, so I can beckon orders to her at my will.

  I open my folder and get ready for the meeting.

  Jarrod walks in and starts with the numbers for last week’s ratings, putting a spin on them to make them sound better than they actually are. Everyone claps at the show’s success. I roll my eyes.

  Next, we go over the afternoon broadcast and talk about the planning, segment for segment. I have a problem with everyone’s assignment and raise my hand in question of each.

  The beauty of Jarrod is that he and I think the same way. That’s what attracted him to me in the first place. He likes the way I command the room and thinks I have excellent production skills.

  When the show is mapped out and my critiques are delivered, he turns his attention to the last order of business of the morning. “Before we go, we have some new blood in the room. Our fall interns start today. Why don’t you guys stand and tell everyone who you are? Make it quick though. We have a show to run.”

  I take a moment to answer emails on my phone as the young twenty-somethings rise from their seats and awkwardly introduce themselves.

  Ashley from the University of Illinois tells us she’s a communications major, her voice squeaking, and she wants to be a reporter.

  Don’t they all?

  Max is a junior at Loyola. This is his fourth internship in two years. He’s obviously the overachiever in the group. And, Zahara, from some school I’ve never heard of, is just super excited to be here.

  I click on an email and answer it.

  “Last but not least, who are you?” Jarrod asks, clearly as interested in getting this meeting over with as I am.

  “Ryan. I’m a senior at Northeastern.”

  I must have had too much tea this morning because my heart rate speeds up.

  There’s an awkward pause, which I appreciate, because I can answer this email in silence.

  “Do you have a last name?” Jarrod asks.

  This guy must be nervous as hell. I click Send and tap on the next email to answer it.

  “Pierson. My name is Ryan Pierson.”

  My thumb stops moving. I don’t want to look up. I can’t because, deep down, I know that the Ryan Pierson standing on the other side of the room is the same man who I wore a lavender dress for.

  When I venture the nerve to look up, my heart drops. Standing in a white shirt and navy pants, wearing a tie that looks like his mom bought it for him, is my Ryan. He’s looking straight at Jarrod.

  “You’re a strong-looking lad. Football?” Jarrod asks.

  Of all the people to take an interest in, he chooses Ryan?

  “Yes, sir. Achilles injury ended my season. Don’t think I’ll be playing out the last year.”

  I hate that he called Jarrod sir.

  “Sports journalism is your game then,” Jarrod says. “You know, we don’t cover sports on this show.”

  “I was late to the internship process. You were my only choice.”

  I turn to Jarrod, expecting him to be insulted by Ryan’s words.

  Instead, he laughs and rises from the table. Pointing to Ryan, he says, “I like you, kid.” To everyone else, he says, “That’s all for today.”

  Jarrod walks out of the room, and everyone files out.

  Including me.

  Hauling ass, I fumble in the hallway when I see Ryan behind me.

  An intern?

  College?

  Oh God, does this mean I slept with a teenager?

  I falter on my heels, hooking a right down the hallway, and dart into a darkened
room, slamming the door behind me. As soon as my back hits the wall, I cringe at the thought that I just slammed myself into the copy room.

  I can’t believe my luck. For the first time in forever, I actually feel something for someone, and he turns out to be the freaking intern. And, to imagine, I refused a million-dollar proposal for someone who probably still lives with his mom.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Heather, I know you’re in there.” Ryan’s voice echoes from the other side of the door.

  I can’t have him making a scene, calling out my name from the hallway. If anyone learns of our secret affair, I’m fucked.

  I open the door, do a quick look right and left to ensure the coast is clear, and then yank Ryan by the tie, hurling him inside the room.

  “College?” My voice is low but harsh.

  Ryan curiously eyes me, surprised by my reaction.

  “Yes,” he says cautiously. “How old did you think I was?”

  I slam my hand to my forehead. “I don’t know. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight…”

  “Twenty-one,” he verifies.

  My hands fly wildly up in the air. “Well, at least you’re able to drink. I can strike aiding and abetting a minor off my list of horrors.”

  His head tilts to the side. “Are you…mad?”

  Am I mad? Is he kidding me? How did he think I would react when I found out he was still in the days of beer pong and frat parties?

  “You’re a child, Ryan. Don’t you think that’s something you should have brought up last night?”

  “A child?” he stammers, unhappy with the label. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  I motion for him to be quiet. I don’t need the whole office hearing this conversation.

  Ryan is having none of it. “You didn’t think I was a child last night when I was sucking on your clit.”

  His words knock the wind out of my system. “No one can find out about last night. If Jarrod—”

  “Is that who you were here to seduce last night? Jarrod Bellomy?” He says Jarrod’s name like it’s the vilest thing in the world. “Help me understand this. It’s okay to fuck the boss, but you’re embarrassed by the intern.”

  His face is a sneer, so different from the man I was with last night.