by Zoey Oliver
Chapter Five
ETHAN
Kissing her is like being caught out in a storm. An electrical storm, where all the hairs on my arms raise up, and I feel like something huge is about to happen. She melts into me, pliant and willing, her hands snaking through the back of my hair.
I force myself to set her back on the floor in front of her open door. She rocks back and forth slightly, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. Her lips are still open, gleaming with moisture.
“I’m glad you’re going to spend the day with me,” I tell her.
“No… I can’t,” she protests quietly, looking guilty. “I know I said I would but… There’s still two days left of the conference… I’m supposed to be—”
“Finding a job?” I ask her irritably, annoyed by her change of heart. “And how is that going? Is it here? Do you think your future is downstairs?”
“My future…” she pauses. “Well, but, it’s a process, Ethan,” she objects. I see her eyes narrow, feel that familiar resistance. I remember her as a sullen teenager, determined to get her way. For some reason, that image sort of thrills me.
“So you don’t have a job now, and I can almost guarantee you that any job you would find downstairs will be waiting for you tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. But I’m offering you something much better. Spend the day with me,” I ask her again.
She blinks fast, as though running through a series of mental calculations. She knows I’m right. It’s just a matter of time before she acquiesces.
“And Bea is—” she protests meekly.
I stroke her shoulder, running my thumb along the ridge of her collarbone. “I want to take you on my boat, Ava. I’ll give you seven minutes to change your clothes. Bring your bathing suit.”
Gently, I nudge her toward the door. She gives me a surprised, helpless glance before the door closes, separating us.
Leaning against the wall, slip my phone out of my pocket and thumb through my emails, checking for new issues, any roadblock to the afternoon I have planned. There’s nothing. Nothing I can’t handle anyway.
Some annoying little voice in the back of my mind wants to know what I’m doing, standing in a hallway, waiting for some girl. Nobody would believe this if I told them. I don’t generally loiter in hallways. I certainly don’t mark time while some chick does whatever she wants, taking as long as she wants.
This is not just some girl, right? Ava was number one on my to-do list at some point. Let’s call her… a loose end.
The door swings open again, and she stands there, smiling brightly with a canvas bag slung over one arm. Sunglasses push that tousle of caramel-colored hair back from her forehead. She’s wearing a red, flowered dress and strappy sandals. The dress is a little bit see-through and I can make out the outlines of the darker colored bathing suit.
“Did I make it?” she breathes.
“You look… amazing,” I have to confess.
“Well, thank you… but did I make it?” she asks me again.
I shake my head, confused.
“You said seven minutes,” she reminds me. Her triumphant smirk is charming, enticing, and begging me to compete. But compete in what?
“Eight and a half, sorry,” I lie, pretending to look at my Rolex.
“Lies.” She rolls her eyes. “I know for a fact it was less than seven. So, Ethan Mercer, impress me! What you want to do with me?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, not quite certain that she is ready to hear the answer to that question just yet. I feel a strange resistance. Normally, I would tell a girl exactly what was on my mind. But somehow, I feel like I need to be cautious here. After all, Ava doesn’t see me the way other women do. She’s not going to believe the whole Rolling Stone mystique.
“Let’s just go,” I say, letting her notice my eyes sliding over her bare skin, her round thighs, her dimpled knees. The tiny gold ring around her second toe.
My cock throbs in my pants, aching intensely. As she looks up at me, I have the urge to push against her, to hold her against the door and fuck her right here in this quiet hallway. I want her juices drying on my cock before the end of the day. The sensation is so vivid, I almost feel like it’s happened already.
But I’ll have to wait, at least a little while. I guide her back to the elevator, listening to the sound of our footfalls in the hallway. After sending a quick text to Perry, I’ve got an escape route diagrammed in my mind. We’re going to need to make this quick.
“Put your sunglasses on,” I advise her, just before the elevator doors open again on the main ballroom lobby.
“What? Why?” she asks me, but she does it just as the crowd turns around. I take her hand, tugging her toward the left-most doorway. The crowd of conference participants all seem to turn around at once, noticing us, noticing her hand folded in mine. I hear their gasps. But I don’t want to focus on that. I need to focus on her. She’s weathering it well, keeping up with me, squeezing my fingers tight. She keeps her head down just enough, with fringes of her hair flowing around her cheekbones. I hear a couple of cameras go off, but I’m fairly certain they couldn’t have gotten a good shot of her.
Within moments, we’re on the sidewalk, diving into the back seat of my Rolls with Perry closing the door immediately behind us, his voice muffled as he tells the crowd to back off, back off, leave me alone.
The Rolls pulls away immediately, leaving us breathless in the roomy, plush interior.
Ava pushes her sunglasses back up. Her eyes are wide and startled, the tip of her nose candy pink.
“What was that?”
I shrug. “That was us, trying to get through a public space.”
She nods, looking away thoughtfully. “Is it always like that? Is everybody just… Do they always get in your business like that?”
“Basically, yes,” I admit. “You get used to it.”
“I don’t know if I could ever get used to that,” she sniffs.
She reaches for her bag and opens it with her long fingers which I notice are trembling only slightly. After she rummages around for twenty or thirty seconds, I realize she’s just doing that to cover her nervousness. I reach out and stroke her golden, baby-soft knee.
“Really, it’s nothing,” I reassure her. “No one is going to follow us or anything. You are going to enjoy this.”
“Gee, Ethan,” she teases me, her eyes twinkling, “I’m going to enjoy it? Have you ever said those words to me before? Just try it? You’ll like it?”
I settle back against the seat, enjoying the way she thinks she sees me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ava.”
“Fireball shots ring any bells? Maybe that bowl you convinced me to smoke?”
“Oh, I forgot about that,” I smirk. “I hope you never get a taste for pot, Ava. You’re terrible at it.”
“I don’t think I ever coughed so much in my whole life!”
“Peer pressure kills, you know,” I smile, remembering.
It wasn’t even my pot. It was her brother’s, freshly packed in a bowl, ready to go. Marijuana has never been my drug either, but something about her wide, innocent eyes made me want to antagonize her. I wanted to see if she would do it. I wanted to see her wrap her lips around the pipe, furrowing her brow as she concentrated on inhaling. She got a lungful of smoke like a champ, but then coughed so dramatically I thought she was going to throw up. Her eyes bleary and tear-streaked, her hands shaking. Even then, she didn’t want to give up. She was mortified.
But somehow, totally sexy. I can’t explain it.
“So all I’m saying, Ethan,” she continues, “is if you plan on showing me something I’m going to enjoy, I better really enjoy it this time, okay?”
“I’ll give you million dollars if you don’t.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Seriously,” I tell her, sliding toward her, my fingers finding her skin again. I love that touch. It sizzles. “If you do not completely enjoy your afternoon, I wil
l give you one. Million. Dollars.”
She presses her lips together in dismay. They look like pink, thick, waxy flower petals. Blowjob lips, with a tiny little kitten tongue to match.
“You’re terrible,” she protests in her tiny voice.
“The worst,” I agree.
We drive through the city for a few more minutes, silent and thinking. What should I say to her? I want to bring out all the lines I would use on any woman, the carefully crafted bravado, the flirting that seems to work so well. Something about her makes me stop.
“So, how long has it been?” she finally asks.
“Years, I suppose,” I shrug. “Too long.”
“Too long,” she nods.
The driver brings the Rolls through the Marina, stopping in front of our slip. As the car door opens, the smell of salt and cries of seagulls fill the car. Ava puts her sunglasses back on, shading those beautiful blue eyes from me again. She steps out and I hear her gasp just a little.
“Is there a problem?”
“Is that yours?” she asks, gesturing.
“Yeah… I thought we could go on my boat for a while. It’s a beautiful day. Hate to waste it.”
“Your boat?” she asks, incredulous. “That’s not a boat, Ethan. That’s a… a ship or something. That’s a frickin’ yacht!”
“I suppose you can call it that,” I laugh, pleased to see her shy, awestruck smile. That’s kind of nice. I don’t know if I’ve ever made her make that expression before.
We board, nodding to the captain and crew and following the curve of the portside toward the front, where deck chairs line the lacquered floorboards. The wind twists Ava’s pretty dress around her thighs, offering me tantalizing glimpses of her full, dimpled butt cheeks, straining against the fabric of her bikini.
“Ethan, this is crazy,” she murmurs, eagerly leaning against the rail as the boat begins to motor away from the dock.
“You can see why you didn’t want to miss it,” I explain. “When’s the last time you were on the water?”
“Oh I don’t really… I mean, I went to the beach sometimes with my friends. With Bea. But I’ve never ever been, you know, on anything like this.”
“I suppose I just saved myself a million dollars then, huh?”
She looks confused for a moment, then remembers the deal I made her about enjoying herself. She smiles shyly, showing me those deep, deep dimples.
“You’re different,” she muses, turning away from me again to look out at the San Francisco Bay as it comes into view. I hear the engines rev up as the captain increases our speed, pushing us deeper into the bay where the wind makes the water choppy, even on the nicest of days. San Francisco wasn’t blessed with the best weather. It’s not Sonoma or LA. It’s cold most of the time here. That’s why sunny days are the sort of thing you don’t pass up.
“I’m not different at all,” I answer, looking out at the hills, trying to see it the way she sees it.
She shrugs. “You’re nicer, I think. I liked your speech, by the way.”
“Nicer? I don’t think you realized how nice I always was. But I’m glad you liked my speech. Which part did you like?”
She glances at me, inhaling sharply. “Well, I mean… the whole thing. The whole speech. It was really good.”
“You know the Marines taught me how to extract information from prisoners.”
“What?” she gasps.
“I mean that I know you’re lying. And I will use my training to extract the truth from you, Ava,” I growl, stepping closer to her and letting my breath trip over her skin. I see her goosebumps rise, and wonder if it’s the cold breeze or my playful threat that made her respond like that.
“You really are different,” she says again.
“Come with me,” I tell her. She nods silently. Taking her hand I guide her below deck to the stateroom. It’s lined in windows that show the full panorama of the bay, but without the wind or seagulls.
She takes her sunglasses off again, walking up to the windows. I walk up behind her, caging her in my arms. I feel her shudder against me, smell the wafts of her perfume. Something sweet, like vanilla.
There’s only a millimeter of fabric between us. She’s got me as hard as a rock, and I think she knows, brushing those sweet ass cheeks against my cock. The swing of the boat pushes our bodies together. I feel she wants me, hear the ragged sound of her breath.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to fuck you,” I whisper in her ear. “Even before it would’ve been right. I have been watching you for such a long time.”
She turns, twisting to face me, but I don’t back away. I lean over her, flattening her against the front wall. I feel her thighs open, and her knees automatically part but then close again, trapping my hand against her hot, swollen pussy.
Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she breathes hoarsely.
“Wait,” she rasps, “I think I…”
I pause, commanding my body not to do what I urgently need to do.
“What is it?” I ask, controlling myself but just barely. “I can tell you want me, Ava.”
“Oh I do!” she shudders. “It’s just I’ve… Well I never—”
“Oh,” I breathe. My cock swells so quickly I’m afraid I’m going to come immediately. She’s a virgin. I should have guessed it.
Now I want her a million times more.
“I can wait a little longer,” I smile, wondering if I’m really telling her the truth. “But can you?”
“What do you mean?” she pouts.
The boat rocks again and I lean against her, stroking her sex from the outside of her bikini bottom. She’s soaked through.
I watch her lips part as my fingers slide against her, slipping under the fabric to find her wet and wanting, swollen and ready. Our eyes are locked together as I gently tap against her untested clit, teasing her until her hips begin to pulse against me. Her cheeks flush crimson as I bring her to a fast, shuddering climax. Her juices drench my palm and I ache to be inside her, but dare myself to wait.
“Oh,” she sighs, her eyes half closed.
I kiss her deeply as she trembles, finding that she does, in fact, fit so naturally in my arms it’s no effort at all to keep holding her.
Chapter Six
AVA
After Ethan pulls away in the Rolls, I walk back through the Fairmont Hotel lobby, lighter than air. Everything inside me feels like it’s filled with bubbles, like I’m a shaken soda pop, ready to explode.
I must be on fire, because I feel people looking at me. Their heads swivel around as I walk past them, trying not to grin too obviously. But how can I help it? That was amazing. And who does that? Just takes the afternoon off and sails around San Francisco Bay with a billionaire? An actual billionaire?
Apparently, I do that. Me. Little old me.
When I get back up to our room, suddenly I’m half exhausted. My arms and legs feel like they’re made out of loosely coiled rubber bands. I guess as the adrenaline drains out of me, I start to feel just how exhausted I really am.
Bea stops in the middle of the living room of our suite when I open the door, turning to squint at me suspiciously. She’s wearing a pair of fuchsia boy shorts and a strapless bra, still shiny from a shower. Her hair sticks out in triangular patches as she jerks her chin at me in greeting.
“I was looking for you, Ava,” she snaps. “I mean, I looked everywhere. Where did you go? I thought we were going to meet up in the entrepreneurial panel?”
“Yeah,” I stammer, suddenly unable to put a sentence together. “I mean, yeah… I was gonna, but—”
She tips her head to the side, looking me up and down.
“Did you go to the pool? Don’t tell me you went to the pool without me?”
I glance down at my outfit, self-consciously twisting a bit of my coverup in my fingertips.
“Actually… no. I didn’t go to the pool.”
Trying to avoid her eye line, I cross the room diagonally and head for my bedr
oom, but Bea is right behind me, swinging in through the doorway like a bloodhound, hot on my trail.
“What do you mean, you didn’t go to the pool? You’re wearing a bathing suit, Ava. A frickin’ bathing suit!”
I turn around to face her, putting my hands up to show that I am surrendering immediately.
“I really didn’t go to the pool, Bea,” I smile, feeling a blush creep back into my cheeks again. “I promise. I absolutely promise.”
She chews on her lower lip for just a second, scowling. Then she flops dramatically into an armchair, draping her bare legs over the side.
“All right, spill,” she commands me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shrug innocently, keenly aware of the fatigue in my shoulders. That big, fluffy, down comforter is just feet away from me. I could be asleep in seconds, assuming Bea would let me.
“You know, I’m super tired,” I murmur, edging toward the bed. “Can we talk about this later, please?”
“Oh hell no!” she barks, pointing at me. “You’re up to something, Ava. I’m not leaving until you tell me exactly what’s going on!”
“Well…” I begin, trying to figure out the fastest way to tell her, and the least amount of information I need to give her before she’ll surrender and leave me alone to get some sleep.
“Start at the part where you decided that you were going to skip the conference, Miss Thing!” she exclaims helpfully. “What were you thinking? We paid good money to be here!”
“Okay, yeah, we totally did,” I cringe, remembering how long it took us to scrape together the cash for this. The website claimed we would have unparalleled access to the best Bay Area employers, plus educational panels and resume help that was supposed to put us into some kind of immediately employable pool. When I think of how many resumes I’ve given out… that number would be zero… I see that I’m not really making the most of the situation.
“So?” she prods.
“So…” I echo shyly, silently commanding myself to just tell her already. “You remember Ethan, of course—”