by Amy Brent
With heavy breaths, I kicked off my shoes and lay next to him on the bed still in my work dress. Fletcher’s lips curled up into a smile, and he draped an arm around my waist. Within seconds, we were both asleep.
* * *
When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t know where I was. The ceiling was different, the sounds were different, and I wasn’t alone in bed. For a groggy second, I imagined it was Harrington with his arms around me and dread filled my entire body. But then, as my brain started to work, I remembered working late, seeing Fletcher sick on his desk and bringing him home. I also remembered him asking me to stay and my lips curled up into a smile.
I turned my head to the side and saw Fletcher, laying shirtless as he smiled at me. He looked sleepy and hungover, but he was still the most handsome man I had ever seen.
“Good morning,” I greeted.
His smile widened. “It is. You wake up prettier than I imagined.”
The idea that Fletcher had imagined me waking up made weird things to my stomach. The realization that he was being warm and sweet instead of sending me away as he usually did, made my lungs forget how to breathe.
“So, do you,” I replied in the steadiest voice I could muster. “It’s really not fair. Someone who drank and puked as much as you did last night should wake up looking like death, but you seem perfect.”
As soon as that last word was out of my mouth, I regretted saying it.
“Perfect, hmm?” Fletcher asked with a smirk that made him look twenty years younger.
I couldn’t help but smile back. I had no idea who this man was or what he had done to my asshole boss. All I knew was that I liked him—maybe even more than I liked regular Fletcher, and that was saying a bunch.
With an eye roll, I replied, “Yeah, but just in the hair and the not puffy eyes. The rest is pretty ordinary.”
My words made him laugh—laugh! It was the first time I had ever heard the sound in all the four years I had known him. It was a throaty sound that reverberated in my own chest. It was also not the kind of sound you’d expect out of a hungover person.
“How come you’re happy? Your head should be pounding, and you should be whining about the mother of all hangovers right now,” I said without even noticing.
Still with that smile on his lips, Fletcher shrugged and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I held my breath.
“My head is pounding, and I am extremely hungover. But I woke up and you were in my bed, Gracie.”
He said those words as if they should make sense to me, but they didn’t. To me, everything about this moment was like a dream, one I wanted to last forever.
In this dream, I was bold. The tenderness and desire in Fletcher’s eyes made me like that, and I felt like I could do anything. I could even lean forward and kiss him.
And so, I did.
I inched my body closer to his, held the back of his neck and pressed my mouth to his. The dream was so real I could feel the softness of his lips against mine and the grittiness of his stubble against the soft skin of my chin. It was heaven.
Then, Fletcher’s hand reached to touch my hip, and his tongue stroked mine and the dream melted away into the most perfect reality.
Grace
This kiss wasn’t like any other we had ever shared before. It was soft, sensual and, most importantly, caring. For the first time, it was like Fletcher actually cared about who he was kissing and not just about what he was getting out it. At the same time, it gave me that feeling of a live wire touching my entire body. Every inch of me buzzed with delight and excitement.
We kissed for long enough for my lips to feel puffy and my center to grow wet. Then, out of the blue, Fletcher broke the kiss and rolled away from me.
I opened my eyes and looked at him with confusion and apprehension. After the sweet way he had just treated me and everything I had done for him the previous night, I simply couldn’t believe he would pull away and dismiss me like usual.
My fear and hurt fueled that boldness I felt when I pulled him in for a kiss. With my eyes locked with his and my voice firm, I said, “No. You’re not pulling away or telling me to go. It’s not fair, and I won’t do it this time. I’ve told you to get your shit toget—”
“And that’s exactly why I’m pulling away, Gracie,” he interrupted in a soft but stern tone. I closed my mouth, but my brows continued to frown as he explained, “I’ve spent the past few weeks getting my head in order. I’ve been cutting back on the drinking and—aside from last night’s bender, of course—I haven’t gotten drunk once since that night in my office. I’ve also kept my distance from you because although no man will ever want you the way I do, we both know you deserve way better than what I’ve given you, which is my point.
“As much as I hated seeing you with that guy, you found someone who treats you right. It’s not fair of me to screw that up for you—no matter how fucking much I want to.”
Fletcher’s words made my heart pound and my head swim. Although I couldn’t ignore the truth in what he said or the fact that I had indeed found someone who treated me way better than he ever did, the elation I felt over the grand way in which he declared his desire for me overshadowed those things. For the first time, I felt like he was open to the idea of more with me and we might actually have a chance. That feeling made me open, honest and utterly fearless.
Rolling closer to him in the bed, I placed a hand on Fletcher’s cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“You’re not screwing anything up,” I admitted in a soft tone. “Harrington is great—like prince charming kind of great, to be honest.” Fletcher’s jaw tensed at that confession, and I smiled as I added, “But he also bores me to death. Too much of a good thing, you know?”
His eyes opened, and there was a new light in them. Tentatively, he touched the side of my hip as he held my gaze. “You’re still his, though.”
I shook my head. “I’m seeing him casually, but we’re not serious or official. Besides, I’m no one’s. but my own.”
The tiniest hint of a smile curled on Fletcher’s lips, and his fingers pressed a bit tighter against my skin. He moved in closer.
“I’d like to make you mine,” he admitted in a low and sexy tone. “Would you accept that? Belonging to me, I mean.”
My heart pounded inside my chest. I had no idea what he meant by that, but I didn’t care if it was simply a sexual request or something more serious and permanent. My answer to either of those scenarios was the same. If I was ever going to belong to someone in any capacity, it was going to be to Fletcher.
“Yes,” I replied right away. “I’ll belong to you.”
That hint of a smile turned into a full-blown grin as he pulled me closer still. Folding his arms around my midsection, Fletcher brought my hips flush with his so I could feel his arousal. Instinctively, my legs opened as much as my dress would allow to accommodate him.
“Since you’re mine, I’d like to make you a little more comfortable,” he said as he reached for the zipper. on my back and started pulling it down.
I smiled as my body began to pulse with anticipation. Drunken sex with Fletcher had been incredible; I could only imagine what sober sex would be like.
As he peeled the dress off my body, his mouth met mine. Even though the tenderness of his previous kiss was still there, this one was a lot more hungry and urgent. He kissed me like he meant it. Each swipe of his tongue against mine or nibble of his teeth on my lips felt like a hot iron marking me as his. I welcomed the fire and the brand like they were the air I needed to live.
The moisture gathering between my thighs soaked through the flimsy fabric of my panties as Fletcher removed my mustard dress and underwear. Once my body was bare, he pushed me on my back and rose to his knees to gaze at me.
With a sigh and a click of his tongue, he said, “You look edible right now.”
His words, the secret meaning they held and the way Fletcher was staring at me made my cheeks heat with a flush. With his tongue peekin
g between his mouth, he reached for my face.
The touch started out innocent; just a light pressure of his palm against the line of my jaw. He had touched me like that many times, but this was the first time that alcohol had nothing to do with it and his soberness made it so much better.
Before I could fully enjoy the feel of his skin against mine, Fletcher pulled his palm away, so only the tips of his fingers were in contact with my flesh. Slowly, he trailed a line around my jaw and across my check until his index finger came in contact with my lips. Then, in the same unhurried pace, he pushed the appendage inside my mouth and, instinctively, I started to suck on it.
With a sexy, lazy smirk on his lips, Fletcher brought his mouth down to my neck and started kissing and nibbling and sucking on my skin. He continued to work his finger in and out of my mouth, as his still covered erection pressed into my bare, soaked center and his lips lowered down to my breasts.
I moaned when he took a nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue around it before trapping my hardened peak between his teeth. The feeling was intense and right between pleasure and pain, but I didn’t complain. I had agreed to be his and as such knew I was completely at his mercy—which was exactly where I wanted to be.
He continued to pleasure me like that until I started to squirm. Then, he moved to the other nipple and did the exact same thing.
My arousal dripped off me and soaked the fabric of Fletcher’s boxer briefs as he continued to press his covered erection against my clit. I wanted to reach down and remove the fabric so I could feel him against me, but the pleasure he was coaxing out of me was so intense my limbs felt like noodles.
As if sensing how close to an orgasm I was, Fletcher released my nipple and started kissing a downward line through my body. The anticipation for what I knew would happen made me shiver, and when his mouth finally reached his destination between my thighs, I cried out with pleasure.
Taking advantage of my opened mouth, Fletcher removed the finger I’d been sucking on and brought it down to my opening. Another cry of delight escaped me when he inserted the slick finger deep inside me.
Overwhelmed by the sensations, I closed my eyes and enjoyed as he flicked tongue against my clit and massaged my G-spot with his finger. The orgasm that had been brewing inside my belly started to swell and take over every inch of my being until .it finally exploded.
With my back arched and my fingers clawing at Fletcher’s hair and the bedsheets, I cried out and called his name over and over as my body was flooded with waves of the most intense pleasure I had ever felt. Then, as I finally relaxed into the wonderful afterglow of my orgasm, he licked my juices clean and finally pulled out his boxer briefs.
As his cock came loose—all thick and pink and delicious—I licked my lips and tried to reach for it. I wanted to taste him so bad, but my arms were still too soft to move. So, Fletcher moved instead.
Draping his body over mine, he placed the head of his cock against my opening and kissed my lips as he pushed himself inside. Unlike the last time we had sex, his movement was slow and gave me time to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of my body widening and molding itself around his girth. Once he was fully buried inside of me, he kissed my lips and started moving his hips.
His eyes stayed locked with mine as we lost ourselves in the secret conversation of our bodies. The last time had been fucking. This, however, was undoubtedly lovemaking and it was like a dream.
The room was filled with soft moans and little groans. Fletcher’s hands grabbed at my skin and massaged my breasts, as mine squeezed his firm ass and scratched at his back. A new orgasm started to build inside me in the same deliciously slow pace, and I enjoyed every jolt of electricity and every wave of warmth that washed over me.
Reluctantly, my eyes fluttered closed as I felt my body hang at the edge of the cliff. Shivering and tightening around Fletcher’s cock, I whispered, “Oh, my gosh. I’m gonna come.”
A smile formed on the lips that were kissing my neck. “Do it, baby. Come for me.”
And I did. My nails dug into Fletcher’s flesh, and my back arched as my body exploded with my second orgasm of the morning. It was somehow even more intense than the first, and he kept going until he had drawn every last bit of pleasure out of me.
Once my orgasm simmered and my consciousness returned, Fletcher pulled out of me and flipped me on my stomach. I yelped as he grabbed me by the hip creases and pulled me up onto all fours.
“You have such a perfect ass, Gracie,” he said as he ran his hands over my cheeks. He bent forward and ran his tongue from my lower back all the way up to my neck. Then, he positioned his cock at my opening and placed his mouth in line with my ear, and added, “One day, I’m gonna make that ass mine as well.”
The forbidden promise in his words made me gasp. As I did, Fletcher pushed himself back inside of me with one powerful, sharp thrust. I gasped again, and again, and again as he started to pound mercilessly into me.
His moves were no longer careful and loving. They were primal and fierce and fantastic. I had absolutely adored being loved by Fletcher, and being fucked by him—especially when he was sober and his moves were precise—was just as mind-blowing.
As a new orgasm started to warm me from within, Fletcher’s groans became more animalistic. I could feel him stiffen inside me as his thrusts became faster and more intense.
“Let go with me, baby,” he urged, and as the obedient girl that I was, I promptly obeyed.
Together, we cried each other’s name as we found our release. We stayed connected, his cock pumping slowly into me and my inner muscles milking the last few drops of dew from him, for a few more seconds before we both collapsed onto the bed.
As our bodies separated, Fletcher rolled onto his pillow, and for a moment I panicked that we would just tell me to leave like the last time. With my emotions right on the surface, the terrible claws of rejection gripped at my heart, and terrified tears pierced through my eyes. Then, just as I was about to give in to despair, his hands reached for me, and he pulled me closer.
“That was amazing,” Fletcher said in a cheerful tone as I nestled on his chest. “You should stay here the whole weekend so we can do that again and again.”
With my eyes glistening with emotion, I looked up at him. “Are you serious? You want me to stay?”
His tired eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Of course, I do. You’re mine now, and I’m not even close to being done with you, Gracie.”
Barely believing my ears, I smiled because I wasn’t even close being done with him either.
Fletcher
In all my forty-six years, I had never asked a woman to spend the weekend with me. Grace was the first. In fact, she was the first in many things.
She was the first woman to call me out on my crap. The first employee I had ever slept with. The first woman to completely capture my mind, attention, and heart. And the first to make me want to toss all the rules of my world into the trash just so we could be together. It was a great new world for me, and though I still wasn’t sure how I’d navigate it, I was happier than I had ever been before.
Our weekend together was fantastic. Not only we continued to have amazing sex, but we also spent a lot of time talking and actually getting to know each other as people for the first time in four years.
We talked about everything. I told her about growing up middle-class and working my ass off to build my empire from the ground up and heard her stories about growing up as the only child of a single mother. We discussed her dreams for the future, our favorite kinds of music and the movies we could watch forever. We even talked about our relationships with Charlotte and Harrington—which would be terminated as soon as possible.
The more I got to know about her the more I appreciated her. She understood me better than anyone in my circle and was strong, determined, funny and insanely smart. Put those things together with her killer body and adventurous nature in bed, and I had no doubt I had found the perfect woman for me.
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br /> When she left my apartment Sunday night, I was sad—and reluctant—to let her go. Her presence made me a better person, a happier person, but I knew she couldn’t show up at the office with the same clothes she wore on Friday without raising suspicions. Also, she had the Harrington problem to fix before she could truly be mine. Therefore, I kissed her lips and waved as a cab took her away.
The next day I arrived at the office bright and early with a clear head, a big smile and two cups of Starbucks.
“Hi,” I greeted Grace as I placed the coffee I had brought for her on top of her desk.
She looked up at me with a smitten grin, and I almost leaned over her desk to kiss her. The only reason I didn’t, was because we hadn’t discussed it yet and I figured she wouldn’t like the office drama that could bring.
“How was your weekend, Mr. Cox?” The name that had once made me so frustrated now brought a smile to my lips. She had called me that during one of our kinkiest thirsts this weekend and the memory still made my lower half twitch.
“It was exhausting in the best possible way, Ms. Taylor. How was yours?”
“Too short,” she replied.
Unable to hold myself, I winked at her and opened my mouth to ask her to step into my office when the sound of someone clearing their throats sounded beside me. Annoyed at the interruption, I wiped the smile off my face and turned my face towards the nuisance with every intention of telling whoever it was to fuck off. Dread washed over me when I saw Hawthorne staring through narrowed eyes at Grace and me.
“Ethan,” I said as I grew a bit taller on my spine. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
The condescension and sarcasm were evident in my voice, and his raised brow assured me he had picked up on both of them.
“Our charity, of course,” he said with the fake politeness wealthy and powerful people tend to use.