by Nikki Ash
I stare at her for a minute, deciding where to begin first, because there’s so much wrong with everything she just said. Finally, I start with her issue with athletes.
“Christian is a musician,” I point out. “You mentioned you don’t date athletes back in the Hamptons. Did one break your heart?”
Giselle shakes her head, then lifts my arm up and ducks underneath. She grabs her coffee off the counter and sashays across the kitchen. “No, I don’t date musicians, athletes, pilots, traveling salesmen, doctors without borders…anyone who travels for their job.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee before she continues. “I’m not about to be cheated on again, and it’s been proven more times than not, guys who travel, cheat. My dad traveled with his job and he cheated on my mom. Christian cheated on me while on the road.”
“Nick is an athlete and he would never cheat on Olivia,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. That’s just one part of it. Did you not hear the part about me being an escort?”
“Yeah, I heard,” I tell her, “but that’s going to change. Even if you want to just be friends.” I want to add for now, but I don’t. I’ll take it slow with Giselle, but I’m not going to settle on just being friends with her. For the first time in years I want to see where things can go with a woman, and I’m not about to let her stubbornness get in my way. And yes, I’m fully aware just how much of a hypocrite I sound like, when just a few short weeks ago I was accusing her of living off Olivia. But that was before I took the time to find out the entire story. And now that I know, I’m going to make it up to Giselle. I’m not going to let her sell her body to take care of her family.
“That’s not your decision to make.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “I need to get going. I took the day off to meet with my mom’s doctors.” She pours the remaining coffee into the sink and rinses out the mug. Then she heads back into my bedroom.
Following her, I say, “This conversation isn’t over.” She lifts her arms up in a whatever you say gesture.
I shower while she gets dressed and then we head down to the garage so I can take her home to get dressed. When I press the button on one of my fobs, the lights to my special edition Bugatti flicker on. It’s a beautiful shiny black with accented green tones to match the Brewer’s team colors.
“This is what we’re taking?” Giselle laughs. “Aren’t you afraid your precious car might get nicked?”
“I figured you needed to experience Betty yourself. You know, she was deeply offended when you called her ugly and stupid.” I pout playfully, and Giselle doubles over in a fit of laughter.
“You named your car Betty? How cliché!” She laughs harder.
“Now you’re dissing her name?” I tsk. “Get in. Once you get to know her you’ll regret the name-calling and apologize.” I open the door for her to get in.
“Are we seriously taking this car? We’re in New York! It’s kind of a waste. Isn’t it known for doing like zero-to-one hundred in thirty seconds? The only thing you’ll be doing on the streets of New York is wearing out the brakes.”
“Actually, it’s zero-to-two hundred and forty eight in forty three seconds.” I grin. She rolls her eyes completely unimpressed. “Now get in, so I can prove to you she’s not only beautiful, but also smart.”
Giselle shakes her head as she gets in. “She’s not a person, you know.”
“Shh, stop putting her down.”
The truth is, I have only driven my special edition once, and she’s right, driving this car in the city is a waste of its potential, but I can’t not drive the cars I love simply because of where I live. Now that would be a waste. Plus, fucking with her over her hatred of this car will be fun.
Once she’s buckled in, I close the door and go around to my side to get in. It smells of new leather, and I can’t help but inhale the scent. Giselle giggles. “Feel the leather and silver,” I say as I run my fingers over the dashboard. She snorts out a laugh thinking I’m joking.
“Seriously,” I say, “feel the leather and silver.” I take her hand in mine and run it across the material. She oohs and ahhs dramatically. “Oh, yes, Killian, that leather feels so good!” She moans playfully. I know she’s only joking, but the sound she makes has me imagining what she’ll sound like when a man finally makes her come. And holy fuck, do I want to be that man.
I let go of her hand and press the power button, and it rumbles to life. I smile over at her and she groans. “I get it…It’s powerful,” she says dryly.
“Damn right it is.”
As I back out, Giselle looks around, then asks, “Where’s the radio?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Okay, stop,” she demands, and I press the brakes. “I love Betty. She’s sexy and beautiful and so very smart, but c’mon, Kill. We need a radio.” She pouts. “We have like an hour drive to Serenity.”
“Not in this car we don’t. I’ll get us there in fifteen minutes. And Betty doesn’t need your fake praises. Soon enough you’ll be singing them for real.”
She laughs. “Ugh! Fine!”
I grin wide and pull my phone out. It’s already programmed for Bluetooth, so all I have to do is press play and the music surrounds us. “No radio, but there is music.” I give her a playful wink.
Once we get to her place, she argues she can take the subway but I’m not having it. Thankfully, she picks her battles and lets me win this one. Once she’s showered and dressed in a new outfit, she gets back in the car and we begin our trip to Rye. We stop on the way to grab a couple croissants and Giselle gets another coffee. She groans when everyone stares at the car, but when a few guys ask if they can get a picture with it and me, she offers to take the pictures for them.
She fidgets as we drive through the city, messing with the music on my phone, but not saying a word. She’s obviously nervous about meeting with her mom’s doctors. I want to discuss her finding another option aside from working at A Touch of Class, but now isn’t the time. Instead I go for a distraction. When we hit the interstate, I make it a point to speed up. Giselle’s back hits the seat as the car surges forward. She leans over to check the speed, and when she sees it’s already at one hundred miles per hour, she gasps.
“Holy shit! It’s like we’re flying.” She laughs. She turns the music up louder and raises her hands in the air. Her head goes back as she belts out the lyrics. Not wanting to put her in danger—or get pulled over—when the car reaches one-twenty, I let my foot off the gas. It slowly descends until we’re back to the speed limit. She continues to play the music loud, singing along to each of the songs. Her voice is horrible and she sings completely off tune, yet I find myself wanting to take a detour so she’ll keep singing for several more hours. I like this version of the woman next to me. The playful, outgoing, doesn’t-have-a-care-in-the-world Giselle is how she should always be.
“So?” I prompt as we pull up. “Is she still ugly and stupid?”
“No! I love her! She’s so fast and smooth. When I win the lottery one day I’m going to get me one.” She grins playfully.
“See! I told you she would grow on you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She laughs. “You win.”
I hand my keys to the valet then walk around to open the door for Giselle. She tells me I don’t have to join her, but when I give her a look that tells her to quit it, she simply nods.
After signing in, we’re brought back to meet with her mom’s doctors: Dr. Burns, who focuses on her mother’s mental health, and Dr. Clay, who focuses on her physical health.
“After evaluating your mother for the last five days, my advisement is to admit her long term,” Dr. Burns begins. “We’ve looked at her previous diagnoses, and while I’ve seen signs of depression, my thoughts are that there is more to it than that. Unfortunately, when it comes to diagnosing a patient, especially when dealing with medication, it’s all trial and error. The brain doesn’t send off a sure sign indicating the issue. It’s not like cancer, for exam
ple. We can’t do an MRI and have it find the mass.”
Giselle listens intently, nodding as he speaks.
“If the patient isn’t suicidal, we can have her see us as an outpatient.”
“But my mom has tried to kill herself several times,” Giselle says, finishing his sentence.
“Exactly. When we’re working with someone as an outpatient, she would come in several times a week to determine what’s working and what’s not. Sometimes it’s as little as finding the right medication and dose, while other times it’s figuring out the diagnosis to begin treatment. In your mother’s situation, it’s best to have her under twenty-four hour supervision. We have a team of highly-trained medical staff who can monitor her closely. That way if a medication isn’t working we will know right away. We can lower and raise the dosage and she’ll be safe.” Dr. Burns stops speaking and nods to Dr. Clay.
“Your mother has been evaluated completely, including extensive bloodwork, and physically she’s healthy. That leads us to believe what’s wrong with her is a chemical imbalance of some sort. If you decide to keep her here, she will receive additional bloodwork to continue to rule out any physical issues. With any medication, there’s a risk to the body. We will monitor her closely.”
“Do you have any questions?” Dr. Burns asks.
Giselle looks over at me and gives me a small smile. “Would you mind if I speak to the doctors alone for a moment?”
Not wanting to argue, I nod once and stand. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
I walk outside the door, but when I see the receptionist isn’t at her desk, I close the door and place my ear up to it. Her voice is soft, and I can barely hear what she’s saying, but then one of the doctors speak and his baritone voice is loud enough that I can hear what he’s saying.
“She could see a therapist, but as I said, I don’t recommend it. She’s clearly suicidal, and if left alone we can’t be sure she won’t attempt it again, especially if she’s on the wrong meds. If it’s about money, we offer a private medically-needy loan. You can apply, and if you’re approved they will set up a payment plan.”
The doctor stops talking and Giselle starts. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I don’t need to. I’ve heard enough. I know what I need to do.
* * *
Giselle looks around, and realizing we aren’t headed toward Brooklyn Heights, asks, “Where are we going?” She’s been quiet the entire drive back, and if it wasn’t for her sniffling quietly every once in a while, I would’ve assumed she was sleeping.
When she walked outside an hour later from her meeting, I was sitting on the bench waiting for her. Under her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were stained pink. It was obvious she’d been crying. She told me they allowed her to visit her mom for a little while, which explained the tears. She mentioned her mom has forty-eight hours left in there and then she’s going to have to make a decision.
“To get a late lunch,” I tell her, answering her question. Then, before she can argue, I add, “And you already told me you took the day off, so I know you don’t have to work.” I shoot her a knowing smirk and she rolls her eyes.
I park my car in the garage, then get out and open Giselle’s door for her.
“I thought you said we’re going to lunch?” she asks.
“I said we’re getting lunch…and we are. I’m going to have them deliver whatever we want to my place.”
We take the elevator up, and once we’re inside, I ask Giselle what she’s in the mood for. She says she would love some soup and a sandwich, so I pull up the delivery app and order from the deli down the street. Once I’ve placed our order, I have her join me on the couch. Figuring she’s had enough of talking for one day, I turn on the TV and click on Netflix.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask.
She eyes me curiously. “I don’t know. I can’t even remember the last time I watched TV. I’ve been wanting to watch Sons of Anarchy for a while.” She shrugs. “I’ve been on a huge MC romance kick lately. It drives Olivia nuts.” She laughs.
“MC romance?” I question.
“Motorcycle club romance. The hero is a member of a club. Olivia prefers sports romance, but I love to read about a sexy tatted up biker.”
“I’m tatted up,” I say with a smirk.
“True, but do you ride a motorcycle?” She grins, and for a split second I consider buying one just so I can know how it feels to have her thighs wrapped around me from behind.
“Whatever. So, SOA?” I confirm.
“Sure!”
I’ve seen the entire series, but I don’t tell her that. When you travel a lot for work and spend a good amount of time in hotels, Netflix becomes your good friend. I click to start the first episode. A few minutes into the show and Giselle’s head is on my shoulder as she snores softly. Not wanting the food delivery to wake her up, I gently pick her up and bring her into my room. She must be absolutely exhausted because she doesn’t even stir as I set her on the bed and pull the covers out from under her. Once she’s covered with my blankets, I quickly change into a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt to get more comfortable.
Closing the door behind me, I head back out to the living room and pause the show. Once the buzzer goes off indicating the food is here, I open the door so he doesn’t have to knock. I thank him and place the food into the fridge for later. Then I spend the next few hours playing Madden on the PlayStation while I wait for Giselle to wake up. I hear her cell phone go off a few times, so I dig through her purse and make sure it isn’t her mom or sister. When I see it’s neither one, I switch it to silent and put it back in her purse. A couple minutes later, Nick calls me.
“What’s up?”
“Did everything with Giselle go okay last night?” he asks without even saying hello.
“Well, hello to you too. It did. How’s Olivia?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I think she’s hiding something from me. She woke up this morning and ran out the door with Celeste to go shopping.”
I laugh. “Olivia hates shopping.”
“Exactly. We were invited to go to some grand opening of a new restaurant and she used the excuse that she needs to buy a new dress. Anyway, I have Reed with me for the day. Want to join us at the park?”
My bedroom door creaks open and out walks Giselle. She’s still wearing her outfit from earlier: silky black shorts that are the perfect mix of professional and sexy, and a midnight blue top that dips just low enough to show off the perfect swells of her breasts. Her lids are still hooded from sleeping, but she looks refreshed. A nap seems to have done the trick. She comes over and sits down next to me. Her brows furrow slightly and her fleshy lips pucker. That’s when I remember I’m on the phone with Nick.
“Umm…let me call you back in a few minutes.” I hang up without waiting for him to answer and throw my phone to the side. My only thoughts are that I need to kiss this woman again.
Without warning, I lift Giselle onto my lap. Without giving her a chance to deny me, I grip the back of her head, her hair tangling in my fingers, and pull her in for a kiss. At first she doesn’t kiss me back, but when my tongue darts out, she shocks the shit out of me when she parts her soft lips and gives me access. We kiss for several minutes. I forgot what it’s like to taste a woman. I focus on the way her lips brush softly against mine, and the way her tongue duals with my own. Kissing this woman could easily become an addiction.
Giselle’s silky shorts are thin, and the more heated our kiss gets, the more I feel her hot cunt grind against my pelvis. Her fingers pull at the little bit of hair I have, and it spurs me on to take more from her. With one hand grabbing her ass, I use my other one to push aside her shorts and panties. They move easily. I hesitate for a second, wondering if Giselle is going to stop me, and when she doesn’t, I push a single digit into her. And holy fuck, the woman is soaking wet. I can’t help the groan that escapes me as her wet heat surrounds my finger. It’s been too damn lo
ng since I felt the inside of a woman.
I say a quick prayer to the man above that I don’t make a fool out of myself. Then I stifle a laugh…because let’s be real here, God has more important prayers to answer than the one from a thirty-one year old man who’s praying to remember how to give a woman an orgasm. The same man who might as well be a damn born-again virgin with no recent sexual experience.
Giselle moans into my mouth as she grinds down on my finger, trying to make herself come. I can’t have that, though. When she comes, it will be because of me—not of her own doing.
Adding another finger to the mix, I fingerfuck her as deep as I can go while we continue to kiss. My thumb finds her clit and I massage it in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm in pleasure. Giselle’s breathing turns labored. Her cunt grinds down on my hand as my thumb finds a good rhythm. And then she’s coming all over my fingers. Her thighs shake as her orgasm overtakes her, and her juices drip down and soak my shorts.
She ends our kiss, and I take a second to look at her. Her lips are puffy and pink from my beard. Her face is flushed and her lids are half-closed. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve made a woman come, and Giselle looks like she’s high from the orgasm I gave her.
She stares at me for a long moment, and when she doesn’t say anything, I have to ask, “What are you thinking?”
She gives me a shy smile. “I’m thinking that felt amazing.” She backs up slightly and her hand grips my hard cock. My eyes drop down to see the wet spot she left behind. “And I’m also thinking it’s only fair I return the favor.”
The last thing I want is for her to think she has to reciprocate out of obligation.
“You don’t owe me anything.” I lift her off me and set her on the couch. “I need to go change.”
When she frowns at my words, I add, “Nick is taking Reed to the park. Why don’t we take our sandwiches to the park to join them?” I don’t want her to think I don’t want her. I do. So fucking much. But only when she’s sure I’m the guy she wants to get serious with, and not because she thinks I expect a tit for tat.