I reach for her face. The room fills with the sound of a pop as she comes off me, and her eyes meet mine. “You’re absolutely perfect.”
Her smile grows.
“But, Shana, I really want to be inside you again. I want to do it right so you’ll fall asleep knowing I was there.”
She scoots back. “If what you just did was wrong, then please, never do it right.”
When she lies back, I crawl on top of her. “Not wrong, my lady, different. I want to take you slowly and completely.” I let my cock tease her entrance as she wiggles beneath me, spreading her legs farther… “I want to take you to that edge and ease you back until you scream my name, until your only relief is me.” My eyes close as I slide inside her warm, soft glove. Our earlier lovemaking has left her ready as her body arches and I bury myself.
“Yes.”
Ever so slowly, I move, taking time to kiss her slender neck, her collarbone, and nibble her perky tits. Each ministration is torture for us both. I’m using every trick I’ve ever known to not wildly ravage her again. She feels too good. I’m on the edge. My restraint is waning when her face contorts, neck strains, and her perfect lips form an “O.”
“Baby, are you there?”
Her head nods quickly as I ease out.
“W-what?” She looks up at me.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Trevor?”
Her gaze disappears as I taunt her breasts and move slowly over her stomach.
“Trevor, no. I can’t wait.”
Her protest falls on deaf ears as I lower my lips to her swollen core. Her objections grow louder, turning quickly from disapproval to approval as I tease, suck, and lick. She’s sweet and creamy, the best dessert on this planet. She and Kimbra may joke about cannoli, but fuck, my lady is better than any warm glaze.
My grip upon her strengthens, holding her in place as her hips begin to buck. It’s as her legs grow rigid and her toes begin to curl that I move over her, thrusting deep inside as she screams out my name.
I’m lost to the waves as her pussy grips me, squeezing me until I’m over the edge. I hope she’s right about the insert, because, damn, there’s no way I can move as my orgasm continues filling her with my seed.
Once our breathing settles and we finally move apart, Shana lays her head on my shoulder. With my arm around her, I smooth the strands of hair away from her beautiful eyes.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I think I should be thanking you. I’m completely wrung out.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Oh yes, Trevor, it’s a very good thing.”
Easing her head to the pillow, I lift mine higher. “Tell me about this weird thigh fetish.”
Shana’s laugh rings through the suite. “It’s not a fetish. I don’t scope out guys’ thighs. Tell me what you notice on women.”
I trace the side of her face. “I notice smiles. A sincere smile is sexier than lingerie.”
“Hmm. I thought you liked me in that white negligee.”
“I think I like you even better out of it.”
Her eyes open wide. “Was it…I mean, could you… see… was it transparent under those lights?”
“What?” I lean back. “Are you fucking kidding me? Once I realized it was you, it took everything to not get up on that stage and cover you with my suit coat. If it had been see-through, I would have probably been arrested.”
Her facial expression relaxes. “Good.”
“Did you think it was? Why would you go out there?”
“No. I didn’t think it was. It was just something Stephen said. I think he was trying to boost my confidence.”
I shake my head. “You seem very confident to me.”
“And you, Trevor Willis, are the least awkward man I’ve ever known.”
I lean down and kiss her lips. “Maybe we bring out the best in one another?”
“I think we do,” she says as her eyes close and she snuggles closer. “Trevor, can you stay the night?”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
The morning light seeps around the blinds as Shana’s wondrous eyes blink open. Just as quickly, her lips curve upward into a lovely smile.
“You stayed,” she says, her voice gravelly with sleep.
“I did. I need to leave soon, but I didn’t want to go while you were asleep.”
“If I pretend I’m asleep, will you stay?”
“I’d rather you be awake.”
As she snuggles closer, my erection makes itself known. “Oh, I may not be able to walk today at work, but I just found the best way to wake.”
I laugh. “It wasn’t exactly a treasure hunt.”
“Hmm. It was…” She reaches for my length, stroking the tightening skin. “…and I found the treasure.”
I bite my lip as she takes me to that place between heaven and hell. My goal is heaven and she’s right beside me. “Shana, I’ll take it slow, so you can walk.”
Her blue eyes shine as she releases me. Lying back, she shakes her head against the pillow and beckons me over her. “Walking is overrated.”
Shana
Friday lunch and Stephen looks at me over his glass of iced tea, his gaze narrowing as he assesses what he sees. “Take a step back,” he says. “I like you better all giddy and sexed up than bitchy and mean-spirited.”
I toss my plastic fork into the plastic bowl filled with a green leafy salad that I’ve barely touched and stare at the man who is supposed to be my best friend. “First off, I’m not bitchy.”
“Right.”
“I’m not. I’m not bitchy.” I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest, and assess the people walking by. Our small bistro table isn’t anything special. It isn’t like we’re in Paris or Rome. Stephen and I are simply at a small round table on the sidewalk outside a local deli hidden down a less-traveled street.
“I know,” Stephen says, “this attitude of yours is because you want to go with me upstate tonight and spend a glorious weekend with my parents and siblings. Boss lady, you’re welcome. You know my mom loves you. I just thought you’d rather keep up this bunny-rabbit sex thing you’ve had going on for a few days now.”
My lips come together as I shake my head. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“I want you to go to your parents. I want you to see them. Because as far as our work is concerned, this has been a week from hell. If I have to listen to Vicky talk about Saks Fifth Avenue standards one more time, I’m going to cut the bitch, and then you’re going back to London alone and I’ll be in an American prison.”
Stephen sets his cup of iced tea on the table between us and reaches over toward me. I know he wants my hand, and maybe I’m being petty, but damn it, I’m in a bad mood.
And, for the record, a bad mood is different than being bitchy.
Perhaps, not technically, but I’m pissed at the way Vicky has been acting. I’m upset that despite the good sales, she seems unwilling to relent on the whole me-stepping-into-the-fashion-show thing. I keep coming back to the fact that I saved the show. The designers are happy and the numbers are good. From what I’ve seen, she’s the only one with a stick up her ass. Yes, she says she’s speaking for others, but we’re here at corporate and she’s the only one raining on my parade.
Therefore, instead of reaching out to Stephen, I keep my arms crossed over my chest. “Stephen, I’d let you hold my hand, but if someone saw us, I’d probably get reprimanded on proper supervisor-assistant behavior. Here’s the thing, orange washes me out. My complexion is just too fair. It’s a known fact that blondes don’t do well in bright orange or pale yellow, for that matter. Since most prisons use orange jumpsuits, yellow currently isn’t my concern.”
He wiggles his fingers, beckoning my hand. “So the selfies I took sleeping in your bed the other night? I should take those off my social media?”
Instead of holding his hand, I reach out and hit it.
Not really a hi
t. It is more of a tap.
“Ouch! I think that violates something too. Where is HR when you need them?”
“Kimbra is HR for Duncan’s company. Maybe you should contact her and find out if you have a case.”
Stephen laughs. “You want me to ask the HR associate who blackmailed her boss who is now her husband about sexual harassment in the workplace?”
“Yes. And while you’re at it, find out if verbal assault is as bad as physical because knowing me, when I snap at Miss Witch Vicky, it’ll start out as verbal.”
Stephen rubs his hand that I tapped. “Lucky me. I’m so glad that you’ve escalated to physical only with me.” He leans across the table. “Seriously, my dad used to work with this guy. I’m pretty sure he still has the connection. Let me give you one saying...concrete shoes.” He nods as his lips come together. “Okay, two…swimming with the fishes.”
“Stop.”
“No. It’s a real thing. Where do you think Hollywood got its material? And judging by the heels that woman wears, she loves shoes. You could consider it a gift.” He shrugs. “It might even be a tax write-off. But I’d check with your accountant first.”
“It would be a gift for the world.”
“Now you’re talking.”
Letting out a long sigh, I lean back and try to think of something else as the air fills with the sound of horns. “Why do horns make me happy?”
“Because everyone in New York uses theirs.”
“I’ve never understood it. It’s not like honking will make a stoplight change or intersection suddenly become clear. Yet as soon as the stoplight changes, there’s a chorus.”
“If you’re trying to change the subject, you can think about the bunny-rabbit sex.” Stephen shrugs. “It’s a good subject. Sex always makes me happier.”
“Bunny-rabbit?”
“It means a lot—a lot of sex. You know, rabbits do it all the time.”
A smile breaks my stern expression. “I really haven’t researched the mating habits of woodland creatures.”
“Think of it as Disney’s education. There are always rabbits...Snow White, Cinderella, and even Bambi. Why do you think they named him Thumper?” He smiles at me. “I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t because of his foot tapping. And did you notice how big his feet were?”
I try to get the image of animated rabbits out of my mind. “Trevor and I do other things,” I say. “For example, the other night I went to his place and he made me dinner.”
“So he cooks and is great in bed?”
“And don’t forget about the roads and bridges,” I volunteer.
“At least those thoughts are making you smile.”
“I just feel like since the show, I can’t do anything right. We were in this meeting this morning and had this big campaign all spread out with many of the fashions from the show. Since it’s spring, we’re working on the fall campaign and started talking about the holidays. Every suggestion I presented was shot down. Maybe I’ve lost my touch. I just don’t know anymore.”
“Did I tell you the apartment in the village is a sublet?”
Just the mention of his pending apartment combined with my terrible week at work makes the little bit of salad I’ve consumed churn. “No.”
“It belongs to a friend of a friend. He’s going to be in California for six months and doesn’t want to pay double rent. He also doesn’t want to lose his place here. It’s a two-bedroom and the location is prime.”
“Stephen...”
“Shana, the point is that I can back out. Nothing is set in stone. He’ll find someone else.”
“But you don’t want to back out,” I say, knowing I’m right.
Stephen shrugs. “I didn’t. I’m not sure anymore.”
Tears fight to move forward, stinging the back of my eyes. “I’m surer than ever before that I want to stay here.”
This time when Stephen reaches across the table, I do too, and our hands clasp. “If we go back,” he says, “it won’t be like it was before. The two of you—obviously with the rabbit thing—have gotten to know one another better than before. Last time it was infatuation. This time, there’s more to it. You’ll make it work long distance.”
I lift my cup covering my grin. “There’s a little more to it.”
“Oh, please. It’s not like I need measurements or anything, but boss lady, you wouldn’t be floating into work every morning if it were a little.” His eyebrows waggle with his last two words.
“That’s not what I mean. Besides the Disney education, Trevor is doing more. He’s keeping me sane.”
“If sanity is all we’re discussing, I think I should have a little credit.”
“Okay, you get a little.” My brows do the same dance as his. “Trevor gets a big part of the credit.”
Stephen’s head shakes. “I’m more than happy to continue this with the penis innuendos. However, you and I...” He motions between us. “What we have is bigger than that, and I’d be happy to give you a list of references who will attest to this...” He motions to himself. “Is not a little, nor do I take—”
“Whoa! Way too much information.”
“Tell me about Trevor’s part in your sanity?”
I shrug. “For the first time, I understand the dream. I can see it. And I want it all. I want the relationship that comes with simple things like making someone’s favorite meal. I also want the career where I’m appreciated and feel essential.”
“So he made you pizza?”
“No,” I say with a giggle. “He made me chicken tacos.”
“With guacamole?”
“Yes. He called Kimbra and asked what I liked to eat besides pizza.”
“So,” Stephen says, “you have a nice guy. That career appreciation thing... would that be like in juniors?”
“I don’t know. I was completely satisfied there until this opportunity came along. It was all so fast. The call, the flight. Boom, we were here. It’s been a whirlwind. I don’t know if it’s being back here that I was excited about or if it was more the idea of moving to lingerie. I want the career and the relationship. The thing is that I don’t want to compromise one for the other.”
“Has he asked you to compromise?” Stephen asks.
“No. Trevor would never do that.”
Stephen looks down at his watch. “We need to get back. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t want to go upstate with me. I’m taking the four o’clock train.”
“I think I’ll stay here and assess the mess that is my life.”
“Assessing is good. I’ve been doing some of that.”
We gather our plates and cups, throwing them into the nearest trash bin. “What are you assessing?”
“How about I keep you posted?”
“Now I’m curious.”
“That’s good. The next time Witch Vicky gets you all bothered, think about my secret. Don’t let her have all of your attention.”
I nod as we turn onto Fifth Avenue. “I have a secret too.” Before he can question, I go on, “I received a call from Neil today.”
“Neil Butler? In London?”
“Yes, our other boss. He asked about you.”
Stephen shakes his head. “Oh no. You and me, we’re a team.”
“You could do it, Stephen. You were amazing in juniors. You understand the styles and clients. Your predictions are spot on. The designers love you and so do the models. I’d be a fool to think I’m not where I am because of you.”
“Stop it, Shana. We stay here in New York together, or we go back to London together. We’re a package.”
This time I reach out to him, taking his hand in mine. “Thank you, Stephen. I really don’t hate you.”
“Oh, boss lady, I know.”
Trevor
“You and Shana Price?” Max says with a shit-eating grin as he smiles at me over his glass of bourbon. “I guess that means you won the bet, her being one of the models and all. Hell, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her.”
“No, not until later. I think it’s that thing where someone is out of context. I wasn’t expecting to see her here, much less onstage wearing a negligee.”
My mind goes back to that moment. I understand what he means. I was flabbergasted and shocked all at once when I realized it was her. Then again, I think she was the most beautiful woman on the stage. I’m surprised that every man’s vision didn’t immediately gravitate to her.
“So how much do I owe you?”
I wave my hand. “No one won, and meeting up again with Shana had nothing to do with a bet.”
“Fair is fair,” he says.
“We all chipped in. Everything is even. Besides, the gamble would have been less if we’d just have stayed at my apartment as I suggested in the first place.”
“Your apartment used to be Eric’s too, and that’s not exactly bachelor-party excitement. And...” Max’s voice trails a bit. “…two bedrooms and four men. That scenario only works with a different crowd.” He leans back against the bar and surveys the room. “Not that I’m on the hunt for that crowd.”
I’m not exactly sure what he means, and I don’t know if I want to know. Before I can respond, he speaks again.
“She’s a fiery one.”
His assessment of Shana makes me smile. “What can I say? I like to be burned.”
“Well, that little tirade she gave me the other night...you’ll be in for worse from Stephen if you hurt her.”
“Apparently, according to my brother, Stephen would need to stand in line. My sister-in-law will also kick my ass.”
Max shakes his head. “Man, you’re on a hit list.”
“Only if my intention is to hurt Shana, and it’s not.”
Max shrugs as he turns back toward the bar and reaches for his glass of bourbon. After swishing the contents for what seems like too long, he mumbles something about intentions and how they can be misconstrued.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m no expert at relationships, but all that bullshit people spew about communication…there might be something to it.”
“Umm. Okay. Hey, I’m not trying to change the subject,” I say, doing exactly the opposite of what I said.
Another One (Lighter Ones Book 2) Page 13