Right

by Jana Aston

  “Please stop talking,” Sophie says, holding up her hand in a stop motion.

  I sigh and look at Boyd, who is looking at me like I’m nuts. He really is perfect for Chloe. I might need to work on that anonymously now, come to think of it.

  I shrug and change the wording of my internet search. That’s better. I smile at the new search results and start reading.

  Thirty-Nine

  “Where the hell is Sawyer? We’re going to be late for our dinner reservations.” I’m leaning against Sandra’s desk looking at the clock on the wall. I’ve been hanging out in Sawyer’s office for fifteen minutes. I don’t mind waiting, but it’s weird. He’s always so punctual.

  “I’m not sure. He had me cancel everything this morning and he’s been in and out of his office all day,” Sandra says. “It’s not like him.”

  I look at the clock again and then back at Sandra. If we’re late to dinner I can roll with it. It’s Sawyer’s birthday. I’m sure whatever he’s doing is important.

  “So.” I grin at her, eyebrow raised. “New Year’s Eve?” I leave the question hanging in the air for a minute. “You got home okay?” I prod when she doesn’t answer.

  Sandra flushes and nods, not meeting my eyes. “I did,” she admits.

  “That’s it? That’s all I get?” I ask, laughing.

  “I, um…” She taps her mouse, bringing her computer to life, and clears her throat. “Thank you,” she finally offers, then swivels in her chair to face me and says, “I got home very well.” Then she grins, bites her lip and swivels back to her computer screen.

  Sawyer walks in then, firing off directions to a well-dressed woman in her forties walking beside him. He’s almost rude, his voice sharper than I’m used to hearing from him. He says something about seventy-two hours and not a moment longer while she nods with a, “Yes, Mr. Camden.”

  He notices me then, leaning on Sandra’s desk located outside of his office, and surprise flashes in his eyes the second before he recovers and stops short, clearly remembering just now that we have plans. That it’s his birthday.

  “That’ll be all, Marlene,” he says, dismissing the woman without even looking at her. “I’ll expect an update from you with the test results in the morning. Sandra will see you out.”

  The woman doesn’t appear bothered in the least at the abrupt dismissal. She smiles kindly at Sandra, who has popped up and collected her coat from the closet outside of Sawyer’s office. So she’s not an employee, whoever she is.

  I follow Sawyer into his office and pause, unsure what to do, when he drops into the chair behind his desk, the view of downtown Philadelphia to his left. He drops his forehead into his hands, elbows bent on the desk in front of him. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands, and I stand, hesitant. I’ve never seen him this stressed out.

  “Sawyer?” I ask, tentatively, and his head snaps up. He drags his hands though his hair then smiles, some of the tension leaving his body.

  “We have dinner plans,” he states, motioning with his hand for me to come closer.

  “For your birthday,” I remind him, closing the distance between us. I slide between him and the desk and hop up to sit on the surface, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He rests his hands on my thighs, but it feels like an expression of comfort as opposed to copping a feel.

  “You still want to go?” I ask, massaging his shoulders. “I was gonna spend the night after. Give you your birthday present.”

  “Were you?” He grins, that dimple I love so much flashing on his left cheek.

  “Yes.” I nod, face serious. “It’s too dirty to give to you at the restaurant. So it’ll have to wait until after dinner,” I whisper in his ear.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Good.”

  I’m glad he’s perking up. I got waxed today, I’d hate to waste it.

  And my nails. I’ve painted them Porn-A-Thon peach. Toes too. You think I’m kidding? I spent an hour looking at nail polish names online before finding this one. Then I had to make a special trip to a department store to buy it.

  But it’s worth it to make Sawyer’s birthday perfect.

  “We should go,” he comments, glancing at his watch.

  I slide off his desk and stand. I’m wearing a navy jersey dress and it hugs my figure in all the right places. Sawyer finally takes notice of that when I’m on my feet and my chest is in his face.

  “Or we could skip dinner,” he throws out, placing his hands on my hips, his palms warm through the fabric.

  “You know I’d normally take you up on that offer, but I’m guessing you skipped lunch today by the way it looks like your day went.”

  Something flashes in his eyes and I want to kick myself for bringing it up, but it’s replaced by an easy smile a second later.

  “You’re right,” he says, standing. I trail behind him to the coat closet in his office.

  “Besides, you’ll need your strength for later, tiger.” I slap his ass as he’s reaching into the closet to grab our coats, his back to me.

  He’s still for a moment, my view of his face blocked by the closet door. The door slowly closes, the hinge creaking in the otherwise silent office.

  “Are you serious with that behavior?” he asks, head cocked to the side, expression neutral.

  “Yup.” I nod immediately and shrug my shoulders. I was serious, what else can I say?

  He holds the impassive facial expression for another few seconds, his lips trembling by the end. Then he laughs and pulls me in for a kiss.

  “What would I do without you, Everly?” His eyes search mine, all the tension from before gone.

  “You’d be crazy bored.”

  “Crazy,” he agrees, sliding my coat over my arms.

  We pass Sandra on the way to the elevators, returning to her desk from escorting Marlene out. I’m tempted to ask Sawyer about his day, curious about what had him so stressed out, but I feel like the mood broke back in his office and I don’t want to get him stressed again, so I let it go. I’m sure he doesn’t want to think about boring business stuff tonight anyway.

  Forty

  Dinner is perfect. Sawyer is back to his usual self—maybe a little tired, but that’s to be expected after a stressful day.

  Sawyer teases me throughout the meal, asking about his present, making wild guesses, asking if it’s stashed in my bag or if I’ve dropped it off at the apartment already. I refuse to give him a single clue, laughing while he drums his fingertips on the table and comes up with one wrong idea after another.

  “Geez, I hope you like it, after all this guessing. I hope you’ll be into it,” I add with a wink as the waiter approaches with dessert menus.

  Sawyer declines the offered dessert menus and asks for the check without taking his eyes off mine.

  “I’ll be into it,” he promises with a slow, sexy grin. His eyes roam my face, taking in every detail.

  “I don’t get dessert?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

  “Nope.” He’s completely unapologetic as he shakes his head. “You can order whatever you want from the room service menu. Later.”

  We’re outside minutes later, waiting for the valet to pull his car up. His arm is around my waist, and I’m leaning into his side when he presses a kiss to the top of my head and whispers, “I love you, Everly.”

  It’s not the first time he’s said it. And it’s not the first time I’ve said it back, but it hits me in the gut, as heavenly hearing it now as it was the first time.

  The car arrives, sliding up to the curb with a soft purr. Sawyer grabs the passenger door and hands me into the car before slamming the door closed and circling the car to the driver’s side.

  “This car,” I say with a shake of my head as we pull away from the curb, merging into traffic headed towards Penn Square. “I thought you were going to be such a dick, driving a Porsche.”

  “Yeah? A Porsche didn’t say successful CEO to you?”


  “No, it said player having an early mid-life crisis.”

  “You’d have preferred an SUV with a good safety rating for car seats?” He glances in my direction. “You’ve made it pretty clear that’s not what you’re looking for right now. Besides, I just turned thirty-five today. I’ve got at least half a decade until the mid-life crisis kicks in, no?”

  “Well, I guess it’s good that you’re enjoying the car now, because by the time you’re actually in the mid-life crisis zone, you’ll be in an SUV filled with car seats.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees, pulling into the parking garage at the Ritz-Carlton Residences.

  We get upstairs and he’s all over me the moment we walk in the door. He almost manages to distract me into a quick fuck in the foyer before I remember I have a plan and pull away.

  “Your present,” I whisper, placing my hands against his chest and giving a little shove to break the contact of his lips on my neck.

  “I can wait,” he murmurs, pulling me back.

  “No more waiting.” I laugh and give him a real shove this time, then grab his hand and lead him over to the couch. “Sit,” I instruct, pushing on his shoulders till his ass hits the couch. “Give me your phone,” I tell him, palm out.

  He shifts on the couch, reaching into his pocket, and a moment later the phone is in my palm. I glance at it, an iPhone exactly like mine, and swipe the screen to life.

  “Unlock it,” I demand, handing it back. I have a moment of concern then, wondering if he’s going to balk at giving me his phone unlocked, but he doesn’t even pause. His fingers bump mine as he takes the phone back and keys in the code before placing it again in my outstretched palm, nothing but curiosity written on his face.

  I clutch the phone in my right hand, holding it up, then place my left foot on the couch cushion next to his knee, leaning forward slowly. I assume he thinks he’s about to get a little striptease based on my body language and the way he shifts back on the couch, relaxed, head tilted in my direction.

  I lean all the way in until my lips are beside his ear. “Wait here,” I purr before standing. I grab my purse from the front hall—I’m using a large tote style tonight to stash my goodies—before disappearing into the bedroom.

  I turn on every light in the room as I strip, dashing into the bathroom to freshen up my hair and makeup. I leave those lights on too, for good measure. Grabbing the telescoping tripod from my bag, I toss it on the bed with the phone, then gather up the rest of my stuff, bringing it to the walk-in closet. I set my bag down and pull out the wisp of fabric of my one-piece lace bodysuit. The cut is high on my hips, the edging scalloped. The scallop detailing continues on the deep v neckline held up by the tiniest spaghetti straps. It’s orange, a perfect complement for my peach-colored Porn-A-Thon nails.

  Sliding into the bodysuit, I adjust the fabric over my tits and feel for my keys necklace, the only other thing I’m wearing. Perfect. Leaving the closet, I place my phone in the speaker dock on Sawyer’s nightstand, hitting play on the playlist I created for tonight. Then, moving to the foot of the bed, I open the special telescoping tripod I ordered. It’s got a clamp to hold the phone, similar to a selfie stick. It’s a filthy selfie stick, basically. I clamp the phone in place, check the angle and press record. It’s go time.

  I open the bedroom door. Sawyer turns in my direction when the door latch clicks, so I extend one arm over my head, leaning against the doorframe, and beckon him to me with a flick of a finger from my other hand.

  It’s dark in the living room, but I can see Sawyer’s face by the moonlight flowing in from the floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the length of the room, the William Penn statue visible in the view behind him. But I’m more interested in the view inside of this room. I watch his face as he takes me in. His eyes slowly roam from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and back again. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and smiles, his head tilting in a slight nod before he rises, walking slowly towards me.

  He looks a little predatory as he closes the distance between us, loosening his tie as he walks. And even though we’ve been together many times, it makes my heart race with anticipation.

  He reaches the doorway and I step back, drawing him into the room before he can touch me. He follows, tie undone and hanging around his neck, hands already undoing the buttons of his shirt, which somehow still looks fresh and crisp at the end of a long day.

  I walk to the edge of the bed and pause, one knee brushing the comforter, then turn my head to see what he’s doing over my shoulder. I’m momentarily distracted by his fingers, moving with precision downward, the fabric slowly parting, but snap my eyes up in time to see his reaction.

  His eyes are firmly on my lace-covered ass so it takes him a moment to take in the tripod arrangement at the corner of the bed. He stops mid-movement, his suit jacket halfway down his arms, then chuckles.

  “We’re making a sex tape?” His jacket flies in the direction of a chair near the door, followed by his tie.

  I turn fully and face him, the bed behind my knees, the camera recording, and nod my head. I’d ask if he was okay with the idea, but the expression on his face tells me the question would be a waste of time.

  He closes the distance between us, sliding his hand behind my neck, lips crashing on mine. God, I love that move. His fingers are firm on my nape, warm against my skin, thumb under my jaw maneuvering the tilt of my head to the exact position he wants it in.

  I moan into the kiss, my arms resting on his shoulders and my hands promptly finding their way into his hair. The pads of my fingertips dig into his scalp, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

  He pulls back, and I catch his lip with my teeth, tugging softly for a moment before releasing him. His chest is heaving and his pants are already tight over his erection.

  “This,” he says, fingering the delicate strap on my shoulder that holds up the flimsy bodysuit. “You should wear this every day.”

  “I bought it for you.”

  “I approve,” he murmurs, sliding one strap over my shoulder and following the path with his fingertips down my arm.

  It makes me wet, just his damn fingertips running down my forearm. Okay, who am I kidding? My body is in a constant state of readiness whenever he’s in the room. But then he touches me and I’m soaked.

  “Buy it in every color. Wear it every day.” He nudges the second strap down my opposite shoulder and the top half of the bodysuit falls to my waist. “Just not right now.”

  He runs his hands around my hips and smooths the scrap of fabric down my thighs until it’s nothing but a pool of lace around my ankles.

  I yank his unbuttoned shirt from his pants, pushing it back over his shoulders and down his arms, leaning forward and licking his nipple as I do. My tongue makes a wide, flat sweep across his skin and he grunts, flinging the shirt clear of his arms then grabbing a fistful of my hair to drag my lips back to his mouth.

  He picks me up, my knees wrapping around his waist, and places me on the bed, following me down, our lips still connected until I’m horizontal, then he pulls away.

  He stands up, taking me in lying naked on his bed, dragging his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. And Lord help me, that’s a move I love too. He’s not even touching me when he does it, yet my pussy clenches as if his hands are on me. Every time.

  He glances at the camera then back at me as he undoes his pants. His dick springs out, directly in line with the camera, and I’m already looking forward to watching that on playback. Repeatedly. He fists himself, pumping his erection, and my mouth waters. Is that normal? I can’t help it—when he plays with himself right in front of me, saliva pools on my tongue and I have this urge to take him in my mouth.

  I watch him for another moment, the muscles on his arm flexing as he strokes himself, then I flip my legs underneath me and kneel, wrapping my hand over his to still him, and circle my lips around the head.

  Our hands are still wrapped together on his shaft as I flick my eyes upw
ard to meet his. I alternate between swirling my tongue around the tip and sucking, my cheeks indenting with the suction, my eyes never leaving his.

  I like the way his chest rises and his breathing hitches. I like viewing him from this angle. I like knowing that this powerful, beautiful man is thinking about nothing else in the world right now besides me.

  He shifts his hand out from under mine and grips my hair, guiding me to take more of him. I glide my hand along his shaft, past the amount I can take in my mouth, and work him, my tongue and hand laboring in harmony together.

  I squeeze my hand around him, stroking back and forth, and use my thumb to rotate small massaging circles on the underside of his cock where the skin meets his scrotum. I continue working him, bobbing up and down on him, my tongue and lips and fingers working together until he’s spilling down my throat, his eyes on mine until the last moment when the pleasure becomes too great and his head tilts back, breaking our eye contact.

  I pull back slowly, dragging my tongue across his cock from mid shaft to tip as I slide it from my mouth with a pop. I sit up on my knees, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, kissing his chest before he lays me on the bed, legs spread wide. He follows me down, his lips wrangling with mine before making a slow trail to his destination.

  He loves going down on me. It drives me wild in all the best ways. He’s talented, to say the least. He keeps his gaze on mine as he kisses my lower stomach, a gleam in his eye, amused in advance at the pleading that will soon take place. I’m torn, every time. Keep going. Stop. More. Less, please less. I can’t take another swipe of your tongue. I surely will not survive it.

  He settles between my legs, my knees bent and splayed on the bed, his eyes still on mine as he uses his fingers to spread me open. His tongue is on my clit a moment later.

  God, my heart is racing so fast.

  I don’t care what anyone says, a man giving oral is a different level of intimate than sucking a cock. I know it should be equal, but hell, their junk is hanging out all the time. Having his fingers holding me open while his face is an inch from my pussy, his tongue rimming my entrance, then his nose bumping my clit as his tongue dives inside, well. It’s just not the same.