by M T Stone
A smile crosses my lips as his words register. He is the one who is amazing. I’ve always known that, but some part of me has always felt that he would never be satisfied with me. With women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis, how would I ever be able to keep him satisfied? My heart pinches at the thought of not having him in my life. It was always safer to keep him in the friend zone or in an employer-employee relationship. Tonight, though, we have blown those paradigms out of the water. There is no going back, and even though the sex has been incredible, the thought of it leaves me feeling vulnerable.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning me toward him. “Are you getting cold or something?” We both look down at the series of goosebumps that have popped up on my arms and legs.
“No, I’m not cold. Maybe overwhelmed and awestruck, and I think my body might be going into some state of sexual shock,” I reply with a giggle. The look of concern on his face is definitely reassuring. He has always treated me right, has been a wonderful friend, and has always been there when I needed him. Maybe all of this is completely real and I’ll never have to compete with anyone else. I can’t imagine how great it would be to marry my lifelong best friend.
The warm fuzzies return with that thought and my lips instinctively seek out his. “I can’t believe this is all happening,” I whisper, taking his lips with mine and slipping my tongue between them in search of his. Standing here in all of my steamy, naked glory, half buzzed from the champagne and the overabundance of endorphins, I can’t help but feel that no matter how this all plays out, it is all worth it. I have always played it safe, never tested my limits, and always guarded my feelings, and where has it gotten me? Single at thirty-six, exercising twice a day in an attempt to defy gravity, and working for the man of my dreams instead of sleeping with him. This was definitely long overdue.
After rinsing the sin off our bodies, he wraps me in a luxurious, oversized white bath towel. He wraps his arms around me and towels me off in the most sensual way possible. “I’m starving. I have half of a sausage and bacon pizza from John’s that we can warm up,” he says, looking for approval.
“This day just keeps getting better and better. You can see for yourself how much I love John’s pizza.” I slap the side of my thigh, giving him a look of resignation.
“Wow, pizza really looks great on you. I’ll go fire up the oven.” He gives me another kiss before holding out a robe for me. “I really love that we are the only ones here. I don’t think Mom and Dad have ever spent a single night out here without the staff. They are way too old-school.”
“Yeah, I could eat pizza, fish, and veggies for a week if it meant we had this place all to ourselves,” I tell him, loving the fact that we can walk around half-naked and not worry about any prying eyes. He slicks back his jet-black hair and leaves his robe loosely tied, allowing me to admire his manly chest and even catch an occasional glimpse of that incredible package of his. I pull up a seat next to the counter and watch him move about the kitchen. I think back to the days when we used to sit at this counter while the staff made us afternoon snacks to keep us happy until dinner time. It’s been a long time since I worked off a meal so quickly. The funniest part is that I’m literally getting hot again just sitting here watching him. I realize that I’m a little pent-up, but this is almost embarrassing.
“It should be perfect in ten minutes,” he says, grabbing a remote off the counter and pressing a couple of buttons. Within seconds, a melody begins to play that I haven’t heard in years. Stay away from my window, stay away from my back door too . . . the immortal words of Rod Stewart fill the room. Tonight’s the night . . . everything’s going to be alright . . . Blake sweeps me into his arms and we glide smoothly around the kitchen floor. I’ve never seen more light in his gorgeous blue eyes. He appears to be just as happy as I’m feeling.
Three songs into our dance, the timer goes off, so we glide over to the oven. “Mmm, it smells great.” I reach down and pull the oven door partway open to check the progress.
“Thank you for the dance, mademoiselle,” he says, in reference to the fact that I am one-quarter French. My grandfather on Dad’s side was a dashing French businessman. Whenever I think of him, I think of the black suits and starched white cotton shirts. For him, casual attire was loosening the tie and taking off the jacket. The way Blake dresses for work reminds me of him, everything polished to perfection and not a hair out of place. He swings me around one last time and caps it off with a kiss. “You take out the pizza, and I’ll grab a couple of Harps,” he says, referring to my favorite beer.
As we sit in front of the fire in our robes, eating pizza and drinking beer, it occurs to me how nice it is to be with someone who knows me. Someone who can not only give me the best orgasms of my life, but who knows that I love sausage and bacon pizza and Harp lager. “You always liked pepperoni better,” I say as the thought pops into my head.
“Yeah, that’s all I wanted growing up,” he says reflectively. “But ever since we stopped in at John’s for lunch a few years ago, you got me hooked on bacon and sausage. I love the fennel in the sausage and the salty richness of the bacon. It’s perfect together.” He takes a sip of his beer and holds it out to tap mine. “Thanks for broadening my horizons.”
After a couple of slices, I settle back into his arms. The music is still playing in the background, and I am perfectly content to lie here watching the flicker of the fire. “It’s not nice to stare at my freakishly large feet,” I tell him after observing his obvious obsession with them.
“I love your feet. I think they’re sexy as hell, especially with that dark ruby nail polish,” he says, giving me a nudge. “But what I was actually looking at was that ankle bracelet. Those things always gave me a hard-on when you wore them. It’s the strangest thing.”
“I knew that. Why do you think I wore it?” I ask with a giggle. “I’m sorry for being such a tease, but I’m glad it still worked. I hadn’t worn one in years.”
“So, was all of this planned out?” he replies with an unsettled look crossing his face.
“Are you kidding? This has been way beyond anything I ever could’ve possibly planned. But I will admit that I have been wanting to spend a little time alone with you.” I smile, kissing him lightly on the lips. “Deep down, I’ve been aching to know whether you were still interested in me. I couldn’t really see why you would be after all these years.”
“For a smart, talented woman, you can certainly be foolish sometimes,” he says, looking directly into my eyes. “I have loved you since I met you, and that will never change. You are the reason I’ve never wanted to get married or even have a serious relationship. I’ve always wanted you.” I sit there stunned for a moment, simply savoring his words. I really have been foolish. Thank God he didn’t meet someone else while I was sitting around being stupid. It would’ve been devastating to see him marry someone else. “Let’s go get more comfortable,” he says, rising and offering me a hand. “There’s a fireplace in the bedroom.”
Blake
Settling into bed, Kayla seems surprised to find me hard once again. The sight of her robe slipping off her shoulders and hitting the floor was enough to rally the troops once again. Besides, after beer and pizza, I have more than enough fuel to go for another round. I love how it feels as she slips under the covers and into my arms. Her silky-smooth skin feels like satin to the touch. My hands immediately begin exploring her body, and before long, one thing leads to another. We’re acting like two sex-crazed teens.
Chapter 8
Blake
I awake to several different sounds and buzzes coming from my phone. I squint, looking at the clock on the wall. It’s five before eight on a Tuesday morning, so I can predict what is going on without even looking. The call was from Dad, still intent on giving me an earful of something. I wonder when the last time was that he got laid, much less three times in one night. That’s what he really needs. That’s what every guy needs.
The continuous stre
am of buzzes indicates that emails are pouring in. I’m going to have to check them within the hour just to make sure Davis has what he needs prior to the hearing at ten. I’ll have to touch base with Bill sometime too regarding the meeting with Simpson Industries this afternoon. Even though Kayla has done a good job of passing off my tasks for the day, I still feel like I’m the one who is ultimately responsible. If anything goes wrong, Dad will blame me, not them. I’ll have to touch base with the old man at noon.
I turn my focus to Kayla, who is still sound asleep on my arm. I give her a small kiss on the forehead, still amazed by the incredible evening we shared together. I’ve had nights filled with wild fun, incredible sex, and gorgeous women, but something was always missing. Passion. The feelings that well up in my chest when I’m making love to Kayla are so intense that it feels like something is going to explode. I have loved her for as long as I can remember, and now everything seems to finally be coming together. We are both in a place in our lives where we are ready to settle down and build a life together. In some ways, I wish we could’ve gotten to this point ten years ago, but it’s better late than never. I’m sure I’ll appreciate her much more now than I would have if everything had fallen into place when we were young. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
My phone continues to buzz and vibrate on the dresser and it’s driving me nuts. I slip my arm out from under Kayla and she barely stirs. I slip from the bed, grabbing the robe and my phone before leaving her to sleep. I’m not sure what time we finally went to sleep, but it had to have been well after two. I’m used to surviving on five or six hours of sleep, but I know she likes to get at least eight, so I’ll go get my work done and then I’ll make her some breakfast. It occurs to me that there isn’t much for groceries out here. I guess I’ll order breakfast. I text Jay over at Blade to see if he will make a breakfast run to Buvette for me. He’s the one who brought me out yesterday, and he said to let him know if I need anything. Well, I need breakfast.
Jay: Sure. You need some overpriced French pastries delivered via private helicopter?
Me: Pretty much. No rush. You have until ten. A half-dozen croissants with butter and jam, one Croque Madame, and one Frits A I'americaine. And some orange juice.
Jay: Need me to swing by Starbucks too?
Me: No. I think we’re good.
Jay: Okay, your $600 breakfast will be there shortly. I’ll be expecting a 20% tip. : )
I chuckle as I think about whether to tip him on the whole bill or just the breakfast items. Technically, I think it would only be on breakfast, so twenty bucks should cover it. That’s what he deserves for being a smart ass.
Clicking to my email, it looks like the normal Tuesday morning flow. Nothing is marked urgent, so after a quick scan, I scroll back through my text messages. As expected, both Davis and Bill have sent me lists of things they need prior to the hearing and meetings.
Me: The code to the filing cabinet next to Kayla’s desk is 8081. You will find a file in there for the hearing this morning and one for the meeting with Simpson. Everything you need is in there.
Nineteen eighty is the year Kayla was born and I was born in eighty-one, so I tend to use it whenever I need a four-digit code. It seemed smarter than just using mine twice, and it’s not like anyone is going to break into my assistant’s filing cabinet. Then it hits me. Who is going to be my assistant? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is more efficient and organized than Kayla. Obviously, I would much rather have a relationship with her than work with her, but she will really be missed around the office. I scan my memory banks for anyone who I could get on short notice. October is going to be a killer month the way it is. I don’t see any way I’ll be able to do it without her. We are going to have to keep this thing under wraps for a while. I grab her resignation letter and the pen that still lies on the counter. Resignation not accepted, I write along the bottom of the page.
Last, I click over to recent calls to confirm that it was indeed Dad who called repeatedly just before eight this morning. One of the calls was from Sage and the other two from an unfamiliar Manhattan number. My voicemail is still full, so I debate for just a second or two before clicking Sage’s number. “Hi, Blake,” she answers, sounding upset.
“I saw you called. Is everything okay?” I ask, wondering which direction this conversation would go.
“Cory has been trying to call you,” she whispers. “So when he got in the shower, I just wanted to warn you.”
“Warn me?” I feel my eyes roll, knowing exactly what’s going to come out of her mouth next.
“I had to tell him,” she squeaks as she begins to cry. “I felt so guilty.”
Fuck. This is exactly why I never hook up with women who are already in a relationship of some kind. They always tell the other person. Sage seemed like sort of a drama queen, so right when she mentioned Cory, I knew this would be the result. “So, you told him that we spent twenty-four hours in the Bahamas and basically fucked each other’s brains out?”
“Well, I wasn’t quite that crude about it,” she scoffs. “I just told him that after spending the weekend with you, I’m feeling torn. I like him and all, but I honestly can’t get you out of my head.”
“So now he’s calling me?” I ask, hearing a deep male voice in the background.
“He just got out of the shower,” she says nervously. “He wants to talk to you.”
There is a scuffling sound, and he says something to her under his breath as the phone passes between them. “Is this Blake?” he asks harshly.
“It is. I assume you’re Cory,” I reply, stating the obvious. In only three words, I am already pre-judging the intellect of the guy. The guy is good looking and built like a brick shit house, but he has the voice of the grade school bully, the guy who used to pick on me in fifth grade.
“I’m so fucking pissed, man. You have no idea.” He pauses so all I hear is heavy breathing into the phone. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night and we play the Seahawks tonight.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, man. Sage never mentioned anything about having a boyfriend until midway though the flight back,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t mess around with women who are in relationships. That is a steadfast rule of mine. It leads to shit like this.”
“You’ve ruined her, man,” he says in a hushed voice, talking as if he doesn’t want Sage to hear. “Whatever you did to her . . . I don’t know, man. This is fucked up.”
“All you have to do is start paying a little more attention. Take your time, give her a chance to warm up a little before getting down to business,” I suggest, trying to give him a few quick pointers. “Women want to feel loved. They don’t just want to fuck, roll over, and go to sleep like guys do. You’ve got to work it a little.”
“Well, she’s talking like she’s more interested in dating you than me now,” he says with an undertone of rage returning to his voice. “If I could get my hands on you right now—”
“Hey. Like I said, this isn’t my fault. In fact, ask her to see a copy of the contract she signed last week. She swore that she was single and unattached. She also swore that she wouldn’t talk about anything that went on between the two of us,” I tell him, pausing for effect. “She is in direct violation of the nondisclosure agreement.”
“She actually signed a contract?” he asks, seeming completely shocked by the formality of it all.
“Yes, and she was also tested for HIV, Hep-C and the whole array of STDs,” I add for emphasis. “You’ll be glad to know she was completely clean.”
“I can’t believe she did all of this behind my back,” he replies, now sounding more hurt than angry. “I guess she really wanted to be with you.”
“Well, if it helps, you can let her know that as of last night, I’m off the market,” I inform him. “There will be no more trips with former interns. You can tell her that the only person I will be spending time with is Kayla, the woman she knows as my executive assistant.” There’s a moment of silence
at the other end of the line as Cory is apparently still processing everything that I’ve told him.
“So dating you isn’t an option?” he finally asks, still obviously concerned that she will choose me over him.
“No. That was never an option. It’s in the contract.” I let out a sigh, knowing that once Cory sees the contract for himself, there will be no questions about my intent. “I wish you both the best. Sage is a beautiful girl who just made a mistake. I hope you guys can get past it.”
“Thanks, man,” he replies before hanging up. I click into recent calls and block both numbers. Those two can figure it out on their own. I’m sure as hell not getting in the middle of it. I’ve got enough shit to figure out in my own life.
“You handled that like a pro,” Kayla says, coming up from behind me and slipping her arms around me. She kisses me on the cheek and nuzzles me with her warm nose. “That airtight contract of yours saved your ass again.” She giggles. “I can’t believe you didn’t make me sign one last night.”
I glance back at her, flashing a smile and shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m off into uncharted territory on this one. I didn’t even make you submit to the standard STD screening.”
“Well, to put your mind at ease,” she says, coming around my chair and taking a seat on my knee, “I got tested right after I broke up with Ron. Truthfully, the reason I broke up with him is because he had been cheating on me the whole time we were dating.”