“Are you done working for the night?”
Jillian’s soft voice drifted though Dean’s cellphone, making his chest ache as it did every evening when he called home to check in with her. He’d been in New York for the longest, most miserable week of his life, and he missed her. Not just the physical component of being together, but their easy conversations, their flirtatious banter, and her laughter . . . all of that had been sorely lacking since the night she’d walked into his office and turned his perfectly well-ordered life, and everything in it, upside down.
He felt as though the earth had shifted beneath him with her announcement, shaking the very foundation of their relationship in ways he never saw coming. And this newly determined, independent side to Jillian honestly scared the shit out of him.
“Yes, I’m done for the night,” he replied as he ran his finger along the rim of his glass of Scotch, contemplating the idea of just getting fucking drunk so he didn’t have to think about all the doubts and uncertainties eating away at him. “The presentation was approved and the contract signed today. I’ll be heading back home in the morning.”
“That’s great news about the contract,” she said, much too pleasantly, as if he was talking to a stranger rather his wife of twenty years. “Where are you now?”
God, he hated the small talk and the too-polite tone of her voice. But he’d caused this awful tension between them with his negative reaction and his refusal to discuss the job offer with her, and by avoiding the conversation every single night when they talked on the phone. But when he thought about the changes she wanted to make to their marriage, changes that made his stomach churn for various reasons, he just couldn’t bring himself to go there, mentally or emotionally.
He downed the rest of his drink, relishing the burn of liquor down his throat, and answered her. “I just had dinner, and I’m having a drink in the hotel bar before heading up to my room for the evening.”
“I’m glad everything went well with the presentation and client,” she said, yet another amicable reply that hit Dean like a direct punch in the gut.
A strained silence stretched between them, until she finally said, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon when you get home. Travel safe and I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, and felt his heart tighten in his chest as the line disconnected, making him all too aware of the emotional and physical distance separating them.
He set his phone on the polished mahogany bar and scrubbed a hand along his jaw. Yep, he was going to get shit-faced drunk so he didn’t have to think about the damage he was doing to his marriage, all because he had deep-seated issues with his wife wanting to work.
He motioned to the bartender for another order of Scotch, realizing that he’d normally be pumped up after cinching such a huge contract with a new client and celebrating the coup, but instead he was about to drown his sorrows in premium liquor, along with his growing fears.
It wasn’t easy for him to admit, but Jillian’s parting remark to him a week ago and the underlying ultimatum in her words made him feel completely helpless over the situation, and he absolutely hated that loss of control. For him, his wife was disrupting the predictable, stable status quo of their marriage, and asserting herself in ways she never had before.
And that’s what scared him the most . . . her newfound independence and fortitude. It had all started a few months ago, when she’d walked into his office to seduce him. That hot sexual confidence of hers was intoxicating in the bedroom and playroom, but he’d never anticipated that those changes in her would integrate into all aspects of their relationship. That she’d become more determined and unwavering in her convictions.
The bartender placed a fresh glass of Macallan in front of him, cleared off the empty one, and headed down to the opposite side of the bar to help another customer, leaving Dean with his turbulent thoughts once again and forcing him to face the realization of just how selfish he was being about his wife’s need to spread her wings and pursue something that would make her happy. Especially when she’d done so much for him.
She’d raised their young sons alone while he’d been in the military and training for the SEALS, had run the household smoothly and efficiently over the years, and had been a supportive wife while he’d spent unending hours building his business, never once complaining or nagging him about all the late nights at the office, or all the time he spent away from home. She’d fulfilled all his needs, had giving him the stability that he’d always craved as a result of his shitty childhood — not the other way around.
The realization of how one-sided and self-centered he’d been was like a sharp slap in the face and a much needed wake-up call. All week long he’d told himself not wanting Jillian to work was all about taking care of her like a husband should, but when he dug deeper at the truth of the matter, he exposed the part of himself that was afraid that once she focused on a new and exciting career, she wouldn’t need him any longer.
And how fucking pathetic was that, he thought, as he swallowed a mouthful of scotch.
There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that if he denied Jillian, he’d only succeed in pushing her away, and driving a deeper wedge of resentment between them, and she’d accept the job, anyway. Ultimately, he wasn’t willing to risk losing her, or permanently damaging the key element of trust in their marriage, and that meant shoving aside his own insecurities and stepping up to the plate to support his wife’s desires. He needed to let her chase her own dreams, and come home to him happy and fulfilled. He owed her that. She deserved that freedom and joy — guilt free, even if it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do.
Swallowing his own stupid pride, he picked up his cellphone to call Jillian back, and grovel if necessary. But before he could tap in his passcode to unlock the main screen, he felt someone slide onto the empty barstool beside him, followed by a low, sultry voice asking, “Care to buy a girl a drink?”
Knowing the person was talking to him, he absently glanced her way to gently turn her down, and did a quick double-take at the woman who’d claimed the seat and was turned toward him. Bright emerald green eyes, fringed by ridiculously thick lashes, stared at him expectantly as she waited for him to respond. Platinum blonde, chin length hair with wispy bangs framed her pretty face, and full lips, painted a bright cherry red —his favorite color — smiled at him.
Shocked and speechless, he couldn’t stop his curious gaze from traveling lower, taking in her lipstick red halter-style top that molded to her breasts and provided an eye-catching amount of cleavage. The straps tied together at the nape of her neck, leaving her back completely bare — indicating she wasn’t wearing a bra. The hem of her tight black leather mini-skirt ended mid-thigh, giving him a glimpse of smooth, silky-looking skin he was tempted to touch.
Heated awareness thrummed through him and settled in his groin, and he had to admit it took extreme effort to drag his gaze back up to her face, like a gentleman. But even then, those crimson lips prompted some pretty illicit fantasies that had no business popping into his head. Of that sweet red mouth opening, and that plump bottom lip providing a perfect resting place for his hardening dick.
Laughter and amusement glimmered in her eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
He cleared his throat, still trying to process . . . her. “I, uh, just wasn’t expecting company.”
“Company is an interesting choice of word,” she murmured, the seductive tone of her voice stroking down his spine like a lover’s caress. “Are you looking for company tonight?”
There was no mistaking her meaning, and despite the devil on his shoulder prodding him to say yes, he quickly shook his head, and swirled the last of the amber liquid in his glass “Uh, no, not really. I was just having a drink before I head up to my room for the night.”
She blinked those long lashes at him, and arched a delicate brow. “Alone?”
“Yes, alone,” he said, not sounding nearly as firm as he should
have.
“Maybe I could convince you to change your mind about that.” She leaned closer, deliberately placed a hand on his thigh, and squeezed suggestively. “After all, providing company is my business.”
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “So, you’re a prostitute?”
She laughed, unoffended. “I prefer the term call girl. It’s more discreet and respectable.” She continued stroking his leg, the tips of her fingers coming much too close to the erection growing in his slacks as a result of her touch. “And just to put it out there so you don’t have to ask, my rates are quite reasonable, depending on what you’re interested in.”
The sexual invitation in her voice beckoned to the most basic male part of him, and with effort he lifted his left hand to show her the gold band encircling his finger. “Sorry, but I’m married.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She gave him a deliciously naughty smile. “As a working girl, I subscribe to the motto that what happens in this hotel, stays in this hotel.”
He laughed, and had to give her credit for being so persistent. He knew this distraction was only temporary before reality intruded, but he latched onto it and played along, curious to see where this encounter would lead. “What’s your name?”
“Candy,” she said, the name teeming with innuendo, as she slowly trailed her fingers down her chest toward her ample cleavage. “Because I’m as sweet as sugar . . . everywhere. These, especially, taste like hard cherry candies.”
Jesus. His gaze lowered to the thin material covering her breasts and the puckered nipples she was referring to. His mouth watered in anticipation, and he swallowed hard and reined in the lust burning through his veins. “Okay, Candy,” he said, his voice much too gravelly as he signaled the bartender back down to his end of the counter, who arrived within a few short seconds. “Tell the man what you’d like to drink.”
She thought for a moment then said very cheekily, “Can you give me a Screaming Orgasm, please?”
The other man’s gaze took in her glossy red lips then shifted to the straining nipples that were damn hard to miss and grinned wolfishly. “It would be my pleasure to give you a screaming orgasm.” He set a shot glass on the counter and reached for a bottle of vodka.
“Thank you,” she replied in sexy, flirtatious tone as she slanted a sly look Dean’s way. “It’s been a while and I might need more than one.”
The guy chuckled, clearly enjoying the sexy banter between them as he added Bailey’s and Kahlua to the mix. “I’m all about pleasing the customer,” he teased with a wink as he set the drink on a napkin in front of her. “If you require multiple screaming orgasms, I’m your man.”
Feeling much too possessive over Candy, Dean found himself glaring at the other man, who backed off as soon as he saw his darkening expression.
“You scared the poor man off,” she said, amusement lacing her voice as her jeweled green eyes met his. “At least someone is willing to accommodate my needs tonight.”
He wisely kept quiet and finished off his Macallan, adding the last of the liquor to the confusion swirling inside of him, then pushed the empty glass aside.
“So, you’re in a hotel bar, so I’m assuming you’re from out of town?” she asked conversationally.
“Yes,” he replied automatically. “I’m here on business.”
She dipped a finger into her creamy drink and lazily stirred the contents with the digit. “Business men are my favorite kind of clients,” she said, back into character of call girl once again.
“Really?” he drawled, intrigued despite himself. “And why is that?”
“Because they’re usually the kinkiest,” she revealed as she locked her gaze on his and sucked her finger into her mouth, slowly licking off the creamy concoction in a way that was incredibly phallic. “And I’m willing to do all those dirty, depraved things that their wives won’t.”
Ah, fuck. “What’s your specialty?” He was dying to know.
She gave him a secretive smile. “I’ve been told that I’m amazing at sucking cock, but I’m open to trying anything. The kinkier, the better.” She lifted the shot glass to her mouth and downed the screaming orgasm in one easy swallow, then swiped the remnants of cream from her bottom lip with a lick of her tongue. “Let’s go up to your room and I’ll show you how down and dirty things can get.”
He was so fucking turned on he could barely think straight. “I’ll take you to my room, but no kissing, touching, or actual fucking. That’s for my wife, only.” Jesus, was he really negotiating with her?
“That’s a shame and doesn’t leave a whole lot left to do,” she said, clearly disappointed in his “no physical contact” decree. She tipped her head, the ends of her platinum blonde bob sliding along her jaw as she studied him for a moment, sizing him up. “You look like the kind of man who likes to be in charge and give orders. How about you just tell me what to do and sit back and watch the show?”
The temptation was just too great for him to resist and promised to take his mind off of all the issues he’d left unresolved with Jillian in San Diego. He was thousands of miles away from home, and if Candy wanted to be his entertainment for the night, he was more than willing to oblige.
“Let’s go,” he said, and abruptly stood before he changed his mind and put an end to this game she was playing.
He tossed two twenties onto the counter to cover the tab, then headed out of the hotel bar with her following behind so he didn’t violate his own no touching rule. Inside the elevator, he swiped his keycard and pressed the button for the penthouse floor.
She leaned against the opposite wall of where he was standing, and it didn’t matter where he looked because the mirrors lining the cubicle reflected her everywhere, imprinting her on his brain whether he wanted her to be there or not, and reminding him just how erotic mirrors could be during foreplay and sex.
He met her seductive gaze from across the elevator, his body instinctively responding to the way her eyes brazenly ate him up. And Jesus Christ, the way she stared at the thick length of his shaft straining the fabric of his slacks and hungrily licked her lips nearly destroyed his resolve to keep this a hands-off encounter. It was all he could do to restrain himself from closing the distance between them and kissing her, touching her, and fucking her every way imaginable.
A soft ping announced their arrival, and the elevator doors quietly opened, saving him from doing anything stupid. She walked out ahead of him directly into the penthouse suite, providing him with another form of torture of watching the confident sway of her hips and taking in her perfectly rounded ass beneath the tight black leather mini-skirt.
“Nice place,” she commented as she looked around the spacious living area with an adjoining kitchen and dining room with a table that easily seated ten. She moved toward the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked New York City lit up at night. “The view from up here is amazing.”
Bringing her up to his place wasn’t about pleasantries and the kind of polite conversation he’d been forced to endure the past week with his wife. No, he had something far more dirty and daring in mind for Candy.
“The bedroom is in here,” he said, and walked into the huge master suite. A few seconds later she strolled inside, and before she could say a word, he took complete control of the situation. “Leave your clothes and heels on and lay down in the middle of the bed,” he ordered.
Her green eyes widened slightly at the brusque command. Then she shrugged, placed her small purse on the night stand, and climbed up onto the huge king-sized mattress to do as he instructed. “Whatever you want. You’re the paying customer.”
“Yes, I am,” he said gruffly, liking the power that gave him. “Pull your skirt up to your waist.”
Her fingers grabbed the hem of the skirt and she shimmied the tight leather up over her hips, a naughty girl smirk curving her red lips as she displayed her smooth, bare mound and revealed the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
Fuck. His stomach
muscles clenched with a primal need to claim, and he had to forcibly tamp down the urge. Oh, he was so going to make her pay for that indiscretion, walking around New York City without any panties on.
Her knees were pressed much too primly together, and he walked to the foot of the bed and stared up at her, his blood already running like molten lava through his veins. “Spread your legs wide so I can see everything.”
Unabashedly, she parted her thighs and planted her stilettos three feet apart on the mattress, exposing every inch of her glistening, gorgeous sex. “Touch yourself.” His voice vibrated with the low, rough command.
Her hand moved down between her legs, her fingers sliding leisurely through the damp folds and dipping into her core. Slick moisture gathered on the tips of her fingers, and she brought them up to her clitoris, stroking that hard knot of flesh with slow precise strokes that made her back arch off the bed. Her lashes fluttered closed, her hips began undulating, and her red lips parted with a soft, pleasurable gasp that make his dick pound and ache.
He was burning up with lust, his skin so hot the waves of heat suffused his entire body. Yanking his shirt off, he tossed it aside, but left his pants on, even though his cock was demanding to be let free. He continued to watch Candy get herself off, and knew by the rapid rise and fall of her chest that she was close to coming.
Not ready to allow her that relief just yet, he grabbed both of her ankles and flipped her onto her stomach, then dragged her all the way down to where he was standing at the foot of the bed. A startled sound escaped her, but she didn’t protest when he took hold of her hips and pulled her ass up into the air so that she was on her knees, her legs still spread, with her upper body pressed against the mattress.
With her skirt rucked up around her hips, the position was lewd and raunchy and exactly what he wanted. “Keep touching yourself,” he growled, enjoying the control he had over her, and the situation.
Her hand returned to do his bidding, giving him a close up view of her drenched pussy and burgeoning clit. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the heady, aroused scent of her and watched those slender, well-manicured fingers slip, slide and stoke, until being an idle spectator was no longer enough. Figuring he’d already crossed a few lines tonight, he reached out and dragged a finger along her wet slit and spread that sweet cream along the crevice of her bottom.
Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories Page 49