by Elle Berlin
“Like a job interview?” I’d asked, and Simon shook his head.
“No, this was the job interview.” Simon nodded to the drinks on the counter and Wisconsin, who’d bailed. “And you passed impeccably. Tomorrow morning will be the part where I convince you.”
He left me his card before heading out the same direction Wisconsin went—Arie—her name is Arie. I reach into my jeans and pull out the velvet-smooth paper, thick and fancy with gold lettering that says Flambé on it. I toss the card on the coffee table and sit forward, rubbing my skull, letting the silence of the dark room seep into my skin. Overcast clouds cover the moon and everything outside and inside is a dark grey.
I don’t know what to think about all of this, it was such a whirlwind. I wanted to see her again, sure. Since she walked out my door, I’d fantasized about seeing her again. And what do you know, here comes fate, not just crossing our paths, but crashing us together in some convoluted stream of events. But maybe I just wanted to fantasize, because seeing her in real life—where we know each other’s names and who we really are—something about it feels heavy. And yet, at the same time, I’ve never felt so on top of my game as tonight. After living in Waikiki for six months, I’ll admit the last two nights have been the highlight. Maybe I’ve forgotten who I am. Or maybe I’ve just been playing everything safe so Ned won’t decide his generosity is misplaced. I’d be lying if half of me doesn’t want to show up tomorrow morning just to see Wisconsin’s incredible features darken at the sight of me.
The look on her face when she recognized me at the Gin n’ Lava was pure gold. A demoness like Arie—stunned at the sight of me? That was pure bliss. And watching her face do it again, it would definitely be worth all the firecrackers she’ll be cueing up and aiming in my direction. Plus, I wouldn’t mind knowing where she works and what her restaurant is all about, that way she doesn’t hold all the cards.
A firm knock raps on the door behind me and I sit up. Who the—? I check the clock and it is three in the morning. It’s definitely not Ned popping by for a lecture and a spot of tea. Which means—
My cock twitches in my jeans. I did tell her when I got off work. And I was cocky enough to invite her to find me for another round of tame-the-bull on my floor. But she wouldn’t, would she? No way. Not after she bitched me out in front of her business partner and acted like seeing me was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to her. But maybe that was all a game to save face. Maybe that’s her MO: bitch me out in the daylight, then show up in the middle of the night to fuck me into tomorrow.
Hey, a guy can always hope it’s the latter.
I get up and head for the door as the knock comes again, more intensely this time. Despite her anger in the bar, Wisconsin’s fury only half-hid her desire. A flush of pink kept spreading over her collar bone and neck, a bright fuchsia color, the kind that’s purely physiological.
She was turned on.
I look through the peephole, and my cock stiffens at the sight of her haughty stance. All that debonair elegance is just begging for me to knock her down a few notches. That wild red hair spills over her shoulders and I flex my fingers, eager to get my hands into it, to clutch it, tug her head back as I fulfill the dirty promise I whispered into her ear at the bar.
Her hand is thrust upon her hip, fingers tapping impatiently, as if I’ve inconvenienced her when she’s the one knocking on my door at three a.m. That tight lace dress is even sexier now that I can see it outside of the misty lights of the Gin n’ Lava. It’s one of those illusion dresses with a nude liner that matches her skin color, so it basically looks like she’s naked and her body has been tattooed in intricate lace, the spidering fabric hugging her tits and hips. I press my palms into my jeans to keep myself from swinging this door open widely and grabbing her forcefully, ready to push that lacy fabric up her thighs till it’s bunched above her waist and the bottom half of her is exposed. I grin wickedly at the thought of dropping to my knees as she calls out my name—my actual name—as I taste her.
“Who is it?” I say coyly, trying to bite back my smile as she tosses her hair back in haughty annoyance. Oh man, let the taming begin.
“I can see your shadow behind the peephole!” she snaps. “Stop playing this stupid game and let me in!”
I unlock the deadbolt and swing the door open wide, watching her lift her head up in defiance of my presence. She keeps doing that, like she’s some proper-ass princess who doesn’t want me to know the dirty girl inside. Only I do, because standing in the doorway, looking at her outside my apartment at three in the morning, is a completely loaded experience. Her eyes flicker, the blue sapphires wavering between desire and defiance. The air between us is practically visceral, snapping with unspoken heat. It’s one thing to be surrounded by strangers at the Gin n’ Lava; it’s another to be alone, just her and me.
“I’m surprised you knocked,” I toss out playfully, leaning against the door frame and blocking her way. “Why didn’t you scale the side of the building and come in through the window?”
“I don’t know,” she says, squaring off her shoulders. “Because I’m not a secret agent, as you well know.”
“Oh, but in here, you can be anyone you want.” I give her a smug smile, to which she rolls her eyes and haughtily pushes forward, trying to elbow her way through my door. “I’m sorry. Were you asked in? I think this is trespassing.”
I grab her waist and yank her up against me as she tries to pass. She yelps and I wrap myself around her, turning her into the room and shutting the door behind me with my hip. Darkness slides over us and that familiar blanket of satin coats us in shadow and heat. It reminds me of the drink I made her earlier—licorice black and teased with gold—but, also about how it was less than twenty-four hours ago that she strolled into this apartment, hungry to tear my clothes off.
“What are you doing!” She wriggles against my strength, the breadth of my body overtaking her. My cock thickens against her stomach, the rough fabric of my jeans pressing into her lace as I’m reunited with how perfectly her curves fit against me. “You’re a shit! I’m not here to—”
I silence her with a kiss, pushing her back against the door and taking that wicked mouth with my own aggressiveness.
“God, you’re so damn predictab—!” She whimpers as my tongue slides against hers, stroking and conquering. She kisses me back, probably telling herself this is her way of fighting me off. But I know better from the way her hands clutch my arms, fingernails digging into my skin with that eager pinch that makes my cock fully hard.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” I say, dragging my mouth along her jaw, and savoring the way her body quakes as my mouth plays.
“This is not why I’m here,” she protests, and I adjust my weight, lowering slightly to sandwich her between the hard door and my thickness.
“No?” I counter, undulating my hips so she can feel exactly what she’s done to me. She pauses to savor the heat igniting between us, breathing heavy, before she presses forward and kisses me back. She meets my assault with her own wild intention, nipping and tugging on my lower lip.
“I need,” she says between nibbles. “To talk to you about what Simon—”
I capture her mouth, silencing her, devouring her until she’s gasping. We are heat and sensation, a gnash of kissing and ferocity.
“You don’t want me to take the job, do you?” I ask, as she relaxes into my weight, allowing me to pin her perfectly against the door in such a way that it lets my hands roam free.
“I don’t,” she agrees, her voice breathy and distracted. My fingers and palms claim her, sliding up and down her body. She writhes and arches into my touch, my hands gliding over that rough lace that curves and rounds to her shape.
“You have the best fucking tits,” I growl into her mouth as my hands cup them, making her moan as I thrum her nipples through the dress.
“That’s my point,” she gasps, before smiling against my lips. “You can’t say somethi
ng like that to your boss.”
“Oh? So, you’d be my boss, huh?” I caress her breasts’ full weight, massaging till her nipples are hard and straining.
“I own half the company.”
“So, it’d be inappropriate to tell you how hot it was to watch your perfect tits bounce above me last night? Or that I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked when you straddled me, and then took—all of me.”
She whimpers against my mouth, like she too is remembering what it felt like for the two of us to suddenly be naked and fucking.
“Or is the problem my hands?” I ask sinfully, thrumming her tits one more time before I drop them down, over her ribs, then her stomach, then her hips—igniting every inch of her body that my hands touch, till I’m at the hem of the dress. “Or maybe it’s all of it. My words, my hands, my cock.”
I gyrate my hips again as I grasp the fringe of her skirt and inch it up. She croons, as my fingers feather against the top of her legs, tickling her bare skin.
“Tell me, Wisconsin,” I rasp out against her mouth, massaging the softness of her thighs and savoring the way it makes her whimper. “You want the door, the counter, or on all fours like I promised?”
Her hips buck against me violently, like she’s trying to regain control and take me down like she did before, but I’m too strong. We’re doing this my way this time and she squirms like that’s even more of a turn on. I slide my hands aggressively up to her hips, taking the skirt with me and bunching it at her navel, exposing her dark thong. I play with the straps of thin elastic as my fingers cup her bare bottom.
“Sounds like, door it is!” I say gruffly.
“God, that’s so cliché,” she complains, only I lift her up by her ass, sliding my hands back to her thighs for better leverage. Her knees spread involuntarily on either side of my waist as I pin her perfectly against the door, my cock pressing against the thin strip of fabric where she’s drenched and aching.
“I’m sorry? What was that about the wall?” I tease, gyrating my hips so she can feel me through my jeans. She clutches my shoulders to hold on, her head buried into my neck, moaning with each swish of my hips.
“You’re ridiculous,” she hisses. “No one fucks well against a wall. It looks hot in the movies, but in real life it’s too precarious.”
“Oooh, big fancy word,” I say, throwing her insult from last night back at her. “Should I be impressed with your vocabulary this time?” I tilt back to see her flushed face, her smirk unimpressed and strained. “Arie,” I continue, “the reason you think wall banging is a no-go is because no one’s ever fucked you the right way against a wall.”
Her eyes dilate and glaze, and I can tell the gyration of my hips has her wishing I’d shut her up already and show her what I mean. “Is that so?” she sasses, unable to let go of her stubbornness. “And let me guess, you’re going to show me your miraculous skills of wall banging?”
I lift an eyebrow and gyrate again, making her mouth drop open indecently. “It’s this obsession with being the boss, Wisconsin,” I explain, sliding my hands lower so that they’re cupping half her ass and half her thigh. “You want to be the boss of everything, when you really just need to let go.” My hands are in the perfect position for my fingers to tickle the tiny scrap of fabric that covers her pussy.
“Oh, Jesus!” she hisses, digging her nails into my shoulders as my fingers lash across her soaked thong. I play her like an instrument, teasing and plucking that strip of fabric like it’s a guitar string, dipping my fingers below to graze her swollen skin. It has her hips jerking and her face burrowed into my neck, her lips and teeth nibbling and moaning and gasping. “Please just, mmm, ooh—”
“What was that, boss-lady?”
She bites my neck, sharply, and my cock is aching, so ready.
“Mmmooo, okay, I uh—” She gasps, before mumbling something unintelligible into my neck. “P-p-put me down.”
“You don’t really mean that, do you? You don’t really want to boss me around?” I slip a finger under the wet fabric and slide it through her slick cunt. She bites me so hard, I laugh and slip the finger fully inside her. She whimpers and her warmth opens and quivers for me. I hold her draped between my body and the door, and she doesn’t have much range of motion, but she’s pumping her hips to slide my thumb against her clit. “You still want to take charge of this,” I ask as she moans into the quiver of excitement between her legs, “or are you ready to surrender to everything I’m going to do to you?”
“Put me down!” She gasps out as I ring her clit again.
“If I do that,” I warn, “I’m going to fuck you on the floor.”
“From behind, yes, I know. Hands in my hair, tugging—could we just—” She hooks one arm around my neck and slips the other between us. Suddenly, her hand is inside my pants stroking my bare cock.
It’s my turn to moan as she clutches me hard.
“Damn, girl!” I hiss against her mouth.
She increases her pace. “If you haven’t noticed yet, I get hot—and fast. Now get your cock out before I have to straddle you again.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I grab her hand and pull her fingers out of my pants. In one swift move, I bend down and toss her over my shoulder—cave man style.
“What are—?” she yelps, and a smack her on the ass for emphasis, her dress still scrunched at her waist.
“Get ready to start begging, Arie,” I use her name harshly as I stride through the darkness to the picture window and the same floor we fucked on last night. “And since you know my name now too, I expect you to be calling it out when you can’t get enough of me.”
“You’re such a dick,” she hisses, as I swing her down off my shoulder and place her softly on the carpet in front of the window, just like I imagined. She positions herself on all fours without any prompting, looking back at me with wild eyes, her ass high and ready for me. I caress her soft cheeks as I kneel down behind her, nudging her legs open with my knees. I grab her hips and clutch the sides of her thong. “Is your cock out yet?” she moans, and I make a show of slowly sliding the scrap of slick lace down the back of her legs, savoring the way her thighs quake.
“Damn!” I curse at the sight of her glistening wetness, swollen and aching for me.
“Your pants are still on!” she hisses, and I smile at her bossiness.
“Tsk, tsk,” I tease, pulling back to tear off my shirt and unbuckle my pants. I love the sight of her dress up to her ribs, ass high, pussy quaking. I almost make a detour to taste those slippery folds of heat, but the second I take my cock out of my pants, I’m too impatient. I grab a condom from my pocket, tear it open and sheath myself, making Arie’s eyes dilate because she knows we’re almost there. “Tell me,” I say, holding my sheathed cock in one hand and sliding the other hand up her spine to grab a fist-full of her hair. “Is this the kind of boss you’ll be?” I tug firmly and she practically brays like a mare.
“No,” she hisses. “Because I’ll never be your boss, ‘cause you’re not taking the job!”
I pull her body taut in a reverse arch, so she’s looking back at me as I position my cock at her entrance.
“Is this what you want?” I lash my engorged head through her folds and she pushes back, trying to force herself onto me, to take me like the night before. “Oh no no!” I warn, grabbing her hip and tugging on her hair to stop her. “You’re going to have to beg.”
“Not going to happen,” she hisses, bucking and trying for another angle. I yank her head back firmly with her hair and she whimpers at my aggressiveness.
“Oh now Arie, Arie,” I sing-song her name as I slip just the tip of my head into her tight entrance. “So impatient!” I pump shallowly, allowing her pussy to suck on the tip of my cock like a lollipop. She moans, every sound that escapes from her mouth a hot wailing. “Beg for my cock, Arie,” I taunt, giving her half an inch more. “You know how big I am. You know how long it will take to fill you completely. Tell me how badly yo
u need my cock.”
Her head bends forward as she takes my shallow plunges into her suckling core.
“Apologize!” I demand. “Tell me how sorry you are for being a bitch to me at the Gin n’ Lava. Tell me how the whole mean girl act was simply to hide how badly you wanted my cock.” Her mouth falls open as I slide in an inch deeper.
“I apologize for nothing!” she sasses, and I love how stubborn she’s being. Her whole body is strung tight with her need, compounded by her pissed-off attitude. It has her pussy clutching and quaking and yes … begging me to start pounding her.
“Ask nicely,” I tease. “Say Connor, pretty, pretty, please can I—”
“Fuck you!”
“Well, I’m trying to, Arie, but you—”
“Connor!” She yanks against my grip on her hair, angling her neck back to glare at me. “You have two choices. Either you start to—”
I slide my cock deeper in, not all the way, but enough to make her words drop away and her eyes glaze in pure pleasure. I pull back just as hot, letting her feel every thick inch of me. “That’s right.” I grip her hair tight as I start pumping, slipping in half my cock then back out. She starts whimpering. “Say my name again.” I plunge deeper. “Say it. Connor. Connor. Like it’s a prayer. Like you can’t get enough of—”
“Connor, God!” she rasps out, soft and infuriated, but perfect. “Shut the fuck up and start—”
I thrust all the way forward, filling her till my thighs slap her ass. She cries out, a hot guttural heat. I grip her hair and arch her back perfectly, tits pushed forward and threatening to spill out of the lace that holds them. I start to pound, sliding my whole cock in and out, her muscles gripping and sucking. She rasps out, gasping the words—my name—over and over in a garble of moans and syllables. Her cunt is so wet, it feels like I take her further and further, deeper and harder, as our bodies slick with exertion.