by JA Huss
“Keep going,” I say, encouraging her. “I love it.” But she doesn’t. She holds still. “Ellie?” I ask, cocking my head slightly with the question.
“You want to know what I want you to do?”
“Tell me,” I say, unable to stop a full smile. “Whatever it is, I’m up for it.”
She looks me straight in the eyes as she takes each of my hands and places them on the side of her head. Pressing them against her skull, telling me to grip her tight.
I’m happy to oblige her wishes. And I know what she wants, but I want to hear her ask.
“Hold me here,” she says. “And…” She loses her nerve and blushes a bright pink.
I reach down with one hand, cupping her full breast as best as I can. It spills out between my fingers, heavy and erotic. I twist her nipple, making her moan. “Tell me, Ellie. You have no fucking idea how badly I want to hear what you have to say.”
“I want you to…” She shakes her head and smiles, still embarrassed.
I take my hand up to her head again, gripping her hair as I bring her mouth towards me, my hips almost reaching for her, my cock throbbing with anticipation. “This?” I ask.
She nods, but looks down.
“Say it,” I command. “All you have to do is say it. Remember how good it felt when I fucked your ass, Ellie? And you didn’t think you’d like it. But this? You know you want it. You know you’re going to love it. So just tell me. I might come on your face just hearing you say those words.”
“Fuck…” she says. “Fuck… my face. Like you would… my pussy.”
“Holy hell,” I say with the slightest hint of satisfaction that I can’t tuck away. “I am happy to make you happy.” I grip her harder, if that’s possible, and the moment she opens her mouth, I thrust inside her. Past her lips. She is not wide enough to take my whole girth, so her teeth scrape just enough across my cock to make my head fall backwards with pleasure.
I pump my cock into her wet mouth just like I’m going to do her pussy in a few minutes. I’m not going to come in her mouth. My woman will always come first. But I want to give her the full face-fuck experience. “Put your hands behind your back, Miss Hatcher,” I say in a low, rough growl. “And don’t move them unless I tell you to.”
She looks up at me, her eyes already watering with the strain of obeying, but she does as I ask as she leans forward, practically begging for more.
I give it to her. Hard. And fast. She gags and spits, her saliva dripping out of her mouth and over the curve of her chin. And she never takes her eyes off me. “You like that, Ellie? You fucking slut. Play with your pussy,” I say. “One hand only, keep the other behind your back, and do not stop until you come.”
Her fingers are between her legs, rubbing her clit in fast, frantic circles, before I’m even done talking. “Put your fingers inside yourself, Ellie. Show me how you like it.”
She presses against her pussy, adjusting her legs until they are open wide and I have the perfect view of everything she’s doing.
“Come,” I say.
She moans with her release, my hips still pumping, fucking her face, dick still in her mouth. The sound thrums, vibrates, tantalizing the tip of my head until I almost forget and shoot my come down her open throat.
I pull back just in time. Ellie is gasping for air. Her face is a mess, her makeup smeared down her cheeks, her chin just as wet as her pussy.
“I want to lick you so bad right now.” I don’t give her a chance to recover or respond, just reach down, lift her up, twirl her around, and push her forward until she has to bend over the bed and place her hands on the mattress to steady herself.
I bend down, my hand pumping my dick in long, fast strokes. And then I release the hold and flatten my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them as I place my mouth over her pussy and suck.
“Oh, shit, Mac,” she says. Her legs tremble with the effort of holding herself up, but I don’t stop. I flick my tongue against her clit, insert two fingers in her pussy and one in her ass, and then pump her until she comes again. Writhing, and twisting, and falling forward, utterly unable to keep herself upright.
“Tell me now, Ellie. It’s not so hard when you want so bad, is it? Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Fuck me,” she says. “Put your cock in my pussy and fuck me until you can’t.”
I am the one moaning this time. I’m so fucking ready to spill, I don’t even bother with a condom. Just press the head of my dick against her opening, grab her by the hips, and give her exactly what she wants.
She comes a third time, almost immediately. And even though I’d like to fuck her like this until morning, I want to come all over her face even more.
I pull back, flip her over, her breasts heaving with her heavy breathing. Her legs open. Her eyes closed. And then I grab her by the shoulders, place her in front of me and shoot my come all over her lips.
Chapter Thirty - Ellie
I am spent. Mac picks me up and carries me into the bathroom, setting me down on the counter. “That was fun,” I say, blushing like there’s no tomorrow, because my face is hot as hell. And sticky. He smiles at me, his dick still semi-hard and waving in the air as he moves across the bathroom to find a washcloth.
I’m still so fucking horny.
“Hold still, Miss Hatcher. Let me clean that up for you.”
He turns on the hot water and wets the washcloth, adjusting the temperature and squeezing out the excess water before bringing it up to my face and washing me gently. He does it again, using a new washcloth, but this time he strokes me tenderly with it. Under my eyes, cleaning up my smeared makeup. Down my cheeks, my chin, my neck. He uses his legs to force mine open, then places the warm cloth between them, cupping my pussy before tossing both washcloths onto the floor.
“Shower?” he asks.
“For sure,” I say back.
“Then bed?” he asks.
“Then more?” I ask back.
I catch a sly grin spreading across his face. “I will never say no to more, Miss Hatcher.”
He gets everything ready, then he takes my hand and leads me into the shower, placing me under the wide stream of water pouring out from the ceiling. He squirts some shampoo into his palm and begins to wash my hair, careful to get every strand. I reach for the soap and begin caressing him with it. His perfect chest. His perfect shoulders. His perfect hips, and of course, his cock.
That’s all it takes to have him lift me up, press me against the white marble tiles, and fuck me against the wall. I know we’re not using condoms, and he comes inside me, but I’m on the pill and we can talk about that later if he wants. I’m sure he thinks of me as far too organized and efficient to not be.
After we’re spent—again—and clean, he wraps me in a white robe and leads me to bed.
I let it fall to the floor and then crawl where he’s opened up the covers for me.
He might not think he’s perfect. Obviously that was his point by having me hunt for him in his house.
But right now, I do. I think McAllister Stonewall is about as perfect as a man can get.
That is our weekend. Sex, and food, and showers, and more sex. More talking, but not a lot of the serious stuff. Mostly just the fun stuff. What we like to do. Music. Where we’d take the perfect vacation. Things he didn’t know about me from that message stream with his brother. That makes it all real. Before this weekend I was just a girl on text message who liked to fuck him at work. But now… I feel like we really know each other. Like we’re on our way to something new. A relationship, and not one that is delusional.
We’re real.
“Hey,” Mac says, leaning into my ear. “I gotta go into the office early, Ellie. You can sleep in if you want.”
“Oh, my God, what time is it?”
“Five thirty.”
“That’s just wrong. Five thirty on Monday? Why?”
“My… father’s meeting, remember? He scheduled it early.”
I open my eyes,
instantly awake. “Does he need me there?”
Mac laughs and kisses me on the cheek. “No, just me. It’s all about me. You’re coming in today though, right? Don’t let that bitch Ellen fuck up your career, Ellie. Don’t let her win.”
We talked about this at length this weekend and there is a certain draw to Stonewall Senior’s offer. Part time. Delegate, he said. I think that might be the perfect answer for me. So much about this weekend has turned out perfect. And to think, Friday afternoon I felt like I was in a tailspin. The video. Jesus, how embarrassing. But Mac made a lot of good points that talked me down from the ledge about that. One, we’re hot as fuck on that video. And I’m not even naked. I was still wearing my dress. I personally don’t think that makes up for the fact that my ass was unzipped for that fuck, but I do have to agree. It was hot.
Two, hardly anyone saw it. We went through all the buildings with TV and Mac even called tech support to see which ones got the stream. And it was only the Atrium. Ming already said it was only up for two minutes. So despite the fact that everyone knows about it, not everyone saw it.
Three—and this one was just me, although I’m guessing Mac might be thinking something similar—every girl at that company is probably wishing she was me. Because McAllister Stonewall is a catch. For real. Hell, if I saw someone else getting fucked the way I was, I’d be wishing that was me.
So this is my justification for not running away this morning. For sucking it up and going into work. Maybe I can negotiate a work-from-home deal with Stonewall Senior? Weirder things have happened. Just look at my life these past two weeks.
“I’ll be in,” I tell Mac. “I don’t have anyone flying in until eight thirty. So I’ll be in at my normal time.”
“OK,” he says, giving me another kiss. “I’m late, so I gotta go. See you later.”
He pulls back and I roll over and watch him as he walks out of the bedroom. Lazily thinking about everything. This house, for one. How empty it is. Mac says he just moved in and didn’t bring anything with him but a few suits. He’s having stuff delivered this week. Some more personal things that he has at his house in… well, he never actually said. I did ask him a few times but somehow we ended up talking about something else.
Hmmm.
I’ll have to ask that again later when we have lunch.
We talked all about me, but most of it he knows. I’m not a rolling stone. I’ve been gathering moss at Stonewall Entertainment since college. So that wasn’t all that interesting. But he did mention he’s been traveling a lot.
I sit up and ponder this.
Come to think about it, he never mentioned where he did all that traveling either. I lie back and try to get some more sleep, but Mac’s lack of disclosure is troubling. Did I let him lead me all weekend? Was he doing it on purpose? Or were we just caught up in each other and we found ourselves off on tangents? That’s likely. That’s how it is when you meet someone new. Someone you like. Someone you’re really interested in. When you start thinking this might lead to something more, you want to hear everything and you get sidetracked. Going down roads you never knew you wanted to travel because it’s all so shiny and new.
I sigh and accept that line of thinking.
But I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. I toss and turn, and before I know it, it’s almost six, so there’s no hope of sleep if I want to take a shower before work.
Mac and I took a lot of showers this weekend. The shower sex called to us multiple times. So I don’t really need one. He fucked me against the wet, tiled wall less than eight hours ago.
I’m still snickering at that thought when my phone buzzes on the side table.
I reach over and check the caller ID. It’s work, but not anyone who has called me before because it just comes up as Stonewall Entertainment. “Hello?”
“Ellie? This is Stephanie, Mac’s assistant. I’m so sorry.” She giggles. “He made me call you because he’s in a meeting with Stonewall Senior. Mac said he left his phone in his home office and could you please bring it to him when you come in?”
“Jesus, way to be discreet, Mac.”
“I know,” Stephanie says, still amused. “But if it’s any consolation, I think it’s great. You two are very cute together.”
“Thanks,” I say, pleased that my rationale for not letting that video get to me is panning out. “Tell him I’ll get ready and be right over.”
“Sure thing,” Stephanie says. “See you then.”
I end the call and throw the covers off. Where the hell is the home office? I decide to get dressed first, then go searching for that little hidden corner of this rooftop mansion. I have no idea how big this place is, but there are six bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and obviously an office I never did see.
I only have jeans with me, so that’s going to have to do for work. I really didn’t expect to stay here last night, but I so didn’t want to leave. I didn’t bring work clothes over on Friday. The thought that this weekend would be so great never entered my mind.
I wash up in the bathroom and put on a little bit of makeup. Just enough to make me look fresh-faced. And then I pull my jeans on, go into Mac’s closet and find a work shirt I can throw on over my tank top. I choose the only clean one hanging in the closet and tie it in a little knot at my waist as I find my way back out to the main living room where I left my shoes when I came in on Friday.
That rug, Jesus. I will have to hint around to Mac that we should really have sex on it. I blush at the thought. What has he done to me?
I don’t know, but I like it. I think Ellie Hatcher, one half of Eloise and McAllister, is way more interesting than plain old delusional Ellie Hatcher, celebrity coordinator.
“OK,” I say as I stuff my phone in my purse and hike it up on my shoulder. “Now to find the office.” I wander down the hallway where the waterfall wall is and when I get to the end I turn left instead of right. I haven’t been down this hallway so there’s a good chance there’s an office here somewhere.
I’m right, after being wrong four times. I find a sitting room, a man cave complete with air hockey table, a bathroom I didn’t know about—so maybe that makes eleven—and a little reading nook.
The office is the last room I come to, naturally, and it’s decorated in a light modern style, just like the rest of this place. There’s some paperwork, some pens in a crystal holder, and Mac’s phone on the desk. I grab it and turn back to leave, but it buzzes in my hand.
I look down at the screen, thinking it’s Mac, but the caller comes up as Mr. Romantic.
Mr. Romantic? What the hell is that about?
I ignore it and toss it into my purse, but there’s a voice calling out.
“Mac?” it says. “Mac? What the fuck, dude?”
I fish the phone out and realize I must’ve tabbed the call accept button, and place it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Uh,” the guy says on the other line. “You’re not Mac.”
“No, I’m Ellie. Sorry, I didn’t mean to answer the phone. But I must’ve bumped the call button by mistake. He left his phone at home and I’m bringing it to him.”
“Ellie?” he says, half question, half not. “So he found you, huh?”
“Found me?”
“Yeah, I talked to him last week after I came home from Vegas. I saw Andrew Manco and for some reason Mac thought you were with Andrew that night.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “It was a mix up. Do you want me to take a message?”
“Yeah, just tell him to give Mr. Corporate a call when he has a chance.”
“Mr. Corporate?” I ask.
“Mr. Perfect will know what I’m talking about. Thanks a bunch, sweetheart. Later.”
And then the call drops. I just stare at it for a moment.
Mr. Romantic? Mr. Corporate? Mr. Perfect? What the hell is up with these names?
I stand there for a moment. Completely still.
Because I’m having an idea. A very bad idea, but an idea nonetheless.
&nbs
p; I have his phone.
I bet I could find out a bunch of stuff about him if I just took a little peek inside….
No, Ellie. That voice in my head is very strong.
But then there’s another voice. One that says, He looked at all those messages you sent Heath.
He did do that, didn’t he? I’m almost obligated to take a peek. After all, it was totally unfair that he got to snoop around my private life. Read all those personal thoughts. And even though we spent the whole weekend together, I keep thinking that he really didn’t tell me much about himself. Sure, that scavenger hunt gave me some insight. But a lot of it was very esoteric, wasn’t it? Very philosophical and vague. Like Law Number 46. Never appear too perfect. What the hell is that about?
And Mr. Romantic, whoever he is, just called Mac Mr. Perfect.
I look over my shoulder, out of habit. Because I am going to look. Just at the contacts. See if there’s any more hints to this Mr. Perfect stuff. It sounds familiar to me for some reason. Maybe Mac mentioned it before? Did he ever say Mr. Romantic to me? No, I don’t think so.
My fingers tab the screen to life and I’m pressing the little contacts icon before I can stop.
They all pop up and I start scrolling down to the M’s. But Heath’s name catches my eye.
Heath. Did they talk about me?
I go to the messages and stop breathing.
Yes. Yes, they did. My name is right there in the last one Mac sent.
Mr. Perfect: If you’re not banging Ellie Hatcher, then I’ll give it a try. She looks totally corruptible.
It’s dated the very first day we met. That day when he humiliated me in the executive conference room.
I have to walk back over to the desk and take a seat because my legs suddenly feel very weak. My stomach has that hollow feeling I sometimes get. Like a punch to the gut. And my heart.
Put it away, Ellie. There are things you don’t need to know.
It’s true. I even agree. But then there are things you do need to know. And this is one of them. So I scroll up to the very first message that day.