The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  “Colt—” she says as I sneak into the washroom, but I cut her off, kissing her quickly and claiming her body with my hands. She melts against me, pushing into my kiss as my touch unlocks any remaining doubts inside her.

  “Remember, quiet,” I whisper in her ear before nibbling on the delicious lobe. She whimpers, her soft breasts flattened against my hard chest, but I can feel the hard tips of her nipples. She runs her hands up my chest and around my neck, holding me close as she pulls herself up to my ear this time.

  “Just do it. Just fuck me already. I dare you.” The words are needy moans, and she tells me how much she means it when she spins in place, a very tight fit in the small space, and pushes her ass back toward me.

  She pushes at her leggings, lowering them and her knickers at the same time until the full lushness of her ass greets me. If there were room, I’d bow down and kiss her, eat her pussy out from behind. But there’s no space, no time for that right now. But I can grab her cheeks, so I do. Cupping the flesh in my greedy hands, I knead her.

  “Going without you, Mr. Wolfe.” Her right hand leaves its balancing perch on the sink and drops between her thighs. I can’t see her hand in the mirror, but I can tell she’s rubbing her clit and it lights a fire inside me.

  “Fuck, Elle. Wait for me, damn it.”

  I grab a condom out of my wallet and then let my trousers and boxers fall. One quick stroke of my cock and then I’m rolling the condom on. Elle is bucking against her fingers, her luscious ass bumping against me and not helping matters in the least. But at last, I’m sheathed and lined up as she arches for me.

  “You ready?” I ask her. In the mirror, her cheeks are stained pink, her eyes at half-mast with pleasure, and her bottom lip puffy from where she’s biting it to stay quiet. Her nod is sure, her body certain of its answer.

  I don’t dally. No, I slam into her in one forceful thrust, bottoming out as she goes tight as a wire. Every muscle clenches, and I can feel her pussy clamping down on my cock. Her free hand claws at the mirror over the sink, and her mouth opens in a silent scream. Actually, not so silent.

  I cover her mouth with my palm, growling in her ear to be quiet. She nods and kisses my palm, so I keep it there.

  We don’t have time for sweet and tender, slow and leisurely, and I don’t think either of us even wants that right now, anyway. This moment has been building between us, and like a match to kerosene, we ignite instantly.

  Trying to be quiet, I pound her, our bodies pumping together with hard, violent thrusts that thrill every nerve inside our bodies. My hips ache I’m fucking her so hard, but Elle takes it, begging me silently for more.

  “Take your tits out for me. Let me see you.” One hand stays on the mirror for leverage, the other leaving her clit to work the wide V-neck of her shirt off her shoulders and then lift her breasts out of her bra. The bra acts as a shelf, setting her tits up in a sexy frame that lets me see her pearled-up nipples. They bounce hypnotizingly with every thrust of my cock into her sweet pussy. “Beautiful girl.”

  Her hand drifts back to grip my hair, nearly pulling it out at the roots, but I don’t give a single fuck as long as I can stay inside her. The reach back makes her body bow, letting me in even deeper, and we both reach the edge of what we can take.

  “Come for me, Elle. Come all over my cock. Right now.” The words are spat from between my gritted teeth, barely formed whispers.

  She whimpers and lets go of her death grip on my hair to press my palm against her own mouth tighter. She’s crying against the flesh, knowing she’s being too loud but unable to stop it as I feel her pulse around me. Her quivering walls milk my cock, pulling every bit of cum from me as my balls pull up tight.

  She droops, exhausted and spent, and I hold on to the condom as I pull out of her. “Oh, my God, that was . . .”

  I arch a brow at her in the mirror, waiting for her to find the words, but she shakes her head. “I can’t even find adjectives. You fucked my vocabulary out of my head.”

  I tie off the condom, tossing it in the trash and handing Elle a couple of paper towels to clean up. “Might I suggest fantastic, amazing, incredible, brilliant?”

  Elle smirks, throwing the messy towels in the trash. I like that it’s not awkward or fake, either of us pretending that sex is this neat and tidy thing. Hell, I’m rinsing my meat and two veg in the sink while she watches, for fuck’s sake.

  “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, it seems.” The tease is light and bantering.

  I dry off, slipping back into my boxers and trousers as Elle rights her own clothes. I place a smacking kiss on her mouth, murmuring against her lips. “I was talking about you, love.”

  She blushes, looking pleased as punch with herself. And with me.

  “How long have we been in here? What degree of walk of shame are we talking about out there?”

  “There’s a scale?” I inquire, thinking that perhaps I missed this bit of Americana.

  “Oh, yeah.” Elle nods definitively. “One to five, one being the worst. Five is just an awkward ‘I’ll call you’ when you both know that’s not going to happen. Maybe that’s bumped to a four if the sex was bad too. A one is full-blown morning after, in your party dress from the night before, walking through the frat house as the entire pledge group offers to make you breakfast and complements your singing ability.”

  She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “I was a little loud in my drunken state, apparently. I might’ve yelled yeehaw at one point? Tiffany and I went to a country bar a few times.”

  She looks as though she’s evaluating what she might or might not have done on this apparently not-all-that-hypothetical story that illustrates a level-one walk of shame.

  Part of me wants to laugh at the outrageousness. Part of me wants to travel back in time and destroy any man who ever had sex with her or heard her having sex. The Neanderthal urge is a weird, foreign thing for me. I’m usually more casual, or at least I have been in my own relationships. Which haven’t ever been anything serious. But there’s some jealousy in my core, a greediness in my gut. I want to know her stories. I want to be in her stories. All of them.

  “Well, I think we’re safe. Probably not more than ten minutes in here, and no one seemed the wiser when I came in.”

  “Ten minutes? I’ve played seven minutes in heaven that weren’t remotely this good. Maybe your high opinion of yourself . . . and me . . . is warranted, after all.”

  I like this. The playful lightness she brings to every situation. Even sex in an airplane lavatory.

  “I’ll go first, make sure the coast is clear. You follow in a couple, okay?”

  Elle nods, and I make my escape. As I suspected, no one even looks this way as I sit back down. Elle slips in a few minutes later, her ponytail a little tighter and her skin glowing.

  “How’s everyone doing?” The flight attendant has made her way back to the front of the plane and is standing at my side. I nod politely, and she holds out two water bottles. I take them, slightly confused, and then she pulls two wet wipes and two tiny bags of pretzels from her pocket. “These flights do get rather long and boring, don’t they? We have about eight hours to go, so stay hydrated.”

  Elle goes stiff next to me, so I jump in to defer any weirdness. “Thank you. We are feeling peckish, I guess. And a good nap is probably a good idea.”

  “Would you like a blanket?” Her face is perfectly impassive, not a sign of anything untoward, but it’s quite obvious that our field trip to the lavatory didn’t go wholly unnoticed.

  “No, thank you. I think we’re fine now.”

  The flight attendant nods and walks off. I look to Elle, not sure where this is going to rank on her scale now, but instead of mortification, she’s fighting back giggles.

  “Oh, we are so busted.”

  I find that I don’t care in the slightest.

  Chapter 21

  Colton

  “Welcome home,” the officer on duty says as he hands me back my passport. �
��No place quite like it, eh?”

  There isn’t . . . and that’s why my hands shake as I tuck my passport away. This is the beginning of a new phase for me, a sign of success to return to the fold of home a changed man. No, an improved man.

  I’ve missed the rolling countryside, the bustle of downtown, and my family. Or at least some of them. I can’t wait to hug Lizzie and Nan, at least.

  But bringing Elle here means I’m letting her see more of me than she’s ever known. She’s going to see the good, the bad, and the ugly, as they say. I only hope that I haven’t misjudged her and that she can handle it.

  Elle emerges from the immigration office with her bags, taking a deep breath as she breathes in the air. “Ah, London.” Then her nose crinkles in disgust. “It kinda smells like car exhaust.”

  I chuckle. “Well, we are at the airport. Maybe try again once we’re a bit further out.”

  She agrees and follows me out of the airport proper. I’ve been here dozens of times before and know exactly where I’m going, so I’m keeping a quick clip. Elle, however, is dawdling behind me, looking around at everything.

  “Have you traveled much?” I ask, trying to hurry her along a bit. While I want her to enjoy and see everything, we do have work to do.

  “Some, but nothing like this. Dad would take me on work trips sometimes, and we went on vacations. But never outside the US. Oh, except for the time we went to Cancun.” The thought of Elle lounging on a sandy beach in a tiny bikini is an appealing one. Perhaps we’ll go there someday.

  “I’m the opposite, I suppose. I’ve been all over Europe but went to the US for the first time to interview with Fox.”

  We make our way to the VIP area and see a black-suited man holding up a sign with my name. “I’m Colton Wolfe.”

  He dips his chin in polite greeting, introducing himself as Oliver before he takes Elle’s suitcase, leading us to a black Rolls Royce Ghost. All business, he has us situated in the back and merges into traffic with ease.

  From her new vantage point, Elle oohs and ahhs quite literally as the city is revealed to us. “What’s that?”

  Oliver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, silently asking if I’d like to answer or if he should. I blink, and he delves into what amounts to a city tour for Elle on the way to the hotel.

  I appreciate his care and involvement with Elle for the moment as nerves begin to snarl in my mind, making me useless as a tour guide.

  I haven’t seen Mum, Dad, or Nan in years, and especially not Eddie. Only Lizzie, and even then, it’s been a while.

  Of course, I’ve kept in contact with everyone, each in their own way. Nan and Lizzie I call, Mum less frequently. Dad and Eddie are more the rare and family business-only email types, which is probably best, especially with Eddie. We’ve had enough rows that I don’t need to start a new one every time I see his face.

  And that’s the problem. This won’t be an easy reunion, especially since it will be coupled with my introducing Elle to the thermite grenade that is my family.

  Oliver stops the car smoothly in front of The Rosewood. It’s one of London’s most luxurious hotels, situated in High Holburn. Elle’s head is leaned back, looking from the arched entryway up the columned second story to the tall tower. “Wow,” she breathes.

  “This way, ma’am.” Oliver helps Elle out, and I tell him that I’ve got it from here. He will be on-call for us for the entirety of the week, so he hands me a sleek black card with his number, instructing me to call anytime, day or night, for anything at all.

  We head through the archway and into a beautiful courtyard. Elle’s hand grips my bicep where she’s got her hand laced through my arm like we’re the prince and princess. To think, a few hours ago, we were fucking in the washroom.

  I can’t help but smile at the contrast. She is truly versatile, and while at first glance, she might seem a rather simple woman with simple desires, I’m finding her to be complex and deep. Even if she can gasp with child-like wonder at a beautifully artistic marble staircase.

  The suite has her running around like a child again, holding up feather pillows on the couch and shoving an entire macaron in her mouth in one go before flopping onto one of the beds. Crumbs fall out a little as she says, “I’m in heaven. Actual heaven.”

  “Not sure what a naughty girl like you is going there,” I joke dryly.

  Her middle finger pops up along with her head. “Well, being naughty got me here, and that’s basically the same thing.” She looks around again, her eyes wide.

  She kicks her feet crazily in the air and then sits up as if it never happened, tucking them underneath her. Her eyes are crystal clear, pinning me in her gaze.

  “Okay, spill it.”

  I flinch, but only on the inside. My face shows zero reaction to her words, but perhaps that’s a tell itself? “What do you mean? You’re ready to get to work?” I pray that’s what she’s getting at.

  “Yes, work. But first, what’s the deal here? I know good and well that this is the suite you had me book, but I had no idea it was this swanky. This” —she gestures around the room— “is most definitely not included in Mr. Fox’s per diem for this trip. Neither is the Oliver-in-waiting-Rolls. So, what’s up? Tell me that and then we’ll talk work.”

  Ah, but they are one and the same, though I’m not prepared to tell her that piece of the puzzle just yet. But I can start with small steps to the horror that awaits.

  “I thought you’d enjoy a bit of posh. Seems I was correct, given your dance around the room.”

  She points at me as I sit down beside her on the bed. “That wasn’t a dance. And you’re avoiding the question.”

  Smart girl. Ball busting girl.

  A bit of careful truth seems prudent. “Much as your father keeps track of you, my family is likely already aware that I’m in London. They’ll want to see me, and I want to see some of them.”

  “Lizzie?” she guesses correctly.

  “Yes, and Nan. I’ll admit that much as you wish to show Daniel that you are independent, I wish to show my family that I’m successful.”

  “Black sheep. You weren’t kidding?” Her voice is soft, more sensitive than most would be to a poor little rich boy.

  I grit my teeth, wishing I didn’t have to tell her the truth of my family. “My family follows the theory of not needing ‘the spare’. I have an older brother, the golden child, and am therefore an unnecessary addition.”

  Her arms go around my neck, pulling my head to her shoulder. It’s a tragic truth that the simple yet genuine affection melts something inside me.

  She doesn’t disagree with me or tell me that surely, I’m mistaken. No, she just accepts my word and comforts me through it without meaningless platitudes.

  “So they’ve got eyes and ears all over and you want them to hear how rich and successful you are, hence, the fancy car and fancy hotel.”

  “Something like that. Does that make me superficial? All these trappings are shallow, but . . .”

  “Is it their language?” At my raised brows, she explains. “Like, are they people who would see you happy and equate that with success? Or are they people who are only going to see success in dollars and cents? Or is there something else? What’s their language?”

  “Money. At least, that’s true for my parents.”

  She’s perceptive, and I wonder if she’s applied the same insights to herself. It’s a gamble to ask, but I do anyway. “What about Daniel? Are you speaking his language?”

  Her lips purse and she quiets. “Actually, I think I am, though he’d never admit it. Dad’s always wanted to keep me in a bubble, but he’s this forceful powerhouse and set that example for me my whole life. For me to truly be an adult in his eyes, I think I’m going to have to piss him off royally by giving him a taste of his own medicine. It’s gonna hurt us both a lot, and it’s going to be so damn hard. But in the long run, he’s not going to let me go without a fight, and he won’t respect me unless I fight for my independence.”
She smiles sadly, and I think she just realized all that herself.

  She shakes her head. “Enough about me. Tell me the rest of it about your family. Are we going to meet them while we’re here?”

  There’s more, so much more.

  That my dad takes being an asshole to a whole new level of boorishness. That my mom lets him walk all over her. That my brother is a douche canoe. That I want to steal Lizzie away and let her stay in the States with me so that she has a fair shot at normalcy away from my father. That Nan is getting older, and losing her is probably the scariest thing I can think of.

  I don’t say any of that.

  “Yes, we will, but I think we’ve had enough share and tell for now. And after the long flight, we probably should catch a few winks so that we’re fresh. We’ve got work and family stuff looming, and being jet lagged won’t do us any favors.”

  “Show and tell,” Elle says, correcting me. She kicks her trainers off, flopping back on the bed again. Her arms are spread wide, taking up most of the space, but I lie down beside her. “Cat nap times two, coming up. Good night, Colton . . . or good morning . . . whatever.”

  I chuckle at the cat nap, thinking it’s another idiom, but after everything else, I just let it pass without comment. Elle seems lost to her thoughts and will hopefully get some rest. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until I see my family.

  Half dozing, Elle says, “Hey, did you see the lady downstairs glaring at my sneakers?” She brings one hand to her nose, turning it up snootily. “Apparently, my shoes do not meet de riguer standards for the Rosewood. Pretty sure that means I don’t, either.”

  “Definitely not,” I agree. My eyes are closed so I don’t see the pillow coming, but it hits me square in the face with a whomp. “I meant it as a compliment,” I say, trying to explain and bat away her follow-up swings.

  I give up on defensive maneuvers and tackle her, the pillow smashed between us and her arms pinned at her side. “I bet she’s never played putt-putt, never bungee jumped, never shagged in an airplane. I bet most people haven’t done half the things you’ve done. So who gives a fuck about your shoes? I know I don’t.”