Crushing

by Kelly Kay

  The first couple of years when I started making a shit ton of money, I didn’t spend it. I lived in a small apartment, drove my piece of shit Honda and barely did anything but work. I had people I admired invest for me. I bought modestly into some groundbreaking tech and it all snowballed from there. Now there’s more than I could spend in several lifetimes.

  JOSH: How did dinner go? Did Adrian go with you?

  Adrian Schroeder is Dad’s best friend and a fellow vineyard owner. I grew up with his kids. Their winery isn’t far from ours. And his son Baxter is one of my close friends from childhood.

  ELLE: He did! They’re hysterical together. My stomach hurts from laughing. The prospective buyers had a really good time too. And met his daughter Tommi. Love her. They left, but I’m still there with the remains of the prospectives. Call you in like 30.

  JOSH: If Tommi’s still there, tell her hello from me. She can be a riot, but she’s a bit extra sometimes too. I'll be here when you call.

  ELLE: Good. I like to keep you waiting.

  I like that we’re getting to know each other. And I do like that this powerhouse of a woman wants to make sure to get back to me immediately. I still think about her naked way too often. Despite that, we’re becoming friends. I still imagine the night I drilled her senseless. She totally submitted to me without ever losing her power. No one would suspect that. And now I’m hard. Insanely hard. Always for her.

  I’m still wearing my workout shorts, and now they’re just a tent. I pull them down and tip my head back, stroking my cock easily as the ocean breeze blows. I imagine her raspberry pink lips wrapped around my tip. My Sonos is blaring, but all I hear is her sexy growl of a moan in my head. I stroke it faster. Now I need to release to even have a conversation with her. Back and forth. I imagine her rocking on top of me, and oh fuck. That was like record time. From her text to cum was like five minutes. I remove my shorts, wipe down my stomach then jump in the pool naked. A perk of no neighbors. I own the lot next door as well. It started out that I was going to build a garage for cars I dreamed of collecting, but I like that it was wild and untouched. I also like that it hides my house. The beach below isn’t that accessible to random people so I can have all the privacy I want. I also never really got around to collecting cars. I just have a couple. It’s really all I need.

  I swim some laps, hoping to shake the image of her. I have to shake this woman off. She’s heading back to her life in New York in six weeks. I gave her west coast contacts on purpose, to keep her out here. Then she told me she hands the business off to account managers after the initial meetings. My phone rings and I answer it in the pool. I know exactly who was at the dinner, and it’s why I’m anxious to talk to her.

  “How does something like Asher happen?”

  “No, hello? Stop it. He was good to me. Kind of. He still thinks he’s a boyfriend or a potential.” She says with a lilt to her voice that I don’t want to be there when she’s discussing Asher.

  “I might puke but continue. And no. Asher can’t be anything to you.”

  “I’ve told him numerous times we aren’t dating. But he acts as if we are. But we never really were. I just stopped seeing him. I stopped everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. I have had a dating life before you.”

  Dating? Is that what we’re doing? Huh? “Hellcat, you had no problem telling me to fuck off multiple times, surely you can tell this weenie to take a hike. How did it happen?”

  “You know how we met. At first, he wanted to whisk me off to Lake Tahoe.”

  I’m laughing and can’t stop. “Whisking is for Paris, not Tahoe.”

  “Romantic nonetheless!”

  “Did you go?” I hear her suck in wine through her teeth, and I want to know what it is. “What are you drinking?”

  “The new Zin.”

  “Is it good?” I wish I had some.

  “Fucking amazing. But I’ve already had like a shit-ton a Schroeder Petite Sirah so what do I know. It could be shit.” She giggles and my dick stiffens. And now I want to taste that Zin on her tongue.

  “Schroeder makes a hell of a Petite. They have those good benchland and hillside slopes to pull it off.”

  She giggles again. “They also have all those sunshine vectors and the sharp pointy blue rocks in the soil.”

  I ask, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She shoots right back. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I laugh long and hard. “Sometimes I forget you don’t know shit about wine.”

  “Oh. I know shit. I know this shit I’m currently drinking is yummy. That’s a technical term.”

  She’s cute when she’s buzzed. I don’t know how drunk she was the night we met, but this might be the most adorable she’s ever sounded. My dick is thickening again, she’s like human Viagra. I’m always hard for her. There’s that four-hour warning for Viagra, but there’s no warning on Elle Parker. I spend my day semi-hard all the time. Like I’m always DTF if she happens to pop by the office in Santa Barbara.

  I grab my glass of Cab and move to the hot tub. The heat should shrivel that fucker up.

  “What are you doing?” She’s slurring a bit.

  “Hanging out. Literally.”

  “Meanings what?”

  “I just worked out and then took a swim.”

  “Josh. You don’t have any clothes on, do you?”

  “Not a goddamned thing but a smile.” Fuck me. I would give anything if she’d talk me through jerking off right now. I say slyly seeing if it could lead anywhere, “What are you wearing?”

  “Snake print DVF wrap dress. It has cute ruffles and it’s flowy and I like it. It keeps gaping and showing my favorite bra though. Wait. Hold up! Hell no. I see where you’re going with that, big boy. We’re not doing that. I can barely tolerate you.”

  I picture the dress and hint of bra. I want it to be a black bra.

  “One question and then we can drop this subject.”

  She pauses and then relents. “Okay. One.”

  “What color bra?”

  “Black.” Jackpot. I push her to see how far I can get. How far I can stretch her. I want to be stretching her cunt around my dick right now. It fit so perfectly like she’s made for it. “Why not?”

  She sighs, and I don’t know if I’m getting the shoot down or about to get lucky. Then her tone turns earnest. “We’re friends now. You know that can never happen again. I’m not in a place where…” Her voice drifts off.

  “What? Tell me. Tell me anything, Elle. I’m listening.”

  “I’m afraid to tell you.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why is she afraid of me? That is not a good thing. Is she afraid to open up to me or just afraid of me?

  “Elle. I never want you to be afraid of me in any capacity. You’ve never shied away from telling me exactly what you think, don’t hide now. Don’t make me into something else. Do you hear me?”

  “I do. I know you’ve apologized, and we’re in a different place now. But I can’t forget how deeply it hurt that you didn’t trust me. Or that you turned on me so quickly that you didn’t believe in me. Or that you dismissed me. That you left. The night we met and after my client dinner. You left. You left your parents. And you left your fiancée. I think that’s who you might be. You might be the guy who leaves. I’m happy to be on the phone with you every night, but as for opening a different part of me to you, I can’t do that.”

  That’s what she thinks. Despite my best efforts to be a cold asshole, now all I want to do is prove I’m not. I want to believe in her. I want to build trust. Leaving has been a lot of my past, but perhaps I can be the guy who doesn’t go. Shit. I’m usually a ‘turn it and burn it’ guy in relationships, but lately, there’s an appeal to building something.

  I want to see where this goes. Shit, that switch flipped. I want Elle in my life. I also desperately want to fuck her again. If I’m honest with myself, I’m not worthy of her. But I am going to show her she is dead fuckin
g wrong about me leaving.

  “Perhaps I’m the guy who comes back?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I ask, “Are you there next week?”

  “No. Homesick Candles is opening a brick and mortar in Austin. We’ve worked on the launch for a year. I’ll be there for a day, then off to New York for an Xfinity meeting at NBC for a seasonal tie in things. Then to my abandoned office. I suck at being in New York after all my California time. The pace is relentless. Can you hang on while I pee and get more wine?”

  “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  “Promise you won’t leave?”

  “I promise.” She giggles again.

  Shit. I need to see Elle face to face without asking. Without forcing it. I have so much ground to make up from the last decade of denying who I was or could be. This woman cracked me wide the fuck open. I don’t know how to stop having all the feels lately.

  I want to make up for alienating my parents and most everyone I love for the last ten years. I have one solid tie to Sonoma, but it might be time to repair the arrogant damage I’ve done. What has this woman done to me? I sleep with her one night, and my entire world flips. I want face-to-face time with Elle. She won’t Facetime with me, so until I can convince her to video chat, I’m going to have to figure out a way to see her.

  I’m going up to Sonoma for my mom’s birthday next week. I don’t want to tell her I’m disappointed that she won’t be there. I can’t ask her to stay because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I just can’t leave her alone, and I certainly can’t leave my cock alone when I think of her. But I’m still the asshole who didn’t trust her at the bottom of all of this. And apparently, the guy who leaves.

  If I think practically, she lives across the country and her life is far away from mine. Then a different part of me—an emotional part me—dreams of her soft glowing skin, those dancing green eyes, and that ass. It will haunt me when she leaves. Maybe we can figure it out. Perhaps we can land on the other side of my ego and her doubt, together.

  I’m about to find out. I respond to Elle like a friend but know that we’re far beyond friends. Now I need to convince her of it. She’s mine. Buckle up, Elle. You’re not going to know what hit you, Hellcat.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Elle

  “Back,” I announce, and he just picks up the conversation where we left off before my bathroom break.

  “I’m sure the pace is so nuts. You’re kind of a Northern California girl now. And I’m sure your desk is covered with all kinds of crap people thought you should see. You seem like you belong here now.” Hmmm, he wants to keep me here in California. That is too hot of a subject. I back off by flipping the conversation away from New York and back towards explaining Asher.

  “To answer your other question. Asher had seminars in Tahoe and invited me to tag along. I didn’t go but joined him in Healdsburg the next week and never left. He extended a generous invitation to me to stay at the Hotel Healdsburg, and the fancy wine dinner was with your parents.”

  “I know him. This doesn’t sound like him. He’s a hustler. Not a giver.”

  “He’s not a hustler.”

  “I will bet all my fucking money you paid for your plane ticket and the hotel room.”

  I pause, sucking on my lips and raising my eyebrows. Then bite the inside of my lip. He’s so Josh lately. ‘Joshua’ the dick hasn’t been around in a couple of weeks. I don’t know why, but I find these nightly conversations to be grounding. My head’s spinning and swimming with him. But the pit of doubt that sits at the bottom of my stomach stays firmly in place. I’m curled on the cozy chair on the porch and looking up at the stars. I’m sipping, and suddenly, I wish he were here.

  I say resolutely, “Yes, I paid. Do I hear water?”

  “Yes, non sequitur. I live on the ocean.”

  I clarify. “No, like bubbles.”

  “Hot tub.”

  “Really? Is your house like a hotel? It looks like one.”

  “Have we been googling? Or was it Realtor.com?”

  “Realtor.”

  I giggle, waiting for his response, and he sucks air in quickly. “I redid the master bath, the kitchen, and put in this hot tub. Now can we please get back to the Asher thing?”

  I admit it all. “Is the hot tub like your infinity pool?”

  “You did do some research. Yes, similar style.”

  “Mmm. Sounds nice.”

  “You should come over sometime. Like right now.” He says this as a growl, and I feel it in my nipples. They rise to the sound of his voice. Friend. I need to bring him back to the friend zone.

  “Yes. I bought the hotel room and a plane ticket. And the car rental.”

  He’s laughing at me. Then he says, “You know if he took you skiing, you would have ended up paying for…”

  “Lessons, lodging, and ski rentals?”

  “You’re an idiot, Elle.”

  I laugh loudly. I can’t stop giggling like I’m twelve. “Yes. Yes, I am. I paid for it all. Someday you’ll need to explain your hatred of him in detail. But here’s a gift.” I’m too drunk to keep secrets.

  “I like presents.” I can imagine the smile breaking across his face, and now I wish I was there in his hot tub. No. I need to stop that thought.

  “He’s terrible in bed. I mean terrible. I was beginning to think it was me. It was so bad. And kissing. Ugh. He’s got a blobby tongue and no clue what to do with it.”

  “Trust me. It’s not you. You are not bad at sex. Is that why you came looking for me?”

  Ahhh. This is the first time we’ve ever really discussed that night. But I need to stop talking about sex with Josh. “No. I went looking for the old letch. You found me.” I swear I can hear him smirk.

  “Yes, I did.” He growls and it’s sexy as hell.

  Then I’m honest with him. “Yes. I went looking for you.”

  “I didn’t know it, but I might have been looking for you too.” No, he did NOT just say that to me. That’s too cute and vulnerable. I have to lighten this all up.

  “What’s the worst sex you’ve ever witnessed?” I ask.

  “Bad porn. Overacted.”

  I laugh easily.

  “Asher’s the worst you’ve ever witnessed?” He pushes on this line of questioning.

  “No, he’s the worst I’ve been involved with. The worst I ever witnessed, that honor belongs to the ex-fiancé, fucking my assistant in the ass on our shared desk.”

  “OUCH! Damn. He’s a fucking fool. There’s no way her ass is better than yours.”

  “I need to stop talking. And you need to stop talking about my ass while you’re naked in a hot tub. Change the subject, friend.” Visions of him from the shower drift across my imagination. The water pouring down his abs and falling onto that giant root vine of a dick he has. Wow, I need to get laid. He breaks the silence.

  “Yes, ma'am, I’ll stop talking about your ass. But you are the one who brought it up. Tahoe can be good, but it’s not where I like to ski.”

  “Where would you invite a virtual stranger, you thought was a ‘potential somebody’ to go skiing?”

  “First off, we’d fly private if I really like her.”

  I’m intrigued. “Private really? Yours?”

  “No. I’d rent. Plane maintenance is too much.”

  “Samesies. Such a hassle. As is docking the yacht, do not get me started.”

  He laughs loud and long. “Second, we’d stay in the Fairmont Lake Louise.”

  “But I love a Ritz-Carlton.” I snicker. I can’t stop with the innuendo tonight.

  “I know you do. But this one is smack in the middle of the mountain, it’s like a castle. And third, this mystery woman would have an all-mountain pass, all new equipment, champagne on tap, and refresher lessons on me.”

  “Champagne on you? Interesting idea.”

  “Stop playing with fire, woman.”

  I need to stop.

  He asks, “And where would you invite a gentle
man to snuggle up and be an adorable ski bunny?”

  He called me adorable. My skin is tingling. “Skiing wouldn’t come to mind. Bali. And I’d pay for everything.”

  “Bali?”

  “I’d always wanted to see it. I did a report on it when I was little, and it was the farthest place from my home and my life I could imagine. When my parents died, I went there by myself.”

  “Oh, Elle.” His voice drops and I hear the concern, but not pity. That’s important, I don’t want pity. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I know you didn’t. Car accident. I was in college. I dropped out for a bit and flew across the world to run away. I drank, snorted, and smoked everything they had to try and forget the pain. Eventually, when that didn’t work anymore, I began exploring a lot of ‘potentials’ in Bali. Each one held a promise.”

  “Like a boyfriend?”

  “No. A promise that for at least twenty minutes I wouldn’t have to think about the bottomless pain. I wouldn’t have to remember that I was alone in the world.”

  “Elle.” He says with a level of concern I need to ignore. I continue telling the story that only my therapist knows.

  “I relentlessly pursued pleasure in twenty-minute intervals. I wanted just twenty minutes to not be sad or alone. And eventually, like with the drugs and alcohol, even those twenty minutes didn’t help anymore. My tolerance for sadness was too high. That’s when I came home. Back to school and counseling.”