Naughty Nelle

by L'Amour, Nelle

  “Hardly. This is a first. My sister insisted on taking me here to celebrate my first day at work in LA. I’m really kind of a homebody. What about you?”

  “I get out and about.”

  “I saw a lot of pictures of you online with supermodel types.”

  I cocked a brow, unsure if the sudden pitchiness of her voice was to counter the loud, thudding music or the result of being buzzed. Or a combination of both.

  “Oh, so that’s how you spent your time while I was in meetings all day?”

  My eyes stayed on her as she took another long sip of the frosty pink drink and then licked her sensuous lips.

  “I just wanted to have a better idea of whom I was working for.” She unexpectedly hiccupped, and something about the little hitch in her breath was so damn adorable, my cock twitched. She excused herself before babbling on.

  “Who’s that redhead I saw in a lot of the photos?”

  My breath caught. Krizia. Crazy, desperate Krizia. She’d been after me for years. “My parents’ personal publicist. It’s nothing.”

  “Well, it looks like she’s really into you.”

  “She’s a camera hog. She enjoys having her photo taken by the paparazzi.”

  “Oh, so she’s like arm candy.” Studying my face, she knit her brows. “You’re not gay, are you?”

  I practically laughed out the next sip of my drink, but swallowed just in time. “No, I’m not gay. What made you say that?”

  Before she could answer, a familiar voice drifted into my ear. Brock. I spun around. A sheen of sweat coated his face, and an arm was wrapped around Dee’s sister. Getting laid was inevitable.

  “Yo, Drakester, get your ass on the dance floor.”

  “Yeah,” echoed Lulu. “You should ask my sister to dance. She’s an amazing dancer.”

  I turned to face my companion. Even in the dim light, I could see her cheeks flushing. She nervously bit down on her lip.

  “Don’t believe her. I can’t dance.”

  When I turned to face my best bud again, he and Lulu were already locked in a heated kiss, her arms flung around his neck and his looped around her lower back—crawling to her ass. I hated being a voyeur. Impulsively, I grabbed Dee’s hand and coaxed her off the barstool.

  “I don’t believe you. Let’s dance.”

  “No, please,” she protested.

  “C’mon. Boss’s orders.”

  Grabbing her margarita glass with her free hand and downing what remained, she set it back down on the counter and hesitantly let me lead the way. She was buzzed; I was buzzed. The thudding music quickened my gait and anticipation zipped through my veins. Weaving in and out of the crowd, I squeezed Dee’s hand, not wanting to lose her.

  As we stepped onto the dance floor, the music suddenly changed. Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” was playing. The lyrics made me even more aware of Dee’s soft warm hand in mine and think again of what that talented hand had done to me earlier in the day. It was time for a slow dance. Maybe it was all part of a plan.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dee

  Lulu was telling the truth. I was a very good dancer, but in the arms of my sinfully sexy boss, I felt like was stepping all over myself. Maybe because I was so buzzed. And so turned on.

  My hands rested on his broad shoulders while his arms draped around my back, holding me firmly and swaying me side to side as Ed Sheeran played on the sound system. With my five-foot-four body stuffed into my spikey heels, I was almost eye-level with him and close enough to feel his warm breath heat my cheeks. I soaked in his gorgeous face. His scorching blue eyes, manly straight nose, luscious mouth, and strong jaw that was laced with an oh so sexy fine layer of stubble. Call me drunk, but I was at a loss for words and knew that anything that came out of my mouth would be slurred or sound all wrong. I was hoping there would be no need for conversation. Wishful thinking.

  “Your sister was right. You are a good dancer,” he began with a sexy smile.

  Heating, I managed a small thanks. I refrained from telling him that I was just following his lead. He was a great dancer himself. Smooth, fluid, and definitely in control.

  “You okay?” asked Drake, gripping me tighter and drawing me closer to him. So close my breasts grazed his steely chest, my fingers longing to run over every ripple of his defined abs. My nipples hardened and a spray of tingles showered me from head to toe. I stared into his blue orbs.

  “Are you sure you’re not gay?” Why did I keep asking this question? Was I too blitzed to make intelligent conversation? Or was I simply looking for a reason to not be physically attracted to him?

  He rolled his eyes at me and then a wicked smirk lifted his edible lips. “Geez. Do I have to prove it to you?”

  On my next heartbeat, his lips came crashing down on mine in a fierce kiss ripped right out of a movie. In seconds, our tongues were dancing and my fingers were fisting his hair, pulling his face toward me and deepening the kiss…a kiss like none other.

  God. It had been so long. He tasted warm and delicious, a mixture of sweet and salty from the margaritas. A bolt of electricity shot through me, igniting every cell in my body, causing an explosion of fireworks behind my eyelids. As he drew me tighter against him, his hardness pressed against my stomach, and I could feel the heat of it right through his jeans. My fingers clung to the roots of his silky hair, fearing that if I let go I would move my hand between his legs and do a crotch grab, that’s if I didn’t faint first. Or yank down his fly.

  Finally, as the song ended, he withdrew his mouth from mine. The intoxicating taste of him lingered on my tongue.

  “Are you satisfied?” he asked softly, his hooded eyes locking with mine.

  I wanted his lips back on mine in the worst way. As if I was thinking out loud, his lips touched down again and this time my moans filled his mouth as I reclaimed it with equal hunger and need.

  Another barrage of sparks bombarded me as I felt myself orbiting into the stratosphere. My head was spinning. Everything was spinning. Yup, I was leaving the planet.

  CHAPTER 7

  Drake

  “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.” Clap Clap.

  I had practically carried my adorable temp off the dance floor and now she was seated at the bar next to her sister, singing at the top of her lungs. Brock and I flanked them, stomping our feet on the next verse. More and more off key, she sung on.

  “If you’re happy and you know it, shout ‘Hooray!”

  “Hooray!” shouted Brock and Lulu along with Dee. Drinking another round of margaritas, they definitely looked happy. With his free hand, Brock was touching Lulu in all the right places and Lulu was loving it.

  I pretended to be into the drunken fun the three of them were having, but I was more sober and pensive than I made out to be. I’d learned a lot about Dee on the dance floor. Not only was she a great dancer like her sister said, she was also a great kisser. And I learned something about myself: I liked holding her in my arms and kissing her. Who was I kidding? I more than liked it. She felt and tasted delicious. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I couldn’t resist.

  “Whoo hoo!” shouted Dee, several decibels louder and brandishing her arms.

  “Is she always like this?” I asked Lulu.

  Lulu burst into laughter. “Never. She rarely drinks. I think she’s sloshed.”

  That was for sure. Still singing at the top of her lungs, Dee reached for the margarita pitcher, but I stopped her midway.

  “Boo!” she pouted, ruffling my hair. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because you’ve had enough.”

  “Please, pretty please. With a cherry on top?”

  “I think she needs to go home.” But I was speaking to deaf ears. Dee’s sister was back to making out with Brock. I wasn’t sure how my temp had gotten here. But if she had driven, there was no way I was going to let her drive home in her inebriated state. And if she’d come with Lulu, there was no way I was going to ask her to t
ake her home and ruin my best bud’s good chance of getting laid. And the third alternative—putting her in a cab or Uber worried me as she wasn’t coherent and could end up in some gang-ridden neighborhood. So it was up to me.

  Waiting outside the club for the valet to bring around my car, I clutched Dee by the waist in an effort to keep her standing. Shit faced, she’d grown even loopier, becoming very talkative and bold. She was vomiting words and that’s all I hoped would spill out of her mouth. The thought of her puking inside my brand-new Maserati Gran Turismo scared the shit out of me.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, hoping my car would get here soon.

  “Do you have a twin?”

  Balls. She was seeing double.

  “He’s as hot as you are. Is his cock—hiccup—as big as yours?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Shhh! Don’t tell him I told you, but mine is bigger.”

  She glanced down at my crotch, her eyes sizing me up before darting to the “other” me. And then another hiccup. “I don’t believe you. I want you to prove it.” A hand flew to my fly, and as she groped my dick, my breath hitched with anticipation. Was she going to give me a hand job right here on the curb? As she began to fiddle with the tab of the zipper, the valet whipped around with my shiny black convertible. The top was down. My cock was up.

  “C’mon,” I urged, ushering her into the car. “It’s time to take you home.”

  “But I want to see your cock first. Please. Pretty please?”

  “Later,” I replied as I buckled her in. Handing the valet a generous tip, I rounded the car and hopped into the driver’s seat. With a screech, I peeled off the curb.

  Shortly into the ride, I managed to secure Dee’s address; her case of the hiccups didn’t make it easy. Fortunately, she didn’t live far away and given that there was little traffic, I could be there in about fifteen minutes. She was still talkative and tipsy. And totally adorable. She started singing again at the top of her lungs, totally off key and hiccupping non-stop.

  “If you’re horny and you know it, unzip your fly…if you’re horny and you know it and you really want to show it…”

  The hiccups kept coming. I wish she could get her mind off my cock. Though, to be honest, the thought of her lush mouth sucking it was making me hard again. My manhood throbbed.

  By the time I reached Dee’s residence, she was totally conked out. I was relieved because it meant my car had been spared a barf wash. After parking it, I dipped my hand into her purse and retrieved her key chain. One of the many keys must be for her house.

  Dee lived in a funky Los Angeles neighborhood known as Silver Lake. It was home to lots of artsy types and aspiring actors. Her house, a small quaint Spanish cottage that was probably built in the twenties, sat almost at the end of a long winding hillside road. The house next door, which seemed vacant, was for sale, and on the other side was a deserted lot. There were bars on the windows, reminding me that this wasn’t the greatest neighborhood for a single girl to live in. Or even a guy. Break-ins and car thefts were frequent. I put up my top and made a mental note to lock my Maserati.

  After scooting out of it, I scooped my temp into my arms and had no choice but to throw her over my shoulder so I could unlock her front door. My other hand gripped her right below her perfect ass. I felt like Captain Caveman, one of the first animated series my father had created.

  At the front door, I lucked out with the first key I tried. It opened easily with two turns and I carted Dee inside. Flipping on the lights, I soaked in my surroundings. I’d stepped right into her living room—typical of these vintage Spanish-style houses. My eyes darted from corner to corner. Her living room was smaller than the grand entrance of my parents’ house, and it was filled with boxes suggesting she’d either just moved in or was about to move out. The sparse furnishings were definitely flea market finds, my attention drawn to the whimsical paintings on the walls of big-eyed children. Knowing a little about art from my mother the collector, I decided whoever painted them was very talented.

  A hoarse mumble cut into my thoughts.

  “Need to call Tyson.”

  Tyson? Who was that? Her boyfriend?

  “Need to say goodnight.”

  “Who’s Tyson?” I dared to ask.

  “The love of my life.” The words came out in slurred one-syllables. My chest constricted. There was someone in her life. Boner downer. Glumly, I headed over to the couch and set her down.

  Without warning, she grew agitated and began to cry. Desperate words spilled out of her quivering lips. “Need to call my baby…Say I love you from here to the moon…Give each other a big kiss.”

  Ms. Happy and You Know It was a whimpering mess. I wasn’t too happy either. Red-hot jealousy shot through my veins and I wasn’t even the jealous type. I’d been played. Yet, despite my rising rage, her sobs were gutting me.

  “C’mon. You need to go to sleep.”

  On my next breath, I set her down on the couch and she curled into a fetal position. Her sobs continued to fill the room. “I miss my baby.”

  There was no point in moving her to her bedroom, and I didn’t especially want to see the bed where she and this Tyson guy fucked. Searching the living room, I spotted an afghan on a rocking chair and retrieved it. Gently, I folded it over her heaving body as her sobs subsided. In no time, she was out like a light. A much as I wanted to kiss her goodnight, it was my cue to leave.

  CHAPTER 8

  Dee

  A loud pounding sounded at the front door. It was nothing compared to the pounding in my head. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, one at a time. It was as if they were super-glued shut.

  The pounding at the door persisted. And then the doorbell rang again and again. The banging and chiming were making my headache feel worse, if worse was possible.

  Slowly, I sat up and took in my surroundings. I was home, but I had no recollection of how I got here. The blinding sunlight that was filtering through the window was my only clue that it was early morning. I rubbed my throbbing temples and, after swallowing, discovered how parched my throat was. In a word, I felt like shit.

  “Dee-Dee, open up,” shouted a familiar voice. “I can’t find my key.” It was my sister, Lulu.

  Draping the afghan over my shoulders, I made it to my feet and staggered to the front door. At the sight of my sister still dressed in a halter-top and skin-tight jeans with her mane of hair in just fucked mode, the fog that clouded my mind began to lift. Panic set in.

  “Brock was amazing!” she spewed as she made her way into the house we shared. “We fucked all night long. You wouldn’t believe all the insane positions. And you should see his apartment. It’s a penthouse on the Wilshire Corridor. I think he’s loaded in more ways than one.” Tossing her bag on the couch, she asked, “Did you get laid?”

  Her question made my blood run cold. Oh God! Did I? I didn’t know. My mouth couldn’t form words.

  “Brock’s friend Drake was really into you. That kiss must have made the Guinness Book of Records. The longest kiss ever!”

  “We kissed?” My voice quivered.

  “Twice,” replied my sister with a big grin.

  Oh, Geez! How many margaritas had I drunk? What else had I done?

  “How did I get home?”

  “Drake gave you a ride in his car. You were pretty snockered.” She sauntered in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee, okay?”

  “Yeah, that would be great,” I mumbled as I futilely searched my fuzzy mind for any clue of what had happened after Drake drove me home. Though I was still fully clothed, that didn’t prove anything. A shudder rippled through me as Lulu returned with two mugs of much needed coffee.

  “So, did you get laid?” my persistent sister asked again, handing me one of the steaming mugs.

  The tantalizing aroma of the strong brew awakened my senses and just one caffeinated sip erased the stale taste in my mouth. It did not, however, restore my memory of last night.

&nb
sp; “I don’t know,” I murmured as she plopped down on the couch where I’d slept. And fucked Drake?

  Lulu rolled her eyes. “Well, I sure hope you did. He’s hot as shit. Are you going to see him again?”

  Fortifying myself with a deep breath, I just blurted it out. “Lulu, he’s my new boss.”

  About to take a sip of her coffee, Lulu froze. “Whoa!”

  “Yeah…whoa. How am I going to face him?”

  Pensively, Lulu sipped her coffee and then looked up at me. “You’re just going to be yourself. Trust me, he really liked you. And if he did screw you, he’s going to like you more.”

  I processed her words. So much of me wanted to crawl into bed and stay under the covers for the rest of my life. But I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I needed the money and temporary jobs were hard to come by.

  “What time is it?” I asked with resignation.

  My eyes stayed on her as she pulled her cell phone out from her jeans pocket.

  “It’s five after nine.”

  “Oh shit! I’m late for work. And I need a ride.” Wait! Maybe I should just call in sick. The thought of having to face my gorgeous boss after all that might have transpired last night sent a shiver down my spine. Dread filled every crevice of my body.

  “Did you tell him about Tyson?” asked my sister as I trudged to the bathroom to shower.

  Tyson…my true love. At her words, a heart-wrenching thought stabbed me. I hadn’t called last night to say I love you. And now it was too late.

  As late as I was, I stopped at the coffee station before I headed to my desk. My mind was in a frenzy. What was I going to say to him? Thank you for kissing me, and by the way, did you fuck me? How was I going to look him in the face, oh that sinfully beautiful face, without imagining his lips on my mine as his tongue swept through my mouth and sent me orbiting? Anxiously, I slogged down the hall to my desk, pondering answers to these questions and more. The coffee wasn’t giving me any clarity.