by Sophie Stern
"Oh," is all I say as my coffee finishes brewing and I lift the mug from the machine. I walk back around the counter to my barstool, trying unsuccessfully to keep my eyes off of his perfect abs. Does he work out ten hours a day? It sure looks like it. Abs like that are made with blood and sweat. I can tell he's put in a lot of work.
And I'm the one reaping the rewards of that, at least this morning. A pang hits my heart as I realize he's probably very taken. After all, nothing happened between us last night and I was very drunk. Very, very, very drunk. He didn't even try to kiss me. Maybe he's just a gentleman, but I don't think so. He's probably in a serious relationship. Maybe he's even engaged. I don't know, and I don't ask because I'm afraid of the answer.
"Penny for your thoughts," August says suddenly, breaking me out of my daydream. He slides a plate filled with bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me.
"I was just wondering why a handsome guy like you lives alone," I say, graciously accepting the plate. "Is there a Mrs. Mason?" I ask, suddenly feeling brave and a little bit fierce. There's no need for me to be shy or timid at this point. He's already seen me naked, after all.
August looks at me, hard. His eyes don't leave my face, but I can't read his expression. Is he wondering whether to lie to me? Is he wondering whether I can handle the truth? Is he wondering whether this is my feeble attempt at asking him out? What is he thinking? Then, after what seems like an eternity, he slowly nods.
And my heart, which had leapt up into my throat, now sinks to the pit of my stomach.
He's married.
Fuck.
"Oh," I manage to get out. I should have known. I shouldn't have let myself think, even for a second, that he wasn't already someone's true love. And why am I so worried about it all of a sudden? Too busy to date, I remind myself. I'm too busy. Yes. That's it.
But then August does something that shocks me.
He starts laughing out loud, softly at first, and then louder.
Soon he's doubled over with laughter and he points to me as he tried to catch his breath.
"You should see your face," he laughs. "You look so sad!"
"I do not look sad!" I protest, realizing that my complaints are useless here.
"Yes, Charlotte," he says, finally calming down, finally giving me his "serious" voice. "There is a Mrs. Mason." Then he leans a little closer, so close that I can almost touch him, and he goes, "but I just call her 'Mom.'"
I'm not sure whether I want to slap August or start laughing with relief when I find out that he's single. Part of me is upset that he messed with me, but most of me is relieved. Either way, we're both completely shocked when instead of laughing or slapping him, I instead burst into tears.
And they're loud, ugly tears.
"Shit, Charlotte," he says, rushing around the counter to wrap his muscular arms around me. "What the fuck? Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry," I manage to get out between the tears. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. It's just that I'm so embarrassed. Last night and now this and oh why did you have to be wearing only PJ pants?"
As if noticing for the first time that he's half naked, he glances down at himself, then back at me. He cocks an eyebrow, tries to hide a little smirk, and then grabs my face gently with his hands and leans toward me.
This is it.
This is the moment I've been dying for since I first met him.
He's going to kiss me, I just know it. This is it.
I close my eyes, begging the tears to stop as he gets closer and closer to me. I try not to worry about my horrible morning breath or the fact that my eyes are all puffy and swollen. I try not to wonder what he's going to taste like or why he waited so long to kiss me. In this moment, I'm his. I'm his entirely, and we both know it.
But as I pucker my lips in anticipation, I'm shocked when instead of kissing my lips, he plants a gentle touch on my forehead.
That's it?
I open my eyes.
"That's it?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you were going to kiss me!" Now I do slap him. Once for tricking me about his mom and a second time for just now. "Don't do that, August. You just can't do that to a girl. Dammit!"
He looks surprised as I turn around and refocus my energy on drinking my coffee. I just need to drink it all, find my fucking phone, and then I can get home. I know that I'm blushing like a teenage girl who just got asked to the prom, but that's sort of what I feel like. I feel awkward and weird and uncomfortable. Most of it isn't August's fault. Well, no, that's not true. All of it is August's fault. I feel completely embarrassed that he didn't kiss me. I feel embarrassed about my behavior at dinner. And most of all, I'm embarrassed that I'm sitting in the home of my would-be boss wearing last night's outfit and I look like crap.
I wanted him to kiss me. He didn't. I just need to get over it.
"Thanks for breakfast," I finally say, standing up. He's still staring at me, obviously surprised at my outburst. He should be surprised, too. I'm not usually like that. I don't usually just blurt out whatever happens to be on my mind. I'm usually cool, calm, and collected. I'm usually normal. I'm usually the type of girl who can keep it together even when I'm under pressure.
But not around him.
And I don't know why.
"I should go," I continue, glancing around. "But I seem to have lost my phone. Do you happen to know where I put it?" I ask, trying to shift the conversation away from me, him, and making out. And for the love of books, I'm trying to keep my eyes off of his abs and on his eyes.
"Look, Charlotte," he tries to begin, but I hold up a hand.
"Don't," I say. "I just need to find my phone and I'll get out of your hair forever."
He nods, still not knowing what to do with me, and heads into the other room. While he's gone, I close my eyes in frustration and bite my lip. I'm such a fool. Seriously. No one but me could get themselves into this kind of situation. No one but me could think that someone like August fucking Mason would want to make out with them the morning after a bad not-date.
No one.
He comes back into the room with my phone and I thank him, then start to head to the door.
"I can drive you back to your car," he tells me, but I keep walking. I'm not ignoring him. I just don't want him to see that I'm crying again. It's a combination of embarrassment, stress, and exhaustion.
"I'll call a cab. Don't worry about it." He doesn't follow me as I leave his house through his huge front doors and walk down the sidewalk to the road. He doesn't follow me as I flip open my phone and realize that it's completely dead and I can't call anyone to come get me.
And he doesn't follow me as I start walking down his huge driveway, anxious to get away from his house.
I just need to go home.
6
I arrive home shortly after noon.
All of me hurts.
My stomach is still reeling from the alcohol, my head is killing from my hangover, and my legs hurt from the two miles I walked back to the restaurant when I couldn't get a cab.
"Woah," Anna says as I walk in the front door, but I shake my head, warning her not to say anything. She obliges, and I'm grateful. I'm going to tell her everything, of course. I always do. I just can't do it now. Right now I just need to be alone. Right now I just need a few minutes to myself to think.
I head into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and strip down.
And then I stare at myself in the mirror.
August makes me feel so many different things: sexy, naughty, lusty, and beautiful. But he also makes me feel embarrassed, awkward, and shy. He makes me feel a desire to please him, but there's also a hint of something else. It's something deeper than just attraction. It's raw, unadulterated lust.
Underneath the money, the suits, and the poise, August is a bad boy.
And he's just waiting for the right good girl to turn bad with him.
I run my hands gently over my breasts, feeling their plumpness in my grasp. What w
ould it be like to have August run his hands over me? Would he go slowly? Would he be rough with me? Would he pinch my nipples until I begged him to stop and keep going at the same time? What about what happens next? Would he start at my neck, biting me gently? Would he move down, slowly flicking and licking his way to my tits?
What would fucking August Mason be like?
I don't know, but I'm wet as fuck just thinking about it.
I give up staring at myself. I'm not going to get any release from just standing in front of the mirror. Instead, I climb into the shower, turn the heat up, and drown my sorrows in the water. My tears come quickly: a harsh reminder of the night before. I can't believe I blew everything so badly. I was offered a job - a good one, too - and I just blew it.
Why did I have to lose my cool?
Why did I have to get so nervous that I drank so much?
And why did I go home with August?
I'm kicking myself for not just calling Anna. She could have come to pick me up. It wouldn't have been a big deal. Sure, she would have been tired and she would have bitched about it the entire time, but she would have done it without judging me.
But I couldn't do that, could I?
I had to accept August's offer to drive me. I had to go to his beautiful mansion. I had to fall asleep in his guest bedroom and, most of all, I had to completely freak out on him when he didn't kiss me.
The water pours over my body, washing away any sense of decency and restraint I once had. It doesn't take long for me to stop feeling embarrassed and to start feeling the growing sensation of warmth between my legs.
I can't help but wonder what would have happened if things had gone a little differently.
What if I hadn't gone so drunk that I threw up at his house?
What if instead of passing out, we had made out?
What if he had climbed into the shower with me and slid his hands down my back?
What if he had pressed up against me, completely naked?
I'm feeling warm all over, and it's not from the shower. No, this is different. This is a much more feral, more dirty, more naughty kind of warmth. It's the kind of warmth that only touching August Mason is going to satisfy.
He's not here right now, but I am.
So I do the next best thing to letting him get me off and I make myself come - hard - in the shower. I'm still so turned on by the night before that it doesn't take much. A few carefully placed fingers, a couple of seconds of pretending my fingers are his, and thinking about how his tongue would feel flicking against my clit, and I'm gone.
I'm his.
And then I'm on my knees in the shower, moaning out loud, not caring who hears. All I'm thinking about is dropping my panties to the billionaire of my dreams, sliding down onto his throbbing dick, and riding him until we're both drowning in pleasure.
My fantasy is interrupted far too quickly by a knock on the bathroom door.
"Charlotte?" A familiar voice calls out. "Is everything okay in there?"
August.
What the fuck is he doing at my house?
He knocks again, this time more urgently.
"Charlotte, are you okay? Do you need help? It sounded like you fell."
I turn off the shower and step out into the cool bathroom air, frustrated that my "alone" time is over so quickly. Why is August at my house? Why is he knocking on my door? More importantly, why is he listening outside the bathroom door? Does he want to catch me fucking myself?
"Hold on," I yell out, obviously not pleased. I can't believe this is happening. I don't have a robe in the bathroom. I don't have clean clothes. I have nothing. Gah! It's not like he hasn't seen me naked before, I realize, remembering how he helped me out of the shower and into bed last night. Like a perfect gentleman, he didn't even try to touch me. Now, though, I wonder what it would have been like if he did. What if instead of helping me to bed, he had taken me to bed? What if he had slid himself so deep inside me that for just a second, I forgot my own name? What about that?
"Dammit," I mutter out loud, realizing that my tingly clit is still just as tingly as it was before I got off. My pussy is still just as unsatisfied. My tits are still dying to have his tongue wrapped around them. For a second, I'm so hell bent on picturing August fucking me that I forget he's just a few feet away from me, separated only by a thin, wooden door.
"What is it?" He asks through the door. I sense a hint of urgency in his voice and a whole lot of concern. He's worried about me. Obviously. I can tell. He tries turning the handle, but I locked it. I'm alone, for now, until I'm ready to face him.
Which isn't now.
I'm still naked.
"Give me a fucking second August," I grab a towel from the rack and sort-of manage to cover myself, at least up front. My butt is still hanging out. At this point, I don't care.
I finally rip the door open and he's standing there in a suit, looking perfect. Of course he is. Isn't he always? He's showered since the last time I saw him and his hair is perfectly styled. Not a strand is out of place on his brunette head. His eyes glow, fiercely, when he sees me. I think I see him bite back a growl. His jaw line is sharp and determined. He's the kind of guy who always gets what he wants.
But how come I'm not what he wants?
"What do you want and why are you here?" I ask. My eyes dart down the hallway to where Anna is standing next to her room. Her eyes pop open and she gives me a "sorry" look before darting into her bedroom. I sigh, realizing it's not her fault. August is a sweet talker. It probably didn't take much to convince her to let him inside.
"You left in such a hurry that you forgot this," he says, holding up a small necklace. The pendant on the end is an hourglass. It's filled with sapphire. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and I start to reach for it before I realize that I've never seen it before in my life.
"That's not mine," I tell him, suddenly irritated that he thought it was. How many girls has he had over? How many sluts have stayed in that guest room? How many times has a girl been invited to sleep in his bed instead of the guest room? And how many necklaces have been "forgotten" at his house?
"It is now," he says, not blinking. "I bought it for you. I was going to give it to you last night, but, well, I didn't really get the chance." He holds it out again to me and this time I reach for it, take it, and hold it in my hands.
"It's not to sway your decision on whether to work for me," he adds quickly. "It's more of a thank-you for your company last night."
I look at it again.
It's tiny and perfect and everything I love in the world.
"Tell me you like it," he says. "You seem like the type of girl who knows that time is precious, so I thought it was appropriate."
"I don't know what to say," it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It reminds me of an hourglass my mother gave me when I was little during a talk about how time was the most valuable currency in the world. You give your time to the people you love, to the things you care about, and you don't waste them on things that don't matter.
I finally manage to blurt out a thank-you, but as I do, I realize that my towel is slipping. My attempts to grab it before it hits the floor are unsuccessful, but August keeps looking at my eyes and nothing else. He doesn't even seem to notice that the towel fell and I'm not even embarrassed to be standing in the hallway of my house, completely naked, next to the sexiest man I've ever known.
"Thank you," I tell him. "I love it."
August takes a step forward and before I know it I'm wrapped up in the softest, warmest, sexiest, dirtiest, naughtiest hug I've ever been in.
My head rests softly against his heart. I swear I can hear it beating even through the suit, even though I know it's probably not true. One hand is on the small of my back, the other gently rests in my hair.
"I'm sorry about this morning," he tells me, pulling away. "Can we try again?"
I nod, fervently, not quite believing that this is happening.
"Do you want to have
dinner with me?" he asks.
"Yes," I say. Somehow, it's all I say. It's all I can find the words for. It's the only thing I can blurt out before his hands are on me and I'm wrapped up in him again.
I hear an AHEM from down the hall and we both turn to look at Anna, whose head is popping out of her bedroom.
"Don't mind me," she says, smiling at us. "But you might want to put some pants on before you go."
8
"What's good around here?" August asks me as we hop into his car. I still don't know the made, the model, or the year. All I know is its ridiculously fancy and I couldn't afford it on a year's salary. Or, you know, five.
"Let's go to Rebecca's," I suggest.
"Uh, okay," he hesitates, then turns to me with a questioning look. "Is that a friend of yours?"
I laugh. "No, silly, Rebecca's." I say it slowly, drawing the word out, as if that's going to make him understand.
He still doesn't get it.
"It's a restaurant," I tell him. "Downtown. Take Oak to West Fourth Street. It's on the right."
"Ah," he pulls out of my driveway and starts heading down the road, following my directions perfectly. I fold my hands neatly in my lap as he navigates the narrow roads, wondering what made him come over to see me.
I don't actually want to wait to hear what his answer is and I don't actually want to spend the entire day wondering, so I decide that it's best to just be blunt.
"Why are you here?" I ask. It comes out more rude than I had hoped, and I sigh. Dammit. I'm never going to get this dating thing right.
But August doesn't seem annoyed or frustrated. He just smiles and keeps his eyes focused on the road. I wonder what's rushing through his mind as he takes way too long to answer my simple question. Maybe he's searching for the right words, the way that I should have.
"I couldn't let things end the way they did," he finally says.
And I know exactly what he means.
It's not every day you completely blow it with a billionaire.
It's not every day you're falling-down-drunk at his house, puking on his floors and then yelling at him when he doesn't like you back. It's not every day that you have the guts to yell at a guy who could buy your entire town and five more without breaking a sweat. It's not every day you scream at a guy who controls your entire future.