At last, but what was realistically probably only twenty seconds later, we were thousands of feet away from the would-be carjackers.
“Slow down, slow down!” Harley ordered, and I acquiesced, certain that we were safe.
I found an empty space on the side of the road, and pulled to a stop.
“Are you okay?” I asked quickly. “I’m sorry I had to do that, but there was no other way out.”
Her chest rose and fell in heaving breaths, and I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“I was so scared,” she whispered. “I don’t remember the last time I felt fear like that, like it was taking over my entire body. Crushing me.” She paused, and then sobbed, “Oh, Ashton.”
Harley fell into my arms, and I encircled her protectively. She nestled in closer, and I could feel her pulse in my own veins.
“Weren’t you frightened?” she asked softly.
“Of course,” I replied. “But, I guess…I don’t know, you being there calmed me. Like I understood that there was no allowing myself to be afraid; taking care of you was more important.”
She shifted from her position on my chest, and her blue eyes found mine. Earlier, they had cut into me like lasers, but now, they seemed to run over my face like the waves from which they derived their color. Her eyes caressed me, seeking out the intricacies of my body as if they had the power of touch.
“I can’t be alone tonight,” she said simply. “I just…I can’t. My parents took Levi for the night, and I don’t want to wake them. If I were with him, I think I could be calm—I’d have to be—but…alone…I don’t know. I’d be too afraid. Does anything I’m saying make sense?”
I understood.
Leveling my voice, I asked, “Would you like a drink at my place? It might soothe your nerves.”
She considered this momentarily, then nodded. “Yes, I think I would.”
“Okay, then,” I replied. Noticing that she was still firmly wrapped around my body—not that I’d ever stopped noticing, not really—I added, “You might have to ah, move a bit.”
She seemed to finally grasp the position she was in: one that, as she slid further down my torso, was dangerously close to more intimate areas of the body. Her eyes darted down to the slim-cut trousers that rose to my hips, fastened by a simple leather belt.
Slowly, she drew back from her embrace. I sensed a reluctance in her movements, as her fingers, now unclenched, trailed over my back, lighting fires in their paths. She shot one last look my direction, then completely disentangled herself, returning to the isolation of her own seat.
Okay, it was possible that the near-carjacking had spiked my adrenaline, too—just in other places. I resisted every urge in my body, which was begging me to grab her and kiss her and—
Enough, I warned myself. This is getting dangerous.
I put the car back into drive and sped off down the road. Luckily, the restaurant wasn’t all that far from my place, so we made it there in a matter of minutes. The car ride was silent, as I imagine both of us were too caught up in the drama playing out in our minds. For my part, I was occupied with trying fervently to not think about the implications of taking Harley to my penthouse. A small voice in my brain hoped that she was similarly occupied.
We rolled to a stop outside of the luxury condominium building.
“This is it,” I informed her, and we exited the vehicle.
I threw the keys to the building valet and put a protective arm around Harley’s shoulders, leading her past the glass doors and into the marble-covered entryway. Sleek, gilded light fixtures hung from on high, and blue tufted sofas lined the walls. It was a modernist play on the classic luxury of the 1800s, a fairly common design angle in this echelon of society. Personally, I thought it all looked a bit like an extremely high-end hotel.
“Wow,” she murmured, momentarily distracted by the building’s features. “It’s incredible.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “You don’t think it’s a little…I don’t know, impersonal?”
She paused, then returned, “You’re right. Doesn’t make it bad, though, just…hardened.”
Like me, I thought.
I waved a hand to the front desk receptionist, who in turn tipped his cap at me as I escorted Harley to the elevators. She looked around as I withdrew an electronic fob key from my pocket and ran it over the elevator’s sensors.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding and I guided her inside the mirrored box, where I selected the button for my floor.
“Oh, you live on the top floor?” she commented mildly. “Which way does your view look out? Towards the ocean?”
“Ah, all parts of the top floor,” I replied, surprised to find myself bashful. “I have the penthouse suite.”
Her mouth hung open, but before she could form a reply, the elevator dinged again—we’d arrived. I ushered her out first, then followed behind.
“The elevator goes straight into your room?” she gasped. I chuckled, and she pressed, “What’s funny?”
“I don’t know; I suppose the fact that you’re most amazed by the elevator.”
It was true—there was plenty else to be stunned by in the suite.
All the walls were made of glass, and two of the four sides (which you couldn’t see from our position within the condo), had enormous balconies that jutted out over the city streets below. The one-story pad spanned thousands of square feet, with architecture that nearly defied the laws of physics. The floors were all dark wood, and my designer had selected accent colors of silver and royal blue.
“Holy shit,” Harley breathed.
Generally, I wasn’t too curious about how people perceived my apartment. I knew it was lavish, and interpreted as such, and that folks usually tried to downplay their shock. While I liked my place, I understood the inclination of the average visitor; after all, appearing cowed by wealth in San Bravado was a big no-no.
So, I couldn’t say for sure why Harley’s reaction so delighted me. Perhaps it was just that she was speaking her mind, a rare thing in these parts. A loud woman with opinions to spare? It was a wonderful break from plastic people who tried their best to never show human emotions.
“Do you like it?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Are you kidding?” she replied. “It’s…it’s…I don’t even have the words. I didn’t know real people actually lived in homes like this.”
I chortled. “Last I checked, I’m not a robot, so I suppose real people do live here.”
She walked forward, absentmindedly slipping her high heels off by the entrance.
“You don’t have to take your shoes off,” I said.
“It’s just a habit,” she replied, then turned to me. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”
I nodded. “Of course. Make yourself at home.”
The phrase slid off my tongue before I had time to second guess it.
Taking me at my word, Harley walked around the apartment like a princess around her castle, letting her hands fleetingly touch a suede, gray sofa and a glass coffee table held aloft by a marble sculpture of a wolf on its back.
Feeling a sudden urge to impress her, I held my smartwatch close to my mouth, and instructed, “Entertainment lighting.”
With that, the house’s automated system darkened the lights and flicked on the three fireplaces that were scattered around the open-plan living room and kitchen.
I heard Harley’s sharp intake of breath, and the sound brushed over me as though it were an extension of her fingertips.
“Could I have that drink now?” she asked falteringly, obviously daunted by the penthouse.
“Of course,” I replied. I’d meant what I’d said before—I didn’t want her to feel intimidated here. This was new emotional territory; my place had been designed with the main purpose of impressing any potential investors I brought over with my good taste and open wallet.
I walked to a nearby cabinet, which was covered by a deep blue lacquer, and opened its doors. My hand rumm
aged around the tops of one expensive bottle after another, at last landing on one with a familiar cap.
“You like whiskey, right?” I called out.
“Yeah, that’s perfect.”
I grabbed the bottle and two crystal glasses from the cabinet, walking over to where Harley stood gazing out a window. The fireplace caught the gold in her hair, and reflected it back across the silver accents of the apartment. She seemed to be in both direct contrast and direct harmony with the place.
“Here,” I said, passing her a glass.
“Thanks,” she said. “What are we toasting to?”
“To surviving a carjacking?”
She laughed, then corrected, “To new friendships.”
Our glasses clinked, and we both took deep swigs of the amber liquid.
I brought the glass from my mouth down to waist height, and looked into its depths as I garnered the courage to press forward.
“Harley,” I began, “I’d like to answer your question from earlier.”
She removed the glass from her lips, showing that the liquid had left a light coating around her mouth.
“Which one?”
“About why people don’t see that side of me. The…kinder one.”
She hesitated and took another sip of her drink, as if to fortify her for my answer. “Okay,” she said, “I’m listening.”
I took a deep breath and launched in.
“I was raised to believe that being cold, exacting—brutal, even—was the only way to succeed in life. I’ll spare you the details on my upbringing, but that’s the general gist of it. I’ve operated like that in the world for as long as I can remember, never wondering for even a moment if, perhaps, I’d been raised all wrong.”
I punctuated this sentence with a sip of my whiskey, and saw with an upward flick of my eyes that Harley was hanging on to my every word.
“Yes?” she urged.
“But—and I know this is cliché, but who cares—after what happened—after what could have happened earlier, I began to wonder if I was all wrong. No,” I corrected, “that’s not true. I started to wonder at dinner…with you. Just being with you made me think about how I’d screwed myself over, prevented myself from living a fuller life, because of my upbringing. How I’d insisted on being distant even when intimacy may have been more welcome.”
I swallowed, and went on, “The carjacking solidified things for me. I’m glad I was able to stay calm in the moment, but in my head, I was realizing, if I died just then, what would it have all been for? What kind of life would I have lived? Sure, I’ve made money, and plenty of it, but at what cost? I’ve stopped myself from letting love into my life. Easy pleasure, maybe, but actual love? I haven’t even begun to taste it.”
I broke off, at last raising my eyes to meet hers. I could see that she was misty-eyed, stirred to emotion by my words.
Wrapping a hand around her shoulder, I apologized.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad, I just…I want to tell you everything about me, every part of me—even the dark parts that may not be so appetizing. And I know I’m moving quickly, and that’s really not like me, but—”
“Shut up,” she whispered, and interrupted my declaration by leaning in and kissing me.
Chapter 9
Ashton
My lips met Harley’s with a profound need as I tugged her further into the kiss, deepening and lengthening it.
“Wait,” I said a moment later, abruptly breaking off our embrace. “Are you sure about this? I am technically your boss.”
“I don’t care,” she murmured. “Kiss me.”
I didn’t need any further urging. I wrapped my arms around her body, pressing her tightly to my chest. Growing hungrier with every passing second, I moved my mouth to Harley’s neck, kissing her as I simultaneously pushed her up against a nearby wall. Her hands entwined themselves in my hair, grasping desperately.
“Harley,” I whispered around her lips, then let my hands roam down to her ass and grab it. She moaned, and the hot rush of air filled my mouth. Her reaction spurred me further, and I gave her ass cheeks a light slap. I watched with pleasure as her chest rose and her eyes shot upwards.
Maneuvering her by the ass, I squeezed Harley ever closer to me, until I was certain she could feel the pressure of my now-hard cock against her. I needed her with every fiber of my being.
Her eyes flew open at the touch of my dick, and she immediately reached down to run a hand over my groin. She taunted me with a little smile, running her fingers up and down my legs, around my waist, and through my belt, but never quite touching me where I yearned to be touched.
“Yes, Harley,” I groaned. “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
Needing no further encouragement, Harley shimmied her dress to the floor, revealing a dark purple lingerie set that sculpted her body to perfection, showcasing all of her bountiful curves. Her waist was a vast dip, set between her ample breasts and wide hips. My mouth watered, and without conscious thought, I allowed my hand to wander to my dick.
“Oh no you don’t,” she commanded. “Touch me.”
It would be my fucking pleasure.
A split second later, I was tearing at the lace that shielded her nipples, shredding the bra in the process.
“Hey, I liked that bra,” she giggled, her voice a musical peal.
In reply, I growled, “I’ll buy you fifty new ones.”
I tipped her backward onto the nearby couch, moving my hands from her breasts to her pussy, where I found a veritable pool of wetness.
“How long have you been this, ah, ready for?” I questioned, bemused.
“All fucking night. What are you gonna do about it?”
In response, I ripped off her underwear. This time, she didn’t even bother to complain about forfeiting the garment.
My thumb ghosted over her clit and I quickly slipped two fingers inside of her, slightly bending them and pressing against her G-spot in an undulating motion.
“Oh God,” she panted, and I felt her contract around my fingers.
As my fingers did their work, my tongue came down to her pearl, and I began to flick it back and forth, back and forth. Her body clenched and bucked, like a wild animal under restraint, her cries getting more unhinged by the second.
She let out a long, helpless wail as my fingers plunged deeper inside of her, working in deviant harmony with my mouth. Consciously or unconsciously, Harley began to thrust desperately in counterpoint to my movements, dizzily exclaiming the words I so wanted to hear. “Yes, Ashton. Oh God yes, I’m coming.”
I was more than happy to suck lightly at her clit as her orgasm rocked her, easing off to stroke and kiss her thighs as she came down from her peak.
I thought she might need a minute to recover, but she surprised me. In a rapid motion, she sat up from the couch and brought me up onto the furniture, straddling me.
Following my earlier lead, she tore open my shirt, sending buttons pinging around the room. Her breasts jiggled slightly as she unwound the belt from around my waist, and undid the zipper that lay just above my cock.
I tensed as I waited for her touch; the anticipation was making me downright dizzy. She giggled, sensing my urgency.
“Oh, all right,” she joked, and promptly spread-eagled her legs across my lap, and lowering her body towards the tip of my cock. I knew she was taking her sweet time, but God, did she have to be so dastardly about it?
I groaned as her wetness touched my tip. I couldn’t lie; I was practically keening with desperation. How could that be? I’d slept with plenty of women in my day, but nothing like this. No, this…it ricocheted down to my very core.
At last, I could take it no longer. I wrangled my hands around her hips, just barely cupping her ass cheeks, and brought her weight down onto me. We cried out in unison at the riot of pleasure which overtook us both.
“I’m gonna—” she broke off, strumming furiously at her clit as I continued to thrust deeply into her pussy.
We reached our peak a split second apart; I felt Harley’s body shake along with my own, though hers was near-vibrating. Our moans filled the apartment, echoing throughout the halls. Her naked, writing form eventually fell limp against my own.
Holy shit.
I’d just had the best sex of my life.
Chapter 10
Harley
It’s easy to sleep like a baby when you’re not taking care of, well, a baby. It’s even easier to get a night’s good rest when you’re surrounded by the strong arms of a good man.
I awoke the next morning to streaming sunlight through the bedroom window; at some point in the night, though I couldn’t remember exactly when, we had relocated to the bed.
Ashton’s room, I now noticed, was the most personal place in the apartment. It held shelves upon shelves of books, most of them classics. There were some pictures on a nearby wall that appeared to be of his family and maybe friends from college.
He’d let me into his space, and I thought just how intimate an act that was for him, probably more so than mere sex. How could I reconcile the quiet, brooding man whom I’d slept with the cocky douchebag the world knew?
Suddenly, I realized that Ashton’s muscular arms were no longer curled protectively around my body. Gathering my wits about me, I realized it was a Saturday, so it stood to reason that he hadn’t needed to run off to work.
Rolling over, I felt the indentation beside me in the bed, roughly in the shape of Ashton’s powerful physique. The area was cold, lifeless; he’d been gone for some time.
“Nice,” I sighed to myself, then realized the implication of my lament.
Generally speaking, I loved having my own bed; I tended to roll around quite a bit, and there was also the question of sleep compatibility—sometimes, the person beside you took up too much space, or hogged all the covers. One of my earliest red flags about Kyle was that I hated sharing a bed with him, and often fantasized about how, if we were to get married, we’d have separate, twin beds, like a 1950s sitcom couple.
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