by Swan, T L
We don’t know the same people, we don’t live in the same city, and I may never see him again, and there’s an unexpected freedom in that. I can be different.
Whoever he wants me to be.
His eyes are locked on mine, and his jaw clenches. “Get over here and suck my cock, Emily,” he murmurs darkly.
God, yes. I thought he’d never ask. I scurry to my knees, desperate to please him.
I don’t know anything about this guy, but I do know that at this moment, I want to be the best sex he’s ever had. I take him in my mouth as I pretend to be the deep-throat champion of the world. I fist him hard as my hand follows my lips.
It’s been so long, and I feel my sex clench, my orgasm close just from the taste of his preejaculate.
“Fuck . . . so good,” I murmur around him. “The taste of you is going to make me come.”
He tips his head back to the sky and closes his eyes. “Naked. I need you fucking naked,” he growls with urgency. He drags me off the bed and in one moment has my skirt and panties on the floor. He pulls my shirt off over my head and throws my bra to the side.
Then he stops still . . . and in slow motion, with his hands clenched by his sides, his eyes drop down my body. He drinks me in, and I feel the heat as his gaze skims my skin.
My world stops spinning, and I stand before him naked and vulnerable, waiting for his approval.
This is new for me. I’ve never been with a man who’s so dominant and commanding. His eyes, his voice, his every touch reminds me of who I am with and how much his pleasure means to me.
I feel like I want to rise to the challenge, and the primal urge to satisfy him is taking me over.
When his eyes meet mine again, they’re blazing with desire. An undercurrent of darkness and tenderness runs between us. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how a man looks at a woman when every ounce of his being wants her. Because I swear to God, I’ve never seen this look before in my life.
“On your back,” he murmurs.
My face falls in fear.
He takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply as he holds my face in his hands. “What is it?” he breathes.
“It’s . . . it’s been a long time,” I pant.
“I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispers softly, which eases my fears. His mouth takes mine, his tongue slowly sliding through my open lips with just the right amount of suction.
My knees nearly buckle underneath me.
He lays me down and spreads my legs and smiles darkly as he kisses his way down my body.
I stare at the ceiling as I try to control my erratic breathing; no amount of alcohol could have prepared me for this. He lifts my legs and puts my feet onto his strong shoulders and then drops my knees wide.
I am completely open for him, and he takes me with no reservations and sucks hard.
I buck off the bed. “Ah!” I cry.
But he gives me no mercy as he drives three of his thick fingers into my sex and begins to pump me hard.
Shit . . . can’t we ease into it, at least?
His tongue is on my clitoris, and his fingers are on my G-spot. What the actual hell is going on here? My body begins to quiver like a puppet . . . his puppet.
The man’s a god.
My legs lift off his shoulders by themselves, and I convulse as a freight train of an orgasm rips through me.
That took approximately five seconds. Oh hell. How embarrassing. Way to act cool. He chuckles as if he’s proud, and I throw the back of my forearm over my eyes to hide my face in shame.
He pulls my arm away and takes my jaw in his hand and drags my face back to his. “Don’t hide from me, Emily. Not ever,” he commands.
My eyes search his. This is too full on . . . too much. This guy is too intense.
“Answer me.”
“What do you want me to say?” I whisper.
“Say yes so that I know you understand.”
The air crackles between us. “Yes,” I breathe. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” he whispers as he leans in and kisses me again. His tongue is soft stroking perfection, and my legs open by themselves once more. He gets up and takes four condoms from his wallet, opens one, and hands it to me. “Put it on me.”
I take it from him and bend to kiss him softly on his dick before I roll the condom on. “You’re very bossy.” I smirk.
He smiles broadly as he falls onto his back, pulls me over him, and drags my face to his. “You’ll fuck me first,” he murmurs against my lips, “and then I’ll fuck you when you’re warmed up.”
I smile against his mouth. “I only fuck once, big boy, and then I fall asleep.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile.
I straddle his large body as our kisses become desperate. His thick cock is up against his stomach, and he holds it in the air and guides my hips down over him.
Oh, the burn—he’s big.
“Ow,” I whimper.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Wiggle from side to side.”
He cups my breasts in his hands as he stares up at me in what seems like awe.
I smile down at him. “What?”
“From the moment I saw you on the plane today, I wanted you riding my cock.”
I giggle down at him. “Do you always get what you want?”
“Always.” He grabs my hips and slams me down, and our mouths fall open in pleasure.
Oh . . . he’s . . .
“So fucking tight,” he grinds out.
With our eyes locked, he slowly moves me up and down, and I can feel every vein on his thick shaft.
His eyes are hooded as he looks up at me, and I lean forward and kiss him softly. “Do you know how perfect you feel inside me?” I whisper, and then I lick his open mouth.
His eyes roll back in his head. “You are one hot fuck.” He picks me up by the hip bones and slams me back down on his cock, and I laugh out loud at the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the hilt.
“God, fill me up,” I moan. “Give it to me,” I beg. I love how he’s losing control. It’s making me crazy. And then as if in some kind of alternate universe, my mouth latches on to his neck, and I suck hard as I ride him.
He hisses, and as if he’s completely losing control, he bucks me off and pulls out and throws me onto my back. He lifts my legs over his shoulders and slams in deep—so deep that the air is knocked from my lungs.
I smile. So he likes dirty talk, does he? Well, that just happens to be my specialty.
Game on.
I hold his face in my hands. “God, you’ve got a beautiful cock,” I whisper. “Is it weeping for me, baby?” I whisper as I clench around him. “I can feel your pulse in it.”
He gives me a slow, sexy smile as he pumps me. “I’m going to rip this condom off and blow in your dirty mouth in a minute.”
“Please.” I laugh as he pumps me hard, and in a moment of perfect clarity, he turns his head and tenderly kisses my inner ankle. We stare at each other as something intimate runs between us. A closeness that the reality of the situation shouldn’t allow. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper to break the seriousness of the moment, “or I’m going to give you another hickey.”
His eyes widen. “I better not have a fucking hickey, Emily.”
I laugh out loud as I look at the huge purple welt rising on his neck. God, what the hell? I’ve been reading way too many vampire romances. “Will you be in trouble with your mother?” I tease.
He laughs and slams into me and hits just the right spot, and I moan. Oh . . . this man knows his way around a woman’s body.
Every touch is perfectly placed and magnified. He knows exactly how to take me apart at the seams. He lifts my hip with his hand and circles deep, and my body takes on its own agenda because I need to come. Hard.
“Fuck me,” I beg. “Give me that beautiful cock of yours. Harder,” I moan. “Fuck, I need it harder.”
His eyes close in pleasure, and he pumps me at piston pace. I grab on to him as tightly as I can a
s I convulse. He holds himself deep and cries out into my neck, and I feel his cock jerk as it releases.
We pant as we cling to each other, wet with perspiration, our hearts racing wildly together, and he smiles up against my cheek as if remembering something.
“What?”
“Welcome to the Miles-High Club, Emily.”
I giggle as I kiss him. “First class is the only way to fly.”
Jim smiles sexily down at me as I lie naked in bed. He’s dressed, and his bag is packed and by the door. “I have to go.”
I screw up my face and hold out my arms. “No, don’t leave me,” I tease in a whiny voice.
He chuckles as he bends and takes me into his arms one last time. We’re not on the same plane back to New York this morning; his flight leaves early, and mine leaves late. He kisses me softly. “What a night,” he whispers.
I smile as his head drops to the crook of my neck, his teeth nipping down toward my collarbone. “I won’t be walking for a month—actually, a year,” I mutter dryly.
He bends and bites my nipple hard, and I jump. Then he comes back up, and his eyes meet mine.
I cup his handsome face. “I had an incredible night.”
He smiles softly. “Me too.”
I reach up and put my finger on the huge hickey on his neck, and his fingers go to it too. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I have no idea what came over me.” I giggle. “Your dick was too good, turned me into an animal.”
He bites me again. “How am I supposed to get on a plane with a huge-ass hickey on my neck?” he scolds. “If you knew how many important meetings I have this week, Emily . . .”
We both laugh, and then his face falls as he watches me. I’m not joking—I don’t want him to leave me. This man is everything I’m not looking for, but he’s somehow ticking every box.
What if I never see him again?
How am I supposed to move on from a night like this, erase it from my memory bank, and pretend it never happened? I close my eyes in disgust with myself. This is why I don’t do one-night stands. I’m not cut out for sex without strings—it’s not who I am. I will never be that person.
I hate that he is.
“Actually, I have a scarf in my bag. Do you want it?” I ask.
“Yes,” he snaps.
I climb out of bed and go to my suitcase and begin to rummage through it. He takes the opportunity and stands behind me and grabs my naked hip bones in his hands and pumps me with his hips. I stand and turn to face him. “I’m not even joking now—stay another night.”
He traces his finger down my face and cups my jaw in his hand as our eyes lock.
“I can’t,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine . . . with something unspoken.
Does he have someone at home? Is that why he hasn’t asked for my number? Uneasiness fills me. I’m not made for this one-night stand crap.
I turn my back on him and dig out the scarf and hand it over. It’s cream and cashmere, and it’s initialed.
E.F.
My mother’s tennis group gave it to me as a gift when I finished college. I did love it . . . but oh well.
He frowns as he looks down at the embroidered letters, and I take it from him and wrap it around his neck to cover the huge purple bruise. I smirk as I look at it. I didn’t even know how to give a hickey. I must have really been in the moment.
“What does the F stand for?” he asks.
“Fuck bunny.” I smile to cover my disappointment. I don’t want him to know that his last comment upset me.
He chuckles and grabs me roughly into his arms and walks me back toward the bed. “What an apt description that is.” He takes my leg and wraps it around his waist, and we share one last lingering kiss.
“Goodbye, my beautiful fuck bunny,” he whispers.
I run my fingers through his hair as I stare at his gorgeous face. “Goodbye, Blue Eyes.”
He picks the scarf up and inhales deeply. “This smells like you.”
“Put it on every time you jerk off.” I smile sweetly. “Imagine it’s me doing all the work.”
His eyes flicker with excitement. “You know, for someone who hasn’t had sex for eighteen months, you’re a fucking sex maniac.”
I giggle. “I’ll go back to my drought now. It’s safe there . . . and I can walk unassisted.”
His face falls, and I feel like he wants to say something but is stopping himself.
“You’re going to miss your plane.” I fake a smile.
We kiss once more, and I hold him tight, and God, he really is incredible.
He stands, and with one last lingering look at me lying naked in the bed, he turns and walks out.
I smile sadly at the door he just left through. “Yes, sure, you can have my number,” I whisper into the silence.
But he didn’t want it. He’s gone.
Twelve months later
I exhale and put my hand over my heart as I stand on the curbside and look up at the glass skyscraper in front of me. My phone rings, and the name Mom lights up the screen. “Hello, Mom.” I smile. I get a vision of my beautiful mother. She has a perfect blonde bob and flawless skin, and she’s always immaculately dressed. If I can look half as good as her at her age, I will be winning at life. I miss her already.
“Oh, darling, I just called to wish you good luck.”
“Thank you.” I tap my toe, unable to stand still. “I’m so nervous I was throwing up this morning.”
“They’re going to love you, dear.”
“Oh God.” I exhale heavily. “I hope so. It took me six damn interviews to get this job, and I had to move across the country for it.” I screw up my face in fear. “Have I done the right thing, Mom?”
“Yes, love, this job is your dream, and besides, you needed to get away from Robbie. The distance from him will do you good.”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, don’t bring Robbie into it.”
“Darling, you’re dating a man who is unemployed and lives in his parents’ garage. I don’t understand what you see in him.”
“He’s just between jobs at the moment.” I sigh.
“Then if he’s got nothing going on here, why wouldn’t he move to New York with you?”
“He doesn’t like New York. It’s too busy for him.”
“Oh, Emily, can you hear the excuses you make for this man? If he loved you, he would be there supporting your dream, since he doesn’t have any of his own.”
I exhale heavily. I’ve been thinking these things myself, but no way in hell would I admit it to anyone.
“Are you calling me to stress me out about Robbie, or are you calling me to wish me luck?” I snap.
“I’m calling you to wish you luck. Good luck, darling. Go and show them what you’re made of.”
I jiggle on the spot nervously as I look at the towering building above me. “Thanks.”
“I’ll call you tonight for a full debrief.”
“Okay.” I smile. “I’m going to go in.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.” She hangs up.
I stare up at the building and at the fancy gold letters over the large double front doors.
MILES MEDIA
I exhale and drop my shoulders. “Right. You can do this.”
This is the opportunity of all opportunities. Miles Media is the biggest conglomerate media empire in the United States and one of the largest in the world, with over two thousand staff based in New York alone. My fascination with journalism started in the eighth grade when I witnessed a car accident on my way home from school one day. Because I was the only witness, I had to give a statement to the police, and then when it turned out that the car was stolen, the local paper came and interviewed me. I felt like a rock star that day, and the shine never dulled. I’ve been to college to study journalism and done internships with the best companies in the United States. But it was Miles Media that I had my heart set on. Their stories are a cut above the rest; no other media company would do. I’ve appl
ied for every position that has come up for three years and only recently got a callback. And even then, I went to six interviews before I was offered the job, and God, just don’t let me screw this up.
I take out my security card and put the lanyard around my neck, and I glance down at my phone.
No missed calls. Robbie didn’t even call me to wish me luck. Ugh, men.
I make my way to reception. The security guard at the front desk accepts my identification, and I am given a code to work the elevator. My heart is beating so fast as I get into the elevator with all the beautiful posh-looking people, and I push the button for the fortieth floor. I glance over at myself in the mirrored doors. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt that hangs to midcalf, sheer black stockings with patent leather high heels, and a cream long-sleeved silk blouse. I wanted to look professional and elegant. I’m not sure if I pulled it off, but here’s hoping. I pull my hand through my thick dark ponytail as the elevator flies higher and higher. I take a side glance at the others in the elevator. The men are all in expensive suits, and the women are ultraprofessional and wearing full faces of makeup.
Damn it, I should have worn bright lipstick. I’ll buy one on my lunch break. The doors open on the fortieth floor, and I stride out as if I don’t have a fear in the world.
Faking confidence is my superpower, and today I’m totally faking it till I make it.
Or at least die trying.
“Hello.” I smile at the kind-looking woman standing by reception. “I’m Emily Foster. I’m starting today.”
She smiles broadly. “Hello, Emily, my name is Frances, and I am one of the floor managers.” She steps over to me and shakes my hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
Well, she seems nice.
“Come through, and I’ll show you to your desk.” She walks off, and I peer into the huge office space. The tables are grouped into lots of four or six with partitions separating them from the others. “As you know, each floor of this building is a different arm of the company,” she says as she walks. “We have internationals and magazines from floor twenty down. Floors thirty to forty are news and current affairs, and above forty are television and cable.”
I nod nervously.
“The two top levels of the building are senior management only, and your security card won’t get you up there. It’s customary for new employees to be taken on a guided tour of the building, and Lindsey from human resources will come and get you at two o’clock this afternoon.”