by Paige North
Abruptly I step away from her. Mia’s face, pink with exertion, looks at me questioningly. Her expression turns to humiliation when she sees the look in my eyes.
“Mia, I shouldn’t have done this,” I say, as she tugs down her skirt. Fuck, if she starts crying I don’t know what I’ll do. I used to have it in me to hold and care for someone—but that was years ago, in my other life…
That version of me no longer exists. It’s been replaced by someone darker, jaded, haunted. This girl deserves so much more than I could ever give her.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.
“No. Not at all,” I say. “I just think it’s best if we stop.”
I reach into my pocket and take out some money. I peel off a hundred dollar bill. I take Mia’s hand, still warm from holding on to me, and press it in her palm.
“Can you get yourself home?” I ask her.
She nods yes, crossing her arms over her stomach like she’s cold, or maybe feeling sick. I can’t look at her anymore. I’ll break if I do.
“Okay,” I say, turning to walk away. “Take care.”
When I step to the curb my car magically appears. I hop in the back and I make the driver wait to be sure she gets in a cab and drives safely away. Only then will I finally relax.
She had my head spinning, and not just there in the alley. Having a drink with her at the bar was an exercise in keeping focus. Hell, even this morning in my office I couldn’t help but banter with her, push her buttons and tease her.
But the last thing I need, or can handle, is some innocent girl new to the city and worse, a virgin. Someone so inexperienced—in life and in bed—could only mean trouble for me. I can’t get involved. Complicating things further, I had planned on hiring her. Sure, she was a bit freaked out by the club but someone that unfamiliar with a subject is the kind of person who is going to ask all the right questions, the ones that readers really want to know. She’ll assume nothing, which is the only way to report.
Sleeping with Mia could only lead to disaster on so many different levels.
Later that night, once I’ve showered and gotten in bed, the old memories from my past try to flood my mind, those memories I have spent years pushing down.
The fire, my family, and losing everything.
Losing her….
My mind drifts to that sweet girl I called my own when I was a naïve kid in high school. Losing her set me on track that I intend to stay on—one in which I don’t get involved in any romantic relationship. And sure, the alley outside a BDSM club isn’t exactly romantic, but I know enough about myself to know that there’s something about Mia Cassidy that is pulling me toward her, and I have to fight my instinct and keep my distance. It’s the only way I’ll keep my sanity.
After all, I just bought a billion-dollar company. I have more important things to worry about than the new junior reporter for Blush magazine.
Mia
I have never felt so many emotions at once in my entire life. I am confused. Totally embarrassed, of course. But also, really freaking mad. What the hell was all that? I mean, honestly—what was all that?
The whole cab ride home, and as I walk up to my apartment, I keep checking my phone even as I’m fuming. Weston. I can’t stop thinking about him, and not just in an angry way. Sure, he took me to that freaky club just to rattle me, and it worked. That was a pretty mean thing to do. But the whole night—even before the alley—I couldn’t help but feel this utter attraction to him. Maybe because he’s so damn hot.
How stupid am I? Weston Bridges is probably the most eligible bachelor in New York—maybe in the whole country. He’s rich, young, smart, and hotter than any movie star in the world. He’s also known as a world-class playboy. I once read that he and some supermodel flew from New York to Paris one day just to have dessert. They ate, and an hour later got back on his private jet and came back to New York. I wonder if it’s true.
“Hey,” I mutter to Brody, once I’ve unlocked our door.
“Hey,” he says, brightening when he sees me. He’s watching TV and has a big glass of water on the coffee table—the same glass from earlier but refilled—along with a bottle of aspirin. He must have already gone from buzzed to hungover to sober. How long have I been gone?
I look at my watch and see that it’s after midnight. “What are you still doing up?”
“Just wanted to make sure you got home,” he says. That’s just like Brody. I don’t have any siblings and he’s the closet person I have to that. This guy loves looking after me. It’s sweet. “So, tell me. How’d it go?”
“Let me get changed, then I’ll tell you,” I say. I have to get out of these clothes, these stupid ridiculous clothes.
I leave the tank on and change into some shorts, then go scrub my face of all makeup. I feel lighter and looser already.
I go back into the living room and Brody says, “You should have just gone out like that. You look even better without makeup.”
“Oh, please,” I say, plopping on the couch next to him.
“What happened? Where did this possible boss guy take you in his douchey limo?”
I ignore the dig and say, “It’s actually a really crazy story.”
Now that I’m sitting here on our couch, preparing to retell the night’s story, I start to shiver. It was all just so—strange and different. Intimidating and even sexy. I hardly know where to begin.
“You’re shaking,” he says. “What happened?”
I take a deep breath. “It was just…
“Just what? Start with telling me where he took you.”
“Ever heard of a place called Plaisir?”
He shakes his head no. “What is it? Some swank restaurant?”
I stutter on a laugh. “Swank, yes. Restaurant…maybe they serve food. I don’t know.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s a private BDSM club.”
“What the actual fuck?” Brody says, his face igniting in to flames. “Are you kidding me? What did you do?”
“I had a drink,” I say.
“This guy is way out of line,” Brody says, his jaw clenching.
“The magazine that I interviewed for, Blush? He wants to take it in an edgier, sexier direction.”
“I’ll bet he does.”
“And wanted me to be in a place that would make me uncomfortable and see how I could handle it. Because I could be writing about that place, or a place like it. Or just about BDSM in general. Did you know that it stands for—”
“Mia, I know what it stands for.” He shakes his head, his eyes down on scuffed wood floors. “This guy…what a piece of shit. He thinks just because he has money and power that he can drag you to a place like that?” Brody looks at me and asks, “Did he try anything on you? Because if he did I’ll call the cops right this second.”
“Brody, no,” I say. That is something I can’t even talk about with Brody. What Weston and I did in that alley is for me and me alone. “Slow down. Of course he didn’t try anything on me. He was a perfect gentleman.” A stretch of the truth, maybe. I remember his hardness pressed against me as his finger filled me. I get shivers again just picturing it.
“You’re shivering again, Mia,” he says. “How can you be shivering when it’s at least eighty degrees in this apartment?”
“I’m fine.”
“I am not above kicking this guy’s ass,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but a small giggle escapes my lips. “I mean, sure, he’s probably way stronger than I am. He likely has a personal trainer and all. And if I do get a good shot in he’ll sue the hell out of me, taking me for the tens of dollars in my account. Word will get out that pretty boy Weston Bridges’ perfect face has been scarred by a mailroom hooligan. The world will hate me, my chance of a career will be over, and I will have less than a penny to my name. But it will be worth it just to make you feel safe.”
“I feel safe, Brody,” I say. “I promise. And promise me that you will not be sto
rming up to the sixty-fifth floor of the Prerogative building tomorrow for an old-fashioned fist fight.”
He slumps, but he also calms down. “If you’re sure you’re okay.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “But yeah, it was pretty crazy. I was like, is this normal, a big boss guy like him taking me out as a test for the job?”
“No, it’s not normal, and he’s a creep for trying.”
I murmur agreement even as thoughts of Weston kissing me against the brick wall flutter through my mind. How will I sleep tonight when I can still feel his finger inside me? I’m still wet from it all. The truth is, that kiss—and everything else that happened out there—was the hottest, sexiest thing that’s ever happened to me. I know that’s not saying a lot, considering my lack of experience, but still. It was hot.
I’m sure I’ll never see Weston Bridges again in my life, but I’ll admit only to myself that I’m pretty bummed about that. I’d sleep on the streets for a week for one more kiss from him. That’s how epic it was.
“I’m going to make you some soup,” Brody says, giving my leg a pat before standing up. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“No, I do,” he says. “I know it’s hot in here, even with the windows opened and fan blowing, but this is my mother’s secret recipe, guaranteed to turn any frown upside down.”
He goes to our sparsely stacked pantry and takes out a red and white can of soup. I laugh.
“Great chef, your mom,” I say.
We end up staying up a bit longer, watching the late shows together and getting in some good laughs. I feel better, but the whole time all I can think of is Weston—Weston and the job I really wanted. But both are gone now, and I guess I just have to move on. Tomorrow I begin the hunt for work yet again.
Weston
Sleep does not come easily. I keep drifting in and out, and whether I’m awake or in a fit of sleep, I keep seeing Mia’s face.
The taste of her, the softness of her cheek, the roundness of her hips—these are things I can’t forget. I can still feel and taste her as if she’s right here with me. God, if she were here with me in this bed…
Giving in to fantasy is the only way I’ll find sleep. It’s also the only way I’ll let myself have her.
With what Mia wore tonight, and as much as my hands skimmed her body, I can easily imagine what she looks like naked. I picture her on top of me, naked except for lacey little panties. She’s grinding down on my hard dick. I reach into my boxer briefs and take my hard cock in my hand, moving to the rhythm I picture her rocking on me. To see her looking down at me, her tits full as my hand reaches up to capture it, feel the hard nipple. In my mind she moves closer so I can suck on her nipple, letting my tongue flick over it as she moans and whimpers at my touch. I’d love to have her tits all on my face.
In my mind I flip her over on her back and take the lead, and it’s not hard to remember what her wet cunt felt like on my fingers. The memory is fresh, the tightness of her, the noises she made so close to my ear. I pull on my dick harder and faster as I remember, picturing her, feeling her. If only I could have just one night with her, one full night of doing everything I can imagine with her. So many things I’d do to that body. Suck her tits raw; finger fuck her until she came; eat her pussy; watch her suck on my cock…Jesus, when I picture that it’s almost more than I can handle. She’s so inexperienced and I would love to teach her, show her how to take pleasure, and how to give it. How to suck on my dick, taking me deep down her throat.
I don’t last any longer than that image. I explode as a reel of images floods my mind, images of Mia coming with me, exploding in ecstasy after much fucking.
I take a moment, my breathing intense and my heart racing. Finally I get out of bed to clean myself up.
As I walk back to my bed, I stop at the little desk in the corner of my vast room. I turn on the lamp and open the left drawer, pulling it out all the way so that I can reach into the back to grasp what I’m looking for. I take out the crumpled photo that I almost never allow myself to look at. I don’t even like allowing myself to remember. But tonight, after what Mia and I did and how she elicits such fantasies from me, I need to remind myself why I have to keep my distance.
I look at the picture of us, so young and innocent. Stupid is the word I think now.
We had no idea how ugly the world could be.
I wonder if Mia knows I grew up on a farm, and that at one point I thought I’d happily live my life there.
Her name was Samantha, and we were in love. She was my first love and she’ll be my only love. I can’t go back to those emotions. What happened to her was too horrific, too brutal, and I can’t ever let myself feel that kind of hurt again.
The one and only picture I have is one we took together, the blonde fields of the farm going on forever in the background. We’re both smiling, and her honey-colored hair is blowing in the gentle breeze of that day I remember so well. Little did I know that in less than a month she’d be gone forever.
Maybe I’m just drawn to Mia because something of her reminds me of Samantha. Or maybe I’m just really fucking attracted to Mia and that’s it. Maybe it’s just physical, and if there is an emotional connection, I can keep it at bay.
I know the right thing to do. Ever since that day on the farm, I’ve known the right thing to do. I just have to keep on that path, the one that got me here, the wealthiest self-made person under thirty in whole country. I can have any woman I want, and frequently do.
I put the photo away, in the deep recesses of the desk drawer where I try to forget its existence, yet can’t bring myself to throw out. Remembering her hurts too much, but it’s important for me to remind myself of why I can’t let myself get too close to anyone, especially women. Especially women like Mia Cassidy.
One thing is for sure—tomorrow, things will have to change.
Mia
I wake up the next morning feeling awful. My head is a fog of memories, good, bad and truly awful.
When I went to bed, all I could see was Weston. I replayed the night over and over in my head, wanting to relive so many parts of it. I had to remind myself that being with him was a fluke, entering and exiting my life all in one day. When I’m old and gray I can tell my grandkids that I once met the tycoon Weston Bridges. Maybe I’ll even mention having a drink with him, but I’ll certainly leave the rest out.
“Morning,” I say as I go to the kitchen to get coffee. Brody is already up and dressed, reading for another day in the mailroom. He’s made a fresh pot, which I reach for eagerly.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
“Muddy,” I say. “Like my head is in a fog or something.” I don’t tell him I feel asleep to the memories of Weston touching me.
“I was thinking,” he says. “We should do something tonight when I get off work. Happy hour or something. Or karaoke!”
“Um, I cannot sing,” I say.
“Singing is hardly the point. But we can do anything you want!”
“Thanks,” I say, giving him a weary smile as I pour some much-needed coffee into a mug I’m pretty sure was stolen from the diner on the corner. “I think I’m going to take today to reassess. I have to find a job and now it’s getting crucial. My bank account is looking thinner than a straw of hay.”
Brody laughs. “I take it to mean you’re low on cash.”
“Something like that,” I say. I don’t admit just how dire it is.
“So tonight will be on me,” he says. “My treat.”
“You don’t have to do all this,” I say.
“I know I don’t,” he says. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I promise I’m okay,” I say. “At least I will be as soon as I consume this cup of coffee. I need to scour the Internet for a job—at this point I’ll take anything, but I still want to find a job in publishing. The trick now is, finding one that isn’t under the Prerogative Media umbrella.”
&n
bsp; “Good luck with that,” Brody says. “But if you change your mind, text me.”
“I will.” Just then, a phone rings. We both look at each other.
“Not mine,” Brody says, holding up his phone in his hand.
“Mine,” I say, and race to my room to find it. There’s no name on the caller ID but it’s from a two-one-two area code so it’s here in New York. I answer quickly, before they hang up. “Hello?”
“Mia Cassidy?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“I’m calling from Prerogative Publishing,” the woman says. “You had an interview here yesterday?”
“Yes,” I say, heart pounding, wondering what this could possibly be about. Maybe it’s the HR department filing a complaint against me because I went to a sex club with the company owner.
“We’d like you to come back to the office today,” she says. “Can you be here by ten?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing at the clock. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. See you then.”
The line goes dead, and I’m standing there, phone to ear, in total disbelief.
Finally I walk back into the living room.
“Who was that?” Brody asks.
“Prerogative,” I say. “They want me to go back. Today, at ten. What do you think it means?” I can’t keep the smile from my face just thinking about walking in those halls. God, my dream is to go to work every day at a place I love, doing something that I think I might be good at. Working for Prerogative is still the ultimate dream job.
“Was that him?” Brody asks.
“No,” I say. “Some woman.” We don’t need to clarify who him is. It’s pretty clear, especially by the look on Brody’s face. He’s not pleased.