by Tasha Fawkes
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “We did, didn’t we?” All of a sudden, Scott stepped toward me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me up, turning in circles. I melted into his embrace, knowing that none of this would have been possible without him. By the time he stopped twirling me, my heart pounded and my breasts tingled. Once my feet were firmly planted on the floor again, he gazed down at me, the grin on his face infectious.
My dreams started to come true. But would they come to fruition?
***
With a tired sigh, I closed the door and turned around the sign notifying any latecomers that we were now closed for business. Our first day had been an overwhelming success. While I knew the flurry of excitement of a new business opening would pass, I held high hopes. I had received numerous compliments not only on our simple variety, but on the quality of the food. Many customers had asked if I could bake up batches of pastries for them and their families, pre-ordered of course, or if I could provide catering services for businesses. Of course, I said yes. Mom, helping out in the kitchen, shook her head and laughed.
Scott had left the dining room after wiping down the last of the tables and headed for the small ‘closet’ that served as the office. I had hired a part-time cook and one server for now, but I had already sent them home after an extremely busy, long, stress-filled day. Scott was now busy counting out the register and preparing our first day’s deposits for the bank drop that he would make on the way home. I had just finished drying the last of the pots and pans and put them away.
I tossed the towel into the laundry basket beside the office and then turned to peruse the bistro, a huge sense of satisfaction filling me. With a kiss and a hug, Mom had left just a little while ago, as she had the graveyard shift tonight. I had told her to leave hours ago so she could rest up before going to work, but she demurred. Her hug had been long and hard, and I had returned her embrace, no words necessary to share in the aura of success.
I stood somewhat stunned that we had survived the first day as well as we had. I heard movement behind me and turned as Scott emerged from the office, took a glance at me, and smiled. He walked to the front door, locked it, and drew the blinds closed. Then he turned to me and gestured to a table and short booth in the corner. A bottle of expensive wine and two wine glasses sat on its surface.
“I’ve been saving that for opening night. I knew we’d have good reason to celebrate. If you’re not too tired.”
I laughed softly, shook my head, and gratefully made my way to the booth, every bone and muscle in my body thrumming with weariness, but my mind too excited to feel ready to leave just yet. I watched as Scott opened the bottle, admiring every move as he poured each of us a half glass of wine, then lifted his in a toast.
“To your success, Megan,” he said softly.
His gaze met mine, and once again, I felt as if I was disappearing into the depth of his eyes. My body tingled, but not from weariness. “To ours.”
We sipped, and then he suddenly stood, held out his hand, and pulled me into his embrace. We hugged, and then he turned me around, my back against his chest, as we both looked around the bistro. It looked so cozy, so friendly, so… I felt his lips touch my neck, just above my shoulder. I turned my head and he kissed me, achingly tender at first. Heat emanated from his body. We stood like that for endless moments before I turned around again in his arms, my body pressed close to his.
My nipples tingled and then hardened into nubs. Damnit! My body ached for his touch. Looking up at him, I stared at his lips, and then, without thinking, I lifted myself up onto my toes and kissed him, not quite so gently. Hungry. Aching. My tongue darted out and stroked those lips. He grunted, low in his chest, and returned my kiss, his lips firm and more demanding. When we broke off the kiss, we started at each other. I noticed that his pupils had dilated. I felt his burgeoning erection against my groin and felt the heat flare in my own.
He backed us into the booth. He sat down, and I straddled his legs.
“You smell good enough to eat,” he grinned.
Warmth blossomed in all the right places, making me wet for him. I instinctively rocked my hips. I stared into his eyes for several moments until he kissed me again. I didn’t stop him. He kissed me deeply and thoroughly, his tongue slowly and gently stroking my lips and then delving inside my mouth to caress my teeth. I followed suit and for several moments our tongues played tag as our breath grew harsher. My heart kept pace with my rising excitement. I felt wet and hot and ready, but I broke off the kiss.
“We can’t do it here,” I gasped. “There’s not enough—”
Without a word, his hands caressed my shoulders, leaving trails of heat. I shifted and without hesitance, pulled my sundress upward and over my head, allowing it to flow to the floor where it lay in a puddle. He stared at my breasts, then nuzzled his face in my cleavage. I needed to feel his tongue on my nipples, on my skin… I quickly divested myself of my bra, inviting his touch. And touch he did; his fingers worked their magic, followed in short shrift by his tongue—teasing, sucking, stroking. My breath came in harsh gasps. His hands left my breasts long enough to stroke my back and cup my ass, pressing me even closer to his hardness. “Scott,” I moaned, throwing my head back as his hand dipped between us and found my wetness. I braced my arms against his warm, rock hard chest, tugging at his T-shirt until, moments later, I had divested him of it. I focused my attention on the sensation racing through my body and his sensual heat, cock nearly bursting through his pants, the desire I felt for him, aching for the feeling of his warm hands on my breasts.
Another kiss, and then I found my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, grunting with frustration that I couldn’t do it fast enough to please me. He leaned his head against my shoulder, a soft chuckle erupting from his throat.
“Allow me,” he murmured.
I rose a little, squirming as I tried to remove my panties, but I didn’t want to lose his warmth. In seconds, he had his fly open, his hard, glistening cock throbbing darkly with desire. I felt his warm breath on my neck, then my breast.
I reveled in the feel of his body so close against mine. Every nerve in my body was on fire, so much so I couldn’t think, nor did I want to. Every nerve in my body tingled with desire and I wanted his touch everywhere. I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, pastries, and a tinge of manly sweat.
My passion only increased as one of his hands lifted between us, his fingers teasing my nipple. While those fingers toyed with my nipple, his lips met mine, tongues swirling together again. I wasn’t sure quite how he managed it, but soon his other hand cupped my mound. I shifted again to give him access. A finger slid past my panties and into my wetness. My heart pounded. Of their own accord, my hands also sought their way to his nipples and I teased them as mercilessly as he teased me. Then I lowered a hand and wrapped it around the warm, throbbing, silky yet hard smoothness of his cock.
Our hands pleasured each other, our lips and tongues caressing and swirling. His ragged breathing matched my own. As his fingers worked their magic on my slit and my nub, my own swirled around his slick head. His thumb stroked my clitoris gently while his finger slowly surged in and out of my cleft while my hips responded of their own volition. My hand continued to stroke his shaft, which had grown incredibly hard. I felt myself rising to a climax and my grip of his cock tightened, my thumb caressing his head. Slick wetness met my manipulation. I felt the pulsations of a climax building, and at the same moment, we reached our peak. Warm, hot liquid surged into the palm of my hand as our hips rocked in tandem. His mouth found mine and we kissed again, his sucking gently on my lips as my ears rang and my breath left my chest in harsh gasps.
The pulsations of my pleasure gradually faded and my ears buzzed, and finally, I pulled back slightly. I found him gazing at me with a smile.
He pulled his hand from my mound and reached for the napkin holder on the table. Without a word nor a hint of embarrassment
or chagrin, he gently wiped the semen from my hand, and then quickly cleaned himself. I quickly clambered off his lap and reached for my bra and sundress. In moments, we had straightened our clothes, though my cheeks still felt warm and my body tingled with the aftermath of our… what could I call that?
“What do you say we continue this at my house tonight?” he asked.
I thought about it for all of a second before I nodded. Everything was right with the world, at least for this moment in time. I knew, sensed deep inside, call it instinct or whatever, that what Scott and I shared was on the right track. We both had some growing to do, both had to focus on our goals, but we could reach them together, just as we had both reached our climax together. We belonged together. Now, and into the future.
Of that I had no doubt.
I hope you enjoyed Not For Sale. Turn the page to start reading The Playboy’s Secret Virgin.
Sneak Peek: The Playboy’s Secret Virgin
Chapter One
Jane
“Taxi!”
I tuck a long strand of chestnut brown hair behind my ear with one hand as I fight to flag down a cab with the other. Just my luck that there aren’t any Ubers available when I decided to splurge on a ride to my new job so I won’t arrive all flushed. I wave my arms to get the attention of one of the many passing cabs, but it’s no use. After only a few months in the city, I haven’t yet learned the art of making a cabbie notice me.
“I guess it’s the subway,” I mutter to myself and try not to curse. There’s still plenty of time. I’ll even get there early.
Nothing can get me down today. Sure, it’s Monday, and the faces of the people I pass on the way to the station reflect their total lack of excitement over starting another week. But I’m not starting just another week. I feel like announcing to everybody that this is my first day of work at a job that isn’t retail. Maybe they’ll wish me luck. Then I catch the eye of a lady with a stroller, and she shoots me a dirty look before hurrying off. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t bother.
My first day working at one of the fastest growing ad agencies in Manhattan. I still can’t believe my luck. I only went to the job fair because I had nothing to lose. I was hardly making anything in my first job out of college, and to say I was bored working as a mail room clerk would be a drastic understatement. I figured since I had good grades in school and a decent resumé—an advertising major, strong references, knowledge of graphic arts, expertise with design programs like Photoshop—that I had a pretty good shot, and I was right. The HR representative from James Enterprises called three days later to offer me the position as assistant to Anthony James, the son of the founder.
Anthony James. I’m sure panties dissolve at the mention of his name all the time. I’ve heard a thing or two about him, but nothing concrete. He’s sort of a bad boy, but aren’t most rich kids who never have to work for a thing in their lives? They grow up too fast and get into trouble. I guess that’s his story, but I don’t exactly pay attention to the social pages. I have better things to do than follow a rich boy’s antics.
Still, I can’t walk into the job with any preconceived notions of who he is. I have a bad habit of doing that, letting my imagination spin out of control, and generally in the worst way possible. One of my foster moms used to tell me I’d have an ulcer before I turn twenty-five. Four more years to go before that happens but have my fingers crossed that she’ll be wrong.
I’m not letting myself down that road with my new boss. I’ll give him a chance so long as he’s signing my checks. I’ve never had a job that pays as much as this one—my last job barely paid enough for me to afford my shoebox of an apartment. Then again, that’s the way life goes in New York. Pay through the nose for a closet-sized apartment and just be grateful for the chance to live in one of the biggest, most incredible cities in the world.
I sigh as I step onto the subway car and immediately pitch forward when a big, burly guy in a Mets sweatshirt slams into me from behind. No apology, no anything. Go figure. I grab onto one of the metal poles and fix my gaze somewhere off in the distance, the way everybody does when they’re on the subway. Don’t look directly at anybody, just sort of gaze out at nothing. Eye contact might be misconstrued as an invitation to chat, and this isn’t like back home where most people already know everyone else and it’s rude to not want to have a three-hour conversation about the weather. Talk to the wrong person here and it can lead to trouble.
Big city life has many rules to remember, and I still have trouble keeping it all straight even after living here for almost eight months. Manhattan is not far away from where I grew up in rural northeastern Pennsylvania. Less than two hours by car, but it might as well be the other side of the planet. Maybe on another planet entirely.
The frantic energy, the honking horns, the constant activity like bees in a hive. The people, everywhere, packing the streets and sidewalks. And the way they somehow manage to ignore everybody else around them! The first time I saw a group of people crossing the street on a red light without even looking to see if cars were coming, I screamed. The craziest part? Nobody looked around to see what I was screaming about.
I’m okay with the noise, at least. That’s one thing I had to get used to at an early age, living with up to four or five other foster kids at a time. I’m already a pro at ignoring noise filtering through thin walls, so living in a crowded apartment building and hearing everybody else’s business is no big deal.
Neither is living in a small space. I never had a bedroom of my own until I moved out of the college dorm—my entire life, I’ve had to share. Living in a shoebox is actually a step up. So what if the bathroom is really just a tiny walled-off section of the apartment, which is really just a single room with a sink and small stove? I learned early on that “studio apartment” means “we took a single room and now pretend a person can live there comfortably.” I’ve also learned how much food I can fit in a very tiny fridge.
I catch sight of my reflection in one of the grimy train windows. The waves I took so long to curl this morning are still looking good, spilling over my shoulders and onto my chest. I’m wearing a long black Chanel coat I could never have afforded anywhere other than at the consignment shop where I found it. The gray suit and light pink blouse are new—I don’t know how the office runs, what the dress code is, but there’s no way to go wrong in a suit. I can always dress down if I need to. Besides, the pink brings out color in my cheeks and makes my gray eyes sparkle. I figure I can use all the help I can get to make Anthony like me.
Speaking of people liking me, Mr. Mets Sweatshirt is nudging me a little more than he needs to be. We’re not even shaking back and forth, yet he keeps making contact. I let it go for a stop or two, but when he flat-out rubs up against me, I turn to him.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask in a clear, loud voice, looking him straight in the eye.
He shrinks back, cheeks staining red. “No.”
“It’s just that you seem to be having trouble keeping your balance.”
“No, I’m good.” He looks down at the floor. I roll my eyes and go back to staring out the window. That’s the thing about most creeps. Once you stare them down, they back off.
I suppose growing up where I did have its advantages when it comes to dealing with creeps.
The train lurches to a stop at my station, and I manage to elbow my way out the door and hurry up to the sidewalk. After a quick look around to orient myself, I head over to the nearest Starbucks. A little kissing up never hurt anybody, I tell myself as I wait in line. What does he like, this Anthony James? I try to picture him in my head, based on the few pictures I remember seeing. Tall, with a strong-featured face. Square jaw, deep-set blue eyes, dark hair wore swept back from his forehead. I saw him once in a picture from a cycling race, and he had a body to kill for. Broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. He’d be at home on a billboard advertising underwear. I’d look at that billboard. I’d stare at it all day.
Shut it down. I s
hake my head to clear my thoughts. The last thing I need to do is get all googly-eyed over my boss. I won’t be that pathetic.
“I’ll have a venti non-fat mocha…an iced venti soy latte...” I rattle off the names of four drinks, four being the most I can feasibly carry in one of those cardboard carrier things. Eight-thirty. Thirty minutes until I have to report to the office, and it’s only a block away. Things are looking good.
Until I wait twenty minutes for my drinks. I didn’t take that into consideration before stopping in. I nearly run the rest of the way to the office in my brand-new shoes, and I can just about hear blisters popping up on my feet along the way. Between that and the way I zigzag through other pedestrians—why are there so many?—I’m a total flustered mess by the time I reach the tall glass doors of the building James Enterprises calls home.
I can’t get my ID card to work when I swipe it over the sensor by the door no matter how many times I try. There’s no way to get inside.
Unbelievable. I try to catch the eye of the receptionist, sitting behind a desk along the marble wall. Just my luck there isn’t anybody coming in or out while I’m standing there feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.
When she sees me, she buzzes me in. I open the heavy door and hurry through the lobby with a sheepish grin. “Thank you,” I breathe. “You’re a lifesaver. It’s my first day working for Mr. James, and I don’t want to be late.”
Instead of smiling back, the way a civilized person would do, she rolls her eyes. “Oh. Another one.”
Another one? What’s that mean? I almost want to ask, but bite my tongue and keep my eyes on the floor the rest of the way to the elevator instead. So much for a friendly welcome on my first day. It shouldn’t surprise me, though. I’ve never had a warm welcome anywhere.