by Harley Slate
I'm just a girl, and I didn't know before if I was strong enough to make that leap.
First rule of being Mom's daughter is, “Make them fall for you. You don't fall for them.”
First rule of Sugar Mama Seekers is, “Get them hooked on you. Make them say it first.”
Well, Jessica has damn well said it first. For a short time, she pretended she didn't say it, because she saw how it spooked me, but now she isn't pretending, she isn't pretending any damn thing at all. Her hands are all over me to tug at buttons and zippers and ease away my clothes. Her breath is hot against my bare skin.
We're supposed to wait until the talk's over to get completely nakey, but we aren't waiting. Not one second longer. Our bodies want what they want, and they want it now.
That fast, she's bare beneath me, legs slick and open. An invitation. A plea. I'm something she can't buy, and that makes her absolutely insane with desire.
I'm bare too, the long muscles of my inner thighs visibly rippling from the force of my need. But she's not looking at my thighs. She's gazing into my face, never breaking eye contact, not for a single solitary minute.
“I do love you, Emily. I love you so much. I would never be able to forgive myself if my past caused any harm to come to you or your mother. I thought I would always have to be alone, that I couldn't risk letting anyone get close to me. I thought the world would try to tear us apart. That I could never have anyone. Ever. That it was too dangerous.”
The world did try to tear us apart. First that creeper on the street. Then that crazy sweaty criminal from Jessica's past.
And yet here we are.
“You won't let any harm come to us. You proved that. And, and, Jessica, I, I, I...”
Why is this so hard?
For her, it isn't hard. She's mature enough to know what she wants, and she isn't afraid to reach out a hand to take it. She's strong. So strong...
We're kissing again, and I can't help sliding on top of her until I've positioned myself in the perfect spot.
“Take me,” she says. “Your decision, but please, I love you, I love you so much. You see a woman begging beneath you. If the only place you want me is this little room and this tiny bed, if that's what I have to do to pay for my stupid mistakes, I'll do it, I'll surrender. You've conquered me, Emily Dearborn. I'm yours. I love you forever and forever. Please, baby, please...”
My hips glide, and my thighs clutch, and I'm grinding myself on her long delicious thigh, and my clit is rippling, and I can feel her clitty rippling too...
The surge of pleasure should be the ultimate distraction. Instead, it's the ultimate spur that pushes me to where I need to go. Something loosens inside of me. All that fear, all that need to play hard to get...
Fuck that shit. It's gone. Knocked loose. What do I have to prove anymore? The time for playing games is done.
The time for reality, for real emotion, for real truth about what I'm feeling... that time is here.
I want to say the words bubbling up inside of me, and so I do.
“I'm yours, Jessica,” I say. “All yours. I love you too. Forever and forever, I love you. I really do.”
No more words. Our mouths lock the way our lower bodies already have. We move together in perfect rhythm. With all the differences of age and class and social status between us, it shouldn't work. She's so fucking far beyond me. And yet, when she looks up at me, all I see in her face is wonder and delight.
As if, somehow, I'm the one who's so fucking far beyond her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jessica
There's no room to flip Emily over on the bed, but somehow I do it anyway, and now I'm on top, and she's sprawl-legged under me, the points of her nipples digging into my chest to spike my own nipples to full erectness. The plush folds of our pussies smash together, and my weight pushes her hard into the tiny cot with its thin mattress. The way I hump up and down magnifies every sensation.
Her clit pulses against my pelvic bone in time to our beating hearts. She's going to come first. That's final. I must say that right out loud, because she's moaning something back.
Something without words.
That's all right with me. I have all the words, endless words, a whole wide river of words splashing out of me like a waterfall from a high mountain down to the sea.
“You're mine,” I keep saying. “Mine, all mine. I love you, it's impossible to say how much I love you, but I've got to try anyway.”
She lifts and moves beneath me, her head rolling back, her soft poreless neck arched to offer me a sweet throat for kissing. And so I do kiss for a while, lips and throat, mouth and collarbone, and then I'm singing all the words inside of me again.
“Listen to me, Emily. You have to know this, I can't keep it inside me how much I love you. All my feeling is for you, and it might sound a little crazy, but I'm going to give you everything. It's all for you, everything I have is yours.”
She jolts then, startled. “Not...” She gasps and tries again. “Not about things.”
“I know that, it never is. Things aren't even about things.” How to explain in this tumble of words what I'm feeling? How could I ever explain everything I've learned from this life of changes where I've played all the parts in the game? This life of being first the spoiled child, then the isolated prisoner and the aggressive soldier, and finally the barracuda of a businesswoman wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice? “I'm saying this badly, but I'm not asking you to move in with me, to become my girlfriend or my mistress in a lonely tower. I'm asking you to marry me, to stand by my side, to be my equal and my wife. To be my soul, the soul I've never had. Until you.”
Our bodies are wet and slippery. They burn at the places where they rub together. Red heat. I can almost hear the sizzle in the steam rising from where we grind together. Her dark eyes are darker, wider than usual. They're shiny too. Lust or tears?
Both, I think. Yes, both.
My words flow, but hers are still choked. “I love you,” she says. If those are the only words she remembers how to say, at least they're good ones. “Love you so much. But...” Her body rocks beneath me. “Such a big step. Do you know what you're saying? Do you really know?”
Of course I know why she doubts.
All those lies I told myself about not getting involved because it was too risky for the girl. All those lies I told her. All these long years, I didn't get involved with anyone for no better reason than because I didn't want to. If anyone has the resources to protect the people she loves, it's me.
When it's a girl I really want, when it's a girl I really love, I'll always find a way to keep her safe. Actual fire-breathing dragons best not get in my way, let alone the pitiful likes of a few international crime families.
I'd proved that with Emily and her mom. Proved it not just to Emily but to myself. Something I hadn't even known I needed to prove to myself.
Until I'd already done it.
“I know, sweet girl,” I say. “I've been around the world a block or two, and I know exactly what I'm asking for because I'm only asking for your everything. Marry me, marry me, and take my everything. Fuck, yes, any sensible person will say it's too soon. My lawyers will holler that it's too soon, but fuck sensible people, fuck lawyers, and fuck everything but this feeling.”
She smiles and kisses at the corner of my mouth. “All right. You're doing pretty good. Keep going...”
You minx. You little tease. You perfect, delicious, inevitable little tease.
“Marry me,” I say. “If you need to hear me say it a thousand times, a million times, then that's how many times I'll say it. And, yes, I know it's soon, way too fucking soon, but you can choose the date you want, any fucking date on the calendar. Everything is yours, all the choices are yours. You can put it off if you want to plan a big splashy over-the-top cathedral wedding or we can do it tomorrow in the chapel in front of God and Elvis, but just promise me, you'll marry me. Promise me, promise me that some day soon you'll be mine the way d
estiny has always meant you to be mine.”
Her curvy body rolls underneath me. Is it her heart I hear pounding so loud, or is it mine?
It's both of us. Two hearts truly beating in time, faster, faster, fastest.
Has she teased me enough at last? Tortured me enough for my stupidity in locking her in this room, if only for a few hours? We're both on the verge, but I tell myself I don't deserve to come and I shift my hips a little. The pressure of the grind should be flowing into her sweet delta, and all I deserve is the little sparkles of blowback.
Come for me, baby. You first. It's all for you.
Her eyes roll back in her head, and her pelvis lifts. Her long, tight pussy feels as virginal as it did the first time, but our combined juices allow our bodies to perform a nearly frictionless slip-and-slide hard against each other.
Her legs curl around my waist. She's locked on even harder than before.
“Yes.” A word clawed from the back of her throat. “Yes!”
An answer to my proposal, or a simple welcome to her onrushing orgasm? Suddenly, I understand the time for my flow of words has gone. At least for now. The physical ecstasy floods over us unstoppable, lighting our brains and bodies like invisible flame.
“Come.” I give the command in a husky low-pitched voice dripping with a power she wouldn't dare to disobey. “Come now, my beautiful little girl.”
“Yes. Mmphf! Yes!” These moans are, without question, a pure expression of sexual heat.
Ripples in her thighs. More convulsive ripples in her pussy. Fuck, she's coming so hard. Coming all over my belly and upper thighs. Impossible to describe the way it feels, all that convulsive motion beneath me. Wordless now, speechless, all I can do is ride and slide on top of her, feeling all the places where she's bucking from the inside out.
I deny myself, although I don't know how. Each time my throbbing clit nudges against a long thigh bone or the satin notch of her plush pussy lips, I arch up and away a fraction of an inch. A cruel way of edging myself, to keep denying myself a share in her pleasure, but I have to do it. Have to give. Have to prove I'm not just another self-indulgent shithead club owner in a private Vegas castle.
I can love. I can give.
I can worship.
My goddess. My velvet beauty with all those soft curves. This moment is hers, not mine.
At some point, I shift back to slide down between her legs so I can get my fingers into that tight, young, twitching entrance. How I love to feel the pulsebeat of her sucking orgasm latch onto my digits while she keeps on exploding convulsively in a long series of waves.
This is so much better than coming myself. Watching her pleasure. Feeling it in the long bones of my fingers. Tasting it on the sensitive tip of my tongue.
The focus is her. Everything is her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jessica
Pleasing her while teasing me. For some long delicious undetermined length of time, that's exactly what I do. She takes what I give, understanding that I need her to take. And take. And take. I need her to accept what I have to give.
To celebrate what I have to give.
To come for me. Repeatedly, endlessly.
There's a blur of uncounted orgasms, all hers. This prison cell could be a palace ballroom. The setting doesn't matter. It doesn't even exist.
And then, somehow, it does. At some point, without need for discussion, we both understand it's time for a change of scene. We look into each other's eyes, and we just know.
The after-shivers are still working in her body as I help her out of the suddenly too-small cot.
Help her out? Fuck that. I lift her from that tiny bed and carry her out. My Army strength is still there, locked into my muscle and bone, and in that moment she weighs no more than the lightest feather. Her legs quiver where they're wrapped around my waist, but her ankles are twined around each other, and her feet don't let go. I get up very slowly, with her shuddering body twined all around me, and I walk out of the miserable little prison cell and down that hall.
The elevator stands open, quiet and waiting, but I walk on by. Money is power, but physical power is another kind of power. I want her to feel all of me.
It's so sweet to walk with her bouncing against my body like this. The kind of agony that's true ecstasy. Not just intense in the physical sense although, God knows, it's the most physical experience I've ever had. Intense in an emotional sense too. It's the emotions that fuel me. That put wings on my feet as I carry her down five flights of stairs, turning after turning and landing after landing. These are emergency service stairs, metal instead of hardwood, no fancy decorations here, no trappings of the billionaire's lifestyle. My footfalls ring out like a drummer's solo as I carry her down and down.
I'm strong and physical, powerful in a way you can't buy with mere money. You can buy the trainers, you can buy the gym, but only the drive inside of you keeps you working with the trainers in the gym. She needs to know about that drive inside of me, that burning drive that powers me still.
“Crazy,” she says. “I can walk.”
“You're not walking. Not this time.” I don't humor the statement with so much as the flicker of a smile.
She surrenders to what's happening with a long groan of pleasure. “You're shaking though. The intensity is too much. You want to come. How can you hold back?”
I don't know how to explain. Is this a kink? I'm edging myself with the delicious warmth of her body.
“The delay will pay off in the end,” I finally say. “For me, an orgasm delayed is often the most explosive.”
I shove open a door with my shoulder. The room I enter is an office, not a bedroom, and there's a startle of staff, all of whom quickly turn their eyes away when they realize it's their misbehaving boss.
She chuckles into the back of my neck, too excited to be embarrassed even for a second.
I shoulder through another door. A guest bedroom for executive staff. Not the honeymoon suite, no white curtains on the bed, but it's clean with flowers and a king-sized mattress and the low hum of mood music that comes on automatically in the background.
There will be time for the white curtains and champagne later. All the time in the world.
“What color diamond do you want?” Even as I speak, I'm spreading her out on the mattress with me on top.
“Oh! God!” Her long thigh muscles tighten in visible evidence of a new onrushing climax. How can she have so many inside of her? The girl is tireless.
Laughing, victorious, I'm turning around on top of her, and my tongue is already halfway down her sleek entrance before she screams again. We're in the sixty-nine position now, me on top, and we both know the time for my eternal delay is almost over.
“Pink! Pink!” Her breath is hot, spanking my thighs with shocking force.
I've forgotten my own question, so I don't even know why she's shouting about the color pink. Our rhythm is already speeding up. It's too much to resist. Her pelvis lifts, and my pelvis drops, and our tongues get busy with the mutual munching. For a long time, we're not making any sense, we're just moaning and whimpering into each other's secret places while we figure out ways to hit each other's hidden nerve endings over and over again.
For such a long time, mere words don't exist.
Nothing exists except the spark, the explosion, and then the afterglow.
We shudder together for a long, messy time, the musk of our shared juices the best perfume in the world. If they could bottle Emily's special sexual sweat, it would outsell the finest French cologne, but fuck me if I ever allow another living human to smell that secret fragrance. It's mine and mine alone.
Maybe we sleep. Maybe we dream.
Maybe it was all a dream.
All of it.
Maybe there was never any Emily Dearborn at all. She's too much like magic to be real.
I jerk awake, suddenly cold all over, and then I'm warm again, because we've scooted around to sleep spoon-fashion, me the big spoon with my a
rms wrapped around her, my belly curved to fit the soft roundness of her perfect rear.
“Mmmm.” Her voice is a purr.
“I meant what I said.” I nibble at the back of her neck. Even her skin salts are sweet. “It wasn't just sex noises. I want to marry you and make you mine and give you my castle and keep you safe and everything that's mine is yours.”
“I meant what I said too.” Her sleepy voice is a sexy voice. One of her sexiest voices.
“What you said.” I repeat her phrase cautiously.
“I said ‘yes,’ but I suspect you were a little distracted at the time.”
“Mmmm. I'd like to hear you say it again. Just to be certain.”
“Yes, Jessica Blaire. I'll marry you and be Emily Blaire and I'll be yours and you'll be mine and all the organized crime weirdos on the planet won't be enough to keep us apart. And, by the way, I still want pink.”
I don't know what she's talking about. “Pink?”
“The diamond, silly. You asked what color.”
Her face is pink, the cutest candy shade of pink, and I kiss it all over.
After a time, I remember her request, for the simple reason I don't intend to ever deny any of her requests. Still: “A pink diamond?” I prop my elbow on the mattress and my head in my hand, the better to look into her beautiful eyes. “That might be hard to do. Did you know pink is the rarest color of diamond?”
She giggles. “No, I didn't know that. Want anyway.”
Laughter is contagious. I don't mean to laugh, and for sure I don't mean to giggle, but I can feel a slightly goofy smile spreading across my face. “Done,” I say. “You're the rarest kind of diamond. If you want pink, you'll get it. Guaranteed.”
Epilogue
Emily
Leigh, Avery, Kasey, Dakota, me. Five girls crowded into a booth meant for four. Five fake driver's licenses. A waitress in black trousers sets down a silver tray carrying five pink strawberry daiquiris complete with whipped cream.