We layover in San Francisco for one night before we continue our flight the next day. Servants have been hired to wait on us and provide our meals. While I take my dinner in the dining room, she eats in her room. In the morning, we eat silently, only bothering to exchange pleasantries over breakfast. As soon as we’re done we’re off to the airport. With a temperature in the mid fifties, the Hong Kong weather is mild compared to the frozen tundra we left behind in D.C.
The following morning is the big test. With clothing being a challenge. I unzip the bag that contains my suit, the shirt, and matching shoes. But I can’t find the tie. So when Cait comes into my suite to make sure I’m dressed properly, I ask her to search for it. “It should be red.”
“Red?”
“It’s considered good luck.”
She goes digging amongst my things and soon finds a whole passel of ties. She hands one to me. I tie it around my neck, but suddenly I’m all thumbs. “You’ll have to do it. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Soap.”
I laugh. “Not that. Clothes.”
“A black suit, white blouse, black heels.”
“And your hair?”
“Tied back and gathered in a knot at the nape.”
And suddenly, I can’t stand this distance between us. Cupping her cheek, I rub my thumb across her lip. “I miss you.”
“D-don’t. You’ll smear my lipstick.”
I pull her into me, kiss her. Everything about her feels right. The way she fits in my arms, her fragrant breath, her whimpers.
After a minute, she steps back. “The m-meeting starts in twenty minutes. We should go.”
“Very well.”
We’re not the first ones there. Our hosts are. After a round of introductions, we exchange small gifts as is their custom. We lay out our offer-we will purchase and distribute their goods in America as long as they make them to our specifications. The negotiations go well this first day. I’m hopeful we can make a deal. While lunch is brought in mid day, our hosts suggest dinner at a local restaurant, followed by bar hopping and karaoke late into the night. Cait accompanies me the first night, but our hosts are so solicitous of my impaired vision she has little to do. And of course, Brandon, my VP of Finance is there to make sure I don’t land in someone’s lap.
The same schedule follows the second and the third day. By the fourth I’m worn out. After dinner, I make an excuse and head back to the hotel. Back to Caitlyn.
Chapter Twelve
Caitlyn
“Can I spend the night?” Sterling, at my door, leaning against the wall for support. He reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke. With his tousled hair and bunched-up jacket, he looks like he’s been dragged through a bush. Backwards.
“Err.”
“Please. I can’t take it any more. The bar hopping, the karaoke. I don’t know how they do that half the night and show up fresh at the meeting next morning.” He scrubs his face, flashes me his most brilliant smile. “I told them I needed to spend time with you. Hope you don’t mind.”
“You told them what?”
He flashes me his mischievous, little-boy smile. “They think you’re my girlfriend.”
“I’m not.” Nothing like stating the obvious.
“Well, you know that, and I know that, but”-he hitches a thumb down the hall-“they don’t. They think you’re hot, by the way.”
“They do?” How can that be? Every day, I’ve dressed in conservative business suits with no cleavage in sight.
“Yeah, something about your smile, and the way you grant my every wish during the meetings.”
I fold my arms against my chest, tap my foot. “What do you mean I grant your every wish at the meetings?”
“You know what I need before I ask for it, and when I do, you jump and get it for me. They like that in a woman.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s so sexist.”
“It’s the way it is, sweetheart.” His dimple pops out. “What are you wearing?”
Why, oh why, does he always have to know that? “Bunny slippers and a sleep t-shirt.”
“It suits you. Those pajamas. So, can I stay? I’ll sleep on the couch. It should open into a bed.”
“No. You can’t. You have your own room.”
“It’s miles away.” The sulk is not a good look for him.
“It’s two floors up.”
“It’s too big.” Trying to stand, he sways instead and ends up knocking his head against the wall. “Ouch.”
My lip curls up with disapproval. “You’re drunk.”
He holds up a couple of fingers. “I had two beers, that’s all. Please, let me stay.”
I whoosh out a breath. What harm would it do to let him stay? He’ll probably pass out on the couch as soon as he falls into it. “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the sofa bed.”
Looking affronted, he jerks up straight. “I said I would.”
Yeah, he did. Opening the door wide, I invite him into my room. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He swaggers in like he owns the place. “Where’s the bathroom?”
God, I hope he doesn’t have to puke. “Follow me.” I grab his hand and lead him in that direction. When we get there, I press his hand against everything he should need. “Towels are here. Tub is here. Toilet is here.”
“I should take a shower, huh?” His brow wrinkles like that hadn’t occurred to him.
“Yeah, you should.”
“Join me.” His smolder is a thing of beauty, but I’m not falling for it.
“I already bathed. You hungry?”
“No. I already ate.” He removes his jacket and hands it to me, his shirt follows. When his hands go to his belt, the memory of the night he couldn’t remove it jets through my brain. We’re not going through that again. Nudging back his hand, I snap it loose. “Slacks, please.”
He kicks off his Oxfords, pulls down his zipper and slides off his pants. When he goes for his boxers, I yell. “Wait.”
“You don’t want to see?” He gives me a wicked smile while swaying on his feet. Two beers my ass. Unless I miss my guess, he’s had a lot more than that.
“Nope. I’m going to step outside the room. When I do, you will take off your drawers and hand them to me.”
“Very well.”
After he does what he’s told, I put everything in a laundry bag and hang it outside my door. Everything will be returned, dry cleaned or laundered by morning. But before I do, I empty his pockets-wallet, key card, condoms. If he was hoping to get lucky with me, he’s got another think coming. I lay everything on the coffee table next to the couch. After I grab some pillows from my bed and an extra blanket from the closet, I make up his bed.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom with towels wrapped around his neck and waist and smelling like my shampoo and body wash. “Now I smell just like you.” He grins.
I bite my lip to fight off a smile. “The couch’s all ready for you.”
“Great.” Without once bumping into anything, he skirts the coffee table and drops on the couch. The furniture in his room must be laid out the same way as mine.
Once he slides under the blanket, he extends his hand. “Join me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
He blinks, yawns. “Come on. I won’t bite. I just want to talk.”
Figuring he’ll fall asleep within a minute, I sit on the side of the sofa bed, a foot away from him.
With his hands folded behind his neck, he leans back into the pillows. “What were you doing before I arrived?”
Crooking one leg on the bed, I turn to face him,“Reading.”
He makes a face. “Not the valuation book?”
“No. A mystery on my e-reader.”
“Which one?”
I mention a recent bestselling book. “The Body in the Bronze Coffin.”
“The butler did it.”
“Aaarghhh.” I smack him
with a sofa cushion. “Blabbermouth.”
He yanks it from me, tosses it across the room. “Oh, wait. No. It was the maid.” His crooked smile makes me melt.
“You don’t know, do you?” I ask.
“No idea.”
“Why did you say it then?”
“To get you riled up.” He pulls on my arm, and I tumble across him. Before I know it, he’s straddling my knees on each side of his groin. He’s hard and long beneath me. Finding my mouth, he kisses me, suckles me, nibbles my lips.
It occurs to me his moves are not those of a man who’s had too much to drink, but the sharp actions of a sober man. “You’re not drunk!”
His lips quirk. “I told you I’d only had two beers.” He grabs my ass and pins me to his groin. And then, taking advantage of my momentary confusion, he rolls his hard-on against my clit.
A streak of heat cuts off my breath. When my legs go wobbly, I clasp his shoulders to keep from falling against his chest. “But you stumbled and you bumped your head.” I wheeze out breathless.
But the devil is not finished teasing me. His brow arches and he smirks. “It was all an act.”
“Why?” I can barely keep still when he keeps up the repetitive motion beneath me.
“If you’d known I was sober, you wouldn’t have invited me in.”
“You’re despicable.” I’m pissed he fooled me so easily even while below he’s making me burn.
“No. I’m hard and horny. For you.” His hand finds its way beneath the hem of my sleep shirt. It takes him no time to discover I’m naked below.
When his thumb finds my hot button, I bite down on my lip to keep from begging for more. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Why not?” He curls his hand around my nape. Pulling me down to him, he nibbles the corner of my mouth, suckles my lower lip. He smells minty fresh, of toothpaste and mouthwash. He probably used my toothbrush, the fiend.
“Because you’re my boss.”
He stops what he’s doing and stares at me. “Something easily taken care of. You’re fired.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll write you a check for one year’s wages and your bonus.”
To say I’m insulted is an understatement. “You’d pay me $125,000 so you can have sex with me?”
“Money well spent.”
“You bastard.” Breathing hard, I push away, try to scramble off him, but he won’t let me go. “I’m not Minouette. I don’t get paid to service you.” I swallow hard. “If it’s a hooker you want, I’m sure the hotel can find you one. Just call down to the concierge.” I struggle some more with the same results.
He cups my face and kisses me softly. “I don’t want a hooker, sweet girl. I want you.”
I love what he’s doing. Love the way he makes me feel. But it doesn’t change anything. “We can’t do this, Sterling. I work for you.” I choke out in a strangled voice.
“Then quit for one night. You can go back on the clock in the morning.” He pulls me toward him, kisses me. When I squirm against him he rips off my sleep t-shirt, and pushes me prone on the couch until he’s lying on top of me. He bends forward and sucks the tip of one breast into his mouth. “You taste like heaven itself.”
I take a deep breath, curl my hand around his nape while he worships my breasts. The thought that he wants me as much as he does boggles my mind. I never had boys come on to me my entire life and yet here’s this gorgeous man with obvious proof of his desire for me.
His head comes up. “Tell me you want this, Caitlyn.” His voice’s gone rough, gravelly. It no longer carries that playful tone.
This big, powerful man with more money than God is begging nobody Caitlyn Bennett to make love to him. It might be wrong, but I want it too. “Yes. I do.”
“Where did you put the condoms?”
“Here.” I reach for one on the coffee table and hand it to him. He tears the foil with his teeth, rolls it over his hard cock. “It’s going to be fast and hard. Hope you’re okay with that.”
“And if I wasn’t?”
“I’d try to go slow for your sake.”
“You don’t have to. I want this as much as you do.”
“I doubt that very much.” He slides me beneath him, notches his penis in my sheath. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I only have a second to brace for the onslaught of his passion before he pushes in cutting off my breath. Fast and hard, he pounds into me while I hang on for dear life. He’s long and thick and hard. The sheer virility of him proves in the most primal way possible that he is a man. His take-no-prisoners approach might offend someone else, but I love it. It proves he wants me, and for this moment in time, he’s all mine. But his vigor plays havoc with our bedding. I plant my feet on the mattress to keep from sliding off. To no avail. His vigorous moves lands us on the floor. He barely pauses a second before he resumes banging me into the rug. And by then, I don’t care anymore.
We both come in a blaze of heat and fireworks. I scream. He grunts as he collapses on top of me. Heavy as he is, I cradle him against me while we fight for breath.
Sometime in the middle of the night, we move to the bed where he makes love to me again and again. At some point, he ties one of my silk stockings around my eyes so I can’t see. Somehow the darkness, not knowing what he might do next, intensifies my climax. In the morning, I’m so sore, I can barely walk.
“I shouldn’t have ridden you so hard,” he says in the shower.
“I didn’t say no. I wanted you too.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Hire me back?”
He throws back his head and laughs. I’ve never seen him this carefree. I’m glad I was able to give that to him.
Chapter Thirteen
Sterling
I reluctantly return to my suite in the morning to shave, bathe and dress. I tried to talk her into coming with me, but after walking me back to my door, she kissed me goodbye, claiming she had something to do. I miss her. I do. Last night was one of the best of my life. We made love three times, each time better than the last. She’s become much more than my personal assistant. But what is she exactly? She’d protest if I called her my lover, even though that’s exactly what she is. Thing is I can’t live without her. Not anymore. She makes me happy with her silly notions of what’s right and wrong. I’ll have to figure out how to work my way around her ideals. Once we return home, I’ll have to devise a plan.
That evening our hosts throw a party for everyone, including Caitlyn. I pay a maid to escort me to her room. When she opens the door, she gasps. She’s surprised to see me.
“What are you wearing?”
“A black cocktail dress.” I can’t tell the color. They all look the same to me. I haul her into me and kiss her while standing at the front door. When I do, someone passing behind us, giggles. Two young girls or women by the sound of it.
She pulls back, but I haul her close again. “Don’t. I’m not finished kissing you yet.”
“Sterling.” She pushes me back. Something clicks. Her purse? “Here.” She tucks a piece of paper into my breast pocket. “I meant to give you this later on, but we might as well do it right now.”
“What is it?”
“The check you wrote me this morning. I don’t want to be fired.”
After she’d escorted me to my room, I’d given her the check for a full year’s salary plus a bonus. Not as a payment for what we’d done during the night, but because I wanted her to pay off her mother’s medical bills so we could get on with our lives. But obviously she can’t accept it. “Then what do you want, sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“What are you then?”
“What I’ve always been, your personal assistant.”
“With benefits?” I ask, hopefully.
“No. This can’t happen again. We satisfied our desires and now we’re done.”
Damn it. Should have known she’d take this tack again. “No. We’re
not. I’m not done with you. I want more.”
“It’s not happening, Sterling. We better go.” She closes the door behind her, and we make our way to the hotel restaurant where a private room has been reserved. Our hosts have gone all out. Not only do they have a splendid meal served, but they’ve hired a band.
The evening is winding down when I ask her for a dance. She won’t say no to me knowing I have to save face with my hosts.
While we dance, I insinuate my leg between hers. The voluminous volume of her skirt hides what he’s doing, but every time I press against her pussy she gasps.
“Stop doing this.”
“Why? You like it and I love it.” I twirl her and steal a kiss. When I dip her, she trembles as she clings to my biceps. She may deny us all she wants, but she loves what I’m doing to her. “Invite me to your room.”
“Sterling.”
“Invite me.”
I don’t know if it’s the plea in my voice or the knowledge that once we return home this can never happen again. Whatever the reason, she says, “Okay.”
After we say goodnight to our hosts, I take her elbow and escort her back to her room. On the elevator ride up, we’re surrounded by other guests, but my hand twitches around hers. Given half a chance, I’d pin her to the elevator wall and ravage her mouth, her tits, her.
When we arrive at her room, she fishes out the key card. No sooner do we step inside that I’m pushing her back toward the door and do everything I wanted to do in the elevator. “God, I thought I’d go insane. I need you, Caitlyn.” Just so she knows what I’m talking about I drive her hands to my crotch. My hard on should be proof enough of my hunger for her.
I drag her into the bedroom where I twirl her around and pull down her zipper. Her cocktail dress drops to the floor to pool at her feet. My fingers skim her skin to her bra, wander down to her panties. She’s wearing a garter belt and stockings. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No. I like dressing like this.”
“Why?”
“It makes me feel pretty.”
“You’re not pretty. You’re fucking gorgeous.”
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