by Penny Wylder
My voice has completely vacated the building, and I can only nod as the tears run down my face and the entire room erupts in cheers of celebration. Jet is pulling me to him, kissing me fiercely. Then the ring is on my finger and it’s perfect and I’m blinded by how utterly beautiful it is. Engaged. I’m engaged.
There’s a smile on my face and I feel like I’m floating. I kiss Jet again, and before we know it we’re swarmed with well-wishers, people with congratulations, people who want to see the ring. The entire crowd seems to revolve around us, continual words and hugs and tears, but the entire time I never let go of Jet’s hand. He’s my anchor, and now I know that he always will be.
I’m not sure how much time passes, it’s all a blur. But when the lights are low and people are dancing, Jet pulls me away from the remaining crowd, and we slip away up to our room. I’d always wanted to stay at the Plaza, and Jet thought this was the perfect opportunity.
Our room is plush, with a giant white bed and beautiful green and gold furnishings. I noticed them earlier, but I don’t notice them now. As soon as the door closes behind us, Jet’s arms are around me, his lips pressed against mine, moving to my ear, my neck. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone for hours,” he groans against my skin.
“Did that really happen?” I ask, and I hold up my hand so I can look at the ring. My ring. “We’re getting married?”
“We’re getting married.” The happiness is practically leaking out of him. I can’t remember a time when he’s been so…joyous.
Jet undresses me, one article of clothing at a time, giving attention to each new swath of skin that he reveals. By the time I’m naked, he’s caressed and kissed every inch of me, and I’m reaching for him, more than ready for him to be inside me. My pussy is drenched, and tonight I’m desperate for him to make me come. He sheds his clothes and slips on a condom in the blink of an eye, and now I’m looking around for the telltale flash of color. What toy will we be using tonight?
Jet catches me looking, and pulls me against him, his hard cock pressed between us. “Tonight, I want it to be just us.”
My eyes widen. “Has it ever been just us?”
“Not in a long time,” he says, turning me to face the large mirror on the wall. “Something we should probably try more often.”
He slides into me in one long, luxurious stroke, and I moan. I’m so wet that he slides in easily, and I see his face in the mirror as he does. He looks like it’s pure bliss, and I feel it too. Even after all this time, having him inside me, filling me up to the brim and stretching me is my favorite feeling. That level of connection and pleasure is something I’ve never found anywhere else. He pulls me back against him, and I reach out, bracing myself against the mirror.
The slapping of our skin is loud as he fucks me, my breath fogging the mirror in front of me because I’m panting with the pleasure of him moving inside me. His hand slips around to my clit, using a finger to slowly work it back and forth. The smooth, slow feeling, at odds with the pounding of his cock, makes me wetter. He flattens himself against me, one hand full of my breasts, the other continuing that slow and steady pulse on my clit. As his finger moves, my clit becomes more and more sensitive, until every twitch of his finger is sending sparks through me.
Suddenly Jet’s finger speeds up, rubbing against me at the same speed as his thrusting, and I start to moan. With the sounds I’m making the other guests in the hotel are getting a show, but I don’t care—I’m getting married. Jet doesn’t stop, and my breath starts to come in huge gasps as my orgasm swells. It starts in my clit, the feeling like lightning flaring through me, echoed by the release in my pussy. I know I scream, but I barely hear it, I’m too focused on the feeling of Jet’s cock as he buries it in me, the feeling of my orgasm running down my legs, the feeling of floating on a cloud of complete pleasure.
His finger doesn’t stop, his cock doesn’t stop, and I’m gasping for breath, shuddering in his arms. He groans into my ear has he comes, pounding to the finish in a burst of speed, and I feel his cock jerk inside me. We let out a breath together, unwilling to move from this spot. It’s Jet that moves first, slipping out of me and cleaning himself up. I’m still leaning against the mirror when he comes back and scoops me up to carry me to the bed.
Sleep is coming quickly, but I try to stay awake until he climbs into bed with me. I snuggle against his skin, reveling in the perfect feeling of knowing this is the person I’ll always be with. As if he’s reading my mind, I hear Jet’s voice, soft in the dark. “I love you, fiancée.”
“I love you too.”
THE END
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Copyright © 2017 by Penny Wylder
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Books By Penny Wylder
Filthy Boss
Her Dad’s Friend
Rockstars F#*k Harder
The Virgin Intern
Her Dirty Professor
The Pool Boy
Get Me Off
Caught Together
Selling Out to the Billionaire
Falling for the Babysitter
Lip Service
Full Service
Expert Service
The Billionaire’s Virgin
The Billionaire’s Secret Babies
Her Best Friend’s Dad
Own Me
The Billionaire’s Gamble
Seven Days With Her Boss
Virgin in the Middle
The Virgin Promise
1
Scarlett
I make my way down the cold New York street, coffee tray in hand. It wobbled a bit, and for the life of me, I’ve never understood why they can’t make these little cardboard things sturdier. But it doesn’t matter. Even if the coffee is wobbly and I’m freezing my ass off and I’m terrified of my heel going through a subway grate, today is going to be a good day. Today has to be a good day.
After years of doing nothing but making copies and getting coffee and being asked to come up with marketing ideas that were completely ignored, I’ve been promoted. Though I should probably use the term promoted loosely—more like a stroke of good luck. The promotion came with a late-night phone call and a red-eye flight from Seattle after the three people ahead of me in line got food poisoning from bad shrimp at the New Year’s party and were too sick to fly. My hatred of seafood has never felt more justified than it does today.
Anyway, I’ve got the job now. I can finally put marketing associate on my resume, and not just ‘assistant to the marketing director.’ Not to mention that I get to work with Chris Flintlock, which is a dream come true. The man is as brilliant as he is handsome, and he is really fucking hot. He came to Ellison media a couple of years ago when it was basically a sinking ship, and his new ideas, new ways of attracting clients, new methods of thinking about marketing, turned everything around. He saved everyone’s jobs—including mine. Now we have a few huge clients, and are searching for more.
That’s why I’m in New York fighting icy winds. Ellison has meetings with the sex toy company The Pleasure Chest. A small boutique chain of stores, they have the potential to explode. Chris needs another set of hands in these meetings. That’s why I’m here.
I’m meeting Chris downtown at an office building. He’s just had a meeting with one of our existing clients to touch base and see how they’re feeling about everything, and they agreed to wait for me there. My small rolling suitcase gets stuck for a moment, and I nearly fall. I manage to keep the coffee from spilling—just barely. Bringing Chris coffee isn’t in my job description, but I figure after a day of meetings
with the most important one still to go, he’ll appreciate the caffeine boost. I wasn’t actually supposed to have to walk this far, but I got the address wrong. I think I’m just around the corner from where I’m supposed to be, but even this short amount of time in the wind has me freezing. Being from Seattle, I thought I’d prepared well enough. Guess not. I imagine this would be easier if it weren’t the middle of winter when it gets dark before the work day ends. It’s barely eight o’clock and it feels like midnight.
The building itself is nondescript, just a tall building surrounded by other tall buildings. The lobby is beautiful, with polished marble floors and a large security desk—though the guard doesn’t look twice as I walk past him to the elevators. I look at the building map and press the up button, heading up to the fifth floor and Colson Foods. The lobby is clean and corporate, and I park my suitcase by one of the chairs, and take off my coat. The receptionist gives me a funny look, but I try to give her my best smile. “I’m Scarlett Brown, my colleague Chris Flintlock is here for a meeting?”
The receptionist’s face turns into a dazzled smile. “You’re here with Chris? He’s straight back in the main conference room. You can’t miss it—you’ll see him through the glass walls.”
“Thanks,” I say, retrieving the papers I need to take in to Chris, and the coffee tray. I try not to smirk as I walk past the girl, imagining the kind of flirting she was subjected to. Chris is a notorious flirt, but as far as being a playboy, I’ve heard nothing. I think the flirting gets him what he wants. As far as that receptionist goes, she’ll give him whatever he wants.
This hallway is longer than I thought, but the girl was right, I do see him. He’s sitting alone in the conference room, papers spread out in front of him. I take the moment to look at him. He never fails to be gorgeous—blond hair just long enough to sweep into his eyes, and a suit that accentuates every inch of his frame. I know from seeing him in the office that he clears six feet easily, and no suit hides the fact that he’s cut like a diamond—though I can’t figure out how he possibly has time to go to the gym when he’s constantly flying across the country. If I had to eat that much airport food I would be the size of Charlie Brown’s magic pumpkin.
Anyone who works in the Seattle office will tell you that whenever Chris comes in it’s a good day, mostly because getting to look at him would make just about anyone happy. That might be shallow, but what Chris doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I head towards the door of the conference room, not wanting to just lurk outside until he notices me staring like a stalker. I push the door open, and Chris looks up. I see his reaction almost before I realize what’s happening. There’s a step up into the room that I didn’t notice. My heel has caught the step, and I already know that there’s no saving me from this fall.
Suddenly I’m on the floor and looking at the ceiling. I feel spots of wetness as drops of coffee sink into my shirt, and I hear fluttering as the last of the papers I was holding settle. Then it’s entirely silent. In the corner of my eye I can see Chris’s reflection in the glass, his mouth hanging open in shock.
“Wow,” I say.
My voice seems to spur him into action, suddenly jumping up and making his way around the table to me. “Are you all right?” he asks, concern flowing through his voice. I sit up, fighting the dizziness I feel. It only lasts for a second though, and then I’m face to face with Chris as he leans down to help me up. He puts his arm around my waist and practically lifts me into a chair. Then he’s even closer to my face, looking in my eyes. His eyes are bluer than I thought, crystal clear and gorgeous. I’ve never been this close to him, and the close up is just as good as the wide shot. He leans down, circling my ankle with his hand. “That looked nasty. Does this hurt? I want to make sure you didn’t sprain anything.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact that I just fell and have adrenaline racing through my body at the speed of a freight train, or the fact that I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on him, but the sight of Christopher Flintlock kneeling in front of me sends fireworks shooting through my brain. I can think of a hundred different ways for this scene to continue, almost all of them ending with us naked and me screaming his name.
His hands move from one ankle to the other, gently rotating. “Any pain?”
I shake my head. If anything, his hands on me makes me feel better than I’ve felt in a long time. Chris looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “I know who you are, you know,” he says.
My eyebrows shoot into my hair. “You do?”
“I’ve noticed you in the office. It always seems like you’re running around the office doing something or other. Most of the time I don’t notice assistants. I always noticed you.”
“Really?” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Really,” he says, his hand drawing up the back of my leg, “I’m glad you’re the one they sent, it’ll be nice to take this few days to…get to know each other better. What do you think?”
My heart is beating so fast, he can probably hear it. “I think I’d like that,” I say. “I’d like it even better if we started now.”
Chris raises an eyebrow, sliding his hand up my leg, inching it up beneath my skirt. His fingers reach my panties, and he leans closer to me, lowering his voice. “Normally, I wouldn’t do this with a colleague. And normally I wouldn’t go this fast. But I just can’t help myself.” He slides his fingers through my folds, feeling how wet his words have made me, and I feel the brush of his lips on mine. He slides a finger into me, and I’m in heaven, tremors of pleasure skating outward along my nerves.
“Hello?” I open my eyes to Chris’s concerned eyes looking into mine. “You okay? You zoned out for a second there.”
Blood rushes to my face as I realize I more than just zoned out, I started to fantasize about Chris fingering me right here in the middle of this very visible conference room. Holy shit. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a little dizzy for a second.”
“Well,” he says as he stands, holding out his hand to me, “your ankles seem okay. Did you hit your head?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I twist and stretch, seeing if everything feels fine, and it does. “I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Flintlock, I didn’t realize there was a step up.”
Chris freezes, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “How do you know my name?”
Apparently him knowing who I am only extends as far as my fantasies. I straighten my spine, put on my best winning smile, and hold out my hand. “My name is Scarlett Brown. I’m your marketing associate for the trip. I just got in, came straight from the airport.”
He doesn’t take my hand. Instead, his face falls, his eyes go dark and cold, and I suddenly feel like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. He walks away from me back to the head of the table, picking up his cellphone. He dials it without looking at me, and I can practically see him vibrating with angry energy. I look around at the mess I made in my fall, coffee and paper are strewn everywhere.
I start picking up the stack of papers, better than waiting for Chris to look at me again.
“Maureen,” his voice rings through the room, and I freeze. “Chris Flintlock.”
Maureen is the name of my boss—the woman who just put me on the red-eye here.
He continues, and my stomach continues to drop. “I need you to send someone else to New York.” A pause, “No, that’s not going to work.”
I gather up the rest of the papers, setting them on the table. I pick up and throw away the spilled coffee cups, thanking whatever lucky stars I have left that the carpet is black and that this won’t leave a stain. “I don’t care what you do with her. Bring her back to Seattle, fire her, send her to the moon, that’s not my concern. I need someone who can get the job done.”
Rage burns through me, and I turn around marching towards him. “Now wait just a minute—”
Chris holds up a hand to me, listening to whatever Maureen is saying on the end of the line. I grit my teeth at the indignity
of being cut off like that. Whatever it is he’s hearing, he’s not enjoying it. “Fine,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “But we will have a conversation about this when I get back to Seattle.” He cuts off the phone call, tossing his phone onto the table. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other. Maureen can’t send anyone else in time.”
I paste on a sickly smile. “Despite that unfortunate spill, I actually am good at my job.”
His eyes drag up and down my body, catching right at my breasts. I look down to see that my shirt has come unbuttoned in the fall, giving Chris a view of way too much cleavage. I pull my shirt together quickly, covering myself. He finishes his perusal of me, glancing to where I’ve picked up the papers and coffee. “What I see right now is that you’re sloppy. I hate sloppy.”
The words are like a slap in the face. If he knew any of my work at the office in Seattle, he wouldn’t say I was sloppy. But you know what, it doesn’t matter. Even if Christopher Flintlock is a total bastard wrapped in a delicious package, I’m going to do my best. I’m going to knock his socks off and succeed. By the time we get back to Seattle and he has to have that conversation with Maureen he’ll be singing my praises enough that I’ll get another promotion. “By the time we’re finished here you’ll change your mind about me,” I say, trying to project smooth and utter confidence.
“I’m not holding my breath,” he says, gathering his things together. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”
I follow him, but not before making a face at his back as he exits the room.