Suave

by C. A. Bell

  He was right; we were.

  “Come on. Untie me and let me make you scream.”

  I pursed my lips to the side. “I dunno.”

  “Why? Why don’t you know?”

  “Because I’m not into seeing the same guy several times in one month. It’s weird for me.”

  “So close your eyes.” He smiled.

  I giggled then stepped towards the door, pausing at the light switch. “Can I just turn out the light instead?”

  The room went dark.

  ****

  After another shagathon session with Max, I feel asleep in his bed and woke up as he got up around seven am. Now, I was sat in his kitchen with a coffee, waiting for him to finish getting ready so we could go down to the office together. The whole morning after thing was still uncomfortable, but I was learning to cope with it better.

  Half an hour later, he breezed into the room looking as sexy as ever.

  “You ready?” He picked up his car keys from the side.

  “I’ve been ready for ages.”

  “Sorry, takes time to look this gorgeous.”

  “Ugh. You are such a big head.”

  He laughed. “But you love it, don’t ya?”

  I ignored him as we headed for the front door.

  “Come on.”

  “Come on, what?”

  “Admit it. You love it.”

  “No.”

  He placed his hand against the front door. “I’m not letting you leave until you do.”

  “Get out the way, you fool.”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m going to be late. Now move.”

  He shook his head, adamant that I had to say it.

  “Fine, I admit it. I love it. Now, kindly move.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Oh shush.” I pushed him out of the way, opened the door, and walked outside.

  “Hey,” he called out as I headed towards his black Mercedes.

  I ignored him until I got to the passenger door. “What?”

  He looked at me over the car roof. “You wanna be my fuck buddy?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Come on, you know what it means.”

  I smiled. Of course I’d be his fuck buddy. To know I’d have to live the rest of my life without my perfect sexual partner screwing my brains out against the shower wall and nailing me to the bed would have caused my libido, amongst other things, to dry up.

  “On one condition.” I opened the car door and got in as he looked in the air.

  He slipped onto the driver’s seat. “What’s that?”

  “You wear a gag?”

  “Huh? Are you into all that kinky shit, too?”

  “No.” I laughed. “You’re fucking hot to look at. But my God when you open your mouth I just want to punch you.”

  He grinned and started the car.

  “Okay, I’ll accept that condition if you accept mine?”

  “Go on.”

  “You gag me with your panties.” He winked.

  I held my hand out. “Deal.”

  He gripped it firmly and shook it before pushing the gear stick into first and pressing down on the gas pedal, spinning the wheels against the tarmac before releasing the handbrake and zooming off down the drive like a sexy boy racer. Only with finesse, not a spliff and a baseball cap.

  I looked over and smiled at him as he flicked the indicator up. I had a feeling that mine and Mr. Harper’s journey together was only just beginning. And my God, I couldn’t wait to shove my wet panties in his mouth and fuck him on my desk when we got to my office.

  Max Harper

  I saw her gazing at me out the corner of my eye, a sexy smile curling her lips. I had a feeling that mine and Miss Knight’s journey together was only just beginning. And my God, I couldn’t wait to shove her own wet panties in her mouth before bending her over her desk and teaching her a lesson.

  3 Weeks Later

  Brooke Knight

  I sat at my desk and grinned as I gazed at the bouquet Max had sent me.

  The past three weeks had seen Lennox Grant dropped the case against me. The exclusive on the poker game go live. Max have his photo shoot for the front cover of Suave. And umpteen fuck buddy meetings. Yes, life was good.

  I stood up and looked down at the card that had come with the bouquet and read it again.

  I figured we’d need more of these. And look. Already rolled up. Perfect mouth size. Max x.

  I chuckled to myself and fiddled with one of the pairs of knickers that was scrunched up like a flower. Yes, he’d sent me a bouquet of knickers. Ever the charmer.

  Additional update:

  Jasmine Chambers is nowhere to be seen. James is still chatting up anything in a skirt. And Ava is considering a breast reduction.

  About the Author

  C.A.Bell was born and raised on the outskirts of London, England, but for the past four years has resided in the west midlands where she married and made a home.

  She is author to numerous erotic fiction stories, including The Architect, Nancy's Curse, Femme Fatale: The Agency, The Shame Train, and many more.

  As well as putting together her own collections of short stories and poetry, she is also a contributor to many anthologies and online magazines.

  C.A’s Website – www.cbellatrix.wixsite.com/cabell

  Also by this Author

  The Architect – A BDSM erotic romance novella

  Sex, Lies, and Sinful Wives – A collection of five erotic stories

  BDSM – A collection of poetry focusing on BDSM

  Never Say Goodbye (Nancy’s Curse #1) – Paranormal erotic romance

  Never Say Never (Nancy’s Curse #2) – Paranormal erotic romance

  Time To Say Goodbye (Nancy’s Curse #3) – Paranormal erotic romance

  Femme Fatale: The Agency – An erotic private investigation novel

  Mistress – A collection of poetry focussing on femdom

  Pretty Masks: A Twisted Tale of Revenge – Erotic suspense

  Angel – A dark erotic suspense

  Works featured in:

  To Obey Her – A collection of femdom stories

  Coming Together In Verse – A collection of erotic poetry

  This Beautiful Escape – A collection of inspirational messages

  A Lovely Darkness – Poetry with heart

  If you enjoyed Suave, check out Femme Fatale: The Agency by C.A.Bell

  Femme Fatale: The Agency

  Extract

  Monday mornings in the editorial office are always particularly quiet. Post-weekend blues and hangovers loom in the air. All that can be heard is the tapping of keyboards, and the occasional coughing.

  Lost in her own world of silence and incorrect spelling, Monica continues editing a ludicrously patronising article about women of the twenty-first century.

  “Psst.”

  Looking in the direction of the noise, she finds Jane.

  “What?”

  “He’s coming.”

  Monica glances at the glass wall that divides the office from the corridor. There he is, the boss, Edward Reid, striding down the walkway in his immaculate suit like he’s on the catwalk. He stops to talk to one of the creative directors, giving Monica and Jane a perfect view to ogle.

  Monica’s eyes trace his broad shoulders, then stray down the seam of his jacket to his arse.

  “I’ll never tire of gawping at him. He’s gorgeous.” Jane says, her chin propped up on her hand as she gazes in his direction.

  Monica nods, her eyes glued to his backside. “Mhm.”

  Suddenly she’s taken by surprise. He turns around quicker than anticipated, and she’s presented with the crotch of his trousers. Her eyes shoot up in shock to find Edward looking straight at her, grinning. Her face prickles with heat.

  Oh shit!

  Movement behind catches her attention. She swivels in her chair, turning her back to Edward, to see Hannah, the editor in chief, raising her head and proceeding to leave
the room to talk to him.

  Oh God. He didn’t see me. He was looking at Hannah. Phew.

  Getting back to the article, hoping it will distract her enough to keep her eyes from drifting back to Edward, she continues the edit.

  “You thought you got caught then, didn’t you?” Jane says, peering over the top of Monica’s computer screen with a wide grin.

  “Yes,” she giggles quietly. “And if I had, it would be all your fault, you perv.”

  “Moi?” Jane says, standing from the desk opposite.

  “Yes, you.”

  She comes around and sits on top of a pile of papers on Monica’s desk. “Okay, I’ll take the blame for your wandering eyes. How you getting on with this article?”

  She looks around and lowers her voice. “To be honest, it’s a load of shit. Why we print stuff like this is beyond me. The magazine’s going to end up losing half its female readership soon.”

  Jane leans over and reads Monica’s screen.

  “Wow, that is a load of shit. Who wrote this?”

  Monica scrolls to the bottom. “Dominic Woodhouse. Isn’t he the guy who wrote that piece on empowering women that you edited last week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And now he’s writing stuff like this? What a contradiction.”

  Jane nods, heading back to her desk.

  After spending another hour on the article, removing numerous incorrect placements of exclamation marks and commas, Monica saves the document. Reclining in her chair she glances around the room at the other members of the team, spying Edward walking back down the corridor.

  He’s everything Monica likes in a man. Powerful, handsome, confident. His whole demeanour makes every woman’s knees buckle.

  He walks out of sight and Monica cracks back on with the next edit on her list.

  She’s good at her job, and she enjoys it. But sometimes she wishes she had taken a different path. Excitement lacked from this job. And although some of the articles she got to edit were intriguing, it still wasn’t enough to keep the job interesting for too long. Most days her routine life was what she wanted. What she was comfortable with. However, the need for something more often niggled at her. And lately it is starting to become more frequent.

  As she comes to the end of her second round of edits on the more stimulating article entitled, Where There’s a Will, Jane stands up, slipping her arms into her jacket.

  “Come on. It’s home time.”

  Monica nods, not taking her eyes from the computer screen, and says, “I just want to go over this one last time.”

  Jane grabs her by the shoulders. “Turn it off. It’ll still be here tomorrow. I’ve promised Bill a homemade curry tonight, so come on.”

  Monica looks up, her eyebrows arched with surprise. “You’re cooking?”

  “Well, if you call a packet of diced chicken and a jar of Balti sauce cooking, then yeah.”

  “Yeah, I call that cooking,” she smiles, while logging off.

  Grabbing her things, she follows Jane to the elevator, noticing her shoulders juddering with a giggle.

  “What are you chuckling at?”

  “You.”

  “Why? Have I got a sticky note stuck to my butt or something?” Monica jokes, looking over her shoulder.

  “No. I was just picturing your face again when you thought you’d been caught by the boss man.”

  “That wasn’t funny. I actually thought he caught me looking at his arse or something.”

  “Oh, it was. You turned the colour of a tomato. I don’t know how I held the laughter in so well.”

  Monica slaps her friends arm playfully. “Stop it. It was embarrassing. One minute he had his back to me, and then, BOOM!” Monica thrust her hips towards Jane. “I was looking right at his package.”

  Jane bursts into laughter, triggering Monica to do the same.

  Ding!

  The silver polished lift doors part and reveal Edward. His straight posture and professional appearance help the pair compose their hysterical laughter to a giggle. They enter the lift.

  “Ladies.” Edward says looking towards the illuminated numbers.

  “Ground, please.” Jane smiles.

  He nods his head, and selects the ‘0’.

  Not another word or movement is made by anyone until Edward exits on the first floor, leaving a trail of expensive aftershave in his wake. Monica sniffs the air as he passes. His scent conjures up a sexy scenario in her mind.

  Edward’s on top of her. Thrusting urgently, groaning and grunting in her ear. Her nails are running down his back, scratching into his flesh as her back arches beneath his muscular frame.

  Ding!

  “Now, remember,” Monica says as they leave the building through the revolving doors. “You have to open the packet before you fry the chicken.”

  “Cheeky cow,” Jane giggles.

  Monica kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. If you haven’t poisoned yourself.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  ****

  Monica climbs the four flights of stairs to her flat and unlocks the door. The scuff of post along the carpet forces her to frown.

  More bills! Great...

  Picking up the letters she heads to the kitchen, flicking through the envelopes.

  “Bills, bills, bills.”

  She stops in her tracks and studies an envelope with just her name penned across the front. Setting the rest of the letters aside she finds a break along the seal and opens it, unfolding the letter to read.

  Dear Monica Frost,

  You have been recommended to us by a third party to attend our meeting tonight (May 30th) at 20:30. This is a work related gathering so please come alone and bring this letter with you.

  We will be holding this meeting at The Cromwell Building on Cromwell Road. Please enter through reception.

  We look forward to seeing you,

  Fiona Anderson.

  Monica’s forehead creases at the vagueness.

  Fiona Anderson?

  She ponders for a while.

  Nope, doesn’t ring any bells. I wonder if Jane got an invite too?

  Retrieving her mobile, she dials her friends number. Within two rings, she answers.

  “Miss me already?”

  “Always. I was just wondering if you got one of these invitations for tonight?”

  “An invitation to where?”

  “To the Cromwell Building for a meeting.”

  “No.”

  “That’s strange. It says it’s a work related gathering. So why aren’t you invited?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Mr Reid wants to get you alone.” she teases.

  Monica exhales loudly. “I wish.”

  “So, are you going?”

  “I suppose I have to since it’s a work thing, and I’ve been recommended.”

  Pots and pans clatter from Jane’s end of the phone.

  “Oh, you’re cooking aren’t you? Sorry, I’ll let you get on.”

  “No, not cooking yet. Just setting up. But yeah, I better go. He’ll be home soon and I promised it would be ready and waiting for him.”

  “Okay, well enjoy your meal. I’ll see you tomorrow and fill you in on this meeting.”

  “Okay honey, see you later.”

  She bids Jane goodbye, before returning her attention to the curious letter.

  The Cromwell Building. Is that building opposite the train station?

  Doing an online search and confirming the location of the building, Monica goes about her evening routine. After she finishes dinner, she jumps in her car and heads to the location stated on the invite. She follows the Cromwell Parking signs and drives into the multi-storey car park, reversing into a free space. The vague invite, and Jane’s earlier planting of seeds about Edward, has Monica becoming a mixture of excited and terrified as she walks towards the building. She hates meetings. Especially the more formal ones where everyone has to stand up and introduce themselves to the group. The whole idea of having
to do that now, and possibly with Edward in the audience, has her belly in knots.

  Monica grips the lengthy silver door handle and takes a breath. Entering, ready to put on her work face and brace whatever boring lecture is coming, she’s stunned by the instant greeting.

  “Ah, you must be Monica?” A woman with platinum-blonde hair says, looking up at her from behind the reception desk with a warm smile.

  “Yes!”

  “Great. If you can just take a seat,” she says, gesturing to a row of chairs. “I’ll let Fiona know you’re here.”

  Asking no question, Monica takes a seat, smiling to two other women seated in the waiting area.

  “Are you here for the meeting too?” the younger of the two women asks.

  “Yes.”

  “So, do you know what it’s all about? Because we haven’t a clue.”

  “I suspect it’s going to be one of those boring speeches about team work and keeping the magazine fresh and with the times.”

  The young woman frowns. “Magazine?”

  “Yeah... Read Reid?”

  Her frown lingers.

  “Okay ladies,” the receptionist says, heading towards them. “Have a read through these and see what you think. If you have any questions, I will be at my desk.”

  She hands each of them a folder. Puzzled, Monica opens the file and starts to read.

  Skimming through a load of legal jargon that she really doesn’t understand, Monica’s eyes halt, then reread the last sentence of the second page.

  We will double your current annual salary.

  She glances over to the other women. “This doesn’t make sense to me. Does it to you?”

  The older of the two shrugs her shoulders. “Does it matter? Whoever it is, they’re going to double our money.”

  The naivety of the woman amazes her, forcing her eyes to widen with stun. “But what is it? It doesn’t have a job description or anything. It’s just a load of fancy words strung together with an offer of doubling our money.”

  The woman takes out a pen and leans on the glass coffee table to sign.