The Lineup

by Quinn, Meghan

  DOTTIE

  Ms. Domico,

  We hope you’re fairing well. We’re sorry about the delay in our plans, but we wanted a few more weeks in peace and quiet before we made such a significant decision.

  We talked it over and we’re hoping to have dinner with you, your dad, and hopefully, Jason. We understand Jason is a celebrity and we respect his privacy, but we’re not looking to have dinner with him because of his status on the baseball field, but because he’s the man who’s stolen your heart.

  We understand this is a big ask, but we’re hoping you’ll say yes.

  We’d love to set up dinner this Friday night? Let us know if that works for you.

  Thank you and hope to see you soon.

  Sincerely,

  Mr. and Mrs. Carlton

  * * *

  Friday. They chose Friday. They couldn’t have picked another day to give me more time to prepare? No, they chose Friday. Two days from now.

  When I got the email, I panicked, because the subject line read dinner date, and then I read it and panicked even more. They want Jason there, and I know he’ll do it, but at this point, I can’t remember a damn thing I said to the Carltons about Jason. Will they remember every detail? I sure hope not, because that could be a disaster.

  All I know is that I’m standing outside Jason’s apartment, trying to work up the courage to ask him to a business dinner. I know he asked me to be his date to his fundraiser, but this feels different. It feels like I’m using him to show the Carltons that I’m the right person for the job. And maybe that’s what propelled me to give in to the temptation of seeing what Jason and I could be, but it isn’t what’s kept me around.

  I’m falling for the man and hard . . . that’s if I haven’t fallen already. Every day, every minute, I can feel myself growing closer and closer to him to the point that it feels like a piece of me is missing when he’s not around.

  Which means this dinner should be easy, because there’s no faking the feelings I have for him.

  Feeling like I gained some confidence back, I raise my hand to knock on the door when Knox and Emory’s apartment door opens.

  “Oh,” Emory says, bringing her hand to her chest while nervously chuckling. “I wasn’t expecting to see you there.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Going to visit with Jason?”

  “Nope, I just like standing outside his door.”

  “Aren’t you charming? But while I have you here, I want to extend—”

  Jason’s door opens and his sexy smile appears when he spots me. “I heard voices. I didn’t know you were coming over, babe.” He pulls me in by the waist and keeps his hand protectively around me while talking to Emory. “Unless . . . was she coming to visit you?”

  Emory shakes her head. “No, we were both actually coming to see you.”

  “Lucky me.” He kisses the side of my neck. “I know why this little sex-crazed harlot is here.” Whispering he says, “She wants the dick.” I shouldn’t be shocked at this point from his ability to make me blush in seconds . . .

  Emory laughs. “Giving her the good dick, huh, Jason?”

  “Only the best of the best. Told you I would take care of your friend.”

  “That you are, but while I have you both here, I wanted to invite you to our Friends-Giving we’re having. Not sure who’s going home for Thanksgiving, but we thought we would host a little get together at our place. Knox’s mom will be visiting and she plans on making a turkey. We’ll pitch in with the sides—”

  “Calling the yams,” Jason says, raising his hand with excitement. “I have a killer recipe that will blow everyone’s dicks off, including Dottie’s. We all know she has the hardest dick of us all.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I ask, laughing while Emory gives us a strange look.

  “You two are odd,” she finally says.

  “Us? Uh, no.” I shake my head. “He’s the weird one, I just deal with it.”

  “Because of the good dick,” Jason says, leaning forward as if to put an exclamation point on the end of his sentence.

  “Ah yes, it all makes sense.” Emory chuckles and even though she thinks we’re weird—well, Jason is weird—she still loves us together. She’s said as much when we’ve talked. She loves Jason, thinks he’s a sweetheart—obnoxious, but a sweetheart—and she couldn’t pick a better guy for me.

  I agree completely.

  “We will be there,” I say, holding on to Jason’s arm that’s wrapped around me.

  “Perfect. Dottie, just bring crescent rolls; we don’t need you cooking.”

  “I’ll have my chef make us something.”

  “Ah,” Jason cries out in insult. “How dare you mention that chef again. I told you, cheat on me with another penis, but do not cheat on me in the kitchen.” Addressing Emory, he says, “I’ll make two things: Yams and homemade stuffing from homemade bread because if anything, I’m a fancy fuck.”

  “So fancy.” Emory heads back to her apartment. “Thank you. Now you two go do your thing.”

  We say our goodbyes and Jason quickly pulls me into his apartment and pushes me against his closed door. His hands fall to my waist while his mouth finds mine. I melt against the wood as he takes over, moving his hand up my body to cup my cheek, his body adding pressure as he kisses me unlike any man has ever before. Passionately.

  “Jason,” I murmur when his mouth finds my jaw.

  “Missed you today, sweet cheeks.” He moves to my neck and my hand falls to his chest. “I’m so happy you came over.”

  “I . . .” Oh God his mouth feels so good. “I need to talk to you.”

  He stills, his head lifting. When he looks me in the eyes, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need to talk to you.”

  He stands tall, looking concerned. “Okay.” He takes me by the hand and takes me to the couch where he pulls me down on his lap. Hands still connected, he asks, “What’s up?”

  And just like that, a wave of nerves hit me. This is ridiculous. I don’t get nervous. I’m rock solid, take no prisoners, show no emotions, but here I am, sitting on the lap of the man who owns my heart, and all I can think about is how nervous I am about a simple question.

  Maybe because it isn’t a simple question, not where relationships are concerned. I’ve never really had a man in my life to invite to a business dinner, or a dinner with my parents for that matter. Every relationship I’ve had has been surface level; I’ve never gone deep like I have with Jason. Therefore, this feels so much more real and the stakes are higher if he says no.

  “Dottie.” He squeezes my side. “What’s wrong, babe? You look . . . different.”

  Wanting to be honest with him, I say, “Just nervous.”

  “Nervous?” His brow creases. “But it’s me. You can tell me anything.”

  “I know.” I take a deep breath and say, “So you know I’ve been working hard on the Carlton project?”

  “Yeah, breaking your back over it. Are they finally coming back from vacation?”

  I nod. “They are and they requested to have dinner Friday night to talk.”

  “That’s great. Did they sound positive?”

  “It was an email so I couldn’t really tell, but they did have a request.”

  “What was it? We’ll make it happen.” The tension eases in my shoulders when he says that. He’s eager to help. I should have known this wouldn’t be as big a deal as it was in my head.

  “They, uh, know we’re dating and since they’re all about family, they wanted to meet the man who I’m seeing. I know it’s asking a lot but—”

  “Babe.” He smiles at me. “I’m in.” His hand snakes up my neck. “I’m all in with you, you know that, right?”

  “I . . . I do now.”

  “I thought I made that clear. I like you, Dottie, a lot. I have no plans to go anywhere.”

  “I know, but this is a business thing.”

  “So, that’s what I’m here for. That includes every aspect of you
r life.” He brings my mouth to his and presses a gentle kiss across my lips. When he pulls away, he says, “Why don’t you have them over to your place? I’ll cook a ham—I have a great recipe—and we can put on a noteworthy dinner for them, show them the kind of give and take we have with our relationship.”

  “No, I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

  “It’s not trouble if it’s for you. Plus, if you use that chef of yours for this dinner, I’m going to be pissed.”

  I chuckle and nod. “Okay, you can make dinner, but let me help?”

  “Do you want the contract?”

  “Yes.”

  He pats my leg. “Then leave the cooking to me.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “And you’re not great either.”

  “You know, you were so close to getting a blow job, but after that comment, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Good,” he says matter-of-factly. “Because I planned on doing other things with you and the first item on my to-do list is eat your pussy.”

  He flips me on my back on the carpet of his living room and pushes my skirt up to my waist while dragging my thong down at the same time. In seconds, I’m bare and spread to him, my heart racing a mile a minute.

  “Hold your legs open. I need to use my hands for other things.”

  I do as he says and before I can catch my next breath, his tongue is swirling over my clit, his fingers spreading me wide.

  “Oh Jason,” I moan, feeling a wave of arousal hit me, igniting my body into a fiery inferno.

  He wastes no time in swirling his tongue over and over, flattening it and then flicking it until my body is so wound up, I’m seconds from coming.

  He must see the tension coiling inside me because right when I’m a moment from finding euphoria, he stops and removes his pants. He brings his cock to my entrance and says, “I need to be inside you. Now.”

  He pushes himself in until he bottoms out, both of us groaning together at the sensation.

  “Fuck, Dottie . . . Do you feel this? This connection we have?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, barely able to get my voice to work as he starts pumping his hips, filling me up so much that I feel like he’s sucking the breath right from my lungs.

  “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Say it,” he barks out through his teeth, the pressure building between us.

  “I’m . . . oh God—” He thrusts hard, his balls slapping against me, his hand falling to my clit where he rubs it, bringing me to the edge. “Jason . . . yes.”

  “Say it, Dottie.”

  “I’m, fuck . . . I’m not going . . . anywhere.”

  “Damn right you’re not.” He plows into me, and I can feel us inching up the carpet with each thrust, but I don’t care about the rug burn, or how twisted my clothes are at this point, because all I care about is being with this man.

  Loving this man.

  He’s everything I could have ever dreamed of and so much more.

  When I say I’m never leaving, I’m not. He’s it for me.

  My man.

  My Jason.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  JASON

  I glance around the apartment.

  Coast is clear.

  I lift up the apron Dottie got me that says “Eat my food, Lick my dick” and hold the freshly polished spoon in front of my junk.

  Clear as day I see my rod and nuggets dangling upside down, happy to be attached to this machine of a body.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shhhh-it,” I say, scrambling to drop my apron, the spoon clattering to the floor. Great. Now I’m going to have to polish it again.

  “Were you checking out your penis in the spoon reflection?” Dottie asks, appearing from her bedroom in a robe and nothing else. Her hair is down and in waves, her makeup subtle but highlighting her gorgeous eyes, and she smells like a goddamn field of flowers.

  “I was.” I take the spoon in hand and start polishing it again. “The only way to tell if your silverware has been properly polished is if you can see the reflection of your junk in it.”

  Pause.

  Blink.

  “Charming.” She bites her bottom lip and looks around the apartment. “I should have had those cleaners come back to the apartment. It doesn’t look clean enough. Does it look clean enough?”

  “Dottie, the apartment looks phenomenal. Stop stressing and try to relax.”

  “I don’t think I’ll relax until this is over.”

  “Hey”—I point the spoon at her—“you said if I cooked naked, you wouldn’t be so tense.”

  She smiles shamefully at me and says, “I lied.”

  “You’re telling me my ass has been hanging out this entire time for no reason? Do you realize how unsanitary that is?”

  “Are you stirring with your butt muscles?”

  “No . . . but that seems like a party trick I’m willing to dedicate some time to in order to master.”

  “Please don’t.” She chuckles and then lets out a long breath. “Maybe I just need to get my mind off things.”

  “I can do that for you.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

  She looks down at my crotch and then back up at me. “You literally came an hour ago. And this morning—twice—before I left for work. How could you possibly want sex again?”

  “Dottie, I will always want sex with you,” I say. “Always.” She’s the reason I’m perpetually horny. Her body, her mind, her sass, her mouth . . . every part of her calls to me. It always will.

  She smiles and walks over to me, her robe shifting back and forth, giving me peeks of her cleavage. When she stands a few inches from me, she lowers her hands to my bare ass and gives it a small squeeze while placing a kiss on my jaw.

  “You are the best man I know. Do you realize that?”

  “Tell me more.”

  One hand falls to the front of my apron and slips under the canvas fabric to my growing erection. She casually strokes my length while bringing her mouth to mine.

  “You are so good to me.” Her finger swirls around the head of my cock. “Take care of me.” She brushes down and then back up to swirl. Teeth nip my jaw. “Make me laugh.” Pushes my apron to the side and with the hand that’s squeezing my ass, she holds the loose fabric out of the way so my dick is hanging out in the open. “Make me swoon.” Slowly she moves her body south until her mouth is directly in front of my already aching arousal. “And you always make me horny.”

  That’s something I can’t hear enough. She opens her mouth and is about to take me in when I lift her up and spin her around instead. Not even needing to be told what to do, she undoes her robe, lets it fall to the floor, and then braces both her hands on the counter while sticking her ass in the air.

  “Jesus Christ, Dottie,” I mutter while dragging my hand over my mouth. I push her long black hair to the side so I can see her elegant neck, lean forward, and insert my cock inside her while placing kisses along her shoulder blade.

  Reaching around, I grab both her tits and play with her nipples, rolling them and squeezing them, loving how a simple touch can spur her on even more. She backs into me, moving her pelvis, riding my cock to her own pleasure. I let her find her pleasure, let her take control, or at least, let her think she’s in control.

  “God, Jason, you make me so hot.” She’s swiveling her hips now and lowers her hand to her clit where she plays with it, her cries of pleasure reverberating against the cabinets in the kitchen. “Yes, yes,” she breathes out. “Oh my God, Jason.”

  My balls ache as my stomach bottoms out, my orgasm coming out of nowhere. I grab her hips and pump hard a few times before she cries out my name, her pussy spasming around my cock, forcing my own orgasm.

  I roar against her back, my hips stilling as I come inside her, moving her hips until I’ve completely spilled every last ounce of my passion.

  “Chri
st,” I breathe against her back, laughing at the same time. “That was unexpected.”

  She chuckles. “And unsanitary.”

  I kiss between her shoulder blades and spin her around. “All the food is on the other side of the kitchen or in the oven. We’re good.” I cup her cheeks and kiss her on the lips. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” With another kiss, she turns and opens her computer that’s on the counter and says, “I’m going to clean up and then answer some emails. Is dinner almost—”

  Ding.

  “Ready?” she finishes on a laugh.

  “Yup. Now we’re in the important phase.”

  “What phase is that?”

  “The crisping.” I give her one last kiss, don the pink oven mitts that match the ones she gave me, and check the oven. A wave of yummy ham caramelized in brown sugar and pineapple hits me. “Oh babe, this is going to be amazing. The Carltons are going to pick your proposal based on this meal alone.”

  She’s hovered over her computer as she says, “They would be crazy not to.”

  “Now we’re going to turn this on broil and let it crisp the edges so we get that perfect texture.”

  “I’m going to do a quick rinse off and avoid my hair and makeup as best as possible.”

  “Why?” I ask, spinning around as she starts to walk away. “Don’t want sex smell on you?”

  “Can you not?” She shivers with revulsion. “God, Jason.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Bottle that up in a candle for me, especially if it’s a special-edition Dottie scent.”

  “That’s right,” she says, walking away, “Get out all the pervy comments now. Let them fly so you’re on your best behavior when they get here.”

  “I’m an ace at these things,” I call out as she disappears. “A fucking ace.”

  Keeping the oven door open so I have a trained eye on the ham, I rehearse in my head all the thoughtful questions I came up with to ask Mr. and Mrs. Carlton.

  How did you two meet?

  Was it love at first sight?

  Did you—

  Ding.

  “What was that?” I ask myself, looking around the kitchen. Am I missing a timer?