Unspoken

by Haley Pierce

  “Yes, but . . . I own that I know nothing about men. I’m just surprised that you profess to know so much about relationships, and yet you’ve never been in a serious one.”

  “Contrary to you, I know quite a bit about women,” I correct, crossing my arms. “It would be different if I wanted a relationship, but as previously stated, I do not care to have one.”

  “Right. And why don’t you want one?”

  “Because no one has ever held my interest for longer than three weeks.” I bite into my burger and say, “In fact, I doubt even my Perfect Woman would be that interesting to me, for that long. My tastes are fickle. I may want a woman who skis in Vail now, but tomorrow I could want something else. I could even want someone like . . . you.”

  “The horror.” She drops her jaw in mock terror.

  But she’s leaning into me, a glint in her eyes. She licks the ketchup off her lips, then proceeds to lick the salt from her fingers. And those nipples, popping out from her t-shirt? Hard as little pebbles.

  My cock does a victory dance in my pants. I’ve got her.

  I swallow my burger and nod. “Frightening, I know.”

  We finish our dinners shortly after eleven PM. I take her out to the parking lot, where Earl is waiting. When we are inside, I put up the partition, so that we can be alone.

  Then I turn to her and say, “So you think you know what needs to be done?”

  Even though we’ve barely talked about it. Honestly, I don’t care about her being my fake fiancé. All I want is her real body, against mine.

  She nods. “I know what you want.”

  Oh, she has no idea what I want. I doubt such things could possibly occur to her little virgin mind.

  “What I don’t know is how you expect to end things?”

  I stare at her, confused.

  “I mean, after your father passes away, Dan is going to expect you to get married, right? And if you don’t?”

  I nod. “Well, we just have a falling out, is all. I’ll tell him we had a big fight, and ended things. Simple as that.”

  “Simple,” she repeats thoughtfully. “A fight about what?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “I cheated on you. He’ll believe that. I never could keep it in my pants, anyway.”

  She studies me. “Is that true?”

  I nod. “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “Well, you haven’t made any untoward advances to me, all night. IT has been kept in your pants very well,” she says, her eyes flitting down to my middle, but for only a second.

  “The night is still young,” I tease her. When she blushes, and before an awkward silence can bloom, I say, “So we’re good?”

  She nods.

  “Shake on it?”

  She nods again.

  As we touch, though, sparks light between us. Her fingers are warm and delicate, but strong. I can almost see her heart pounding, and I hope it’s out of anticipation over what I might do next. I can tell by the way she licks her lips that she wants something to happen.

  She leans closer, so close now that I can’t mistake her intention. Her nipples are hard and her t-shirt gapes in front, giving me a clear shot down her cleavage. I pause there, giving her a second to say no, to pull away.

  But no woman has ever gotten this close and pulled away.

  She wants this.

  So I close the distance, and then I’m kissing her.

  I’m finally kissing her.

  Her lips are soft but this kiss, from the start, is anything but. Tangling her hair in my hands, I tip her head back further and ravish her mouth, melding my tongue with hers. She gasps against me, but I steal the gasp as her body trembles against mine.

  I pull her into my lap, so she’s straddling me, and she groans low in her throat. She runs her hands greedily down my chest, and I retaliate by thrusting my tongue, hard, inside her waiting mouth. She presses her chest against mine and I feel those hard nipples through the layers of fabric.

  I’m about to tell her that we can—no, we need to continue this, somehow, when the car comes to an abrupt halt.

  She is the one to break the kiss. We stare at each other for a few moments, though, breathing hard. Her pupils are dilated. I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon.

  “We’re here,” the driver says as he taps on the partition.

  “We’re here,” she repeats.

  Goddamn it, we’re here. As I stare into those deep, muddy brown eyes, an unfamiliar feeling floods in, pricking my neck, making me feel like I’m walking a tightrope without a net. “This is a mistake,” I murmur.

  She nods slightly, agreeing. I wish she wouldn’t be so agreeable. Because how can a mistake feel that right?

  “That . . . wasn’t supposed to happen.” I nudge myself away from her, straightening. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I wanted you for.”

  Hell. It may not be what I wanted her for, a week ago. But it’s what I want now. Burningly so. And maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’ve always been in control. But right now, with her?

  Any more of this, and I’m going to run right off the tracks.

  She’s staring at me wide-eyed, tugging her t-shirt into place over her tits. “Right.”

  My cock is screaming to continue. I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat to get it to calm down. I take a long sip of my scotch as Earl opens the door for her. “I think we should meet again.”

  She looks back at me. “You do?”

  I nod, crunching on ice again. I stare straight ahead, not making eye contact, because I know if I do, I’ll want to pull her into my lap again and caress those perfect, round tits. “Strictly professionally, though. I have much to educate you on if you’re to pass as my fiancé in front of my father.”

  “All right,” she says breezily.

  And the door slams.

  I adjust my rock hard cock and wonder what the hell I’m going to do. I might say it, but this has gone past professional. It’s heading in a dangerous direction, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.

  Lily

  The following weeks are a blur of activity. By day, I’m at the hospital, and every night, after my sister comes home, I meet with Max.

  He’s ridiculously exciting. I haven’t been able to think of much else except for that kiss. I walk around in a constant state of haziness, thinking of his mouth on me. I’ve never been so hyper-focused on something that I let other things go, but now, I’m living life in la-la land. I don’t care when Cara comes home late. I don’t mind when the children scream their heads off and act like animals. No, I dance around like someone . . . like someone in love.

  And I know it’s ridiculous. Max doesn’t do love. But maybe that’s not even what I want from him. No, I’d just settle for his hands, his body, on mine.

  But he said it was a mistake. Since then, he’s been all business. His hands on my body? Probably won’t happen ever again.

  I shouldn’t even want that. I know how he operates, how he can’t keep it in his pants. He said that to me, point-blank. I know if I fall for him, I’ll get attached. I may already be getting attached. And the closer we get, the more I’ll get my heart broken when the inevitable breakup comes.

  Cara comes home after I get the children into bed, and she’s surprised that Max isn’t there. “Where’s your stud?” she asks.

  “He had a business meeting,” I say, distracted.

  Then it hits me. To her, he’s Max the doctor, not a businessman.

  “Er, at the hospital,” I add.

  She grabs an apple off the table, as I study her. For the first time, the little things Max mentioned become clear. It’s like he’s opened my eyes, because her shirt is askew, and there is a red rash on the pale skin of her neck. I try not to be too obvious when I lean forward and sniff. “Still working on the project?”

  She nods and looks away. Liar.

  “You’d better get an A, considering how hard you’re working,” I fish. “What’s it on, anyway?”

  “Oh
. Um. European Hegemony in the nineteenth century.” She manages a smile. “Really boring.”

  I nod, wondering how my dear little sister has ever gotten so good at keeping a poker face. Not from me, that’s for sure—I can feel my face overheating. Maybe Max is right; she’s embarrassed to talk to me about sex since I’ve always been so overtly virginal. But from the size of that hickey on her neck, she didn’t let potential embarrassment stop her. I wonder who the boy is. I wonder how far they’ve gone. And then, for the millionth time, I wish I had my parents.

  When she retreats to the bedroom to go to sleep, I lock myself in the bathroom and strip as I run the warm water in our small bathtub. I’m in desperate need of me-time. I pull out my phone and notice a text from Talia: Are you ready to spill yet?

  I take some tub toys out of the bottom of the tub and swirl some bubbles into the bath, I type in. I’m actually glad I have someone to tell. Yep.

  Good. What’s his name?

  Talia’s my best friend, and I know she’ll take this to the grave, if I ask her to. Max Winchester.

  OMG. Seriously?

  You know him?

  EVERYONE knows him. He’s beautiful. And… the richest guy in town, practically. YOU ARE SO LUCKY!

  My body lights up with tingles as I think of that kiss. Relax. It’s not like we’re dating.

  I can think of worse things than getting paid to be with him. In fact, I’d probably pay to be with him.

  I swallow. I pull my Columbia sweatshirt over my head, then unfasten my bra. I step out of my leggings and panties and stare at my naked body in the mirror. I’m not hideous. In fact, if I hold myself the right way and suck in my little tummy, I even look sexy.

  But is anyone worthy of the perfection that is Max Winchester? Maybe that’s the reason he can’t find a woman to meet his standards—she doesn’t exist.

  I coil my hair in a messy bun atop my head and type in, Well. It’s strictly business. I meet his father next week.

  You should try to work in some pleasure. I would.

  Oh, I know exactly what type of pleasure Talia would work in, but that is not what I want to do. No, the further away from that night at the Suitors Club I get, the more I realize that auctioning off my virginity was just plain . . . horrible. I don’t think I would have ever been able to go through with it, even if . . .

  Well, maybe I’d have been able to go through with it if it had been Max.

  My mind dwells to the kiss again, and I stop myself before I can get carried away. No. I’m nervous enough as it is!

  Suit yourself. Message me if you ever decide to cross that business line. I want details.

  I sigh. Not happening.

  Let’s do lunch tomorrow?

  Okay. You know where to find me.

  Talia is good about that. She works in an office across from the Children’s Hospital, so we’re often meeting up at the hospital cafeteria for a quick bite to eat. Sometimes, she’ll even come up with me to visit Joey, but she hasn’t done that for a while, since Joey has gotten progressively worse and has had to keep away from visitors. But the first few treatments have gone well, from what the doctors are telling me. He’s been tolerating them well, and that’s a good sign.

  I place my phone on the bathroom counter and slide into the frothy warm water, savoring the feel of it relaxing my muscles. I stretch my body out, lean against the porcelain edge, and place a wet cloth over my tired, bloodshot eyes.

  Just then, my phone buzzes. Annoyed, I lower the washcloth and look at it with one eye. Curiosity gets the best of me. I scoot forward and check the display, thinking it’s just Talia. I nearly choke when I see Max’s name. I swipe the phone off the counter so fast I nearly send it toppling into the water.

  It says just one word. Hey.

  I stare at it. So is that just Hey, casual? Or Hey, I’m bored? Or Hey, I want to get in your pants?

  It could be anything.

  But one thing it isn’t? Professional.

  So far, we haven’t exchanged anything like flirty texts before. In fact, beside that five-minute period where he’d thrown caution to the wind and kissed me, it’s been a bunch of sad-trumpets, how professional and courteous he’s been. Even after the kiss, the past few times we’ve met, he’s stayed well on the side of proper, never even flirting with crossing the line. He’d said it was a mistake, and it was.

  But even if it was a mistake, it had felt so so so good. The way our tongues had entwined. The way his body felt against mine. It was almost too good.

  And this text? It has possibility.

  What does he want? I poke in, Hey. What’s up?

  Just checking to see how my fiancé is doing. This is the first night all week I haven’t seen your smiling face.

  I stare at those words. What does that mean? Is he saying that he misses me? Or is he teasing me? Or… maybe Dan is there, watching over his shoulder as he texts.

  Yes. That’s probably it. He said he had a meeting with people, and Dan must have been included, since there is the major possibility he’s taking over the whole company.

  I decide I’ll jump into character and milk it for what it’s worth. If he questions it, I can just tell him that I thought we were playing engaged. I type in, I wish you were here.

  Where is here? What are you doing now?

  I look down at my naked body and blush. I’m taking a bath.

  I take in a deep breath as his next words come up: Now I really wish I was there, too.

  My jaw drops, and I sit myself up straight in the bathtub. He really is flirting with me. Maybe. If Dan is there, maybe this is all for appearances. After all, his fiancé is supposed to be kinky and with an insatiable appetite for sex. I think for a moment about how to keep this going, and type in: What are you doing?

  At a bar in the city. Still having that meeting. Dan won’t shut the hell up.

  I blink. It occurs to me at that moment that Dan can’t be staring over his shoulder, or he wouldn’t have said that. He may hate his brother, but he is trying to play civil, at least.

  I want to squee aloud. He really is flirting with me. And . . .

  I type in: Poor you. Are you drunk?

  Possibly. Getting there.

  Oh my gosh. I have a drunk Max Winchester booty-texting me. This could be very, very interesting.

  I’m honored you thought to text me in your time of boredom. So do you want me to keep you entertained?

  I watch those three dancing dots. If you send me pictures of yourself in that bath, I will be very entertained.

  I feel myself getting all hot and bothered of the thought of him seeing naked pictures of me. But . . . hell no. Even drunk, I wouldn’t be able to do something like that. No thanks. I don’t do that.

  He sends me a little frowny face. And then: Are you really a virgin?

  I swallow and type in, with shaking fingers: Yes.

  No man has ever licked your pussy?

  I always thought Max would be direct when it came to sex, taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. My heart is beating out of my chest. The thought of Max, smiling wickedly up at me from between my legs, his breath, warm on my cunt? Wouldn’t I just have a heart attack before that could happen?

  My hands continue to shake as I type in: You were the first man I ever kissed.

  I wait, trembling in the water, now feeling a sea of goosebumps everywhere, as he comes back with: Goddamn, Lily.

  I don’t know what that means. Is that bad? My finger hovers over the keypad, but I’m not sure what to say.

  Finally, I see that he’s responding. A moment later: Would you have wanted me to go further?

  There is only one answer to that. Yes. A million times, yes.

  Him: How far?

  I take a deep breath. And then I type in the truth: I don’t know. I’m sure your fiancé would know, but I don’t.

  Him: Are you nervous?

  Me: A little. Okay. A lot.

  Him: You know, there’s nothing to be afraid of now. This is a
ll pretend, right?

  I look away from the screen, my head about to explode. I’m having a dirty text conversation with none other than Max Winchester. Even if he says it’s all pretend, after that kiss, I know at least some of it is real. The way I’m feeling right now, so hot I’ll need a shower after this bath? That’s real.

  Me: Right.

  Him: Yes. You know I said I need my fiancé to be kinky. So tell me what you’d do to me.

  I know I need to stop this. I know this can’t continue on like this. This is a business deal, and if my heart gets too far into it, the other parts of my body will never recover. Despite every brain cell in my head telling me to stop, one part of me has taken control, driving my movements. It’s the desire, powering me forward.

  But as much as I want him, I don’t know how to put it in words. My imagination is spiraling, but all that comes to mind is vague. Him, me. Naked, together.

  Me: I’m not sure

  Him: Then let’s work on that.

  Me: What would you like to do with me?

  He, clearly, doesn’t have that trouble.

  Him: I’d start by getting into the tub with you. You know you have the most beautiful tits, the perfect size, so soft and perky. I take them in my hands and flick my tongue over one of your nipples, and the other. You like that because your sweet little nipples instantly get hard. I start to suck on your tit, my tongue working it in circles.

  Him: Then I kiss my way down your navel. You lift your hot little ass out of the water. And now your naked cunt is right in front of me and I’m between your legs. I start to rub your clit gently

  Oh, my God. I read the words again and again, my finger absently circling my clit. Despite being in the cooling water, I’m getting hot, so hot I palm my phone and fan my face with it. It doesn’t help. The thought of him, being there, tugging and licking my nipples, kissing his way down my body?

  Him: I put your legs over my shoulders and drag you up to me, then I lift your pussy up to my face. I’m licking my way down to your clit, stopping there, running my tongue on it, then I take it into my mouth and suck it, and god, you taste so good . . .

  Him: And then my tongue delves into your hole and god, you’re so sweet. And then I’m fucking you with my tongue, in and out, and you’re trembling and so I fuck you harder. You feel it baby? Feel my tongue going all the way up your slit? God, I love eating you, baby. I could eat you all day long.