Wicked Sunshine

by Justine Winter

  Maya on the other hand is furious. She’s standing tall in a knee-length, grey dress, with a black coat and heels. Her glasses are gone, her collar-bone length hair is down, and even from this distance I can see the pink lipstick on her lips. She’s fucking gorgeous.

  Cam gets up, raising his brows at me. “Good luck,” he whispers, and leaves the room.

  “It’s a gift,” I say nonchalantly, standing up.

  “Do you buy all the girls you dry hump in the back of your limo a ‘gift’?” She crooks her fingers into speech marks.

  I sigh. I know I’ve been deserving the little digs about all my casual hook-ups, but I’m getting real tired of them being referred to as ‘my girls’. They were never mine. That would’ve implied some level of possession, and I never cared enough for that. It’s true, the only thing I’ve been looking for is a release from the day’s stresses in the form of a good fuck. Sound cruel? Probably is, but before you rise up with your woman power stick it to the man attitude, those ladies weren’t looking for much more either. And I always warned them. Remember?

  “Maya, my family are the only ones that get gifts from me.”

  “So it’s a congratulations token for getting you off then?”

  I burst into laughter, bending at the waist as my side cramps. Did she really just say that?

  Her scowl never leaves her face. “What am I supposed to think when you send me lace lingerie with a note, and this is my favourite part by the way. . .” She moves closer into the room, holding the small card up in one hand, whilst the other rests on her hip. “Come with me for dinner, and I’ll have you for dessert.”

  I smile mischievously, proud of my handiwork. I told you I’d get her attention.

  “We decided there would be nothing between us. I left your limo Wednesday night, and that was it. So what the fuck is going on, Grayson?”

  Her chest rises rapidly, my eyes are momentarily drawn to the movement, and I remember the feel of her heavy tits in my hands. I remember the taste of her on my lips. And most importantly, I remember how passionate we are together. Like two hot poker sticks dancing in the embers.

  “Go out with me tonight, Maya.” I know my dark eyes are burning into her, I feel the energy buzzing between us as I close the distance. Just one more taste. . . “I want you.”

  I’m inches from her lips, waiting for the go-ahead. “No, Grayson,” she whimpers, but her head is leaning forward. She’s saying one thing and meaning another. See? This is how much people deny themselves by not being honest.

  I take the leap, slowly tracing my lips over hers. I want to be gentle, I want to savour every second, but she attacks my face as if I’m her air.

  I match her stroke for stroke, pulling her tight body into me as I wrap my arms around her. She whimpers deliciously as my rigid dick rubs against her, and she responds by arching into me.

  “Mr. Rush, Mr. Williams is here to see you.” Olivia’s voice sounds over the intercom, stirring me from my lust. Fuck, what is Maya doing to me?

  I gently end the kiss, knowing I have to meet my building contractor to discuss finishing the work on the Rush House floor even though my entire body is disagreeing with my mind. I guess I haven’t planned this out as well as I thought.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight,” I say, not giving her much room to argue.

  She looks dazed, her eyes are glossed over, and her lips are swollen from my touch. Do you know how fucking sexy that is? That’s all because of me. I’m doing this to her, now that’s possession.

  “What am I wearing?” She asks, cocking her head to the side, still lost in her stupor.

  I hold the bag that fell to the floor. “Anything you want, just make sure this is underneath,” I say, and watch her mouth form a perfect ‘O’.

  Christ, if she keeps this up I won’t even make it to dinner. Do women even realise the effect this has on men? It’s like when they suck on an ice cream lolly. It goes straight to the well done, blue-vein sausage in our trousers. It’s visually stimulating.

  Provocative. Damn right indicative of what’s to come.

  “I’ll see you later,” she coos, leaving my incredibly steamed-up office. I watch her arse sway delectably, filled with many an idea for later.

  Now, I just have to lose this stiffy before my contractor gets the wrong idea.

  Chapter Nine

  ~ £ ~

  There are few things a guy needs to do before a night out. Forget a check list, it’s the rule of the three S’s. Shit. Shave. Shower.

  Sorry, is that too crude for you?

  Come now, don’t tell me you’re one of those women that pretends bodily functions don’t exist. I’ll let you in on a secret to prepare you for the future.

  Guys fart. A lot. And I’ve come to terms with the fact women do, too. It’s natural. So the next time you get the urge between your cheeks when you’re in the presence of your man, let it go. Let the gas leak from your crack and take credit. He’ll probably laugh, I mean, we’re talking about butt breath here. Who doesn’t laugh?

  And then he’ll sober long enough to challenge you to a cheek-flapping dual. Just make sure you’re in a well-ventilated room first. Then let the woodwind symphony of flatulence commence, and I’m telling you, those anal acoustics will really reverberate nicely.

  Oh, and here’s some free advice. The next time you need to get revenge for whatever reason, silently cut the cheese and wait a moment for the poof of stinky air to materialise. Then ask him if he smells popcorn. That sucker will take a giant breath of your fart-filled air, and all you have to do is watch the realisation on his face as he begins to choke. It works every time. I call it rear-end revenge. It’s a silent killer.

  Now that I’ve handed out trade secrets, don’t say I don’t do anything nice for you.

  So, back to my night.

  It probably doesn’t come as a surprise that I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing. It’s been years since I’ve had to make any kind of effort, and here I am trying to snatch up the one girl I can’t get out of my mind without making some astronomical fuck-up.

  And as for my sister’s no-sex advice? I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises.

  After giving Logan the night off to spend with his wife, I grab the keys to my Ferrari and make my way to Maya’s.

  Is it weird my palms are a little sweaty as she makes me wait outside her door for the second time today? I’m a confident man, nerves are not one to buckle me.

  Perhaps excitement would be the better word to describe what’s going on inside me.

  “Grayson.” She stands in the doorway, and I’m lost for words. Actually tongue tied. How the fuck am I even going to make it through dinner? I want to devour her.

  I need to have her. There’s an urgency within me that’s desperate. It’s fundamentally painful having to squash my screaming instincts.

  I push her up against the doorframe, holding my hands either side of her head. I’m liking the way she’s caged in, green eyes staring up at me. I’m no longer responsible for my actions, I can’t think, I’m incapable of refraining from touching her.

  “No sex until you feed me. This girl eats before she gets into bed with a man.”

  Did she really just say that? God, I’m liking this woman more and more. “If it’s meat and potatoes you want I have all you’ll need.” Oh, come on. I have to give that a go.

  She giggles as she shoves me away, pulling the door closed behind her. I follow after her like a trained pet, my tongue dangling like I’m caught on her hook.

  I am. I’ve gotten to the point that if she tells me to jump, I will. This beautiful woman has the kind of brain I’m willing to dissect for hours. And that’s scary crazy. Do you hear me waffling right now? That’s because everything has just become one linear thought.

  It ends and begins with Maya.

  With a flick of a button the car door opens, and I’m afforded the agonising glory that is her open mouth. Again.

  I steal a kiss whilst
she’s distracted.

  “Where are you taking me?” She asks before she steps in.

  “Someplace nice,” I promise.

  ~ £ ~

  “How was your day?” Okay, I know that’s a lame question to ask on a date, but wait. It’s a conversation starter, and hey, cut me some slack. I’m new at this.

  Maya stares at me over the rim of her Manhattan cocktail glass. “Are we talking before or after I rampaged into your office on my lunch break? Which, by the way, is the reason I agreed to this date. You owe me a meal.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  Her lip quivers, and I’m temporarily blinded by the dying need to bite it. That lip will be mine. She sips her drink and shakes her head. “I’ll never tell, but I did have a good afternoon actually. I scored another account, something I can actually be proud of.”

  Her happiness is infectious, and I find myself smiling as she draws me in. There’s nothing about her that doesn’t please me.

  “That’s great news. The company will be promoting you in no time. They’d be fools not to.”

  The waiter arrives with our meals, and conversation dies as bellies rumble. For me, it’s highly comical to be sat opposite a woman at mealtimes that isn’t a relative. Wait, is that funny, or strangely sad? But the weirdest thing about it all is that I’m entirely comfortable sitting in the middle of a restaurant watching a beautiful woman eat in silence.

  There’s no talk. Just the smacking of lips, and grinding of teeth as she works her way through her pulled-pork feast. She’s clearly a no-salad type of girl, and she’s not even giving a shit that I’m watching her funnel food into her mouth as if it’s her last meal. Seriously, if she opens that jaw any wider, she’ll be dislocating the fucking thing.

  Oh, I can just imagine the spectacular blowjob. Yup, there goes a dick twitch.

  And another.

  “Are you just going to stare all night? Because you’re beginning to err on the side of creepy now.”

  I make a dent in my mac ‘n’ cheese, biding my time to think up some witty reply when she beats me to it.

  “Why did you ask me out, Grayson? I know you don’t date, and I’m pretty sure you’re happy with your lifestyle. This doesn’t make sense to me.” She points her finger to and fro between us.

  Ladies, this is where I come in and say that all guys hate this dreaded talk. It’s always inevitable, you need to understand, you need to feel wanted, I get it. Most of the time, this signals a raging red flag in the mind of a man. Seriously, don’t ask this question unless you’re absolutely positive you want to hear the answer. I’m a straight-talker, remember? I don’t go beating around the bush, I go in cock-first.

  Maya doesn’t even blink, she’s curious. Can’t say I blame her. This is unlike me after all.

  “I want to fuck you so bad, I can’t even think straight, and you wouldn’t do that without the more. So, here it is.” I fan my hands out in gesture.

  She stays silent. Shit, this is where I lose her. I can feel it. The stomp of a foot, the throwing of a napkin, and the inevitable precious talk that sex should mean more than a paid meal. It’s coming, I know it is.

  “You think I’m a sure thing?” She cocks her head to the side.

  I smirk, I’m positive I have her here. “You pretty much said so earlier, didn’t you? Food first, sex later?”

  I’m aware we’re in a public place, but I can’t help myself. It’s liberating to talk freely without nursing a slap to my face. And have you noticed she’s still here? Interesting, isn’t it?

  Maya Kennedy is not like most girls I know.

  “Yes I did,” she smiles. “But once you’ve had me, then what? Back to your bitches?”

  Ooh, meow! “You think I’m newsworthy?” How else would she know about all my hook-ups?

  She snorts. “There’s an article about you everywhere I go. Newspapers, magazines, blogs. I’m surprised there isn’t a TV channel dedicated to the comings and goings of Grayson Rush’s life.”

  “They tried, but I turned them down.”

  She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s entertained. The corner of her mouth keeps lifting.

  Now, you might think that judging by this conversation she’s pissed, but she’s not. There isn’t a single stress line on her face. She’s asking me out of intrigue, not because my answer makes or breaks whatever fairy tale crap she’s envisioned in her mind. And even though she says she wants more, I have a feeling that Maya Kennedy is the type of woman that’s strong enough to bounce back from anything. Or maybe that’s just my hope, because I have no idea what I’m capable of when it comes to her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know what happens after,” and that’s the problem. Because for the first time in years my usual fuck and flee mentality isn’t working. I don’t want to do that to her.

  “What I do know is that since our first meeting you’re all I’m capable of thinking about.”

  “Is that supposed to get me all gooey inside?” She finishes her Manhattan, and I order her another, having my coke refilled in the process. What? I’m driving. Not a touch of alcohol will touch these insatiable lips when I’m responsible for bringing Maya home safe. Besides, I have no intention of ending up as a drunk-driver prick charged with the murder of some innocent that happens to be in the way of my uncontrolled car. No, thank you. I’ll save that for the real scum in the world.

  “Sunshine, I don’t care how it makes you feel. I’m not looking for praise. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Shit, did you see that term of endearment sneak up on me? It just fell out of my mouth like a loose tooth. I’m losing my edge, aren’t I?

  Her stare is calculated, assessing. I feel like I’ve been put on a stand for a jury to dictate my future. She’s stripping my layers with her eyes once more, revealing a part of me no one sees. Ever.

  I don’t know how she does it, but now I’m the one that’s uncomfortable because there’s nothing I can say to stop her. I can’t shrug off what she plainly sees. Hadn’t I done the same thing to her in the limo before?

  When she accepts her Manhattan, I feel like I’ve passed another test of hers. You know when you’re in school, getting ready to sit the kind of exam that determines the career path of your future? And you’re sitting there with the paper in front of you, waiting for the go-ahead to turn that page. It seems like a lifetime. Your hands sweat, your heart thumps in your ears, your stomach swirls nauseatingly, and you’re so hopped up on Red Bull you think you’re going to explode from all the anticipation.

  That’s what this is like, except I’m getting worked up over a woman, so times that feeling by ten because she’s revealing dark recesses I’ve hidden for a long time. And she hasn’t even used her voice.

  It’s all in her eyes, and that smart depicting brain. I’m toast. Brown bread. Dead. She’ll definitely want nothing to do with me now.

  She takes what seems like the longest sip in the history of mankind, and then says, “Tell me how you started your Rush empire.”

  I freeze, the life drains out of me as I realise she’s asking me about my past. I’m freaking out inside, panting like I’ve been hit in the chest. And then I realise she’s asking about the business start-up, and that I’ve just overreacted like a stupid twat.

  What’s wrong with me? I’ve been so sure she’ll want to leave, I jumped to the worst conclusion I could. It’s not even in me to do that! Christ almighty, she’s messing me up.

  I babble my way through my beer-making prophecy, and pray to God we’ve passed whatever insanity had me shitting my pants moments before.

  Excellent. My dick might not make it to the party after all.

  Chapter Ten

  ~ £ ~

  I think I should be awarded a medal. I’ve made it through dinner, and now I’m walking Maya through the doors of a Rush nightclub. And I’m telling you, every guy we pass is checking her out. I don’t blame them, I’ve had
trouble looking at anything but her all night, too.

  Let me tell you something. Men are visual. Our brains dictate everything by what we see, not what we feel. Though to be honest, at the moment I’m having a hard time not kicking every arsehole’s face in. I mean, seriously, she’s here with me. Turn the other way. Fuckers.

  Anyway, back to what I’ve been saying. Our movements are guided by the urge we get from what we’re seeing. Do you understand?

  Let me play out this scenario for you. A woman wears a tight-fitting dress. It’s a decent length, not too slutty that it shows butt and boob. When a guy sees her, it’s more than just a bit of fabric draped on a body. It’s highlighting every delicious curve that makes us men want to grab on, and never let go. It’s better than having her tits and arse on show because it hints at what’s to come once we undress you. Although ladies, if you wanna walk the streets with your bazookas hanging out, I won’t complain. Just saying.

  Anyway, you get the picture. Us men don’t just see a bit of cloth covering skin, we visualise what’s underneath and what we’re going to do with it. Trust me, if a guy is staring your way he’s probably thinking about at least one of your orifices and what he intends to do with it.

  Now, for you to understand my pain and my high-level of tolerance, I’ll explain what Maya’s wearing. Her legs are covered by leather trousers. Arse-hugging, black, leather fucking trousers.

  I’m staining my boxers with pre-cum just looking at her defined perfect curve. But that’s not all. Her purple strappy top is backless. BACKLESS. And there’s no visible bra strap. So I’m thinking, of course I’m thinking this, that she’s braless. Her nipples are FREE. Her juicy, gigantic knockers are loose.

  And it’s driving me wild with the need to touch her everywhere. Hide her from every pair of staring eyes. Because if I’m thinking about what I’d like to do with her, guaranteed every guy we’re passing right now is, too.

  So what’s a guy in my position supposed to do? Take her to the incredibly secluded and luxurious VIP lounge. I’m talking sexy low lighting, leather sofas and privacy. But she doesn’t want to stay. She wants to dance. On the floor. With everyone else.