by Savannah May
She turns back to the water with such a sense of her own sadness and loneliness hanging around her, I can’t resist. I take the two steps to move in behind her, my body close, barely a hair’s breadth between us. I want to wrap my arms around her but this has to come from her. Apparently without considering her move, she senses me there and leans back into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My free arm encircles her immediately. My palm sliding up and around her waist until it curls around her back and she’s locked under my iron forearm. Her tits shelved on my forearm muscle are a complete distraction and again my dick starts to leap forward.
I don’t want Grace to think I’m the pig she thinks I am. She deserves this moment of feeling good. I compress her a little more firmly against my chest wall, squeezing out a sigh from her. I feel her body relax against me while mine goes into a tailspin of desire as her firm cheeks press into my blasting wood.
The need to have her connected to every one of my senses is too powerful. Without even thinking what I’m doing, I tip my head down and inhale the scent of the side of her neck. It’s all her. There’s no expensive mix of tuberose on her skin. I assume because she doesn’t have the money to waste on perfume and didn’t waste mine on that either. I’m amazed that she had that kind of respect for my charge card and didn’t go to town at my expense.
The aroma of femininity is all Grace. And do I kid myself, I’m sure I detect the pheromone scent of desire coming through her pores? That’s got to be my imagination, based on the reaction I have to the scent of her skin. Her scent is hypnotic. Addictive.
“Your aroma should be bottled and sold in discos for a heady rush,” I gruff against her skin, my lips brushing her light as a feather.
“That tickles,” she squirms. I’m certain the sensation is overwhelming her as much as me.
We’re standing on a beach in front of one of the most luxurious mansions in New York, dressed in thousands of dollars of fabrics, drinking four hundred dollars worth of grape liquor and yet all my senses are feral. My lust is animalistic, the scent of her body, the pressure of her flesh against me. I’m not a billionaire playboy, I’m a beast with prehistoric urges. Those are the elements that combine to send the blood pounding in my veins. Those senses make it so fucking difficult not to bend Grace over on her knees and push deep into her tight caress.
“God, this is amazing,” she whispers.
She arches her back slightly so her butt presses harder against me. Then she tenses up. All her tranquil relaxation skitters back inside her when she brushes against the massive bulge in my pants, throbbing hard against the fabric, dying for a single taste of her. I have to force the demon me back down and curb the animal rearing up in my core. I have to be a socialized man.
“Come, we’ll miss the wedding breakfast,” I say, pulling back and taking her hand once more.
“Breakfast at sunset,” she babbles, trying to cover over the awkwardness suddenly risen between us.
Without thinking, we’d both forgotten the pact and slipped into the roles of being a couple. This time I carry her shoes in one hand, the snifter in my other and walk a good distance away from her side. Enough that my burly security guy could fit easily between us but not so much that anyone gets the idea we’re fighting and tries some stunt.
The reception steward leads us smoothly to our table and I pull out the chair for Grace. Once again I feel all eyes on us, eagerly scrounging for any slip up. So, telling myself, kidding myself, it’s only for the game, I tip my head down. My hands grip her chair back as I graze my lips along the side of her neck. She startles, as though an electric shock hit her throat, then remembers the deal.
She smiles and relaxes but I’m also overcome again with the intimate connection. The almond aroma of her warm skin, soft as the velvet underbelly of a baby animal. The loose tendrils of her black as night hair tickling my stubble. I pull back to stand up but my lips are drawn back to her soft pillar of skin.
I don’t want to leave her sensuous neck. I want to continue brushing my lips over her skin, trailing a whisper breath across every inch of her flesh, all the way down her luscious curves. Over her chest, swirling my tongue around her nipples until they peak and she writhes with soft moans. Over her smooth stomach to the little dip at her hipbone. Would she tremble as I linger there? The last defense point of her torso before I meander my lips slowly down over her delicious lacy new panties.
There my mouth would turn rougher, biting through the fabric as I travel over her mound. My delirium, I know for certain, would almost undo me as the most intense scent from her filled my nostrils. She’d part her thighs for me or I’d push them apart and my undoing would be complete. I’d fill my lips with her clit and compress her folds and the soaking wet material, holding her in my bite until she cried out.
Fuck, I have to snap myself out of this. I’m surrounded my a hundred tables of ten and it’s not vain to think that most of those eyes are burning into my back. My fingers are gripping Grace’s chair hard enough to snap it right off. My urgent need for her naked body writhing and sighing under my hold is driving me insane.
I plant one kiss on the bare skin of her shoulder. Just for the sake of the game. Then I indicate to the waiter to bring me a drink, a fucking stiff one and slide into my seat. I’m hoping no one notices how fucking huge my need for my fake girlfriend really is. Especially Grace.
19
Grace
I eat the most amazing dinner of my life. It seems unreal that food so exquisitely explosive on my tastebuds can exist in the world. Then I remember it’s a different world from the one I know.
Whenever I get stuck, with the cutlery or whatever else - such as I have never even seen an artichoke let alone know how to eat one - Hopper helps me. Without words, he purposefully picks up the correct fork or detaches one of the pointed leaves from the vegetal green grenade they set in front of me. Thank fuck for his tuition because eyebrows hit the ceiling as I went to grab a knife and fork to attack the spiny creature. There’s a line up of seven wine glasses in front of me too.
“Jesus, I mean why can’t they just pour the booze into the same glass and save the poor dishwasher so much work,” I lean in to whisper in Hopper’s ear.
He laughs out loud and that attracts a sudden silence at our table and those close to us. As though they’ve never seen the guy laugh before or some shit. I make it my mission then to be as funny for Hopper as possible. Maybe his life really is too serious, all that money-making responsibility. All these uptight people concerned about how everything looks. One thing I know how to do is take a carefree attitude to life and see the humorous side. I don’t think I could have kept going through all the shit I’ve been through without that to slide back on.
After the dinner, there’s a first dance ritual thing for the couple and then we’ll get to go home. Hopper takes my hand and knowing he’s had enough, I figure we’re heading for the safety of our backseat. My heart kind of sinks that I have to separate from him soon, my fantasy day is over. And worse, I’m going to go back to my Russian-infested hole.
But as we pass along the side of the dancefloor, Hopper tugs on my arms so I twirl around and go slamming up against his amazing chest wall. He pulls me into his arms and maneuvers me mostly with his hips, in among the crowd.
Oh god, it feels so good to be held in his arms, my body molding to his hard mounds and ridges. I could stay there forever. I tentatively put my palms up on his shoulders, feeling the eyes on us still all around.
Fuck it. Let’s give them a show.
My hands continue sliding up and around the back of his neck, curling into the hair at the nape. It’s softer than I expected and feels unbelievably intimate – a place no one else would touch. Unless they belonged to him. And he to them.
Hopper must feel the same because he pulls me tighter into him with his biceps. The softer I caress the back of his neck, the harder he encircles me in his hold. We’re skin to skin like lining in coat an
d my heart starts skittering around in my ribcage. My tits mangle against his abs and I’m stunned my how hard chiseled they are. I can make out every ridge crushing into my flesh and it sends sparkles of white light falling through my core straight to my pussy. His hand wraps around and around the fall of hair down my back and he tugs slowly, just enough until I’m looking up at him. His eyes are full of heated lust.
Again I feel his hunger for me bulging into my hip and this time I don’t pull away like a silly girl. I know Hopper wants me and my body is making it clear I want him too. I’m not a prim miss that has to act untouchable.
Can the criminal justice system dictate and control my body like I’m their handmaid? If I want some pleasure this summer then why not take it? My confidence has expanded enormously from learning so much today. I can only imagine what else Hopper Grady could teach me. I’m starting to yearn to find out.
I lay my cheek against his shoulder and suck at the air, trying to calm my racing heart without much success. We’re a pair of pulsating, throbbing beings, clinging to each other as we sway between other couples in the midst of a swanky party. It’s all so unreal. But a living dream is much preferable to a living nightmare so I let myself go with it. Everyone surrounding us melts away, probably from the heat that rises between Hopper and I.
I’m about to melt and drown in the lust flooding through me. If Hopper’s arms weren’t holding me so firmly, I might end up in a pool around his feet. How is it possible to want so hard? So urgently. I feel like I won’t, can’t, take my next breath if he doesn’t strip me naked and slide between my soaked thighs right now.
When the song ends way too soon, our reverie tapers away instantly and we’re back in the harsh light of a society crowd who I’m sure are staring at us. Eyes flick at us and away then back again, no doubt incredulous at how a girl like me managed to lure a man like gorgeous Hopper Grady.
“Let’s get out of here,” he hisses against my head.
Did he just inhale the scent of my hair? Damn I wish I had something better than that cheap drugstore shampoo at the halfway house. All the sparkle dampens like rain on fireworks when the thought of that place rushes up at me.
Without waiting for my agreement, Hopper takes my hand and leads me across the large ballroom. While I usually hate being led around helplessly, for obvious reasons, with Hopper as my captor I love being so safely guarded.
Henry must have a sixth sense regarding his boss because he pulls up in front of the house just as we run down the steps, laughing at our escape. I cannot wait to climb into the back seat, almost as large as my tiny single room at the place I call home and a thousand times more luxurious, with its own lacquered refrigerator.
“One day I’m going to beg you to let me live right here in your car,” I laugh when Hopper gets in beside me.
He frowns at that and I can’t imagine how that would have upset him. He looks away as he opens a new bottle of champagne. Although I’m not supposed to be drinking, I do. I’m nervous at his sudden chill and it’s a bit late now for remembering my parole rules. I really want this night to last longer. I want to get back to how Hopper were at the reception. Laughing, chatting about life and the stiffies around us, and most of all I want more of the electricity Hopper turns on in my body.
He takes my hand in his but we ride back to the city quietly, sipping our champagne deep in thought. After the charged connection we shared various times through the day, I’d really been expecting him to throw me back on the seat and take me at last. Instead he sits with my hand in his as though he’s got a thousand things on his mind.
It’s not an awkward silence, I could ride around beside him like this and be content always. But my body is thounding with the need to feel his hands all over me. My breasts needing to be pressed into his chest set up an agony of lascivious hunger for his palms crushing them and tweaking the agonized points.
We ride all the way into Manhattan, hand-in-hand and I assume he’s taking me to his place. Or I assume part of the time and then I doubt he’s ever going to want to see me again. His sudden ice-fall makes me more anxious.
When we stop, it’s not outside his brownstone, but a glass tower close to his office skyscraper.
I climb out without a word, too numb from drinking and lust to protest or question him. The doorman greets us and we ride up in the elevator.
Hopper leads me down a plush hallway and unlocks a door labeled 2001.
Inside is a small but absolutely gorgeous loft apartment, kitted out with everything and with a high big bed in an adjoining room. I’m drawn instantly to the wall of windows and look out on the view of the city and Liberty in the distance.
“Is this your secret sex den?” I ask, wondering why he’s still so silent.
“No, it’s yours,” he gruffs out, laying the keys on the curved glass console.
“What do you mean mine? I can’t afford this.”
The rent on this place would suck up my fifty thousand in less than a year.
“Call it a bonus,” he says, not looking at me.
“What is this place?” I inquire.
“Just an investment property. If you don’t like it here, I have others but this is closest to the office. I use it when I can’t be bothered to go up to my house.”
My fantasies of ever seeing that have been eradicated. No way I’m ever going to be taken to Hopper’s house, the secret hideaway. How amazing it must be and would be to slide into what I’m sure is a huge bed with exquisite smooth sheets.
“Is something wrong? Did I mess up your swanky event?” I ask, suddenly feeling alone in the way he’s abandoned our connection.
“No you were perfect,” he mutters. He checks the refrigerator and I note there are supplies for a whole family in there. Then he checks the locks on the doors.
“Is this some kind of safe house,” I ask, desperately wanting to see him laugh again like earlier.
“It will be yours,” he grits out. “I don’t want you living at that dumpy den of thieves.”
Before I can reply he pulls back the door, says good night and “make sure to lock this after me,” and vanishes.
20
Hopper
Three weeks later
Grace was perfect.
She is perfect. We’ve attended four weddings and one funeral – of a client that was way past his prime. She soaks up everything I tell her like a sponge and uses the knowledge to play the model girlfriend. While unlike real models or girlfriends, beneath her elegant poise the same challenging little vixen still lingers.
I don’t know what the fuck is happening here but for the first time in my life I’m out of my depth. Almost.
All I want every minute of every day is to hold her tight in my arms, feeling her let go of the tension in her pert little body and to bury myself balls deep inside it of course. But that first part is throwing me off. I’ve never felt much like protecting one particular woman. The outside world, sure – abandoned children, those suffering the brute criminal justice system, battered women. Those are all pet causes I give money to in a meaningful way.
But wanting to make sure one woman is safe from harm, and more, that her life is happy and with minimal stress – now that’s a new one on me. And so every day yo-yos back and forth between protection and devastating lust. Where do I take that after I’ve taken her? And I should have remembered that she’s my parolee intern. Would it not be vastly inappropriate to lodge her in my bed? But who’s making the rules here?
It’s definitely not like me to play by any but those I make up.
She been very quiet at the office every Monday after we spend our Saturdays at various social events. During the week we don’t see each other that often as I have meetings that run early and late. Not everyone spends their summer in Cap D’Antibes. They send their wives out there, to the Vineyard or Mediterranean villa, and then play freely in the city. Same as I do year round. Hanging out at Illicit, or other clubs created for our amusement.
Except I haven’t been to Illicit for a month. Not since before Grace started working for me. Not since she took over my head. I’m just thinking I should get through the summer and then things will get back to normal when she moves forward with her own life.
But when we do cross paths in the office, we’re very cordial, for the benefit of our co-workers. I’m pretty sure I was enticed by the little minx’s rebel behavior. Something that’s entirely vanished from my own life. It was an insane, even irresponsible idea, to make her the offer to play my girlfriend but I never renege on my word.
I text her Friday, just as I’m leaving a meeting in Boston, to remind her we have another society bash on the weekend.
I don’t get a response and when I arrive back in the office, mayhem has plundered by usually serene space.
“I’m so sorry, Sir, I had no idea.”
Janice leaps up as soon as I emerge from my private elevator, expecting to unwind in a quiet office. Instead there are cops everywhere and my Grace is sitting on an office chair in the middle of the hallway, her hands cuffed behind her.
In the fucking hall, where anyone coming to speak to me or Janice can witness her humiliation. Blood rages into my brain until I see bright lights of fury. If I had any sort of weapon on me right now, I’d be lethal. All I have is my personal power.
“What the fuck is going on?” I roar. “Uncuff her right now.”
“Excuse me sir, but we have the girl restrained for everyone’s protection,” the dick cop says. One of those that gets off on restraining girls one tenth his size. One that puts up a barricade against the power I wield, seeking to oppose it with his own tinpot authority given him by a government that will strip it away just as fast. Rage burns like wildfire in my gut. How dare he challenge me.
“I don’t give a shit. I said uncuff her,” I bark.
Grace hasn’t looked up once from her drooping head, her eyes on the ground, shoulders hunched. I want to pull her into my lap and have her smiling and laughing again. I can't stand it when she’s downtrodden. The paunchy cop doesn’t move. I control my urge to fist him and instead round on him with the menace I wield.