by Donna Hill
Choice broke her gaze and turned abruptly. “Let me get, um, I need to get something out of the back.” And then she fairly ran out of the room, down the hall, and into the break room, where she opened the mini-fridge and proceeded to stick her head inside it. Her entire body was on fire; it was as if Choice was having an out-of-body experience. It’s got to be the wine, she reasoned. Yes, that’s it. Trey isn’t turning my world on its axis. No, never that. I’m just tipsy. While continuing to convince herself of this, Choice reached inside the fridge and pulled out a bottle of tea.
“Do you want some tea?” she yelled out.
“No,” Trey whispered from directly behind her. “All I want is you.”
With that, Trey backed Choice against the wall and kissed her. But this time it was different. Instead of the ravenous, scorching kisses she’d come to expect from him, he decided to do a Roberta Flack and kill her softly. His body was pressed fully against her, but his lips grazed hers ever so lightly, once and then again. Like a serpent (or the python she felt between her legs), Trey flicked his tongue in and out, tiny licks, over her arms and neck, followed by soft kisses in the same areas. He ground himself into her as he did this, brushing his sculpted chest across her hard, sensitive nipples. The silky fabric between them acted as an accessory to his foreplay, feeling soft and cool against her body, masking the heat emanating from his.
And then, like a serpent, he struck—silent and deadly. His soft, feathery kiss became hard and demanding, his tongue a probing sword against her mouth’s soft flesh. He lifted Choice against the wall and ran his hands underneath her dress. His touch was scalding hot against her tender thighs. Her legs opened without any directive from her, and the next thing she knew, they were wrapped around his waist.
“Uh-huh,” he moaned into her mouth, taking a finger and swiping it down the center of her thong, before flicking her nub with his thumb. He ran his finger over the satiny fabric of her underwear. Choice became wetter and wetter with each brush. Trey placed a finger inside her heat and Choice gasped out loud. He placed a second one inside her, began stretching her softly, preparing her for the painful pleasure to come. Choice couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t kiss him hard or deep enough, couldn’t feel enough of his back, shoulders, and soft curly black hair. She began grinding against his stomach, wanting to feel him on her, in her, everywhere. She became wild with desire, reaching for the hem of her dress, working to pull it over her head. She was past the point of no return and she didn’t care. Maybe if we make love I can get him out of my system. Choice knew that in trying not to be with him, she was losing her mind.
Trey eased her down gently, until her feet touched the floor. Then he turned her around, unzipped the dress, and helped her out of it. He placed his wet mouth on her lacy black bra, sucked her nipples through the sheer fabric, nipped one and then the other with his teeth, while his fingers once again found her paradise and began a journey of exploration. His mouth left her breasts and began its own journey, over her shoulders, down her arms, around to her stomach and farther down.
Oh, God, Choice thought. Oh, no. I mean . . . yes.
He teased the band of her thong with his teeth, while his finger made love to her. Suddenly, he reached for the thong, quickly pulled it down, and buried his head in her fur. Choice’s legs buckled. “Wait,” she whispered. “Let’s go to . . . I have a . . . there’s a couch, up front.”
Trey lifted her off the floor and, like a warrior going to battle, marched them to the front of the workspace. With one motion, he swiped fabric and pattern pieces onto the floor and lay down on the sofa. “Sit on my face,” he commanded.
Choice complied, and immediately knew what heaven was like.
“Oh my goodness, Trey, wait,” Choice panted. It was too much. Could one die from pleasure? Choice attempted to lift herself from him, but Trey wasn’t having it. He locked his arms around her legs and thrust his tongue inside her. Lapping, nipping, tonguing, oh my! Choice screamed as an orgasm more intense than she could have imagined erupted from deep within her. Her entire body pulsated with the intensity of her release, and tears sprang to her eyes. She’d never been loved so thoroughly, so completely. But Trey was just getting started.
He rolled them over, walked over to his pants, and pulled out a condom. “Put it on me,” he growled. His eyes were forest green, almost black with longing. He stood like a king in his castle, legs spread, hands on hips, sword hard and poised for battle. Choice’s hands shook as she unrolled the gargantuan prophylactic onto Trey’s gloriously perfect dick. But not before she’d tasted him, placed the mushroom-shaped head into her mouth, and suckled gently. A long hiss escaped from Trey’s mouth as he threw back his head and enjoyed her ministrations. As soon as she’d completed her task, he flipped her over onto her knees, then entered her slowly, gently, giving her body time to adjust to his size. Midway in, he pulled out to the tip and eased back in, over and again, until she was totally ready for him. And then he pushed in to the hilt, a long “ahhhhhh” accompanying the move.
“This is what I want,” he whispered softly. “This is what I’ve wanted from the moment we met. What about you, baby?”
“Umm” was all Choice could say in reply. Did people actually talk in paradise?
It could have been moments, but it felt as if Trey made love to her for hours. Choice experienced so many orgasms that she lost count. And when Trey finally found his release (after asking her if she was satisfied and if it was all right for him to do so), he stayed inside her until his shaft quit pulsating, until he’d spilled every drop. And then he cuddled Choice into his arms, and they slept.
Chapter 15
The next morning, Trey entered the McKinley Black offices and headed straight for the coffeepot in the break room. He was not normally a java man, but then again, this hadn’t been a normal twenty-four hours. He’d barely allowed Choice a chance to sleep, having awakened her once in the middle of the night to make love, and then again as the early-morning sun’s rays painted the dawn. He couldn’t get enough of her; even now she filled his thoughts. She was everything he thought she’d be and more: passionate, uninhibited, insatiable. Just like him. They were a perfect match.
He turned the corner into the break room and saw the last person with whom he wanted to start his day. But he was here now, so he sucked it up and proceeded to the coffee machine. “Good morning, Remington.”
“’Morning, Trey.”
“How are you doing?” Trey didn’t really want to know but felt it was an obligatory question.
“Couldn’t be better. Had dinner with my lovely lady last night; going to take her on a mini-cruise this weekend.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yes, Choice really digs the water. I’m thinking about buying a yacht after we get married.”
Marriage? Choice? That’s where she was coming from last night, having dinner with Remington? Trey’s flash of temper was immediately cooled by images of Choice writhing beneath him, out of her mind with pleasure. He smiled at the memory. She may have had dinner with you, man. But I was her dessert. Trey wanted so badly to voice this out loud, but unlike Remington, he didn’t feel the need to put his business in the streets. Besides, Choice now said, more like screamed, his name in the bedroom. “Well, all right then, man. See you at the meeting later this morning.”
“All right,” Remington replied, stirring creamer into his coffee and pondering the satisfied look on Trey’s face. “See you then.”
Trey arrived at his office and turned on his laptop. Among the slew of office e-mails was one from McKinley’s assistant, Denise. Thinking that it was concerning the meeting scheduled for later, Trey opened it up right away.
Trey, I’d like to stop by your office this morning, if you have time. I’ll only need 5–10 minutes. Please e-mail back and let me know. D.
Trey paused, his hands hovering over the laptop keyboard. What could Denise want to talk with me about? Any time the subject had to do with a meeting or specif
ic project, that fact was mentioned in the subject line. But this e-mail sounded different. It sounded personal. Shrugging his shoulders, Trey responded to the e-mail by telling her to drop by anytime after the meeting. Moments later, he was knee-deep in plans for his second meeting with Solomon Meyers & Company and two other smaller projects that had just come to his attention.
Denise took minutes for the meeting, and shortly after it was over, she knocked on Trey’s door. “Hello, Trey.”
Trey looked up from the report he was reading. “Hey, Denise. Come on in.”
She did and closed the door.
Trey immediately became suspicious and hoped that he wasn’t about to experience a come-on from his boss’s secretary. He felt that Denise was smart and quite attractive. But she wasn’t his type. Nobody was, except Choice. “Have a seat, Denise,” he said, pointing to the chair in front of him. “And tell me what’s on your mind.”
Denise sat and nervously twirled a pen in her hand. She took a deep breath and began. “I’m taking a bit of a risk in coming here and sharing what I’m about to say. But I think you’re an excellent employee, Trey, and I like you. That’s why I feel it in your best interest to know what’s going on.”
This cryptic intro immediately got Trey’s attention. He leaned forward and rested his chin on steepled hands. “Okay. Talk to me.”
“Well, there’s some information going around about you. Not widely,” Denise hurriedly added. “Just among the partners.”
“What type of information, Denise?”
“Your criminal background,” she said.
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, Trey. That is a very big deal in a company that prides itself on a stellar reputation and aboveboard players on our team. Charles has planned a meeting with the human resources manager tomorrow to chew her out for missing this major detail about you in the screening process. It just might get her terminated. Things could get ugly . . .”
“Denise, I can explain.” Trey’s voice was low and calm as he leaned back in his seat. He believed he had a very good idea of how this information had come to Charles’ attention, and why so much was being made of it. You’ve never been involved in banking or credit unions or anything like that? Remington’s probing questions came back to Trey with clarity. But one question remained. Did Remington simply want him out of Choice’s life or out of the company?
“The report that is being circulated, presumably on me, is a case of mistaken identity. But I’m glad you let me know what’s happening so that I can clear things up.”
“Charles can’t know that I told you this. He wanted to . . . get his ducks in a row before he talked to you.” There was someone else Denise didn’t want to know about her conversation with Trey—Remington. While many speculated on whether or not she was sleeping with her boss, Charles, Denise had actually carried a torch for Remington Black since first meeting him ten years ago, shortly after she was hired at the firm. He was married at the time, so her interactions with him were strictly professional, and basically remained so until this day. Except for last year, at the Christmas party, when they’d slow danced to a golden oldie and shared a good-night kiss. She knew he fancied Choice McKinley, but Choice had confided her feelings to Denise shortly before breaking things off with him. She had felt stifled beneath Remington’s domineering personality, while Denise would like nothing more than to quit work and embrace full-time the role of being Mrs. Remington Black.
“Don’t worry,” Trey said, after a pause. “I’ll make sure that this seems all my idea, something I want to clear up just in case Charles hears rumors—the industry being cliquish and all. I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon, Denise, or on getting people fired. I appreciate your giving me the heads-up though. I owe you one.”
Keep Choice away from Remington and you won’t owe me anything, is what Denise thought. “Thank you,” is what she said.
Denise left Trey’s office and headed straight for Remington’s well-appointed domain. She was confident in her appearance: her ultra-short haircut was stylishly chic, as were the tan-colored suit with a skirt stopping two inches above the knee and her three-inch pumps. Denise was the mother of a teenaged son, but she still felt that she had something she was working with. She added just a touch of sway into her walk as she reached Remington’s office and, after a light tap on his outer door, stepped inside. “Hey, you.”
Remington smiled as he looked up. “Denise, what can I do for you?”
“You can save me from going solo tonight and attend a gala at the Met. It’s a private showing,” she went on, knowing how much Remington appreciated fine art. “The tickets include a sit-down dinner with the artist.”
“That sounds nice,” Remington said, stroking his goatee as he clicked open his electronic calendar. “Let me see what I’ve got planned.” He knew what wouldn’t be happening tonight—seeing Choice. He’d called her twice and gotten voice mail each time. During the meeting, she’d finally returned his call, saying that she was swamped and wouldn’t be able to join him for dinner. She’d said how busy she was, some kind of fashion show, if he remembered correctly. But was sewing the something that was taking up all her time? Or was it someone? No matter, Remington decided. Sooner or later, Choice would be his. It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy some harmless flirtation with Denise in the meantime. “Looks like I’m free,” he told her.
“Great,” Denise replied, veiling her enthusiasm. “I’ll meet you there at seven.”
While Denise was making plans with Remington on one end of the building, Trey was walking toward Charles McKinley’s office at the other end. Seeing Denise’s chair empty but Charles’ door open, he tapped on the door. “Charles, do you have a minute?”
“Sure, Trey. Come on in.”
Trey sat in a chair facing Charles’ desk. “I wanted to make you aware of something that I thought had been handled a few years ago. But recently, a colleague of mine informed me that there might be some loose ends I still need to tie up.” Charles remained silent, and in that moment, Trey realized that Choice had her father’s eyes. “It’s regarding my name, and the fact that someone else, with the same name, committed a felony some years ago. Now, like I said, this matter was supposedly cleared up through my attorney’s office, with photos, and the addition of my full middle name to online accounts.” Trey stopped, handed Charles a folder, and continued. “As ironic as it seems, both this guy and I have the same initials—T. E. S. But his middle name is Eugene. Mine is Edmond.” Trey became silent then, giving Charles time to scan the documents corroborating the story he’d just told.
“Why didn’t you reveal this at the time you were hired?”
“I didn’t think it necessary, sir. I thought the matter was behind me and that there would be no future mix-ups. I know how this firm prides itself on being above reproach and would never want to do anything to tarnish its name. That’s why before coming here, I again contacted my attorney to make sure this matter had been handled. But with the Internet, it’s a continuous job to make sure that pages containing unauthorized information don’t get put back up. There’s no way to control it, really. So I’ve taken matters into my own hands and brought the proof directly to you, to ensure that everybody understands that I am exactly who my resume says I am.”
Charles looked at the folder’s contents another moment before closing it and placing it on the desk. “You say a colleague brought this to your attention?”
“Yes,” Trey said, figuring the universe would forgive him for this white lie. “He knows about my upcoming projects and asked if I was aware that some search engines still linked my face, my image, to that crime. I’ve now hired a Web expert to try to sort this mess out. I only hope he can succeed where my attorney did not.”
“I appreciate your coming to me with this information,” Charles said, shuffling papers on his desk as a sign that the impromptu meeting was over. “Good luck on getting everything straightened out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
>
Trey exited Charles’s office and found Denise sitting at her desk. He spoke to her and gave her a subtle thumbs-up. Now, he was headed to his desk to make sure Choice had plans for the weekend, ones that did not include Remington Black. Trey smiled as he thought of how they might pass the time. Winner takes all.
Chapter 16
Choice breathed audibly as her phone rang again. “Remington, I am not going with you!” she muttered before mashing the talk button without checking the ID. He’d called every day since Tuesday and twice on Friday, trying to convince her to join him for a weekend cruise to Martha’s Vineyard. On this rainy Saturday morning, Choice was in no mood for coercion. One of her assistants had quit, run off to Italy with a lover she’d just met, and another had called in sick. On top of that, two of the vital fabrics needed for her men’s line had not arrived, and the jewelry designer had raised his prices. If one more bad thing happened, she’d lose it for real. She snatched up the phone. “I said no, okay? Now please stop calling. I’ve got to work!”
“Work is why I’m calling, baby girl,” a low, sultry voice responded. “I’m sorry for being so busy the rest of the week. But I’m ready to come down for the fitting that was so wonderfully interrupted earlier.”
The moment she heard Trey’s voice, Choice’s mood instantly changed. Only now did she realize that of all the situations that had put her in a bad mood, not seeing Trey since their hot encounter on Monday night, the one that had flowed seamlessly into Tuesday morning, was probably the truest reason for her funk. “Any other time, I’d fire a model for being a no-show,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “But I guess I could make an exception.”
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
“No, but don’t even ask me to leave the shop, and don’t expect to dally when you come down. There’s enough work for three people on these tables and I’m the only one here. So this visit is strictly business, okay?”