by T L Swan
Is she just going to jerk me off, right here? Fuck . . . she’s an animal.
Yes . . . yes . . . yes.
I feel a burn on my balls and my eyes snap open.
Cold, ice fucking cold.
“That better, baby?” she whispers as she stands, runs her hand down my stubble.
I look down to see that she has put a handful of ice down my briefs. “What the fuck?” I growl.
She laughs, blows me a kiss, turns, and I watch as her sexy hot ass sashays through the crowd.
I dig the ice out of my pants and throw it under the table. I look around to see if anyone just saw what happened. I try to catch my breath as I drag my hand down my face. “What the hell was that shit?” I murmur.
I sit back and stretch my arms out along the back of the chair.
Testosterone is thrumming through my body, the primal urge to fuck is hard and real.
Her words come back to me: I guess I’m just not that into you . . .
Liar.
Nothing’s easy with this woman. I want to go to her house and drag her into bed.
But of course, I won’t.
Lesson number one, don’t play with a player.
I smirk into my glass.
Kate Landon is going to get it.
Hard.
KATE
“Taxi,” I call as I hold my arm up.
One pulls up and I dive into the backseat. “Quick, drive,” I say to the driver.
“Okay lady, calm down,” he says as he pulls out into the traffic. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Just getting away from a bad date,” I lie. I turn and look out the rear window and watch the club disappear into the distance.
I turn back to face the front as relief fills me. I can’t believe I just did that.
I get a vision of Elliot in the club right now with ice down his pants, and I smile goofily.
Wow . . . who am I?
I think this is my favorite moment of all time.
I giggle to myself—go me.
Three hours later, the problem with playing hard to get is that you don’t get it.
I lie in the dark and twist my mother’s ring around my finger as I think. It’s late—4 a.m.
I haven’t heard from Elliot; I thought he would have messaged me, if only to give me a mouthful. And after sitting at my computer for an hour when I got home, Edgar hasn’t answered my message either.
Which leads me to believe one thing: Elliot did in fact go back upstairs and fuck a model.
Just like I told him to . . . I throw the back of my arm over my face in disgust.
Ugh, you idiot.
Why did I say that?
I keep going over and over the way he kissed me, the way his broad shoulders felt under my hands.
And can we just take a minute to appreciate that humungous hard dick in his pants?
It’s ridiculous, nobody can be that blessed.
He’s like a porn star or something, or maybe it’s just been a really long time for me and I’ve forgotten what erections feel like.
Hot and smooth, thick veins . . . hmmm.
A deep ache thumps in between my legs, my body pissed that I didn’t deliver the goods.
Hell, I’m pissed.
A good fucking would have been just what I needed tonight, but the reality is a different story. I have my period.
And if I ever did fall into bed with the elusive Elliot Miles, he’s going to have to work a lot harder than that . . . even if I am just a horizontal crush.
I mean, I don’t want anything more than that anyway, but I’m not easy.
Especially not for domineering assholes who kiss like the devil.
My inner ho reappears and I wonder what it would be like to be underneath him . . .
Stop it.
I roll onto my side and nestle in, trying to find a comfortable position.
Just go to sleep.
I feel his breath on my neck and his teeth on my ear and I smile into the darkness.
For the first time in years, I feel alive.
Monday morning, I walk into the Miles Media building like a rock star.
Wearing a tight black dress and my hair in a high ponytail, I’m ready to take on the world.
I’m over my confidence crisis now. It doesn’t matter if Elliot did fuck a model.
He’s nothing to me.
Nope, nope, nope. I am not falling for his little seduction . . . Well, I now know it’s not so little, but whatever.
And Edgar is in the shit too, where has that asshole been all weekend?
He’s got no excuse not to reply to my messages, I’m just his platonic penpal friend.
Anyway, poof to men.
They all suck.
I arrive at my desk, and half an hour later I glance up through the glass wall to see Elliot standing at one of the desks talking to someone. He’s wearing his navy suit, a white shirt, and he looks even more orgasmic today if that’s humanly possible. I snap my gaze away.
Okay.
He’s coming.
I sit up and rearrange my boobs in my bra. I’m ready for you, big boy . . . bring it.
For ten minutes I pretend to look at my computer screen.
What’s he doing?
I keep my head to the front but I move my eyes in his direction. Stalker style.
He’s talking and laughing with two girls.
What’s so funny, asshole, and since when do you chat with people?
I raise my eyebrows. Ugh . . . typical.
I keep pretending to work, and then he walks past my office as he talks to Henry.
Here he comes.
He casually knocks on my window as a greeting and keeps walking, totally unfazed. He keeps chatting and they both get into the elevator, and disappear out of sight.
I stare at the closed doors and blink.
What?
A knock.
That’s it?
That’s not what he was supposed to do.
He was supposed to march in here and get all caveman and demand I have sex with him on this desk right now . . . and I just may have worn sexy panties by chance to rise to the occasion.
My blood boils . . . now he’s going to pretend that nothing happened.
He wants to make me sweat . . . well, I’m not!
Typical Elliot fucking Miles style.
Screw you, asshole.
Jeez, maybe nothing did happen and I was just high on his aftershave. I mean, it’s totally possible; he does smell really good.
“What do you mean he said nothing?” Rebecca huffs as we walk along.
“Just what I said, nothing. Not one word,” I reply.
Daniel powers up in front and he turns back toward us. “Hurry up, this is supposed to be exercise.”
Beck and I walk as fast as we can across the road to try and catch up.
“You know, if I’m going to walk with you girls, you have to step it up. I want to elevate my heart rate,” he says.
“What’s stopping you?” I roll my eyes. “Off you go then.”
“Then what?” Beck continues.
“Nothing. I saw him numerous times in passing and he hasn’t acted strange at all. Not one bit.” I spread my hands out. “Completely normal.”
She frowns as we walk.
“He’s playing games,” Daniel chimes in. “It’s blatantly obvious.”
“I doubt it,” I pant. “And what happened to you on Saturday night, you didn’t come home?”
Daniel shrugs as he walks on. “A bit of this and a bit of that.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca puffs. “Can we slow down? I’m about to go into cardiac arrest.”
“Did you go home with that couple?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Did you sleep with the guy or the girl?” Rebecca asks.
“A gentleman never tells.”
Rebecca and I exchange exasperated looks. “We need details,” I huff.
“Well, you�
�re not getting them,” Daniel fires back. “I had a wonderful night, is all you need to know.”
“So, you slept with them both,” I improvise.
“Who was better?” Rebecca says.
“Shut the hell up, I am not having this conversation,” he fires back to Rebecca. “Talk to your friend about grabbing her boss’s boner in a club and dousing it with ice.”
I put my hands over my eyes. I can’t actually believe I did that. “Stop talking about it!”
“Seriously, goals for sure,” Rebecca says, and we walk for a while. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “We only have one week left of work before Christmas shutdown.”
“That’s bad timing,” he replies.
“Why?”
“Well, the heat will die down, won’t it? He will have slept with someone else by the new year for sure.”
“If he hasn’t already.” I sigh.
“True,” Rebecca agrees.
“Like I care, anyway.” I continue to walk along as my mind begins to wander . . . Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.
It’s late and I hear a notification ping; I smile and get out of bed.
Edgar.
Hi Pinkie,
Sorry, I didn’t see your message until just now, I was working all weekend.
I roll my eyes. Liar.
That’s okay, I thought you must have had a hot and heavy weekend with your crush. How are you?
I see the dots as he types.
No hot and heavy this end. How was your date?
I frown. No hot and heavy . . . at all? Or no hot and heavy with your crush? I’m going to lie about my date.
Date was great, I’m a little smitten.
I smile as I wait for his reply.
Lucky you.
I frown and write:
So, you didn’t see your crush at all?
I did, we kissed.
I smile goofily, and reply:
And?
And nothing, she wants to play games and I’m not into it. I’ve lost interest.
My mouth falls open in horror. What the fuck?
I type:
Attention span of a goldfish!
I delete.
You scuzzbucket . . .
I delete.
I exhale heavily. God, this is stupid. I sit back, deflated.
I eventually reply.
How was your kiss?
I see the dots as he types.
Incredible. I’ve thought of nothing else since.
I smile softly. Me too.
Well maybe you should ask her out on a date or something?
Maybe . . .
How was your day?
Okay. I worked and then had a PT session. Looking forward to going home for Christmas.
I frown. I already know where his home is but I’ll play along as if I don’t.
Where’s home?
Where I grew up, near my parents.
I smile sadly; it must be hard to live away from everyone. Another message bounces in.
Are you going home for Christmas?
My shoulders slump. I write:
It’s just me and my brother and sister now.
Christmas is a sad time of the year for me.
I’m sorry.
Me too.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, my mother makes me and my brothers wear knitted sweaters with reindeers on them.
I giggle as I imagine the big powerful Miles brothers in knitted Christmas sweaters to please their mum. I type a smiley face.
☺
I exhale as I wait for his next message.
Why are you smitten?
Maybe I’m smitten with the idea of being smitten.
Aren’t we all?
He’s so swoony in messages. Too bad he’s an asshole player who loses interest really fucking quickly in real life. I type:
Maybe you’ll meet your extraordinary girl over Christmas?
Maybe. Or maybe I’ll spend my life having meaningless sex with people?
I frown and type:
Is that a bad thing?
No.
But what?
I want more.
More of what?
If I knew I would have found it.
I lie down in bed—I should tell him it’s me. He’s starting to tell me personal stuff and he’s going to be pissed if he ever finds out that he’s confiding in me. But for some reason I feel like he’s flat and I want to comfort him.
You’ll know when you meet her.
Will I?
I smile sadly.
Of course you will.
Will you?
I don’t think I even want to love anyone. It hurts too much when you lose them.
Silence for a few minutes. Eventually a reply bounces in.
Who hurt you?
My parents.
How?
They died.
I unexpectedly tear up and I quickly sign off so I can get offline before he replies. I don’t want to get into this; I don’t know why I even brought it up.
I’m tired,
Goodnight Ed,
Xoxo
I put my head back against the wall as the sweat runs down between my breasts.
I’m in the sauna at the work gym, it’s 8 p.m. on Wednesday night.
This week has been long and I just want it to be Friday already. I’m not even going to the stupid Christmas party tomorrow night—not feeling very jolly.
This time of year is always shitty. Christmas is the climax that reminds me of what I don’t have. But I get solace knowing that I’ll wake up the day after Christmas Day and the weight of the world will be gone and I’ll feel myself again; I always do. I just wish I could blink and be at that day.
The door opens and Elliot walks in wearing only a towel. “Hey.” He takes a seat opposite me.
Shit.
“Hi.”
He stays silent and I feel the air around me begin to circle with energy.
There’s a sexual chemistry between us that I can’t deny.
He inhales and puts his head back against the wall, and from my peripheral vision his muscles begin to taunt me.
Shit.
For fifteen minutes we sit in silence.
He’s acting completely cool and normal, as if we didn’t have those kisses in the club.
As if he’s forgotten all about the things he said to me. Did it even happen or did I dream the entire thing?
With every minute that passes, my anger rises inside of me, until I can’t stand it anymore. My inner rubber band snaps in a spectacular fashion.
“What is your problem?” I spit.
He gives me a slow, sexy smile . . . Damn it.
He won.
“You know, I don’t care if you win this stupid fucking game,” I whisper.
He watches me intently.
“And I don’t care if you slept with ten models on Saturday night.”
Amusement flashes across his face.
“Because I certainly don’t want to sleep with you.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“And what is that look? Don’t give me that look, Elliot, because I know what you’re doing.”
He smiles and puts his head back against the wall as he closes his eyes. He’s completely unfazed and I internally kick myself.
“What am I doing, Kathryn?” he asks.
Kathryn . . . I’m Kathryn again.
“You’re trying to fuck with my head,” I snap.
“Your head has nothing to do with it. I want to fuck your body.”
My mouth falls open in horror. “Do you have to be so crass?” I whisper angrily.
He shrugs casually. “It’s who I am. If you’re looking for romance, move along.”
I stare at him—where’s the dreamy guy from online? Is it even the same person?
I like Ed a lot fucking better.
“I am moving along,” I say as I tighten my towel.
> “Why?”
“Why?” I scoff. “How is that even a question?”
“I have something you want, you have something I want. We could help each other.”
“You mean, be each other’s booty call.”
He smiles as he closes his eyes again. “No.”
“No what?”
“Well, a booty call is coming quick after a night out.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes.
He sits forward and puts his hands on my thighs and spreads my legs. “I’m talking about spreading you out and eating you up.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“And riding you so hard for hours that you won’t remember anyone before me.”
Our eyes are locked.
“And you’ll be wet, and full of me.” He grabs a handful of my hair and drags my face down to him. He puts his mouth to my ear. “And I’ll be full of you.” He whispers as his tongue darts out to lick my face. My eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his thick tongue.
Dear God.
Goosebumps scatter up my arms.
He releases me and sits up as if completely detached. “Take your time and think about it. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea and a lot of women can’t handle it.”
“Think about what?” I ask.
“I don’t do things in halves, I don’t do relationships, and I most definitely don’t share.”
“What do you do?” I whisper.
“I can fuck you like nobody has before.”
The air crackles between us.
“Make up your mind, because if we do this, we do it hard.” He drops to his knees between my legs and licks up the length of my inner thigh. I watch him, transfixed.
Fucking hell . . .
He flicks his tongue up my thigh as his eyes hold mine and I glance at the door. What if someone comes in and sees him on his knees doing this?
“You want sex with no strings?” I whisper.
“Yes.” With one last open-mouthed kiss on my bikini bottoms over my sex, he stands. “I want a consensual arrangement.”
My insides begin to melt.
“Will we see other people?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why would I do that?”
His eyes hold mine. “Because it’s the only way you can have me.”
Damn it, how does he know?
He leans down, cups my face in his hand and kisses me softly, with just the right amount of suction. “You know how to reach me.”
He walks out of the door and doesn’t look back, and the door closes behind him.
I close my eyes as I try to control my breathing.