by Selena Kitt
“Come for me!” ordered Jaime. “Now!” he barked with a harsh thrust and pinch of my clit.
With a long moan, I let go. Waves of ecstasy began to roll through my body. I was coming. Endlessly coming. The waves traveled from my head to my toes. It was like every cell in my body was being taken out to sea. With yet another deep thrust and a loud feral grunt, Jaime spasmed inside me, blasting his hot release as I blissfully rode out my orgasm.
Folding the weight of his body onto me, he crushed my breasts and yanked off his tie from my eyes. I blinked only once, taking in his expression. It was the face of a man who had just won my cunt—skin glazed, eyes hooded, mouth sated.
His breathing stabilizing, he nuzzled my neck, in the very sensitive crook beneath my chin. “Next time, you’re going to watch me come.” His voice was a sexy rasp.
I wasn’t sure about a “next time.” I was dazed, confused, wasted; I’d never had such a mind-blowing orgasm. I took in a deep breath to bring air to my brain.
“I’ve got to go.”
“What do you mean? I thought we’d celebrate with dinner. And besides you still owe me.” He shot me that sexy smirk.
“I can’t. I’m flying back to LA tonight.”
He played with my mussed up braid, brushing the wispy ends across my sweat-beaded skin. “I don’t want you to go.” Sweetness laced his voice.
“I’m sorry. But I’ve got to. Would you kindly let me get dressed?”
“Fuck. I was ready to bang you again against a wall.” He reluctantly rolled off me and dismounted the table.
Sitting at the edge, I watched as he tucked his still semi-hard erection into his slacks. I was still in shock that I’d let this man fuck me on this table and that I’d loved every minute of his assault. Still throbbing, I reached for my undergarments that were strewn on one of the conference table chairs.
His hands got there first. “Let me have the honors. I always cater to my clients.” A roguish glint flickered in his eyes.
A shiver tickled my spine as he pulled up my panties and garter. He smiled as the garments made their ascent up my long legs.
“Lift up your beautiful ass.”
Anchoring my hands on the table, I raised myself a few inches so that he could get the lacy confections over my butt.
Next the silk stockings.
“Your skin is like satin,” he purred as he slinked them up my legs.
My flesh tingled. He expertly rehooked them mid thigh to the garters. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to put on another pair of silk stockings without thinking back to this encounter.
He collected my bra. “Slip your hands in,” he said with a slight jerk of his chin, holding it up by the straps. I did as bid, and he slid the bra up my bare arms. My tender breasts fell into the cups, my swollen nipples peeking through the lace. His index fingers circled them before moving to hook the back clasp. I stifled a moan as a soft smile played on his face. Next my blouse. His dexterous hands skimmed my chest as he buttoned it up. This time the moan escaped.
Lifting me off the table to my feet, he instructed me to step into my skirt and then shimmied it up to my waist where he zipped and buttoned it. Lastly, he helped me into my suit jacket and adjusted my beads so that they lay perfectly over my collarbone. There was something adoring in the way he dressed me. He made me feel taken care of, though not helpless. It made me want to run my hands along his gorgeous face, but I refrained.
“Hold on to my shoulders,” he said sweetly as he slipped my Louboutins back onto my feet, where it had all started. The six-inch fuck me shoes made us once again face-to-face.
I was back to being me…albeit a just fucked one. Wobbling, I collected my purse and briefcase. It was back to business.
“Mr. Zander, don’t forget to have your business affairs people call mine next week. We’re going to have figure out a budget and timeline. I want to move quickly.”
His eyes bore into mine. “Please tell your business affairs people there’s only one deal breaker.”
I shot him a puzzled look. “Which would be…”
“I want you to be the point person. Only you, No one else.”
Well, at least, that solved the problem of Vivien. I agreed.
With a satisfied smile, he coiled my braid around his hand. “Ms. Long, I’m looking forward to working with you. We’ll make a great team.”
His lips smashed into mine. I melted.
“One other deal point. You must always wear red lipstick. It becomes you.”
Yeah, he was a genius. A total fucking genius.
Chapter 11
By the time I was back in my hotel room, I regretted what had transpired between Jaime and me. I threw myself into packing my belongings, trying to forget, but the throbbing between my legs and the thudding of my heart made it impossible.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into? I made it a point never to mix business with pleasure and now I had crossed the line big time. I had let this impossible man fuck me. Right on his conference room table! How the hell were we going to work together? This was so fucked.
As I folded up my red bandeau bathing suit, other memories of this week whirled around in my head. Our first encounter on the elevator…our first meeting…the Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show…the after-party…our dinners…our swim…the pitch. A wistful smile—and a tingle—accompanied the flashbacks, and then I mentally kicked myself. Why the hell did I let him do the things he did? How could I—this supposedly powerful, in control, respected woman—be so submissive? So taken? No man had ever done this to me before. And it wasn’t just his breathtaking looks and his sexual prowess, though that counted for a lot. I was irresistibly drawn to his cocky, confident personality and his outrageous creativity. His brilliance. I’d never met a man like him. He challenged me. He made me fall apart and then put me back together—making me feel more complete, more alive, than I’d ever felt.
Confession: I hadn’t taken a shower. Yes, a little gross, but I wanted to wear the essence of him for as long as I could. Given the three thousand or so miles that separated us and the Internet that connected us, it was unlikely that we’d see other again soon. As I latched the last of my Louis Vuitton travel trunks, I longed for him to knock down the door and fuck my brains out on it. Damn it! He had me bad.
With a disconcerted heart, I called the front desk to have someone collect my mountain of LV luggage. The one thing I was not was a light packer.
The valet came promptly. I followed him to the elevators, my bags piled high on his dolly. I was so hoping, when the elevator doors parted, Jaime would be there, his cocky smile and those sexy denim blues in my face. Ready to take me in his arms and consume my lips with his. Wishful thinking. As the express car descended to the lobby, our first awkward encounter in this elevator replayed in my head. The moment his eyes held mine had been the beginning. And then our fingers touched—a spark of electricity. I shuddered; I could still feel it. Was Madame Paulette right? Was it love at first sight? With a heavy sigh, I wondered: had it been the same for him?
When we reached the lobby and the doors parted, my reverie ended and reality set in. I was going back to Los Angeles. Back to the hectic but solitary life I led. Kevin was flying back with me on the corporate jet while Vivien was staying behind to get some shopping in over the three day weekend ahead; Monday was President’s Day and our office was closed.
Following the valet, who was wheeling my luggage to the hotel entrance, I passed by the bar. Friday night, happy hour. It was packed. “Undercover Lover” was playing in the background. I recognized the Kids in Glass Houses song because we’d once used it in a James Bond-themed Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. My eyes took in the boisterous crowd, and then they grew wide. I stopped dead in my tracks. My breath hitched painfully. At the end of the bar, facing me was Jaime Zander. And all over him was Vivien Holden, one hand fisting his tousled hair, the other cupping his ass, their mouths interlocked. My blood ran cold. I was right. He was into her. I was just another
conquest. Another fuck he could add to his stable.
Jaime’s eyes caught my mine, frozen with shock. He broke away from Vivien and sprinted my way. I rushed off, my steps quickening until I was running in my six-inch heels to the entrance of the hotel.
“Wait, Gloria!” I heard him shout.
My insides wrenched at the sound of his voice. I didn’t look back. Fuck him! The two words looped around my brain. How could he use me like that to win my account? How stupid could I be? Tears stung my eyes. Thank goodness, Kevin was waiting for me at the entrance.
“Come on, Kev, let’s get of here.” I hooked my arm in his and pushed him through the revolving glass door.
Outside the hotel, in the semi-circular driveway, Nigel was waiting for us with the town car. My bags had already been stowed away in the trunk. I hopped into the car, with a baffled Kevin following behind me. Nigel closed the door and returned to the car. “Lock the doors!” I yelled to my trusty driver.
Shit! There were at least six cars ahead of us. As we waited in line for the vehicles in front of us to leave, there was a loud rapping on the passenger door window. Jaime! Thank goodness the door was locked. My heart was in a frenzy, and tears stabbed at my eyes.
“Open up!” He pounded against the glass with his fist, and with his other hand, tried to yank open the door. His voice boomed through the tinted glass. I looked away.
“Don’t touch the door,” I barked at a baffled Kevin.
“Glorious, what’s going—”
I cut him off. “I’ll explain everything as soon as we get out of here.”
He shot me a perplexed look.
Jaime was persistent. He pounded with such ferocity I thought his fist might break through the glass. “Roll down the window, Gloria. I need to talk to you.”
I shot him an icy glare, facing him just long enough to let him see a tear escape my eyes.
“Gloria!” he shouted again.
I turned my head away and bit my lip, battling more tears. Finally, the car started to move. Jaime stayed with it. Damn him! Was he going to run down Park Avenue with us?
“Nigel, step on it!” I ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He floored the gas pedal, leaving Jaime behind after one final, frustrated thrust of his fist on the glass pane. I heard him curse as we zoomed off. In no time, we were cruising down the wide city street. I spun my head around and could see Jaime still standing motionless on the corner of Fifty-Ninth and Park.
A golf-ball-sized lump swelled in my throat. Tears, I’d been holding back, streamed down my cheeks.
“Glorious, what’s wrong?” asked Kevin, brushing them away.
“Everything. Fucking everything.”
* * * *
By the time we arrived at Teterboro, the nearby New Jersey airport that catered to corporate jets and private celebrity planes, I’d spilled everything to Kevin. He had listened intently, only stopping me with a question or two. Few things shocked Kevin; today’s events were among them.
“Shit! This is fucked. Maybe we should move forward with a different agency. We haven’t signed a contract.”
That wasn’t an option. The ZAP! pitch was perfect. It would take weeks, maybe months to find another agency that could come up with a campaign that was as good—if that was even possible. And in the retail business, the longer you waited, the more likely your competition would jump in ahead of you.
“Listen, Glorious. He’s on the East Coast; you’re on the West. There’s three thousand plus miles between the two of you. You never have to physically see him again. Everything can be done through e-mails and an occasional Skype. If someone has to oversee the shoot from our side, I can do that.”
I sighed with relief. Kevin was my problem solver. He always had been and always would be. I gave him a hug. I loved him to pieces. We would always be there for each other.
“What about Vivien?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about the little minx. I’ll handle her.”
By the time we arrived at the airport, I was feeling much better. Except for better and for worse, I couldn’t get Jaime Zander out of my head.
* * * *
I braced myself for takeoff. The Gloria’s Secret corporate jet was next in line. My stomach bubbled with nerves. I squeezed Kevin’s hand. I was petrified of flying, especially takeoffs and landings. Flying made me feel so out of control. My life was totally in the hands of others. The pilot’s. And God’s. Unfortunately, I spent a good part of my life up in the air, traveling frequently for business meetings around the world. You would think the more I flew, the easier it would get, but it didn’t work that way.
Once the plane was up in the air and cruising smoothly, my pulse rate calmed down, and the butterflies in my stomach disappeared. A glass of chilled Chardonnay, served by one of the flight attendants, further relaxed me. By the time I finished it, I was sleepy and shifted my roomy pink leather chair into a reclining position.
“Wake me, when we land in LA,” I told Kevin who was watching an episode of Queer as Folk on his iPad.
“Sure.” He gave me a light peck on my cheek.
I closed my eyes, willing my mind to let go of Jaime Zander. The ache in my heart, however, lingered until sleep took over.
Six hours later, an announcement from our captain awakened me with a startle. It was time to return our chairs to an upright position as we were beginning our descent into Los Angeles. Kevin had dozed off too. We simultaneously lifted our chairs.
“Home sweet home,” sighed Kevin, who loved sunny Los Angeles as much as I did. It was almost midnight on the West Coast. I gazed out the window at the myriad of twinkling lights below and smiled. Neither of us had known when we’d fled to the City of Angels how much we would fall in love with the sun-kissed weather, the Pacific Ocean, the Spanish architecture, and the colorful, multi-ethnic neighborhoods.
As the plane swooped down, my fear of flying once again took hold of me. My stomach fluttered and my chest tightened. Gripping my hand, Kevin comforted me. “Hold on, Glorious. We’re almost there.”
I breathed a deep sigh of relief as the plane touched down on the tarmac. Home! We were safely home. I immediately turned my cell phone back on.
There were a dozen phone calls waiting for me from a private number. When I saw the equal number of texts, I knew who they were from. Jaime.
I read the first text.
Call me as soon as u land.
And then the second
I can explain.
I didn’t need to read the rest. Nor did I have to play his messages. The last thing I wanted was to hear his voice. My body tensed. Pain propelled my rapid heartbeat.
As we pulled into the terminal, the phone rang again. Again a private number. I ignored it. The phone rang again.
“It’s him.” I clenched my teeth and looked at Kevin beseechingly. “Kev, will you answer it?”
Kevin clutched the phone and put it to his diamond-studded ear. A somber expression washed over his face. “Hold on, please.” His long-lashed eyes took in mine. “Glorious, you need to take this call.” He handed me the phone.
The phone shook in my trembling hand. I could feel my blood drain from me as I listened to a familiar voice on the other side.
It was Nurse Perez from the Cadbury House for Assisted Living. Madame Paulette was dead. She had died peacefully in her sleep.
My body froze over. I could only feel the scorching tears that poured down my face.
“It’s Madame Paulette,” I spluttered.
I needed to say no more. Kevin took me into his arms and let me cry on his shoulder. He knew what Madame had meant to me.
“Oh, Glorious, I’m so, so sorry,” he soothed as I heaved against him.
* * * *
The plane refueled. Without ever leaving the cabin, we did an about face, heading back to New York. Collecting myself, I told Kevin about Madame Paulette’s wish to be buried next to her late husband in Paris.
“Glorious, I’ll arrange for her body to
be properly flown to Paris. I’m pretty sure Sandrine, our Paris store manager, is Jewish. I’ll contact her to see if she can help with the funeral arrangements.”
Thank goodness for my beloved Kevin. Indeed, Sandrine, a good friend, was Jewish. My mind was in a thick fog. What would I do without Kev?
“Do you want me to come to Paris with you?” he asked.
A ghost of a smile flickered on my face; Kevin was always there for me. But this time, I needed to be alone. As soon as he debarked the plane in New York, I was flying solo to Paris.
Chapter 12
I arrived in Paris on Saturday a little after eight p.m. I was exhausted, totally jetlagged. Though we fortunately didn’t encounter any turbulence during the seven-hour flight from New York, the turbulent memories of the last twenty-four hours rocked my body and mind, making sleep impossible.
As soon as we touched down at Le Bourget airport, I got a text from Kevin. Madame Paulette’s body was being flown to Paris, and Sandrine had managed to set up a Jewish burial service the next day, Sunday, at the cemetery where her husband Henri was buried. The driver Kevin had arranged for met me on the tarmac and whisked me off in his limo to The Intercontinental Hotel where I was staying. Like Madame Paulette, I loved Paris. As the Eiffel Tower came into view, a pang of sadness stabbed at my heart. This time, my love affair with the City of Light might end.
Bleary eyed, I checked into the hotel with just a couple of bags as I planned to head back to Los Angeles on Monday after Madame Paulette’s funeral.
Having stayed at The Intercontinental numerous times, I was treated with the utmost respect, the staff working quickly to get me into my suite. All I wanted to do was snuggle under fluffy covers and sleep. I couldn’t even see straight. As I followed the valet through the bustling opulent lobby to the elevator, a stocky man wearing a long black trench coat and wide brimmed hat that hid his face brushed by me, almost knocking me over.