She tastes faintly of peppermint gum and wet, sweet promise. I’m going to have her mouth on my dick the second we’re alone, then I’ll repay the favour by burying my face between her legs until she screams.
She tastes like sex because that’s what we’ve got, that’s what we’re allowed to miss, but my arms tighten around her, just kissing her, because damn it, I’ve missed her.
Fucking softness.
It’ll be my death, but I’ll die with a smile on my face.
“Where are we staying?” she asks when I let her up for air.
I’m at the same boutique hotel in SoHo she’s at. “One floor down from your room.”
“Why did I ask?” She shakes her head, but her eyes are sparkling.
“You look like you’ve had a good day.”
She grinned. “Just signed a contract with a big tour promoter for a winter tour.”
“That sounds like something one would celebrate.”
“Right? Which is why I’m shopping. I’m looking for a dress to wear on the Ben & Emily show tomorrow morning.”
“Did you find one?”
“Not yet. Do you mind if we go to Knight’s across the road?”
“Lead the way.”
Except I actually lead the way, because bodyguard tendencies come naturally to me, and it bothers me that she doesn’t use them. She never has, from what I can tell. Instead she seems to cultivate an interesting dynamic with the paparazzi, giving them enough interesting B-roll when they want it that if she’s doing something boring like shopping, they tend to leave her alone.
But there’s nobody around when we hit the steaming sidewalk. We join the throngs of New Yorkers crossing the street, then head through the door opened for us by a uniformed doorman at Knight’s.
It’s just as fancy as any of the other stores on Fifth Avenue, but it’s not a chain. Vaguely in the back of my mind, I know something about the company. Brothers own it, and two spun off their fortunes into tech.
Once we’re inside, Tabitha takes the lead for real. She’s been here before, and she strides with purpose toward the elevator; but she doesn’t skip a beat when I curve my hand around her elbow and guide her to the stairs, instead.
“I don’t take elevators I haven’t had a chance to check out,” I murmur in her ear.
“That’s not paranoid or anything,” she says with a smile.
“Better paranoid than dead.”
“Touche.”
“So I didn’t really take you for a high fashion kind of girl.”
“Woman.”
“Apologies.”
She laughs, a rolling giggle that makes her shoulders shake. “Oh, Wilson. And what kind of girl did you take me for?”
“A dirty one.”
“In what kind of clothes?”
“No clothes.” I shake my head. Obviously. “I don’t know. I assumed all angsty rock stars shopped at…thrift stores?”
She stops at the top of the stairs and gives me the biggest grin. “You’d totally go to Goodwill with me, wouldn’t you?”
Fucking hell, I’d go to church craft sale for her. “In a heartbeat.”
“Good. But sometimes I do this, too. Want to watch me try things on?”
“Hell, yeah.”
She’s got a really specific taste, and spends more time nope-ing dresses still on the rack than pulling things off to consider. But she’s quick, too, and it doesn’t take long before she has four contenders and is being guided to a private change room by a very solicitous sales woman.
“Would your…would you like to have a seat?” she asks me, after starting to ask Tabitha and aborting hard. Do we look that mismatched? I’m wearing a suit today, because I dropped by Federal Plaza this morning to touch base with an FBI agent acquaintance, and they tend not to let hackers through the door unless they look like lawyers.
“I need his advice,” Tabitha says with a slow wink. “You know how it is.”
“Of course, Ms. Leyton.” And nothing more was said on the matter.
I wait to react until we’re in the…small sitting room, essentially. It has a firm-looking couch across from the mirror, and that’s where I sit. I loosen my tie.
“She knows you,” I say.
“I was here two hours ago. I bought a dress for three thousand dollars. That’s the kind of thing you remember.”
“I bet. So why are we back?”
She peels off her denim vest and tips her head to the side. “Because this room is private and I thought you might want to watch me try on some dresses.”
~
“You are officially a spoilsport,” she says as I haul her into my hotel room. We stopped by her room long enough to forward her phone down here.
Now she’s all mine, and after the last hour of fucking fantastic torture—stripping, teasing, grinding, and a nearly successful plea for me to just take her there on that couch—I have payback to dispense.
On her ass.
In her ass.
I press her against the wall and kiss her savagely as I hike up her skirt, my palm searching for that hot little pussy that begged to be taken in public.
I cover her panties, finding her clit with the heel of my hand as my fingers squeeze around her sex. “You are a bad, bad influence.”
“Me?” She grins wickedly. “Like you’ve never fucked in public.”
“Never where there might be video cameras, no.”
“There aren’t any in those change rooms. That’s against the law.”
“The law?” I bite her lower lip until she gasps. “That has nothing to do with it. Blackmail, humiliation, maybe just someone who wants to get off on it…”
“But you didn’t stop me from teasing you.”
“I have a signal disrupter in my phone case that scrambles most modern tech. But the point remains, it’s a bad idea. Not to mention sex with you is never tidy or quiet. I don’t want to have to make a mess for a salesperson to clean up.”
“Oh, noble sir—”
I slap my hand against the inside of her thigh. “Nothing noble about me. You want me to fuck you in a change room? I can give you that now. Wait. Right. Here.”
This place is way swankier than the shitty hotel room I had in L.A., and from the second she started her little show at Knight’s, I knew what I wanted to do with her when we got back here.
There’s a big-ass antique mirror in the corner, next to the window. I move the oversized upholstered chair from the other corner and position it in front of the mirror.
Then I stalk back to where Tabitha is leaning against the wall, grinning at me, and I hoist her onto my shoulder. With my free hand, I pick up her shopping bag from Knight’s.
She shrieks as I carry her across the room, but her protest turns to a sweet little moan when I set her down in front of the mirror.
“Try on the red one,” I tell her, my voice rasping.
My dick is hard enough to pound nails as I settle into the chair.
She stands in the space between me and the mirror and repeats the same stripping routine that got me so hard when we were on Fifth Avenue.
It would have the same affect now if I weren’t already threatening the seams of my suit pants.
She pulls her dress off, then reaches for the new purchase.
“Lose the panties,” I growl.
She skims her fingertips over her tattoo and notches her thumbs on the skinny side pieces. “You’re not supposed to try on clothes without your underwear on,” she says, biting her lip.
I grin. “I’ll buy the dress, guaranteed. Now show me your pussy. And remember to be quiet. We don’t want the sales girl to hear us.”
She presses her lips together, quiet as a church mouse, and gets herself naked. Then she smoothes the red dress over her her body. The deep vee in front plunges almost to her navel, and the asymmetrical hem goes down to her sandals on one side, but cuts high on her thigh on the other.
It’s perfect.
She’s perfect.
“You like this one best?”
“I really do. Come here.” I pull her into my lap, nestling her ass against my straining dick. “Let me see you.”
I don’t mean the dress.
I mean her curves, her cunt, every last inch of her sexy-as-sin body.
Mine.
First I brush along the inner swells of her breasts, raising goosebumps I want to cover with jizz. I want her on her knees, begging for me to mark her with my seed.
All in good time.
The neckline peels back, baring her breasts. Her head falls back beside mine and I kiss her jaw, wet and hot.
“Eyes on the mirror,” I whisper as I move my hands, palms flat, up and over them. Her nipples are hard little pebbles. “You are so fucking sexy,” I mutter, watching her watch me. “Look at how hard your nipples are. I bet you’re soaking wet for my already, aren’t you?”
She bites her lower lip and nods, her entire body trembling.
I ghost my hands down her body, heading for that hemline, and when I find it, I curl my fingers around the fabric. Her thighs are smooth and warm, and my head begins to buzz as I crawl the skirt up her legs, rubbing her skin with my knuckles the whole way to her hips.
In the mirror, we both watch as I bare her cunt, our role-play that of an illicit, time-sensitive fuck in a change room.
But I could hold her on my lap like this for hours and just look at her.
She’s not having any of that.
“Please, Wilson…” She tangles her fingers with mine and pulls our hands between her legs.
I watch in the mirror as we touch her pussy together.
“I need you here,” she whispers. “I feel empty. We can be quick.”
Lust jolts through me. My tongue feels thick as I curl my body around hers, pulling her legs wider still. “Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes.” She rocks on her thighs, lifting herself up and making space for me to unzip behind her.
My cock bounces against her ass as I get my pants out of the way, then I fit us together easily. She’s tight, wet and ready for me. Being bare against her is like an electric current, and I want more, but I want it slow. I don’t want to miss a single moment of this first slide into her without anything between us.
“Yes, yes, yes….” She pants as I pulse my hips, stretching her entrance. “Put it in me.”
“Shhh…” I ease her onto me—Jesus, nothing in the world feels this good—then guide her up and down with one hand while the other finds her clit. Already hard and swollen, it fits perfectly between two fingertips. I drive into her, pushing her into my hand at the same time as I pinch my fingers together.
She gasps, and I do it again.
Hard, fast, rough.
Her hip is going to have a red handprint from where I’m gripping her.
Good. I want to mark her in a thousand ways, inside and out.
My dick thickens even more, stretching her out as I ruthlessly make her ride me all the way down. My pulse pounds in my neck as I bottom out inside her, my bare cock snug insider her cunt.
This is how it’s supposed to be. Fuck my life that I didn’t know this before, but holy hell, I’m gonna hang on to this woman forever. I swear under my breath, and she moans, “yes, forever, fuck me,” and it feels too fucking good to worry about how much of that I said out loud.
“Wilson,” she says desperately, her voice rising as she chases the orgasm I’m pounding into her.
I’ve never cared about my name before now, but fuck, that sounds right. “Yes, secret girl. Come on my cock. Come on, that’s a good girl. Fuck yeah.”
I bury myself inside her, holding still as she pulses around me, and when she tips over the edge, I cover her mouth to keep up the pretense of this being dirty changing room sex.
But fuck, it stopped being that somewhere in the middle of me losing my mind.
I hold her tight, breathing her in as she shudders in my arms, and when the last after-shocks of her orgasm fade, I ease her off my still-raging cock.
But my secret girl doesn’t share my plans to save that for later. She spins around and sinks to her knees, her eyes wide and her cheeks pink. Her tits are still out and they’re fucking glorious. She’s still right in the role-play, no problem. “I think we’ve got another minute. Can you come quickly?”
“Fuck. Yes.” I fist the base of my cock as she swallows my length, her lips stretching wide. It’s an obscene image, her on her knees for me, working her way up and down my still-wet-from-her pole. My balls are tight and my release is already churning, ready to explode onto her tongue. “Suck me. Harder. Yes.”
I’m whispering guttural nothings now as her tongue slides against my throbbing skin. She’s perfect, my dirty little secret. Filthy perfection.
When I come, the corners of my vision go black and I see spots. She swallows every spurt, and sits back on her heels when I finish shooting down her throat.
“Yummy,” she whispers, licking her lips, and I die all over again.
—twenty-one—
Tabitha
When I wake up, it’s dark outside and Wilson is awake, working at the desk. He has two laptops open.
In the glow of the screens, he looks serious. Intent.
I don’t say anything, but it doesn’t take him long to realize I’m awake and looking at him. He glances over. “You’re awake.”
“So are you.”
“Did I wake you? I don’t sleep much.”
“No, it’s fine.” I stretch my arms above my head, then push myself up to a sitting position. “I’m kind of hungry?”
He points to the mini-fridge. “I went out and got some Japanese soba noodles, a green salad, grilled chicken, and some sticky dessert balls that smell like cherry blossoms.”
I crawl out of bed and check out the food. He bought enough to feed a small army. I assemble a plate for myself. “Do you want me to dish you up some as well?”
He waves his hand. “I’ll get some in a little bit, if that’s okay. I’m in the middle of something.”
So I sit cross-legged on the bed, naked, and eat while I watch him. He doesn’t seem distracted by the intense observation, either.
When I finish my midnight dinner, I go to the bathroom to wash up. There’s a new toothbrush next to the sink and a bottle of the Icelandic skin cream that I use, too. I could have just brought my stuff down from upstairs, or for that matter invited him to share my room with me, but there’s something about this that I get the sense Wilson needs. Like he’s providing for me.
I like it.
Nobody has ever really done that before. I have people on my payroll who do it because I compensate them extraordinarily well. But I need to tell them what I want, how I like things. Without a single prompt, Wilson got food that he knew I’d enjoy,
He’s still at the computer when I come out of the bathroom. I move to his side, and he holds out his arm, pulling me into his lap. He’s wearing boxer briefs and a fitted t-shirt that I want to strip off of him, but he’s working, so I resist the temptation to distract him with sex.
For now.
I peek at the screen. “Wow, there’s a lot going on in the middle of the night.”
He points at one corner, where three columns of what look like chatrooms are scrolling. “It’s not the middle of the night in Russia.” Then he points to a bigger black square in the middle. “And when the rest of America is sleeping is a good time for me to go peeking inside their systems.”
“That’s…”
“Creepy?” I can feel him smiling.
“Intense.” It really doesn’t feel creepy. I can feel his heartbeat where my arm is wrapped around his chest, and it’s slow and steady, although from the hints he’s given me, I think that’s more due to training than anything else. But it’s not creepy because he isn’t. I twist my head toward him so I can see his face. “Thank you for finding my face cream. That was really sweet.”
He gives me a half-smirk. “Easy to notice what you like when I�
��m spying on you.”
“You’d be surprised how many people I spend every day with who don’t notice things like that.”
“That’s a real shame. But I’m not surprised.” His mouth tightens as his eyes flick back to the screen. “People prove just how selfish they are every single day.”
I laugh weakly. “I thought that was just Hollywood.”
He shakes his head absently. “You have no idea.” Then he huffs out a breath and kisses my head. “And I don’t want you to, either. I think I want some of that food now. And then we can find a movie or something to watch and make out like teenagers.”
—twenty-two—
Tabitha
Los Angeles
October
“Over here, Tabitha!”
“Who are you wearing?”
“Show us some thigh!”
I brush my hand across the split in my steampunk inspired ball gown and strike a pose for the photographers on the red carpet. This is my third year attending this black-tie fundraiser for LAST. Los Angeles Sexual assaulT, the step-and-repeat banner behind me spells out. A stark name for an agency dedicated to survivors of sexual violence in all forms.
Last year, I gave them an anonymous donation for a million dollars. That’s how I balance out spending an embarrassing amount of money on dresses and tequila.
My public appearance here is just as much about ramping up toward the winter tour as it is an act of goodwill. “Do you like the dress?” I wink at the videographer from TMZ. “It’s going to be on the cover of my new album, that’s how much I love it!”
“When does that come out, Tabitha?”
“Next month.” Big smile, bright eyes. “It’s gonna be hot.”
I say the same thing to the People Online reporter, and the guy from Music Station who always stares at my tits like they’re going to invite him in for a motorboat.
Never going to happen, dude.
By the time I get inside, my smile is stiff and my cheeks hurt, so I head straight for the bar. The first one is in the hallway outside the ballroom, near the coat check, but a helpful hostess points out that there’s another bar set up on the far side, so I bee-line there, and that hallway—which leads to the kitchen and prep areas of the hotel—is empty.
Dirty Love (Forbidden Bodyguards #3) Page 9