Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three
E A S Y C OM E Plaything #1
TESS OLIVER
C o nte nts Plaything Series Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Sweet Spot More from Tess Oliver Sugarplum Sneak Peek Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 About the Author
EASY COME Copyright© 2017 by Tess Oliver Cover photo by: Sara Eirew Photographer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Easy Come is Book #1 in Tess Oliver's new, insanely hot, 'Plaything' series. If you enjoy quick, super sexy escapes with irresistible alpha males this series is for you!
Chapter One GE O RGIE
K yla, my coworker and one true friend, cast me a sympathetic smile over the top
of her computer monitor as I walked past her desk. "Good luck." "Said the executioner to Anne Boleyn as she knelt down to the chopping block." I stopped to grab a handful of M&Ms from the bowl on her desk. I popped the candy in my mouth for some sugar fortification. "I'm sure she just wants to talk about topics for next month's issue. You're always so good at developing those." I reached for some more candy, but Kyla covered the bowl with her hand. "Georgie, you are going to give yourself the usual case of nervous hiccoughs with the way you're gobbling those down. Now, go in there, and face the executioner." "Thanks for the moral support, buddy." I headed down the long hallway that led to the editor's office. It was one of those cold, characterless passages, and I could always swear it got narrower, almost suffocating, as you neared Meredith's office. Or maybe that was just stress pressing down on my chest and pushing air from my lungs. Meredith Vee, editor-in-chief of Contemporary Life magazine, had not earned the top spot in the company. She had been born into it. Her dad, Michael Vee, had been a well-loved and highly-respected journalist, and the people at the magazine adored him. When Michael was running it, Contemporary Life had been a periodical I was proud to work for. But after a stroke had forced Michael into early retirement, his eldest daughter, Meredith stepped into his shoes. It only took those of us on the writing staff one dreadful day to know that she would never come close to filling those brown leather loafers. And now, Meredith had taken a perfectly respectable news magazine and turned it into a rambling, almost salacious tabloid. I knew my articles weren't cutting it anymore because I was still writing about things like girls in Africa fighting for the right to go to school instead of juicy stories about the latest movie mogul and his torrid affair with the nanny. I had been trying hard to keep my writer's page filled with relevant world news. I was still getting away with it only because under Michael, I had won a few prestigious awards for my stories and high praise for the magazine. But I knew Meredith was unhappy with my subject matter.
I knocked and waited in front of the door where Meredith had replaced her dad's understated name plate with one three times the size and plated with gold. I could hear her voice as she finished up a phone call. Even through the thick door, it was impossible to miss the angry edge in her tone. She was always angry. I stood there, alone in the hallway, trying to keep down those hiccoughs Kyla had warned me about, when Meredith barked an order for me to come inside. I swallowed to keep away the stomach chirps and pushed my glasses back on my nose, as if they might shield me from the death rays shooting from my boss's eyes. Meredith was a woman who, on first impression, was very beautiful. But once you got to know her, the beauty shrank behind a wretched personality. She'd recently had her lips done, making her look like a crazy circus clown. It was hard not to focus them. And as bulbous as they looked, she still managed to pull them in a tight mean line. She waved imperiously at the chair in front of her desk. She'd had her dad's comfy office chairs replaced by hard, straight backed torture seats. "Georgie, I was just reading your story about the refugees for the next issue, and I'm afraid we can't use it. I know my father gave you a lot of leeway because you were his—" Her long red fingernails curled in air quotes. "Star reporter. But I'm in charge now, and the magazine is going in a different direction. I need you to get on board with that journey. No more of this oozing with empathy, dripping with sentimentality, thought provoking dribble. Nobody wants to read that shit. We need to appeal to the masses, and the masses want sex. They want scandal." I chirruped with a hiccough and quickly pressed my arm against my stomach to staunch the flow of more embarrassing noises. Meredith tried to lift a judgmental brow at the sound, but Botox had made her face as stiff as a stone statue's. "I put a lot of work into that piece. Couldn't we just use it this month and next month—" "Nope. Here's your assignment." She tossed a paper across the desk. It fluttered off the side and down to my feet. I leaned over and picked it up. The word Plaything was written above a city address. I looked up from the paper. "Plaything?" "Yes, it's a multi-million dollar company. They have a monthly subscription service where the subscribers get a box of erotic toys, lingerie, adult movies and other crap. It's a wildly popular company. I want you to go in there and get the dirt on them. It's run by four men, a bunch of notorious playboys." "Dirt? Why do you assume there's dirt?" She rolled her eyes, but her stiff face made it look more like a seizure. "God, you are naive for such a smart woman, Georgiana. A place like that has to be ripe with sexual harassment and disgruntled employees. I've got you an interview this afternoon with Chase England, one of the owners." "Chase England? Wasn't that someone you were dating?" It was an unusual
enough name that it was easy to recognize, especially because she had bragged about it for weeks. For those few weeks, she'd almost had a cheery glow about her. But the relationship must have ended abruptly, and not from her side, because the cheery glow became an icy, shadowy aura. For at least a month afterward, we all worked hard to avoid her . . . even more than usual. Meredith blinked her fake lashes at me. "What's your point?" I shook my head and folded up the paper. "Nothing. That's fine. I will head over there and see what I can find out." I waited to see if there were any other commands, but she went back to work on her computer and pretended that I was no longer there. "O.K. then, I'll just be on my way." I hurried out of the door. I stopped in the hallway and took a deep breath. It was time to look for a new job.
Chapter Two T RE Y
C hase strolled into the office as he was knocking on the door. In high school,
Chase was that guy, the one who, at the end of the year, had the girls lined up in the hallway to write their phone numbers and a flirty note in his yearbook. And he had always been pretty damn cocky about it. I turned the volume down on the music. I always worked best when I had tunes blaring. Especially when I was crunching budget numbers and preparing charts for investors. "Normally, the knock comes before you enter." "Since when?" Chase stretched his neck up to get a look past my desk. "Why, are you getting a blow job or something?" "Probably the only thing that would make these charts less boring." I leaned back in the chair. It was the kind of luxury, scientifically designed desk chair that made it feel as if you were sitting on a fucking cloud while getting an ass massage. They were expensive but we'd purchased one for every employee at Plaything. "Now that you stopped my train of thought, what do you need?" "Big favor. Somehow, I doubled booked my afternoon." "Two lunch dates?" "Funny. And two lunch dates wouldn't be a problem. It would be a threesome." Chase plunked down on the chair in front of my desk. "I'm meeting with the investors from Australia at one, and a reporter from Contemporary Life magazine is coming for an interview to check out the nuts and bolts of Plaything.” "Wait. Contemporary Life. Weren't you dating the owner of that magazine? Shit, what was her name?" Chase rested his arm along the curved edge of the chair. It seemed he'd added another tattoo to his arm. It was still pink and swollen, but from my vantage point, it seemed to be some kind of a skull. "Meredith Vee. Yes Vee, capital V. And let me tell you it fits her. I ghosted her after two months." "Ghosted? So, you took the coward's way out. Smooth." "Hey, I rarely ever ghost. I always let down gently, with flowers and a nice note, but it was different with her. Meredith Vee is a ball twisting psycho."
I snorted a laugh. Chase sat forward. "Really, I'm not kidding. If you look in her freezer, she's got Ziploc bags filled with balls, each one labeled with the victim's name and the date she yanked the nuts out from under the tree. I got out with my sac in place . . . barely." "Why is she sending a reporter?" It was my turn to sit forward. "Fuck, Chase, what the hell? You said her magazine was big on printing scandalous shit about people. Is she looking for some kind of revenge?" Chase shrugged. "Could be. But, what are they going to find?" He waved his arm around. "A well-oiled, finely tuned company that's closing in on its first billion and where the employees are deliriously happy?" He hopped up. "I've got to get ready for my meeting. So you'll do the interview?" I pointed up at him. "Yes, but I want your Aspen house for a week and no fucking blackout dates." "Fine, a week in Aspen." Chase headed for the door. "What time is he coming?" I asked. "Who?" I shook my head. "It's a good thing you are pretty, because you are damn thick in the head. The reporter? What time is he coming?" "Oh, that him. It's a she. Her name is Georgie Dempsey, and she's already here." He shot me his pearly white grin. "Asshole. Just remember if there's three feet of fresh powder, I'm heading to Aspen."
Chapter Three GE O RGIE
I t was hard not to smile as you sat in the lobby and guest area at Plaything. One
side of the room was set up like a mini amphitheater, complete with vertical seats, but instead of hard metal they were made of plush purple velvet. There were four large flat screen televisions, one on each wall of the room, playing everything from cable news to sports to black and white vintage movies. The seating area was lined with offices of every shape and size. And it seemed everyone had decorated their personal workspace with their own sunique style. The center of the room was a forest of modern round chairs, each a different crayon color and each one sitting beneath a glass pendant light of a complimentary color. I'd sat myself in a teal chair beneath an orange pendant light. The chair was in the shape of a half sphere. It was cozy and cushiony enough to curl up in for a nap. Each chair came with its own assortment of literature to browse through while you waited. I reached into the clear plastic rack hanging on the arm of the chair and pulled out the magazines. There were two erotic, centerfold type magazines and one Outdoorsman. I shoved them back into the rack. Very few people walked through the waiting area, but I had to admit, it seemed like an extremely pleasant place to work. I was going to have to do some digging if I wanted to deliver on the scandal ridden article that Meredith was expecting. Of course, with the company name of Plaything, it seemed as if there had to be some less than savory, newsworthy nuggets. One of those nuggets walked by while I waited for Mr. England. A tall, statuesque woman with raven black hair and bright red lips strolled by wearing a bright blue corset and a black leather mini skirt. Her big breasts were all but spilling over the flimsy lace lining the corset bra. I wondered if women were required to wear sexy lingerie in the workplace. I pulled out my notepad and jotted down the words corset and dress code. I pushed my notepad back into my bag and glanced up as a tall, startlingly handsome man walked into the waiting area. His green eyes looked like emeralds under the mop of black hair on his head. He was sharply dressed and definitely a
head turner, although not necessarily my type. He glanced around and spotted me in my teal sphere. He strode toward me with a friendly smile. "You must be from Contemporary Life." The beautiful male specimen stuck out his hand. "I'm Chase England." This man had spent time with Meredith Vee. Hard to believe, but now easier to see why Meredith was hanging onto some residual anger over losing the guy. "Georgie Dempsey." I reached up and realized that I was sucked deeply enough into the cushions that a graceful exit was impossible. He seemed to sense my sudden panic and helped lift me out of the chair. "Thank you. I do believe if I sat there much longer, I might just have melted into those cushions for a nap." "Can't tell you how many of our people I've caught snoozing away in one of those pillowy spheres." I followed him as he headed back to the hallway he'd stepped out of. "Oh, I suppose they get written up for that, huh?" I decided to start fishing. Chase laughed. "Oh yeah, we're really tough with stuff like that. A nap after lunch will get you an hour in the stocks." I could feel my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Now I feel silly." He opened the hallway door and ushered me through. "Don't feel silly. After all, you work for Meredith Vee. I'll bet she writes you up if you leave the salt shaker on the break room counter." I chose not to respond, in case the man decided to start things up with her again. Though that seemed highly unlikely. I followed him along a hallway. Four offices were on the same side. They each had a fabulous view through massive picture windows. "By the way, I've got an appointment. I'm sorry, but somehow Andy, my assistant, double booked me this afternoon. So you'll be interviewing one of my partners, Trey Armstrong. He is sort of the central brain of the place, runs the business end. You'll probably get more succinct answers from him." Chase stopped at a door. He was definitely eye candy with his green eyes and bright white smile. "Oh, well, I could come back later. Meredith sent me to speak directly to you." "Well, I'm one of four owners, and like I said, Trey will be able to answer all your questions." He knocked before I could say another word. There was really no good argument to the reasoning he gave. Meredith wouldn't even have to know. I'd find out some dirty tidbits about the company and write it up in a sensational article. I just needed a few months of writing this garbage for Meredith. I was sure I could find another position by then. Chase opened the door. "Trey, this is Georgie. She's here from Contemporary Life magazine. And I'm late, so catch you later." Chase winked at me before disappearing down the hallway. Trey Armstrong sat behind a large walnut desk. His office gleamed with modern art pieces and soft leather furniture. The man was a gleaming piece of art himself in his pale blue dress shirt, with sleeves rolled up to expose a few tattoos and some
powerful looking forearms. Unlike Chase, Trey's dark hair was short and neat, and his hazel eyes had a more serious expression. He was equally handsome but in a less pretty way. In fact, if I were to write his description in my article I would probably use the term 'all man'. Trey stood up as I approached the desk. His shoulders were even wider when he stood. He towered over his desk as he stretched out his long arm. His eyes lingered on my face for a moment as his fingers wrapped around my hand. "Nice to meet you, Georgie. Can I call you Georgie?" "Yes, please." And then it happened, a strange sensation that warmed me from head to toe. The deep, smooth tenor of his voice, the firm, but gentlemanly, handshake, along with the intense hazel gaze knocked me off guard for a second. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to respond. And when I did, my voice sounded far more squeaky than I remembered. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Armstrong." "Please, call me Trey." He released my hand after what I considered to be an extraordinarily long exchange of politeness. He motioned for me to sit in the lush, soft leather chair across from his desk. He sat too. He placed his forearms along the edge of the desk. I found myself momentarily mesmerized by the strength and sinewy muscles in his forearms. I'd always been a fan of rolled up shirt sleeves on a nice pair of arms. His were especially nice. "So, Georgie, what would you like to know about Plaything?"
Chapter Four T RE Y
F ucking hot. Those two words circled my brain, around and around like a race car
passing a checkered flag. She was fucking hot, but she was working hard not to be. It took effort to hide that much beauty. I knew I was looking over my desk at a journalist who was most likely here to find out if Plaything was run by a bunch of lecherous womanizers, but it still didn't stop my gaze from dropping to the top button of her blouse. The white cotton fabric was straining across her beautiful breasts, just dying to rip open and display what I was sure was an award winning, cock hardening cleavage. Her blonde hair was conservatively knotted up behind her head. And her thick rimmed glasses, while in fashion, hid way too much of her face. They did, however, frame her amazing blue eyes. Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it might just be her sweet little attempt at trying to be anything less than fucking beautiful that was making my pulse race. I sat back and took a discrete breath to release some of the tension building up behind my fly. Georgie seemed a little flustered. I hoped it had nothing to do with the way I had been ogling her like she was something tasty. (Which I was sure she was). I needed to get a grip or risk having her smear the company name in her article. She pulled out a notebook and pen. I arched a brow at the primitive tools in her hand. Her cheeks turned pink. And there went my pulse again, straight down to my cock. "I know this looks a little old-fashioned," she said quickly, "but I find when I'm interviewing someone, I miss little nuances in expressions and tones when I'm busy fidgeting with a tablet or computer. And I find a tape recorder just freezes the interviewee cold." I rocked back and forth slightly on the chair, finding the movement helped me concentrate on the task and not the girl. "I think you'll find it takes a lot to make me cold." When my wry response formed in my head, I hadn't meant it to be suggestive, but it sure as hell came out that way. I needed a drink. My sudden departure from the chair startled her. I pointed at her as I headed to my wet bar. "You look like a white wine type."
"Uh, no thank you." She pushed her glasses back, and just as I pulled my gaze from her, I caught a small sharp movement of her shoulders. She covered her mouth. "Excuse me." "I've got just the cure for hiccoughs." I walked behind the bar and poured myself a scotch, then grabbed another glass for Georgie. "No thank you. I never drink during—" She stopped as I handed her a glass of orange juice. Her thin fingers grazed mine as she took hold of the juice. "Thank you." The juice sloshed in the glass as another hiccough chirped through her. She tossed it back like someone guzzling a beer. My eyes were instantly drawn to her smooth, creamy white throat, rolling with each swallow. Fuck. I shot back the scotch and circled around to the safe side of the desk, the side that had a six foot slab of polished walnut between it and Georgie. Georgie. Shit, could her name be any fucking hotter? I sat down, hoping the scotch would help smooth the edges of my reaction to the woman sitting across from me. "So, Georgie, I guess we should get down to the interview. Fire away." She pushed her glasses back on her nose and took a deep breath. The juice had done the trick. "Right." She crossed her legs at the knee and her straight, no nonsense business skirt slipped back to expose a few inches of her thigh. Stop thinking about her fucking legs, Trey, and get this done. "How many employees do you have?" She had her pencil poised, reminding me of a secretary from the sixties where the big gruff boss sat behind his desk and barked out memos to his young, pretty secretary, who quickly scribbled everything in shorthand. All of a sudden, I had a great idea for a role play themed box. I jotted that down on a sticky note. "We have fifteen people running the business end and forty in the warehouse and shipping side." "Mostly women?" Her question confused me. "We do have women working here. But mostly women? I guess a few more women than men." "So you prefer to have women walking around the office?" She hadn't lifted her eyes to me since the first question. It seemed she was determined to find something to make us look unsavory. Damn that Chase. "No, I prefer to have women working around the office." Her hand scratched wildly over the paper. She knew shorthand. I continued, feeling both a bit pissed and a whole lot turned on. I wanted to teach this reporter a lesson in more ways than one. "I've found women are more focused and have better attention to detail. And frankly, since our goal is to make our women clients think about fucking day and night, just like men, it makes sense to have female employees." Her face shot up. She'd gone a little pale. Her blue eyes were like jewels behind
the lenses of her glasses. "Are you trying to shock me, Mr. Armstrong?" "Uh oh, back to Mr. Armstrong. I might be trying to shock you. Is it working?" "No." She nervously clicked her pen and pushed back her glasses, a gesture I was already falling hard for. "Maybe a little." I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. "Do you know anything about the company?" She lifted her chin. "I did some research." She'd recovered from my comment about women thinking about fucking. She was a true professional, and it seemed my attempt to throw her off balance had failed. "I know it's a subscription service where each month a new box of pleasure goodies is delivered to the client." "Yes, that's right." I sat forward and rolled my chair closer to my desk. That tiny mother of pearl button was still working impossibly hard to keep her blouse shut. "But each box has a theme. We test every product ourselves, and since most of the products are for the woman's pleasure, the women who work for Plaything are the product testers. And, I can assure you, they love that part of the job." It seemed she'd forgotten she was supposed to take notes. She jarred herself out of her thoughts and quickly wrote down what I said. "Is there some room where they test the products?" Her tone was a little less confident. I was sure I noticed a blush rising from her hidden cleavage and up along her slender neck. I rested my arms on my desk and stared at her. "Do you mean like a room with a one way mirror where my partners and I can watch as our female employees strip naked and test the products?" Her face darkened as the blush continued to spread. Maybe I'd thrown her off balance after all. Her lips parted. I studied them for a moment. They were smooth and plump, the kind you had to bite lightly at the end of a kiss. Georgie was speechless and shocked, and I was starting to feel bad for messing with her. "There's no such room. They take the products home and try them out in the privacy of their bedrooms. Then they come back and give us the thumbs up or thumbs down. Occasionally, the experiment carries over to the work day. I'll show you." I picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey, Diane, could you come to my office for a second? Thanks." I'd flustered the hot little reporter. She scratched out something she'd written. "Do the women"—she cleared her throat—"the employees—are they required to wear"—she glanced down at her notepad—"are they required to dress a certain way here at Plaything?" Just then Diane knocked on the door. I invited her in. Diane was a statuesque, smart, all business woman who helped run the marketing department with my partner, Zane. She was stellar at her job. She had been trying out a corset to see if it was comfortable and fun enough to include in next month's box. "Hey, Diane, this is a reporter from Contemporary Life magazine. Georgie Dempsey this is Diane Connor, our marketing guru." She dropped her pen as Diane stepped into view.
Georgie stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you." "Di, do I require you to wear a corset and mini skirt around the office?" She laughed. "Funny man. By the way, I think it'll be a thumbs down on this thing. It keeps pinching my sides." Georgie crossed something else off her notepad. "You know what, Georgie, I'm going to make this easier on you so you don't have to keep crossing stuff off your list." I looked up at Diane, who seemed a little confused about her office invite and rightfully so. "Di, Georgie is writing an article about Plaything, and I think if you could answer some quick questions, it might give her a better insight into how we run things." Diane adjusted the corset. "I'll try. Fire away." "Do you like working here?" "Like winning the job lotto." Diane looked down at Georgie as she quickly wrote on the notepad. "I work twenty-five hour weeks, which allow me time to do homework for my master's degree. Plaything pays college tuition and I earn six figures. I've got great benefits and I own a percentage of the company. Respect and trust are two core values at Plaything. And about the only rule that is strictly enforced is never heat up fish in the lunch room microwave." Georgie grinned as she wrote down Diane's response. "Good rule. Well, thank you, Diane. I don't want to take up any more of your time. I'm sure you're busy." "Nice meeting you." Diane walked out. As she left, Olivia, my assistant walked in. "Hey, Di. So how is that thing? Torture?" "Not torture but not exactly pleasure," Diane commented as she walked out. Olivia was wearing gray sweatpants and a football jersey. She insisted she was more productive if she was dressed for a day on the couch binge watching a Walking Dead marathon, so this was her usual attire. "Liv, this is Georgie, the reporter." "Hello." Olivia smiled. "Just came in to let you know your lunch meeting was cancelled." "Great, thanks for letting me know." Olivia headed out. "Oh, Liv, could you get me a cup of coffee, black, please." Olivia burst out laughing, the reaction I'd expected but not the one Georgie had. Again, her blue eyes blinked with surprise. "You should see her on casual Friday," I said. "So, Ms. Dempsey, now that I've shown you how we run this place, let's go to lunch and discuss an angle on your story that I think will satisfy your craven boss, help you sell millions of magazines and give Plaything some great publicity."
Chapter Five GE O RGIE
I 'd been invited to lunch, and before I had time to breathe my response, I was
being swept to a local restaurant in a navy blue Tesla. Trey wasn't your typical high power executive. He was charming, direct and, oddly enough, seemed pretty down to earth. Trey walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. "Hope you like comfort food." I climbed out. "Well, I like comfort and I like food, so it works for me." He was much taller than I realized, and now that I was walking next to him, I noticed that he smelled nice too. Guess that wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was finding out just how nicely the company was run. Something told me I could bug the place or hide in corners for a week and never find fodder for a damaging article. Meredith was going to be pissed, but I wasn't going to make something up and risk my credentials as a journalist just to feed her carnivorous appetite. Trey had mentioned that he had an idea for a story, but I just couldn't figure out how that was possible. We walked inside and attracted more than just a little bit of attention from the other diners, most of whom looked retired or on their way through town on a road trip. There was no ritzy, white linen and crystal water glasses at the end of our quick drive through the city, but rather, a mom and pop style restaurant, complete with corny decor and laminate tables. The hostess, a stout woman with red apple cheeks and a mop of bleached blond hair waved from behind the register. "Hello, Trey, honey, just take any seat." Trey placed his hand behind my elbow. It was a light touch, but I could feel the heat of his fingers through my blouse. We walked to a booth at the back and a young man, not more than twenty, dropped menus in front of us. "I'm Kyle, and I'll be your server. Can I get you started with something to drink?" We ordered iced teas and Kyle lumbered off, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but serving food in a mom and pop restaurant. Trey's long legs stretched out beneath the table. His toe touched my foot. I wasn't completely sure it was accidental. The way his intense gaze seemed to be
assessing me made me fidget with the place setting. The knife fell on the floor, producing enough clamor to grab everyone's attention for a second before they returned to their meals and conversations. Trey leaned down to pick up the knife and took his time about it. His head popped up, and he placed the knife on the corner of the table. "Nice legs." The comment caused me to lower my hands and yank down the hem of my skirt, even though it was already plenty long enough and no one could see my legs through the table. My defensive response made him smile. It was a great smile. Of course. I leaned forward and put my elbow on the table and then remembered my mom's admonishment to never put my elbow on the dinner table and pulled it off. I rested my hands on my lap to avoid pushing another piece of silverware to the floor. "Do you eat here often?" "When I feel like a home cooked meal. Sometimes the high brow restaurants with their tiny, artsy portions just don't cut it. I save those lunches for—" "Important people and not frazzled reporters looking for tabloid fodder?" My nerves were settling, and I was feeling a bit more myself. "No not at all. I leave snooty restaurants for snooty people. A lot of people assume that I was always rich and that the guys and I just used a chunk of our trust funds to start a company. But that's not the case." He paused as Kyle lowered the teas in front of us. I ordered a quiche and Trey ordered a burger. "Up until just two years ago, Zane, Chase and I were sharing a crummy two room apartment and Aidan was living in his sister's garage." I sipped some tea. "Please continue. I'm far more interested in hearing about your success story than how you run the company. In fact, before Meredith took her father's place at the magazine, I wrote human interest stories." "I know. I did some quick research on you before Chase walked you into my office. Impressive resume. I read that you won some prestigious journalism awards." My face dropped to hide the blush. "It's a shame the magazine is changing its format. They are wasting your talent." I was never good at accepting compliments, and when they were doubled up, it was extra hard. "You were telling me about starting the company," I interjected quickly for a topic change. "The four of us grew up together in a crummy neighborhood where there were more empty strip malls than open businesses. Our first money making venture was starting a garage band, which failed after we realized that none of us were musical. Each one of us had our family problems. I grew up with a single mom, and I had to help take care of my younger brother, Quinn. My dad left when I was three so I barely knew him. My mom had to work two jobs to keep shoes on our feet. And at the rate the two of us grew, that wasn't easy. After high school, the guys and I all
parted ways, trying to find our paths in life. Only those paths brought us all back together at a friend's wedding. We were all still looking for our futures. The one thing we all had in common was we loved women and sex. Seems like a shallow reason to start a business, but once the ideas started flowing, the thing took off like a rocket. Turned out a lot of other people had the same thing in common with us." A group of young women came in, laughing and texting and tossing back long, shiny hair. Kyle practically ran across the room to give them menus. "You mentioned you had a story idea? Something that would benefit all parties? Is it the rags to riches plotline? I love the idea, but I don't think Meredith will bite. And I use the term bite freely when it comes to that woman." "I agree. From what Chase has told me about her, I don't think she'll bite either. I have another idea, but you need to keep an open mind." "I always have an open mind." I pulled the notebook out of my bag. "Just listen first. You won't need notes because this story is going to be about you." "That's funny." "I'm not joking." Trey pushed his sleeves back farther, exposing a circle of barbed wire tattooed around his arm. It might have looked barbaric on someone else, but on him, it just looked . . . good. "Let's start with your sex life." "And we're done here." I slid out of the booth. His fingers wrapped around my arm, there was a firmness to his grasp that should have worried me. Instead, it sent an unexpected surge of heat through me. "Sit and hear me out. Then, if you hate the idea you can just walk away." I sat back down. "Fine." Trey titled his head and looked at me, waiting for me to answer his question. I fidgeted with the collar on my blouse and noticed, for the hundredth time since I’d met the man, that his eyes were focused on the top button. "At the moment, my sex life is—well, it's non-existent. I was seeing someone for a few years, but we broke up." "Why is that?" "Peanut butter sandwiches." His smooth brow arched up. "Peanut butter sandwiches?" "Yes. When I was ten, my mom got a job working nights, so she put my older sister, Jean, in charge of making our school lunches. Well, Jean was sixteen, so a big chunk of her morning was taken up with the flat iron and mascara bottle. The only thing she had time for was to slap peanut butter on a piece of bread. For that entire school year, I trudged to the cafeteria with my crappy peanut butter sandwich. That's what it felt like with Mark, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch every damn day." "Perfect." "Glad you think so, but I still can't look at a jar of peanut butter." Trey's laugh was the kind that could warm you on a cold night or cheer you up after a bad day. "No, I mean perfect for the story. Let me ask you something—
Georgie. If you could have a superpower what would it be?" I had no idea where the heck the conversation was heading. "Flying, that would be nice. Then I could just fly over the traffic on the freeway." "So, if you had that superpower, you would use it?" "Of course." "Then why don't you use the superpower you already have?" I stopped halfway on sipping my tea. "I can't fly." "That's not the superpower I'm talking about." Kyle halted the strange conversation with our food. He put the food in front of us and walked away before I could ask for some pepper. I tried to get his attention, but he had sped off too fast back in the direction of the crowded, giggling girl table. I waved at him several times as he crossed the dining area, but he never looked my direction. "Take off those glasses," Trey said plainly. "Excuse me? I don't have x-ray vision. I need them to see." "Just trust me." "Sure but I just need some pepper." I waved my arm to get Kyle's attention. It seemed the kid walked around with invisible blinders on. "Georgie," Trey said more forcefully. "Take off those big glasses. And unbutton the top button on that blouse." I stared at him in disbelief. "Just do it." His ordering me around should have riled me, but he managed to do it with enough charisma that I found myself following his directions. I took off my glasses and then, with much more hesitation, I discretely reached up and undid the top button. My blouse was already stretched tight across my breasts, breasts that I'd spent my entire teen years trying to diminish in size. But to no avail. It seemed I was still guilty of trying to restrain them. The blouse parted, exposing my cleavage. I was sure I heard a low groan come from Trey's side of the table, but I eventually dismissed the notion as just the clamor in the restaurant. Before I could rest my back against the seat, Kyle swept across the room and nearly fell over our table as he asked if I needed something. I knew his eyes were riveted to my cleavage, but I ignored it as a typical school boy reaction. "Pepper please." He raced off enthusiastically. Trey poured ketchup on his plate and didn't look up as he spoke. Damn, he had long lashes. "You're welcome." "For what?" "For showing you how to use your superpower to get pepper for your quiche." Kyle returned with an actual pepper grinder. Like a waiter in a fine restaurant, he stood over me with his pepper. "Just tell me when." Trey was completely entertained as he watched. I put up my hand. "That's good. Thank you, Kyle." I smiled sweetly at him. He stumbled backwards a few steps, the pepper grinder gripped tightly in his fingers.
I shot an annoyed eyebrow twist at my lunch mate. "If you think having big breasts is a superpower, then you should try being a painfully shy thirteen-yearold running the mile in P.E. and having the entire boys' soccer team stop their game to watch." "I'm not talking about your breasts." He stopped to admire my cleavage for a second. "Although, they are spectacular. I'm talking about you, all of you. You are beautiful and smart, but it seems you're trying hard to just be smart. The glasses, the top button, the hair up like my mom's Aunt Terry." "You, sir, are an asshole." I put down my fork, my appetite for quiche suddenly diminished. I pulled out my phone to call for an Uber ride back to the Plaything parking lot. "I won't argue with that." Trey reached across and placed his hand gently on my arm. It should have irritated me, but somehow, his touch felt genuinely kind. My mind momentarily drifted to the idea of that same hand smoothing over my skin. "Wait, Georgie. I'm not trying to be an asshole. I guess I'm not doing this right. Eat your quiche and listen to my story pitch. Then I'll drive you back to your car." I picked up the fork but didn't do much more than pick at the quiche. I listened fully but pretended that I was only paying half-hearted attention. "I think you should write a personal journal on finding your sexual self. Your sexuality can empower you, once you find it." "Maybe I don't have a sexual self." His short laugh seemed to have been unplanned, surprising even himself. "Georgie, when you walked into my office this morning, even in your demure skirt and blouse and librarian hairstyle, sexuality was pulsing off of you in waves. You've got it. And if you couple that with those extreme brains, you will be unstoppable. Just like a superhero." "And just how do you know I haven't already found this magical sexual self?" "Peanut butter sandwiches?" "Yes, but that was just because . . ." I thought about the dreary sex life I had with Mark and how many headaches I had to fake just to avoid it. "Do you have an orgasm every time you have sex?" I dropped the fork again and sat back with astonishment. "Come on, Georgie, you're a highly educated, modern woman. It's all right to talk out loud about this." "Yes, maybe with my best friend, or my—no, I don't even do that." He tilted his head, waiting for an answer. He was persistent, and damn, if he didn't have the most gorgeous face to go with that persistence. "No, not all the time. I mean it depends on my mood, and how skilled the partner is and the time of day, and what I ate for lunch or if I had a drink with dinner . . . Ah shit. All right, my sexual self might need a little enlightenment, but how do you suppose to do that?" My face warmed some. "I'm not sleeping with you just to write a story." Of course, I'd been sort of undressing the man in my mind since I'd walked into the office, and I'd already imagined his hands on me more
than once. But I was still not making that kind of sacrifice for my job. Although, sacrifice might be a strong word because the man was rich and gorgeous and ridiculously appealing. "That's not what I'm proposing." My shoulders dropped with a good measure of unplanned disappointment. Trey's mouth tilted slightly at the corner, assuring me he noticed my sudden drop in posture. "But I am going to help you with this. And to start, I'll be sending you home with this month's box of, as you noted, pleasure goodies."
Chapter Six T RE Y
B y the time Georgie and I returned to Plaything, I'd questioned my own motives a
hundred times. A few minutes after she'd walked into my office, where she fidgeted with her glasses and the hem of her skirt and broke into a round of hiccoughs, I thought 'here is a woman who has no idea how amazing she is'. That was when the idea for her to write about her own sexual awakening popped into my head. At the time, I figured an article about a career woman's sexuality with numerous mentions of our products would be a fantastic opportunity for free advertising. But the longer I spent with Georgie, listening to her amusing stories, catching her shy smiles, all the while imagining her naked in my bed, I realized I had a far more selfish motive than free publicity for the company. My devious plan to get good advertisement for Plaything had really come back to bite me when I had cockily asked her to undo the top button on her blouse. My intent was to show her how easily a bit of cleavage could get the attention of our server, but it had backfired big time. The second the button opened and the blouse parted, exposing the curves of her breasts, my cock strained against my fly. I wasn't able to stop the involuntary groan that followed. She'd discretely reached up and buttoned her shirt once she'd gotten her pepper. I was disappointed but relieved. I'd phoned ahead to Olivia to have her put this month's box on my desk. It was sitting in the center of my work pile when Georgie and I walked into the office. Her blue eyes shot straight to it. The fabric on her blouse strained again as her breasts lifted and fell with a nervous breath. She walked cautiously toward my desk and stared down at the box with trepidation. "It's all right. I promise no snake will jump out." Georgie smiled and flicked an invisible strand of hair off her forehead. "Easy Come, Easy O?" She airily read the aqua blue lettering printed across the top of the box, but her body language was anything but relaxed. "Every box has a theme. We use common idioms and phrases that can be interpreted in suggestive ways. Occasionally, like this month, we tweak them. But
you'd be surprised how many common sayings can be suggestive in the right context. Last month it was Do Over for the client in search of the multi-orgasmic experience. It received a lot of nice reviews, so I think we achieved our goal." I spoke matter-of-factly to make it seem like a typical business conversation, hoping it would make her less uneasy and help stop me from visualizing Georgie using the products. "So Easy Come, Easy O is to help—" She pressed her fingers against her mouth to stifle a hiccough. I'd told myself I would keep my hands off of Georgie, mostly out of self-preservation, but I couldn't stop myself from taking her hand away from her highly kissable lips. Then I wrapped my fingers around her other hand. The button on her blouse was near breaking point as her breathing quickened. She stared up at me, her blue eyes behind the lenses sparkling with shock and possibly a little excited anticipation, as I lifted her hands up in the air. Her luscious tits lifted up with her arms. Georgie's bottom lip dropped a bit as if disappointed. I quickly had to squash the vision I had of my tongue slipping over that lip and into her mouth. "Take a deep breath and hold it for five seconds." It took her a second to comprehend. "Oh, right." She sucked in a deep breath, and I worked hard at not exploding as I held her slim wrists in my hands and watched that cleavage rise up with her breath. Another erotic image flashed through my head. Only this time, it was my cock slipping between the mounds of her breasts, wedging itself snuggly in her deep, warm cleavage. She released the breath she'd been holding. I released mine too. I let go of her hands. She waited to see if my little trick had done the job and smiled. "You sure know your hiccough cures." "I'm sort of an expert. Growing up, my younger brother always had the hiccoughs. With him, it wasn't as much nerves as it was him gobbling his food too fast." "I'm not nervous," Georgie insisted. "I guess I'll let you get back to work. I'm sure you have a lot more important things to do than cure my hiccoughs. Thank you for lunch." She reached for the box, but I put my hand on it. "On second thought, I'm going to hold onto this. Leave your address with Olivia on your way out. I'll have a car pick you up tonight at eight." "Why would you do that?" "Judging from the fact that just looking at the box gave you a case of hiccoughs, I think this little project is going to take more effort on my part." Before she could protest I continued. "I promise, I won't touch you. You'll be on the self-discovery part of the journey all by yourself." At least for now, I wanted to add but didn't. Georgie's chin shifted back and forth in thought. It seemed I might have just scared her away from the plan. My own erotic impulses had gotten in the way. Her obvious case of nerves had made it clear that she'd need a lot more coaching, but a good deal of my decision came from my own need to see her again. Of course, I
would probably have to chain myself to the fucking wall not to touch her or guide her self-exploration with some heavy duty exploration of my own. I leaned against the front of my desk and crossed my arms. Georgie took a small step back to put more space between us. It was hard to know why. Maybe I repelled her. Fuck, I hoped that wasn't the case. "What do you say, Georgie? Otherwise, I can tell you all the hardship tales my partners and I endured as kids, and you can write one of those predictable and preachy rags to riches stories. Although, something tells me predictable and preachy is not your style. Provocative, controversial, edgy, that seems more like the kind of story that would get those long fingers of yours floating across the keyboard.” She thought about what I said for a few minutes, and I greedily used that time to look at her, every inch of her. Her blue eyes floated to the box on the desk and then back to me. "Eight o'clock?"
Chapter Seven GE O RGIE
T he driver, Noah, a quiet, hairless man, with two silver plugs in his ears and a
courteous smile pulled the blue Jaguar up to a pair of iron gates. He pushed a button on the console and the gates swung open. Once again, I found myself fidgeting with the hem of my dress, just like I'd done with my skirt during lunch. The dress, like the skirt, came to just a few inches above my knees, a length that would have passed muster with even the strictest Catholic school nun. I'd changed five times, first opting for something a little more party like, with a short, flirty hem. But with each change of wardrobe, I went a little more conservative. The plain dress I'd ended up in as the driver buzzed the intercom on my apartment had been one that I bought for my grandmother's funeral. Unlike the blouse that I had now tossed in the Good Will bag, the dress fit nicely across my ample chest. It buttoned up easily and there was no gap, like this afternoon's gap, an innocent parting of fabric that had Trey's complete attention. And he'd made no real effort to hide his extreme interest in my ill-fitting blouse. I wasn't exactly sure why I'd decided to go along with his plan, whatever that plan might be. Mostly, I wanted to write an interesting article, and the angle of four boys from a poor neighborhood becoming massively rich selling sex goodies wasn't going to cut it with my boss. I had to admit, I was also more than a little curious about exactly how Trey intended for me to discover my sexual self. As far as sex went, I considered myself to be the typical modern career woman. I wasn't prudish. I liked a good romp in the hay as much as the next person, but as far as my sex life becoming a critical and intriguing part of my life, I just couldn't see that happening. Still, I had to admit, Trey was the first man I'd met who could make me blush from my head to my toes with just a suggestive smile or casual touch. When he took hold of my wrists to help rid me of my hiccoughs, before I realized what was happening, my heart had set off on a speed competition with my pulse. Noah pulled the car around a fountain and parked in front of a large contemporary style house. He opened the door and I stepped out. It was a balmy night with only a slight breeze to tease the palm trees lining the driveway and house. The house was more glass than walls. Sitting at the top of a hill as it was, it
seemed there would be views from every room. Tall cherry wood doors, both polished to glossy perfection, beckoned me up the stone steps. Trey met me at the door. He'd traded his suit and tie for a black t-shirt and jeans. His arms bulged with muscles and a smattering of ink covered each bicep. I was quickly trying to decide if he was more stunning in a suit or in casual attire, but I gave up because there was no right answer. He was just plain stunning. In fact, his all around gorgeousness might very well have been the deciding factor for me going along with this crazy idea. The interior of his house was just how I'd expected it, masculine, minimalist and modern. Which meant no woman. Or at least that was what I was hoping. "Follow me." Trey led me from the foyer to a hallway. "I thought a drink or two might help you loosen up." "Absolutely. It's a warm night. I wasn't sure what to wear and after a few choices ended up on the floor of my bedroom, I ended up with this dress. I wore it to my grandmother's funeral, so it's probably the wrong choice for tonight. In fact, the more I think about it and her, my grandmother that is, it's a supremely bad choice. She was one of those super sweet granny types." We turned the corner to a big room. He stopped at a wet bar but that didn't stop me from prattling on with my nonsense. "I'd tell you that you have a lovely home, but it seems kind of silly since you probably realize that it's lovely." I knew I was rambling but couldn't stop myself. Now all I needed was a good loud batch of hiccoughs to really make me look ridiculous. Rather than stop my longwinded blathering, he listened with those dark smooth brows and that non-judgmental gaze. So I stopped on my own, deciding I was done making a fool of myself. "I'm so sorry about that. As you might have guessed, I'm a little nervous." Trey had a confident smile that revealed some highly sexy creases on each side of his mouth. This afternoon, at work, he'd been clean shaven, but tonight, a dark stubble had sprouted along his strong jaw. Thankfully, he hadn't taken the time to shave it off. It suited him very well. Oddly enough, my mind went straight to imagining that beard stubble chafing my chin and even my nipples as he kissed me. Trey's hand lifted, and before I knew what was happening, Trey was pushing a strand of my hair back off my face. "I don't want you to be nervous. Which is why I've prepared a shaker filled with a Manhattan . . . or two." "A Manhattan or two just might do the trick. At the very least, it will stop me from spilling out all my deepest secrets." I shrugged. "Not that I have many of those. Oh my gosh, drink, please, so I can shut up." Trey poured a rose pink Manhattan into a martini glass, and I sipped it like a kid drinking Kool-aid. I winced as the drink burned my throat. It was extra strong, which would help soothe my nerves. "Too much whiskey?" he asked. "Normally, I'd say yes, but—" I lifted the glass and clinked it against his glass.
"Bottoms up." Trey's eyes gleamed. "Bottoms up." He reached behind the bar and found a pen. He pulled out a napkin and wrote down the phrase. "I think you just came up with a theme for a box." "Did I? Clever me." Then I replayed the phrase in my head. "Oh, well, that should be an interesting box of goodies." "I'll make sure you're the first to get one since you came up with the theme." "Thanks. I think." I dropped back the rest of the drink and pointed at the shaker. Trey poured me another drink, then I followed him into a room with soft leather couches, a fireplace, a wide screen television and a view of the entire city. It was impossible not to notice that some heavy duty panting and porn action was happening on the television. At least half a dozen DVD boxes were strewn out on the glass coffee table. Two women, a curvy red head and a thin brunette were assisting a cowboy in a hayloft. The grunts and moans coming through the speakers sounded so manufactured, it was hard not to laugh. Trey grabbed a remote and turned the movie off. "Yeah I was laughing too. I'm trying to find a good one to include in the next box. So far, they are all the same." "What, you mean no unique plotlines?" The liquor had already helped calm my nerves some, and I was feeling slightly more relaxed. "Nothing that stands out as Academy Award material yet, but you never know." He motioned toward the couch and I sat down. He sat several cushions away. I was slightly disappointed. It seemed he was planning to stick to his promise not to be included in my sexual self-awareness experience. This was strictly business for him, a chance to get his company talked about in a national publication. I swallowed back the second drink to wash away the unexpected bitterness that realization left me with. Trey turned toward me and rested his arm along the back of the couch. "Another drink?" "In a second. I'm just letting this one percolate first." He laughed. "Am I still babbling? I'm having a hard time hearing myself over the buzz forming in my head." He shook his head. His gaze stroked over my body and legs before lifting back to my face. "You're not babbling. Excuse the phrasing. I don't know any other way to say it, but you're fucking adorable, Georgie." My face warmed, and it wasn't just the Manhattan. "I'm not sure if this plan will succeed. I'm not exactly the wild, uninhibited type." "How do you know? Maybe you just haven't had a chance to test that theory yet." "Good point. Are you always so logical and scientific?" "Only when the situation calls for it." His hazel eyes seemed to darken as his gaze dropped to my breasts again. "And when other situations don't call for it . . ." A heated silence fell between us, and it seemed we were both brazenly checking
each other out. I was sure if thought bubbles popped up over our heads, the words inside of them could give the porn flicks on the table a run for their money. Yep, the booze was getting to me. And suddenly, the demure dress was feeling warm. I fanned myself. "If you're warm, I could find you something a little less—well a little less—to wear. It might help shake loose some of those steadfast inhibitions. In fact, the Easy Come box has something the women at work picked out for this month. They said it was—and I'm using their words—'super comfortable'." As he spoke, he'd taken hold of my glass and went back to the bar. He returned with another drink, which I quickly sipped. I was feeling the effects of the alcohol, the main effect being that Trey was making my head spin even more. Did he always have that incredibly sexy scar next to his eye? It's like everything about the man was coming clearer into focus through my boozy haze. Holy shit was he hot. "You know, I think I will change into the super comfortable . . . thing. What did you say it was?" "Follow me." He reached for my unfinished drink, but first, I snagged one more big sip. He placed the glass on the wet bar as we walked past it. With three Manhattans sloshing around my brain, my balance was off just enough that I managed to trip when the floor changed from wood to carpeting. My right foot went forward, then gravity kicked in and pulled the rest of me along with it. Not surprisingly, Trey had quick reflexes. He grabbed hold of my arm to steady me. "Maybe two drinks was enough," he quipped, but as he gazed at me, the light moment turned much more serious. His brows flattened and he stared at me, taking extra time on my lips. He released his grip as if my arm had suddenly turned glowing hot. The edge of his jaw looked set in stone and he was clenching it as he dragged his gaze away. His broad shoulders were set hard and rigid in the tight black t-shirt. I followed, feeling a little less giddy than a few minutes earlier. By the time we'd traversed the entry and walked down another hallway, his mood seemed to have eased again. Or at least it seemed he was no longer gritting his teeth. Trey opened a door. It led into a massive bedroom, with floor to ceiling windows. A modern four poster bed with clean, straight lines sat in the center of the room. A white linen bed canopy was drawn back with gray ropes. A mound of pillows were pushed up against the headboard. My eyes flitted around at the manly, expensive looking furniture in the room, including the sitting area with a couch and television that was bigger than my entire apartment. "It's a bedroom," I said, lamely. "Yes, the bed sort of works best in a bedroom." His lighter mood hadn't returned yet. His jaw was no longer clenched, but there was still something harder about his tone than earlier. I followed him to a sleek, dark wood dresser. The Plaything box was sitting on top of it. He motioned toward it. "Go ahead and check it out." I lifted the top off the box and was greeted with a variety of items, including a
tube of lubricant, a mini book featuring—of all things—vintage erotic photos, some perfume and a music CD. I reached in and lifted a silky blue bag out of the box. Beneath the bag was a folded cotton shirt that resembled a man's undershirt, the tank style that had at some unfortunate point in its history been nicknamed the wife-beater undershirt. I placed the silk bag on the dresser and reached for the undershirt. I flicked my wrists to unfold it. "Is this it?" "The super comfortable clothing item? Yep. They had all sorts of frilly, lacy lingerie to pick from, but they unanimously decided that since the theme of this box was the female orgasm, frilly and lacy was too itchy and uncomfortable." Trey picked up the bag. "Which brings us to the star attraction of this month's box." I took the bag from his hand, our fingers brushed lightly against each other and I could have sworn he sucked in a quick breath as I touched him. But then I'd had enough liquor to make walking without tripping a chore. I reached inside and felt something that was as soft as it was solid. And I knew, from the distinctive shape, what it was before I'd even removed it from the bag. I hesitated while waiting for the extreme blush to finish warming my neck and face before removing the vibrator from the bag. It was long and thick and bright pink with a curved tip and a softly rounded protrusion jutting out about halfway along the shaft. Two silver buttons were located on the flat end. A nervous giggle shot from my mouth. I held my breath for a moment to keep any embarrassing hiccoughs away. Trey's eyes never left mine as he waited for me to recover from my amateurish reaction. Jeez, I really was a noobie at this sexual self thing. "I've seen pictures and heard my friends talking about these devices, but I've never actually held one." Trey lifted the shirt off the dresser and handed it to me. "Well, Georgie, you're about to get very intimate with this device. And I think you're going to become fast friends. This is a chance for you to discover all your own pleasure points." "I left my notepad in my bag downstairs. I'll just run down and get it." He stepped to the side effectively blocking me without touching me. "No notebook right now. You can write down your experiences later. I have no doubt they will still be fresh in your mind . . . and in other places . . . by the time you pull out your pen and paper."
Chapter Eight T RE Y
I opened the panel on the nightstand and pressed the button for the automatic
blinds. The lights dimmed to a warm glow and soft music hummed from the overhead speakers. The drinks had eased Georgie's nerves but something told me my sexual awareness student was going to need a calm, quiet ambience to help her along. I'd left a robe in my bathroom, knowing that Georgie was highly likely to pull it on over the tank. I was thinking of her modesty at the time, but now I realized it was for my own self-preservation. A mere stumble and touch in the hallway had sent every form of dirty thought through my head. I'd had to grit my teeth just to keep my control. I had been so damn cocky about this plan, thinking it would be a fun and easy way to get some publicity for the company, but the center of the plan, the incredibly hot woman, was making me rethink the whole fucking thing. I'd told my plan to Zane, one of the owners and our marketing genius. He thought the whole idea was awesome, but gave me a strict warning not to touch her in any way. The last thing we needed was our already semi-deserved reputations as playboys to explode into something even more salacious and gritty. But now that Georgie was here with me, in my bedroom, it occurred to me that I was doing this not for the company but for myself. I wanted her. Badly. It was going to take a hell of a lot of restraint, and I wasn't sure I had enough. I could just call the whole thing off and tell her I decided it was a bad plan. Too late. The bathroom door opened, and Georgie walked out. She wasn't wearing the robe. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath. At least I hoped it was. I knew she was hiding something wickedly hot under her conservative wardrobe but seeing her curves highlighted by the thin, clingy fabric of the undershirt was almost too much. The neckline scooped low enough to expose the rounded mounds of her breasts and sucked in at her waist, a waist I could probably wrap my hand around. The shirt was long enough to hug the erotic contour of her hips. She had it pulled down extra low, apparently more modest about her panties than the puckered nipples pressing
against the flimsy cotton fabric. Her sweet attempt at hiding her panties only succeeded in making the fabric more transparent. The women who worked for Plaything were nothing short of brilliant. They'd opted for something comfortable and settled on a simple tank shirt that was so fucking sexy, it was nearly destroying that restraint I'd just lectured myself about. Georgie's creamy shoulders lifted shyly. She crossed her arms, apparently noticing that I couldn't drag my attention away from her nipples. "I confess, I'm not sure this will work." She glanced over at the vibrator. "I don't—well, easy come—isn't exactly easy for me." She'd removed her glasses, and the blue of her eyes was even more vibrant when not muted by the lenses. "And since I've never used one of those toys and because I'm standing in front of a man I only just met, who I'm sure has been around women, many, many women, I assume. I mean, I don't really know, but I'm sure—" I walked over and during those few short steps, I repeated don't touch her over and over in my head. My cock had a whole other thing going on though. It was pushing hard against my fly. I was thankful for the long hem of the shirt I was wearing. Georgie lifted her face to me, and it almost seemed that she was silently hoping I would touch her. But I knew a touch, even a simple one like my finger trailing down her arm or pushing her hair back off her face, would set off a chain reaction that I would not be able to stop. As it was, I was practically breaking molars in the back of my mouth, keeping myself in check. But the one thing that was readily apparent was that Georgie was going to need a little help to move this along. I stuck my hands behind my back to show her that, as promised, I wouldn't make any physical contact with her. Her bottom lip pushed out slightly in disappointment. At least that was what I was telling myself. "Georgie," I said quietly, "if I were going to allow myself to touch you—" I leaned down and placed my mouth just an inch from the smooth curve of her neck. She smelled like a mixture of honey and flowers, and it took me a second to remember my words. I spoke just above a whisper, making sure to pronounce each word so that my breath would tickle her skin. "I would kiss this silky, smooth spot on your neck." My suggestion produced the slightest shiver. It raced through her body, and a small gasp followed. I could only fucking imagine what it would feel like to hold her body against me as she shivered and trembled with a mind blowing orgasm. Fuck, how badly I wanted to be the one to give her that mind blowing orgasm. I pushed myself to continue. I needed to keep divergent, erotic thoughts at bay or risk scaring her off for good. I moved my face so that my mouth hovered so close to her lips, I could feel her warm breath. "I would kiss you, parting those lips with my tongue to taste you. And I'd take the lightest little bite of that bottom lip. A kiss on this pouty bottom lip should always end with a teasing bite between my teeth." I kept my voice low and steady, but it took every ounce of my control.
Her eyes widened with surprise as I knelt down in front of her. I kept my hands down at my sides, as if they'd been chained there and thought, this would have been easier if they had been. My gaze was directly in front of her nipples as they pushed against the fabric. I looked up at her face. She peered down at me with a look of need, her brows pushed together and her lips parted. "And these glorious fucking nipples, Georgie . . ." I gazed at them for a long moment and a breathy sigh floated over my head. "My tongue would dance circles around them before sweeping along that deep sensual valley between your breasts." I sank down on my knees. My face was directly in front of the pussy she'd been working hard to hide from view. The pink flush covering her skin assured me my teasing narration was helping. It sure as hell was bringing me along. I lifted my gaze to her face. "Georgie, lift the shirt," I said firmly. She paused but only for a second. From her unfocused gaze, it seemed she was responding fully to my little game. The hem of the shirt inched up, exposing a lavender pair of panties, panties that I would never have expected under the funeral dress. The itsy bitsy lacy panties caught me off guard. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that none of this was for me. As badly as I wanted to rip the frail panties right off of her and press my mouth against her pussy, she wasn't here for me. I blew warm air against the skin above her panty line and another frisson passed through her body. Even though I wasn't touching her, I could feel the tremble all the way through my own body. My cock pushed urgently at my fly, begging to be freed. "If I were going to touch you, Georgie," I continued in a low voice. "I'd slip that tiny lace crotch aside and push my tongue through the folds of your pussy, tasting every inch of you, drinking in the moisture. I'd lathe my thumb over your clit until I drove you straight over the edge. Driving you wild until you came against my mouth." My dirty words and the nearness of my mouth to her pussy caused her to sway a bit, but I kept my hands away. I knew if I reached up and took hold of her, every bet would be off and this whole plan would unravel. I pushed to my feet. Georgie's lush lashes had grown heavy over her eyes. Her head looked heavy on her slender neck, and she looked as if she might just melt into a puddle at my feet. I lowered my mouth close to her ear. "Walk to the bed." She was nearly in a trance as she shuffled to the bed. I took a few second reward and watched her ass, covered only by a small triangle of lavender lace. She climbed onto the bed and crawled to the middle, seemingly forgetting that I was standing behind her watching, wanting, going out of my fucking mind. Or maybe she wasn't nearly as innocent and inexperienced as she wanted me to believe. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. Somehow that thought, the idea of her teasing me right back, made me smile. I pulled my eyes from her curvy form as she stretched out in the center of my
bed. I wondered how I would ever sleep in that bed again without being kept up all night with visions of fucking her, right there in the center of the mattress. I walked over to the dresser and picked up the vibrator and the lube. I rubbed my thumb over the button and the toy came to life in my hand. The protruding clit massager bobbed back and forth as the shaft made my hand tingle with vibrations. Georgie stared up at me, her breasts rising and falling with each quick intake of air. I poured some lubricant on the tip and placed the vibrator next to her. "This curve at the tip can reach that elusive G-spot, that magic inside button. At least that is what my female coworkers have said. I can stay in the room. In case you have any questions," I added quickly, even knowing that it was a flimsy excuse. "I'll stretch out on that couch, turned away from the bed. I won't watch . . . unless you ask me to." I knew it would be nothing short of torture, but I badly hoped she would ask. Her eyes rounded at the suggestion. "Some women," I stumbled over my explanation, not wanting to scare her off with my greedy offer. "For some women, they like it. They like to be watched." Georgie didn't answer. She waited for me to walk over to the sitting area. I stretched out on the couch, faced away from the bed and waited.
Chapter Nine GE O RGIE
T he music sounded familiar. But with the way my head was spinning, I couldn't
remember the name of the song or the band. The lighting in the room had a warm, romantic glow, and I thought, what a perfect bedroom. And what a perfect man. Experience had obviously given him great skills. He'd only just met me, yet he knew exactly what to say. He brought me to the height of arousal with just his words and his breath. All I could think was—damn it, take me in your arms and finish the job. But he was a man of his word. He'd promised me from the start that he wouldn't touch me and he kept that promise. Unfortunately. Of course, it was entirely possible that he had no real desire to touch me. I needed to push that disappointing notion out of my head. I was there, after all, to find a provocative angle on a story for the magazine. The sexual awakening of Georgie Dempsey, I thought wryly. I hadn't even known I needed awakening until I stood in Trey Armstrong's bedroom. Even though Trey never touched or kissed me, it dawned on me that somewhere along the way, throughout my lackluster relationships which consisted mostly of quickies in between binge watching a science fiction or thriller series, I'd been missing out. I looked across the room. Trey's big feet were propped up on the arm of the couch, but that was all I could see of him. Again, he stuck to his word. I slipped my panties off and pushed them aside. It was hard to believe I was about to do something so wild, so out of character, but as a reporter, I'd always found my best stories emerged when I took chances, when I stepped out of my comfort zone. And this was way out of my comfort zone. Or at least it had been until Trey's teasing narration had aroused me to the point where I was crazy in need of being satisfied. I picked up the vibrator. It glistened with lube just like a real erection would glisten with pre-cum. "Georgie," Trey's deep voice trailed across the room and reignited the fire between my legs he'd started a few minutes earlier. "If you have any questions—" "Nope," I called back too quickly. "I pretty much know where things are. Thanks."
His deep, quiet laugh followed. I pressed the tip of the toy against my pussy and sucked in a breath, not expecting the power behind it. I closed my eyes and rubbed it along the folds. My legs dropped open as the vibrations and the lubed tip relaxed me, renewing that urgent need I felt earlier when Trey spoke dirty words to me. The handy little device coupled with my own preference for pressure and placement quickly brought the heat of blush over my skin. My pulse raced as I felt my body react to the toy. I pushed the vibrator inside and hardly had to do anything but hold it in place. It did all the work, along with the helpful little clit stimulator working its own magic. I moved the shaft inside of me just slightly and brought my legs closer together. As I turned on my side, the vibrator brushed a hidden gem of a spot inside of me, a place I didn't know existed. It set off a wild sensation in my pussy. My eyes drifted shut. I couldn't stop the soft mewling sound coming from my throat. I was sure Trey could hear me, but I didn't care. My body and mind had gone liquid with the exquisite feeling of the vibrator tapping the inner spot. Through the haze, I could hear Trey's voice calling to me from the couch. It should have snapped me out of my erotic fog, but I was in too deep. I eased off on touching the G-spot, the incredible button I'd found, because I wasn't ready for the finale yet. I was enjoying the opening scene too damn much. As I hugged the vibrator between my thighs, I sensed a shadow standing over me. I gazed up at the handsome face, the intense gaze, the confident jaw. Trey was watching me. He'd broken his promise. It should have angered me enough to stop. But it didn't. Somehow, having him watch me, took me right over the edge. My pussy and my entire body convulsed with an orgasm that seemed to roll on forever. As the waves subsided, I removed the vibrator and unfurled my body. I was physically exhausted from the intensity of it all. I stared up at Trey feeling somewhat helpless and stunned. I couldn't explain my reaction to his watching me with the vibrator except that I was feeling aroused again at the thought of it. I'd silently invited him to an intensely private moment, and I'd welcomed his intrusion. Was this me? Was this that sexually liberated side of me, the side that took pleasure from being watched? Or was it just this particular man who had awakened those latent, erotic tendencies just by being so damn appealing? It seemed I definitely had some reflections and thought provoking questions for my notebook. "I'm sorry." His voice was low and gravelly. "You weren't answering. I thought you might need some guidance," Trey added, looking not the slightest bit ashamed or regretful that he'd stood over me and watched me climax. He saw that I was sleepy and still a little heavy lidded from the drinks. He leaned down, and for a second, my skin pebbled with gooseflesh thinking he might take me into his arms or caress me or just touch me to assure me he had some inkling of attraction to me. I could feel the disappointment through my entire body as he reached down to the quilt folded along the bottom half of the bed and lifted it up over me. He tucked
me in without even a brush of his fingertips or mouth. It might just have been because I craved cuddling after good sex, but I badly wanted his touch. There was no smile as he tucked the quilt around me and pushed a pillow under my head. In fact, it seemed his jaw was slightly strained. He almost looked angry. I wasn't sure how to respond and wondered if I should just climb out of the bed and get dressed. Then he lowered his mouth to my ear and dropped his deep voice low. "That was a lie. I walked over here because I fucking wanted to watch you come." With that, he turned the lights down and walked out of the room. I curled into a cozy ball under the quilt, the lubricant and faint feel of the vibrator still fresh in my pussy. With the whiskey and Trey's last words floating around my head, I fell into a luxurious sleep.
Chapter Ten T RE Y
I sat on the balcony hoping the brisk night air would extinguish some of the heat,
but it seemed the only way I could cool off and stop thinking about the half naked beauty in my bed was to jump feet first into a frozen pond. And even then, I was sure it would take hours for my pulse and heart rate to slow. My phone buzzed. It was Zane. I drank the last bit of my beer and answered. "Hey." "How's the sexperiment going?" Aside from his biting wit and the dark copper hair and brown eyes that made the women melt at his feet, Zane was the super brain of the group. In our first year of high school, he'd set a goal to get straight As and a scholarship. He was well on his way until his divorced mother married a disgusting slob of a man. The guy turned out to be an abusive asshole. When Zane caught him trying to strangle his mom, Zane grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed the jerk. The man didn't die, but Zane ended up in a foster home for a year. By the time he returned for his senior year, he'd fallen behind in academics. His enthusiasm for excelling was gone. But he was back on top now and his marketing skills had helped put Plaything on the Fortune 500 list. "I don't know why I thought I could handle this." I got up and walked to the railing running along the balcony. The night was free of fog, and I could see all the way to the end of the city lights where the ocean began. "Why is that? Chase said the reporter was one of those hot studious types, with all the right curves and brains to match." "I'd say Chase was spot on with that description. But like you said, I have to keep my hands to myself or risk getting in trouble. And I'm not sure I've got that kind of control." "Ah, bullshit, just pull out your phone and dial up one of the many women you have in your contact list. That'll take the edge off." "Nope, I don't think that's going to do the trick. But I'll get through this. It's for the company, right? That fucking Chase. If he hadn't dumped the owner of the magazine, she wouldn't be so hyped on having an article about Plaything." "Well you know Chase. Always thinks with his dick. But I'm more interested
about what I'm hearing in this phone call. Sounds like Mr. Cool has finally met his match. Who'd have thought the brainy, journalist type was your thing? Although in high school, you did always have a hard on for that cute English teacher." "Shit, you and that memory of yours. You never forget a fucking thing." "Forget? You used to sit up front and stare at her like she was some damn centerfold model. Hey, which reminds me, Aidan invited a bunch of models to Sunday night's party. Have you invited your reporter friend? Could be a good place for her to see that we're all just a regular bunch of people running a successful company." I laughed. "Regular, my ass. Especially when we're drunk and surrounded by models. But I might invite her. It could fit in with my plan." A sound behind me made me turn toward the glass doors leading to the balcony. Georgie had changed back into her dress. Her hair was slightly ruffled. Her cheeks were pink as she waved through the glass. "I've got to go, Zane. Later." I hung up. I slid open the door and stepped inside. Georgie avoided looking directly at me as she lifted her phone. "I just scheduled an Uber driver to pick me up." "What? Why? You're welcome to stay the night. I'll sleep in the guestroom." That suggestion was meant to appease her. Instead, it seemed to make her frown. "No, I don't want to intrude, and I prefer to sleep in my own bed. I told them I'd wait outside." She still didn't lift her eyes to me. "Georgie, is everything all right?" "Yes," she said quickly. "I had a lovely"—her frown turned to a weak smile —"an interesting time. I want to get home and do some writing." She finally lifted her face to me as she tapped her head. "Lots of stuff and reflections floating around up here. Thank you again." I walked her to the door. "I'll wait outside with you." "You don't have to. It seems like a very safe neighborhood." "I have to buzz the car inside the gates." I walked out onto the porch with Georgie and had seriously begun regretting the whole idea. But now the thought of her walking out of my life for good left me with a cold feeling. I didn't want to let her go. I wanted to know her. I wanted to know what she liked to eat for breakfast. I wanted to know about her past and her future. I wanted to know what it felt like to hold her naked in my arms, stuttering my name on long hot whispers as I brought her to climax. "We're having a cocktail party Sunday night for the company and other important people. I would really like you to come. It might be a good way to do some research." Two headlights appeared at the gate. "I'll think about it. Good night, Trey." Georgie hurried down the driveway to meet the car, rushing off as if she wanted to leave my house and never return.
Chapter Eleven GE O RGIE
I sat under the flickering light bulb hanging over the small kitchen table in my
apartment. Tiger, my big orange tabby cat, stretched his body out across the table and curled his long tail over the notebook. I flicked his tail away, but, like a spring, it curled right back. Tiger leaned his head forward, and he pushed it against my hand for some ear rubbing. I put down my pen to grant him his wish. After the Uber driver dropped me in the parking lot, I'd trudged up the two flights of stairs to my apartment feeling lonely and more than just a little disappointed in myself. I had considered myself a gutsy, daring reporter. At first, this story idea had seemed like just the edgy piece I needed. But I'd thrown just a bit too many of my feelings into the mix. After changing into pajamas and making myself some hot tea, I had sat down, thinking I had at least enough ideas to start the story. But my journaling session hadn't been terribly productive. I sat back against the chair and looked down at the notebook I'd been staring at for an hour. My tea had turned cold and my ideas had too. I had, however, written the name Trey in every high school doodling font I could remember, and, of course, each time I'd written his name, I framed it with a heart. The man had transformed me from a confident, award winning journalist into a blushing school girl, a school girl with a crush on a boy who only wanted to use her to cheat off her math test. Trey had no interest in me except he knew I could give his company free advertisement in a widely circulated magazine. That sobering reality had prodded me from the warmth of his bed and out the door of his house. I dropped the pen and got up from the table. I switched off the light and heard Tiger's padded paws hit the floor and trot behind me as I headed to the bedroom. Meredith could have her reporter position. A broken heart had never been a part of the job description.
Chapter Twelve T RE Y
M y hand hovered over my phone for a minute before I coaxed myself to pick it up.
As much as Georgie had insisted everything was fine, she had left my house upset. I blamed myself. I should never have betrayed her trust by walking over to watch her on the bed. I couldn't help myself. I'd gone to the very edge of self-control with Georgie, but hearing her quiet moans across the room had finally broken my steely resolve. Obviously, it was a stupid move, and now, I'd no doubt, lost her confidence. If I was smart or had any sense, I would just let it go, let her go and wait to see what she wrote in the magazine. But all my smarts and senses seemed to have disappeared the second Georgie Dempsey walked into my office. I dialed the number she had given me. I half expected it to go to voicemail and was thrown off guard when she answered. "Hello." "Georgie, it's Trey, Trey Armstrong." "Yes, I thought it might be. Listen, I'm sorry I scurried out so fast last night." "No," I spoke up quickly. "I went back on my promise. I don't blame you for wanting to leave. Look, we can just drop the whole thing. I don't want to push you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable." She paused. "Actually, I went to bed last night telling myself that this just wasn't going to work out. Then I woke this morning, and instead of feeling relieved by my decision, I felt utter disappointment in myself. I'm usually not such a delicate flower. I want to continue with this sexual awakening. I pulled myself out of bed this morning and wrote a good three thousand words. I want to keep going. Unless of course, it no longer interests you. I can only imagine how busy you are. I could just continue by myself." "That doesn't sound the least bit fun. If you still want my help with this, I'm glad to lend a hand. Or whatever else it might take. I mean no physical contact still. I will stick to that rule." Even if it is the fucking death of me, I wanted to add but decided against it. There was a longer pause on her end, and I thought she'd changed her mind again. I was sounding too damn enthusiastic. "Sounds like you need to give it more thought."
"No." The word shot back to me. "No, I've given it plenty of thought. As unusual as last night was, I realized that my sex life hasn't just been peanut butter sandwiches. It's been plain bread. And I'm talking about that white, flavorless kind. I learned some things about myself. I felt—My body reacted in a way—Never mind, you'll have to read all about it in my article. So, yes, any help or advice you want to give this plain bread girl, I'll take it." Instantly, my cock reacted to the idea of helping her. I shifted on the kitchen chair to relieve the pressure. Even though no amount of publicity was worth the physical torture I was going to go through helping Georgie find her sexual self, I couldn't say no. Mostly because I wanted to be near her. "It's Saturday and the weather is great. Why don't I take you out on my boat." The suggestion popped into my head and out of my mouth before I'd given it much thought. "You have a boat? Of course you have a boat. You'll need to excuse me. I'm one of those regular people who is thrilled when I have extra money to buy a ticket to a movie with a boat in it, let alone enough to ever actually own a boat. Yes, I'd like that. Where should I meet you?" "I can pick you up." "No, I'd rather just meet you. That way I'll have my own car just in case." "All right." I made sure to push away the disappointment in my voice. It was clear she didn't completely trust me. Couldn't blame her. "The Bridgeport Marina, slip eighteen. I'll see you in an hour. Bring a swimsuit. I've got everything else you'll need."
Chapter Thirteen GE O RGIE
S lip eighteen at the marina contained a beautiful boat, with a nice shiny white hull and lots of slivery chrome. But the thing that really caught my eye was the glistening, shirtless man in swim trunks and a blue captain's cap. Trey's white smile gleamed out from under the shade of his hat. He waved and climbed down from the top deck to meet me at the dock. He lowered a small gangplank, and I walked across and onto his boat. White and blue striped seats lined the stern, and there was plenty of sunning space at the bow. I'd been on a few ski boats, a rented party pontoon and a whale watching boat. This was definitely my first time on a luxury yacht, although it was smaller than I'd imagined. "Welcome aboard the Plaything Two." "It's beautiful. Why two?" He pointed to the much bigger yacht in the next slip. "That's Plaything One. I use Two for shorter day excursions." "Ah, yes of course. Silly me for asking." Trey picked up the small duffle I'd packed for myself. It contained two bathing suits, my one piece and a much skimpier bikini that I bought on a whim during a shopping trip with my friends. It was in September so all the suits had been marked ninety percent off. I'd decided the deal was too good to pass up. I hadn't gotten the courage to wear the suit anywhere except in front of my bathroom mirror. I wasn't sure I'd have the courage today either. The ocean breeze pushed off my wide brimmed straw hat. With amazing reflexes, Trey caught it before it sailed off for good. Trey handed it back to me and took note of my shorts and t-shirt. My khaki shorts came to mid thigh and the tshirt was a bit too big, but Trey looked me up and down as if he could see right through the fabric. Instantly, those few moments in his bedroom where he basically seduced me with just his words and nearness came back to me, and the warmth from the sun seemed to sweep over my skin and rest snuggly between my thighs. "I'll show you to the bedroom." His suggestion made my eyes round.
"So you can change into your swimsuit," he added. A cocky smile followed. He led me down a few steps into the cabin. There was a small, luxurious sitting area surrounded by windows that provided a view from every side of the boat. We continued on into a bedroom that was big enough for a king sized bed and a sitting area. Everything was decorated in masculine colors. It seemed no comfort was overlooked. A large wooden trunk sat at the end of the bed. Trey placed my bag on it. He swept his arm around. "Do you like it?" "What's not to like?" Trey stepped close enough that the fresh scent of his soap wafted toward my face. Whatever brand he used, it was like a damn aphrodisiac. The scent coupled with his nearness took me back to the night before when I had been nearly delirious with wanting him to touch me. I couldn't believe how easily Trey stirred me sensually. I'd even written about it in my journal, when, after sleeping with my thoughts and a few erotic dreams, I had woken with a new enthusiasm for our plan. I'd gone to bed thinking this was done, and I was going to give it up before I ended up emotionally shattered. But I woke more determined than ever to see this through and write a spectacular article to go with it. As my fingers moved over the keyboard and the words flowed along with my self-reflection, I realized how important Trey was to the process. He was the expert and I was the willing pupil. I just needed to keep my heart wrapped up and out of reach. This was to be strictly physical. The whole damn thing. And even if Trey had no inclination to touch me, I needed him to guide me to those erogenous zones on my body that had been hidden all this time, just waiting to be uncovered by the right person. For the first time since I'd stepped on board, our gazes locked. Trey's confident smile appeared. It was almost as if he had been reading my mind. A long stretch of silence fell between us, and it seemed each of us had our own thoughts racing around our heads. I knew my mind was itching with the idea that Trey might find me tempting enough to actually kiss me this round of the plan. I wasn't expecting much, just a light kiss with a quick tongue dalliance, that was all. Unfortunately, I was sure Trey's mind was only occupied with how this would work out for his company. Free and effective ad space was not something to take lightly when you were running a multi-million dollar business. I decided to get back to work. "It's a beautiful room, but I guess I was expecting a few items or pieces of furniture." I stumbled over some words in my head, "at least a mirror on the ceiling." Trey laughed. "I see. As the owner of Plaything, and as you've no doubt read on your Google search of me, notorious playboy, you figured I'd have some more—how should I say it, provocative elements in the bedroom of my pleasure boat?" I shrugged, feeling a little foolish for bringing it up. Then Trey walked to a panel in the room that I assumed controlled lighting and music like in his bedroom at home. He pressed a button and a section of wall opened. An interesting chair rolled out. It had a slanted back and a seat that split apart in the middle. A pair of fuzzy
blue handcuffs were draped over the top of the chair. He flicked his finger against the handcuffs. "These were an item in February's box. The theme was Captive Audience. Big favorite that month. The chair wasn't included in the box. I had that custom made." I knew damn well I was blushing, but since it seemed to be happening all the time now, I didn't even try to hide it. "It looks . . . entertaining." "You can give it a try later. I almost forgot—" Trey switched subjects, but my mind was still on the chair. It seemed just about any position could be achieved on the thing and there wouldn't be the usual problem of an extra arm or leg in the way. Custom made. So the notorious playboy hype wasn't just hype after all. Trey walked over to the dresser and picked up an envelope, seemingly forgetting that he'd just showed me his highly erotic sex chair. The Plaything logo was in the corner of the heavy vellum envelope. "It's an invitation to the Plaything party tomorrow night." He placed it on my bag. "If you're interested." "Thank you. I'll give it some thought." "I'm going up top so we can go out to sea." "Can I help?" "Yes, you can be my first mate. And my second. In fact the only mate I need today. I know a quiet little cove not far from here. It's a great place for a swim."
Chapter Fourteen T RE Y
T he water was glassy as the Two coasted toward the cove. Georgie had decided to
get some sun, and she'd gone in to change into her swimsuit. And I'd stood at the captain's helm, growing hard as I visualized her in that suit. The cove was not as much a cove as an inlet along the shore where several miles of the coast had been deemed a wildlife refuge. There were no houses or buildings. The only signs of civilization were the kinds with wings and webbed feet. Aidan and I had discovered it one day when we'd taken our dates out for a ride. It was a great, secluded place to anchor and take a swim. Footsteps sounded on the ladder up to the bridge. I looked back over my shoulder and couldn't hold back a smile. My shy little sex mentee had changed into her suit and had quickly covered the suit with her oversized t-shirt. "It's easier to get a tan without the heavy cotton shirt," I quipped. The fruity scent of her suntan lotion was already supplying me with a variety of dirty visions of her smoothing the oil over her naked skin. I wasn't sure how she did it, and I knew she had no idea she was doing it, but everything the woman said and did made my mind go straight to sex. Georgie came to stand next to me. "I haven't worn this suit in public yet. Still working up the courage." "There's no public here. Just me." I decided not to remind her of just how much of her I’d seen the night before, stretched out on my bed. The memory did however remind me that my swim trunks were not going to be as good a camouflage as my jeans. I stayed facing the helm, waiting for yet another erection to disappear. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her off by letting her know how badly I wanted her. Georgie crossed her arms over herself, for another layer of protection. I decided I needed to takeover on my mentoring duties. I leaned over to put my mouth near her ear. "You covering up sort of defeats the purpose of what we're trying to achieve here, namely finding your sexual self. And from what I saw last night, it's there. You just need to let it out." Georgie lifted her chin, and it was cute as hell. "You're right. This big shirt is
counterproductive and not great for tan lines either. I'm going to go up to the bow and get some sun." "We'll be dropping anchor in the cove in about ten minutes," I called to her as she climbed down from the bridge. Naturally, I had a perfect view of the sunning deck from where I stood, and I wasn't going to be covert about watching either. If I wasn't going to allow myself the pleasure of touching Georgie, I was at least going to treat myself to an eyeful. And she was definitely that. I gripped the helm much tighter than I needed to in smooth water. Georgie stood on the sunning deck at the bow and kicked off her sandals. She turned toward the railing, placed her bottle of lotion on the ground and lifted off her shirt. The bottom half of the suit was a small triangle of fabric, half-heartedly covering what amounted to the most perfect ass I'd ever seen. Her slender shoulders were shiny with oil. I imagined having her silky, lotioned skin under my fingertips. Georgie shot me a slightly wicked grin over her shoulder as she wiggled her ass enough to cause my grip on the helm to tighten more. If I wasn't careful, I'd break the fucking thing with my bare hands. Georgie turned around and held out her arms. It seemed having the distance between us had helped relieve her of any hesitation to show herself. The triangular pieces of fabric on the bikini bottom were the size of a ship's mast compared to the two teensy pieces covering her breasts. The curves of her ample tits showed on every side. My cock strained against the front of my swim trunks, yet again, trying hard to not be forgotten. Georgie adjusted the lounge to her liking. I decided to use the opportunity for a little coaching. Especially because I needed something to occupy my mind with, something other than the image of me pushing her up against the starboard railing and fucking her. I reached down to the megaphone I kept handy beneath the helm. I flicked it on and put it to my mouth. Georgie was about to stretch out on the lounge. "Stop there." Hearing my amplified order startled her. She laughed when she saw that I was holding a megaphone. She stood next to the lounge and shaded her face with her hand as she stared up at me in question. "Walk to the end of the lounge and face it. Captain's orders." Georgie saluted me. The gesture nearly tossed a nipple from its hiding place. Which gave me an idea. "Untie that bikini top and take the damn thing off. Tan lines, remember?" I barked my order confidently, but Georgie hesitated. "Go ahead. There's no one around except a few seagulls and your captain, and he's giving you an order." I made my voice deeper. "Just think how good that sun will feel on those tits." She shot me another grin over her shoulder. This one came with a brow lift. I
held my breath as she reached behind her neck and untied the knot. She dropped the strings and reached back to untie the rest of it. Still facing the bow, her back to me, she held her arm straight out with the bikini top hanging off her fingers. She tossed it onto the lounge, then instantly crossed her arms over herself. "Uh, the captain said nothing about substituting arms for the teeny bikini." She kept her arms crossed over her breasts as she spun around to face me. Then without warning she dropped them. "Fucking perfect." I'd muttered the words to myself, completely forgetting about the device in front of my mouth that could broadcast anything, even a mutter meant only for my ears, over the entire deck. I didn't need to guess whether Georgie had heard me or not. She bowed her head politely as a thank you. The cove was straight ahead. I pointed toward it. Georgie walked, topless and sexy as hell, across to the port side of the boat to get a look. The inlet was surrounded by a curved piece of coastline, far too rocky to be used as a beach, which wasn't allowed anyhow. Tall, dense foliage provided shelter for the wildlife, while also providing a nice bit of privacy around the water in the cove. It was a great piece of paradise, but you needed a boat to reach it. While I looked for the right place to anchor, Georgie returned to the chaise lounge. She stretched out on her stomach. I slowed the boat, shut down the motor and pushed the button to drop anchor. I finished up on the bridge and walked down to the deck. I flicked on some music and walked toward the bow. Georgie had swept her hair to the side to make sure her back got full sun. She didn't lift her head or look up. "You are casting a shadow over me." I didn't move. I took a moment to gaze over her body, mostly naked save for the small piece of fabric covering her ass. "I don't recall me telling you to stretch out on your stomach." "No? Well, I don't want to burn. And since my breasts have never actually seen the sun, I figured they might be a little sensitive." "Do you mean to tell me you have never sunbathed naked before?" She moved her head to the side to peer up at me from her forearm pillow. "Yes, of course. All the time. Some of the people in the apartment complex complain when I'm out there at the pool stark naked, but they eventually get used to it." I sat on the adjacent lounge. "I was going to whip up a batch of margaritas. Sound good?" "Absolutely." She reached down to the bottle of lotion. "But would you mind putting some lotion on my back. I don't want to burn. The sun seems extra strong out here on the water." I took hold of the bottle and stared at it as if she'd just handed me a bottle of nitroglycerin. I'd just recovered from watching her strip off her bikini top. Touching her was a whole new layer of agony. Georgie's face turned up to see what was taking so long. She looked slightly
embarrassed. "You don't have to. That's all right. I'll just pull my shirt back on." "No, sorry. I was just trying to decide if we should swim first." "It's waterproof." "Waterproof. Yeah, that makes sense." To my own ears I was sounding like a complete idiot, but I didn't seem to be able to stop myself. I had probably had twenty different women sunning topless on the deck of my boat, but today, I was acting like a fifteen-year-old who'd just gotten a glimpse of his first pair of tits. I squirted a glob of lotion into my palm. Georgie turned her face away from me, resting it on her arms. She startled and giggled as the cold lotion touched her skin. At first, the fragrant lotion provided a semi-solid barrier between my hand and her skin. But that barrier eventually disappeared, leaving only a thin layer of cream between my palm and her back. I moved my hands across her shoulders and down along her back, following the curve of her waist. I tried to ignore the urgency of my cock and every muscle in my body tensing. My hand slid over her hips. As much as I warned myself not to go farther, my fingers slipped under the triangle of fabric on her bottom. Georgie breathed in sharply as my fingers slid between her ass cheeks, coming dangerously close to the apex of her thighs where her pussy stayed tucked beneath the flimsy bathing suit bottoms. I continued on over the exposed skin of her bottom, knowing damn well that I should have applied more lotion but no longer wanting that barrier that I'd been so thankful for just seconds earlier. Her skin was warm from the sun, and it felt as silky as I'd imagined. And I'd imagined it plenty. My body was getting dangerously close to the point of no return. It took all my will to remove my hand. I saw her thin shoulders relax as I pulled my palm away. I heaved in deep, fast breaths as I stared down at her. "I'm going in for a swim," I said tersely, not waiting for her response. I walked over to the railing running along the bow, climbed over it and dove in without looking back. The water wasn't nearly cold enough.
Chapter Fifteen GE O RGIE
T he awkward lotion session had put a crimp in what had been shaping up to be a
wonderful day. Trey went swimming and then climbed back on deck looking far more dark and brooding than I'd ever seen him. I wanted to kick myself for asking him to apply lotion. Avoiding sunburn hadn't been my only goal at all. I was just dying for the man to touch me, to show some inclination for getting physical with me. Apparently, he would have preferred if I had asked him to stick his hand in a pot of boiling water. I had waited for Trey to climb out of the water before I jumped in. The water was colder than I'd expected, and after a few circles around the boat, I managed to freak myself out enough about the possibilities of carnivorous sea creatures swimming along with me that I quickly pulled myself up the ladder and back on deck. I heard the distinctive buzz of the blender coming from the galley. Margaritas. Maybe the afternoon wouldn't be a total bust after all. The dip seemed to have cooled some of the grumpies out of the ship's captain. Trey's eyes looked pale against his tanned skin. He'd managed to get a good shade darker in our short time on deck. Whereas I’d only succeeded in burning my bottom. The towel I'd wrapped around myself chafed against the pink raw skin, making the idea of wearing jeans unappealing. "How was the water?" he asked. "Cold and seething with sea life. Which is why I am back inside already." It seemed we were once again talking, even if it was just small talk. "That and the salt water was stinging the sunburn on my—" I decided not to finish my comment. I knew the damn bikini was going to be an impractical nuisance. Trey seemed to understand what I meant and did a poor job hiding his amusement. I pointed at him. "Don't laugh. You were in charge of suntan lotion back there. Who'd have thought Trey Armstrong, playboy owner of Plaything, didn't know how to apply suntan lotion." Humor had gotten me through this whole thing, and I decided it was the easiest way to wash away the awkward part of the day. I wasn't quite ready to give up on the plan yet. I'd managed to write what I
considered some pretty thought provoking stuff this morning, and I wanted to keep working on the article. Trey had already opened my eyes to one more thing today when he had asked me to take my top off. I was shocked that without much hesitation, I took it off. I was still grappling with whether or not I did it to try something new, something I had never dared to do before, or whether I did it hoping to excite the captain. The lotion fiasco proved that the latter was a complete failure. I was going to have to go with the daring myself to do something I'd never done before angle. I had to admit it felt good and freeing to be mostly naked lying out under the sun. I'd always found the easiest way to get drunk was to have a tasty drink in my hand, and the margarita Trey had blended was delicious. It didn't take me long to get to the bottom of the first round and start on a second. We nibbled chips and dips while we sat on the inside couch sipping our drinks. I hadn't given much thought to my hair after the dunk in the ocean. It had begun to dry in the natural curls, ringlets that I'd spent a good portion of my life pulling through a flat iron to pretend that I had been blessed with straight hair. After a few drinks, we'd both loosened up. Trey reached across and pushed one of the curls off my forehead. He did it with such care, I could have easily convinced myself that it was a tender moment that meant something. Particularly because he'd done it with a serious intensity in his gaze that made it feel as if we'd formed a connection. I quickly passed it off as my imagination, the tequila and a good dose of wishful thinking. "You mentioned you got a good start on the story this morning." Trey put his drink on the coffee table and rested his arm along the back of the couch. "I did. Surprisingly. I confess I wasn't too sure about it last night. I got home and was feeling a little out of sorts about it all, but I think I can do this. It's not as far out of my comfort zone as I expected. I guess I can thank you for pushing me to step out of that zone." "Are you ready to try again?" Yes, with you, I wanted to shout but just shrugged. "I suppose." "I couldn't help but notice you were eyeing that custom chair." I laughed. "That's because I've never seen anything quite like it before." "Oh, then maybe I misread that parted lips look of wonder on your face." "Well, I might have been a little curious. What I'd really like to do is wash off this salt water. Do you think I could take a quick shower?" "Absolutely." I followed him into the bedroom. He stepped into the richly appointed bathroom, decorated with clean modern lines of pewter and dark gray tile. He pressed a few buttons in the shower and hot water streamed from three different shower heads. He pulled out several plush towels and placed them on the vanity, before quickly exiting the room. I slipped off my bikini. Even the water in his shower felt expensive and luxurious. The man might have grown up with very little, but he sure knew how to live now. Warm, steamy water sprayed at me from every angle, giving me the best
cleaning of my life and all with very little effort on my part. I plucked the bottle of body wash from the shelf in the shower and opened it. The scent of Trey's soap came wafting out. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, pretending it was him standing in the shower with me. He'd run from the bathroom so quickly, it would have been comical if it hadn't been so damn disappointing. I was sure I wasn't the first woman to stand in this shower, but I was equally sure that I was the first one to stand in it alone. I just needed to stop obsessing about Trey's lack of interest and focus on getting to the heart of my article, which was me and my sexuality. It took me a second to figure out the high tech shower, but somehow, I managed to shut down all the water. The towels were like clouds. I wrapped one around me and walked into the bedroom where I'd left my clothes. I could hear Trey moving about up on deck and wondered if he was getting ready to head back to the marina. Trey had never put the custom chair back into the panel in the wall, and I decided to satisfy my curiosity a bit. I still had the towel wrapped around me as I sat on the chair and leaned back. It was soft but firm enough for some raunchy fun. The seat was split in two and I could open the two sections by moving my legs apart. The playful blue handcuffs dangled above my head, and as I reached up to grab them, my towel fell open and away from my body. Holding the cuffs made my body arch forward off the chair. I leaned my head back and tried to imagine what it would be like to be cuffed to the chair, with Trey between my wide open thighs. My pussy warmed and I grew wet with the thought of his hands and mouth on me, his naked body covering mine on the highly erotic chair. I was sure sex with Trey would be like nothing else I'd ever experienced. Definitely no peanut butter sandwiches involved. My eyes stayed closed. Thinking about Trey standing at the captain's helm, shirtless with just his swim trunks, captain's hat and cocky smile, I coasted into a dizzying state of arousal. I moved my hand down over my breasts, imagining it was his hand cupping me and teasing my nipple. My hand continued down to my pussy. With the help of the chair, I spread my thighs wider and slipped my fingers between the folds to my throbbing clit. I badly wished that in my haste to leave Trey's house the night before that I'd had the guts to walk out with the Easy Come, Easy O box he'd given me. I arched my back more as my fingers massaged my clit. In my haze, I heard a low groan, that I was sure hadn't come from me. I sat up with a start. Trey was standing in the doorway, watching me with a gaze that sent a thrilled shiver through me. "Don't stop." "No, I can't. I don't want to do this alone." I hopped up off the chair, a feat that wasn't easy with two mobile seat cushions. A nervous laugh fell from my mouth. "Maybe I need to restart this idea with a willing partner." I plucked the towel off the ground. Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed the other end of it. The
intense heat in his pale eyes seemed to be a mixture of frustration and lust. One sharp tug and he yanked me toward him. I slammed right into his hard body, my breasts pressed against his bare chest. I backed off, not sure how to read his expression. He followed my steps. The wall stopped my progress. Trey tossed aside the towel. He pressed his hands against the wall on each side of my head, trapping me in the circle of his arms. He was so close, I could taste the salt on his skin when I licked my bottom lip, a nervous reflex that he watched intently as if I was performing some amazing magic trick with my tongue. "What makes you think I wouldn't be a willing partner?" His mouth moved closer to mine, hovering so close I could feel his warm breath on my lips. My pussy and clit were newly awakened by the vision of his powerful arms taking hold of me as he fucked me against the wall. I peered up into his face. "I guess I'm just feeling a little confused. Lots of mixed signals." He stared down at my lips and then dropped his gaze to my naked body. My body reacted instantly, my nipples puckering to tight buds and moisture pooling in my pussy. This was happening. I wanted him so badly, I had to work hard not to slip down the wall into a whimpering puddle. His gaze locked with mine again. "Then maybe I need to untwist some of those mixed signals." His mouth barely grazed mine when an obnoxiously loud boat horn rattled the entire boat. It sounded again, breaking the tension and stopping cold whatever was about to happen. I was going to believe that it was a kiss followed by a lot of other wonderful things. "Hey, Captain Armstrong!" A voice shouted through a megaphone. "Friends of yours?" I asked. "Maybe not after today. Fuck," Trey muttered as he dropped his arms and walked out. I could hear voices and laughter and music coming from whatever boat had just pulled up next to the Two. I looked around and realized I'd left my t-shirt out on the deck. I pulled my bikini back on and decided to run out and grab it. A boat that was comparable in size and luxury to Trey's boat bobbed on the rippling water about ten feet away. There were several guys standing along the railing wearing swim trunks and holding beers. Trey was standing at the railing talking to them about a yacht party. I scurried toward the bow. My t-shirt was on the ground beneath the lounge. As I bent down to pick it up, a shrill whistle shot through the air. "Whooee, Trey, how the hell do you always find the hottest women on the planet?" one of the men yelled. Trey hadn't noticed me behind him. He turned and his expression darkened when he saw me. Even from where I stood, I could see his jaw tense. His friends, however, were having the opposite reaction. "Hey, baby, if you get tired on that boat, you should bring that hot little bikini
over here," the guy shouted. I gave them a weak wave hello and moved closer to the railing, thinking Trey would introduce me. I wasn't loving the attention but I wasn't hating it either. Trey had accused me of hiding what he'd considered my superpower, my sexuality, so this moment seemed like a good place to try it out. Just for fun. Only fun didn't seem to be on Trey's mind at all. He shot me a sideways glance. "Aren't you going to pull on that t-shirt?" His angry tone cut right though me. The humiliation I felt made tears burn my eyes. I raced away, practically falling on my face as I pulled the shirt over my head. I got to the bedroom and pulled on my shorts. Then I sat on the trunk, with my arms wrapped around my body, holding myself together. There was no way I should have been so hurt by his admonishment to pull on my shirt, but I couldn't stop the tears. I was feeling a mix of humiliation and anger and hurt, and I wanted to get off the boat so badly, I actually considered making a swim for shore. If the cove weren't lined with rocks and jungle-like vegetation, I might just have done it. Trey's footsteps plodded across the deck and down the steps. I quickly wiped away any sign of a tear and took a deep steadying breath, waiting for him to appear in the doorway. "Georgie," he started in a much gentler tone, "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to be so harsh. It's just that I—" "Take me back to the marina," I said sharply. "Right now."
Chapter Sixteen T RE Y
C hase was polished like a damn sparkling chandelier when he reached my front
door. "You ready? I booked a block of suites at the hotel. I figured we were going to be too wasted to drive home tonight." He stepped inside. "In fact I could use a drink before we even hit the road." He raced past me to the wet bar. "Zane mentioned that things haven't gone too well with that magazine reporter." He stood behind the bar and lifted out a bottle of gin. "Hey, mix me one of those too, and lace mine with something that will put me in a coma for the night." "Uh oh, so it's going coma bad. I'll put in an extra shot of gin, but I'm all out of coma inducing pills." Chase poured the drinks. He had his black hair slicked back, but he'd decided not to shave, a look that always made the women at a party cling to him. Normally, I looked forward to a Plaything party, lots of friends and plenty of beautiful women. But tonight, I would have preferred to stay home alone and wallow in my own arrogant stupidity. I stood at the front picture window and stared down at the million dollar view. Sometimes I questioned that phrase ‘million dollar view’. It was a blanket of pretty lights stretched out to the sea but worth a million? Growing up, the bedroom I shared with my brother had a view of the neighbor's house. Kate Brindle, the neighbor girl, was five years older than me and she had a smile that could melt a ten-year-old boy's heart. My bedroom overlooked our postage stamp yard. From my top bunk, on just the right night, when everything fell into place and Kate's blinds were open, I could watch her brush her hair or dance in front of her mirror. That was a million dollar view. We were always so quick to place a monetary value on life's pleasures when the real pleasures in life had no quantitative value. They were priceless. After our day on the water ended with Georgie making it perfectly clear that she never wanted to see my face again, I realized I'd lost something that I could never put a price on. Chase walked over and handed me a drink. "Here, this will get you out of that sulky mood. I hate it when you pout."
"Fuck off." I shot back the drink. "This is all your fault. If you'd be a little more selective about the women you date, I wouldn't be in this sulky mood." Chase laughed. "Talk about a convoluted guilt plan. How the hell do I have anything to do with what was going on between you and the reporter? All I did was drop her off at your office. The rest is on you, my friend. If things went south, I guess we can expect some article that makes us all sound like rich assholes who run a lewd company." He shrugged. "Guess that sounds about right." I walked over and put down the drink. "I have no idea what she'll write about us but fuck it. Let's go to this damn party. I need to get drunk off my ass and laid. It's the only way I'm going to get my mind off this."
Chapter Seventeen GE O RGIE
I t was a Doris Day marathon and, frankly, coupling that with a batch of cut and
bake chocolate chip cookies almost brought me out of my terrible, rotten mood. I plunked down on the couch with my plate of cookies, glass of milk and the remote. Tiger curled up at my feet, also content with the idea of fresh cookies and Doris Day. I was only a half hour into "Pillow Talk" where Rock Hudson plays a, yes, notorious playboy, when I started reevaluating everything that had happened in the last few days. I'd started a story about my own sexual revolution, a story prompted by a man well versed in women and sexuality. In the whirlwind of unusual events that followed, I'd somehow fallen for that same man. And, all the while, he had insisted I was going to discover a lot about myself in the process. Well, I had. I was still capable of having a school girl crush on the most popular boy in school, the boy who was only interested in using me for my math notes, or in Trey's case, free publicity for his company. That day in the restaurant he had alluded to the fact that I tried to cover up my looks so as to attract less attention. He might have been right in his assessment, but he sure as heck changed his tune when I walked out in front of the other men in my bikini. Talk about a double standard. I spent the entire trip back to the marina sitting alone at the bow, not giving him even a glance or a word. He had stood at his helm, dark and brooding, like an angry pirate. A handsome pirate, but an angry one. I was relieved to get back in my car and drive away from him, but as I sat on the couch watching Rock Hudson act like a cad and never giving any apologies for it, I suddenly decided that I needed that. I needed an apology. I'd done nothing wrong, and I left feeling so humiliated that those few steps forward I'd taken to find myself had now been erased with some giant steps backward. I got up and walked to the beach bag that I'd dropped by the door. I rummaged through it for the invitation. The party was being held in one of the posh hotels downtown, about a thirty minute drive. I'd drive to the party, march straight up to Trey and let him know he was a jerk and that I needed an apology because I didn't
do anything wrong. Then I'd march back out and drive home. But first, I needed to find something to wear, something that would leave him speechless. That way I could get my scolding in before he had a chance to say anything. Tiger lifted his round head from the couch and squinted at me as I walked toward the bedroom. "You'll have to hold the couch down without me, Tiger."
Chapter Eighteen GE O RGIE
I drove into the parking lot of the hotel and had to quickly pull on my high heels
before the valet reached my car. I opted for the black cocktail dress I'd bought for a reporter's award dinner. The tight black jersey bodice was sleeveless with a scooped neckline. The pleated black skirt ended a good six inches above my knees, and it flounced just enough to be flirty when I walked. I'd pinned two long strands of hair back in a rhinestone clip and added my fake diamond earrings to top the look off. It all came together pretty nicely, and I was feeling quite the thing until, on my way up the steps to the hotel’s front door, three women brushed past me looking as if they'd just left a Victoria’s Secret catalog shoot. They were so spectacular, the doorman nearly fell over with a stroke as they approached the glass doors. He also nearly dropped the damn door on me as I shuffled in behind in their glittery shadow. I stood in the vast hotel lobby, feeling suddenly very deflated. A hiccough wracked my stomach. I took a deep breath and held it, watching as the trio of spectacular women disappeared around the corner to the ballroom. I pulled out my invitation and was staring at it, thinking I should probably just toss it in the trash and head back home, when a deep voice jarred me from my thoughts. "The party is right around the corner." The man looked to be close in age to Trey, but he was slightly smaller with thick dark copper hair and brown eyes. His black and blue sweater hugged what looked like an impressive chest and pair of arms. His hand shot out. "I'm Zane Bostwick, part owner of Plaything. You're a fresh new face. Are you one of the swimsuit models?" "Hi, Georgie Dempsey. No. I'm not a model." His brows were just a few shades darker than his hair. He was one of those gingers who was anything but ginger. His skin was almost a golden brown, with a few light freckles showing through. "Georgie, why does that sound familiar?" He pointed at me. "You're the reporter that Trey was talking to." He dropped his gaze to my legs and back up. "This explains a lot. Follow me inside, Trey has been in a funk all night. He'll be happy to see you." I stopped cold in my tracks thinking that he was going to be anything but happy.
"Uh, I'm thinking I might just head back home. It sounds crowded in there, and I don't want to, you know, push the capacity number. Fire department might show up." Zane laughed. "Sexy and funny, no wonder Trey is so damn obsessed. Come on. We'll take a chance with the fire department." I followed him, reluctantly, and tried to decipher what he'd said about Trey being obsessed but couldn't make sense of it. The music was loud enough to shake the walls, but the talking and laughter nearly drowned it out. It was a blur of glittering chandeliers, expensive designer clothes and cocktail glasses. Zane led me through the maze of people, but I took hold of his arm to stop him. "You know, I think I'm going to get a drink before I journey into the crowd." I motioned to the bar. "I'm sure I can find Trey on my own." "If you're sure." Zane had to speak loudly over the clamor in the room. "Last time I saw him he was at a table in the northeast corner of the room." "Thank you." Zane walked away. I was somewhat relieved. I considered quickly making a getaway, no longer convinced I had even close to the amount of courage I needed to deliver my lecture. I decided the drive wouldn't be wasted if I tried a few appetizers and a wine spritzer. I headed toward the center of the room where a three story display of food and drinks had been laid out on shiny blue tablecloths. I picked up a small plate and grabbed a few stuffed mushrooms and a sparkling glass of wine. My gaze shot in the direction that Zane had pointed, but there were far too many people in the room to see the northeast corner. The dance floor was packed with people. Many of them already looked solidly drunk. So this was what a Plaything party looked like. Actually, it was exactly what I’d expected, a lot of beautiful, rich people enjoying the excesses of their wealthy lifestyle. I wondered how many were friends and how many were business partners. One thing was for sure, there was no shortage of gorgeous, sophisticated women in Trey's life. I was starting to feel beyond silly for even being there. I needed to go back home to my movie marathon and my cat and either write a story or my resignation letter for the magazine. I was leaning toward the latter. I could manage for a few months without a salary. I finished my mushrooms and wine and was devising a plan on how to sneak out a few chocolate strawberries and mini cakes in a napkin when a man came up to the table. He had his long hair tied back in a ponytail with a black bow like a man from the eighteenth century. He was even wearing a white cravat under his black suit. Apparently he was trying to bring back an earlier century, and he was doing an admirable job of it. He looked fairly dashing in the cravat. There was something familiar about his face, but I couldn't figure out where I'd seen him before. He looked pointedly at the strawberries. "Have you tried one of those?” "No, but I was considering sneaking off with a few in a napkin. I'm not normally a fruit thief, but when something is robed in chocolate, it's much harder to resist." He laughed and picked up a berry. "Robed in chocolate. I like that." He bit off
the end with the chocolate. "Very good. You should try one." "Probably a good idea." I ate the strawberry, well aware that he watched me closely as I ate it. "I was right. Hard to resist." "You certainly are." There was something familiar about his tone, but I couldn't put a finger on it. All I knew was that it had momentarily taken my breath away. "Would you like to dance?" "Oh, I was just thinking about leaving." "But it's early. One dance." "I suppose I can stick around for one dance." With the manners of a man from an earlier century, where chivalry was all the rage, he gave me his arm. I took hold of it, and he led me to the dance floor. Now that I was moving through the crowd, my odds of running into Trey had greatly increased. I wasn't sure what I'd say or do if I ran into him. On the flip side, something that made me more nervous was his reaction to seeing me. He had been the one to give me the invitation, but after the disastrous ending to the boat trip, he no doubt never expected me to show up to the party. Oh, why hadn't I just stayed on the couch with Doris and Rock? We neared the dance floor. A hiccough chirped from my mouth before I could cover it. My dance partner laughed. "I used to get hiccoughs all the time when I was a kid. My older brother would get so annoyed. He used to make me lift my arms up above my head to cure them. By the way my name is Quinn, Quinn Armstrong."
Chapter Nineteen T RE Y
K atrina placed her hands on her hips as she stared down at me from under some
extremely long fake lashes. We had dated off and on a year ago, but, other than great sex, nothing ever came of it. "Trey Armstrong, I have not seen you dance once tonight." I got up from the table, picked up my drink and swirled it around. "Not in the dancing mood." The truth was, I wasn't in any kind of mood to be socializing. I hadn't recuperated from the shitty ending to my excursion with Georgie, where I'd acted like a fucking cocksure idiot. Chuck and Jordan were basically drooling over the side of their boat when they saw Georgie in her bikini. An unexpected surge of jealousy caused me to snap at her. I wanted to shield her from their eyes. "Your brother sure is in the dancing mood," Katrina said. "He's been out there for twenty minutes tearing it up with a cute little blonde in a black dress. I'm sure it's straight off the rack, but somehow she manages to make it look like it came from a designer's collection. Who is she?" "No idea, Kat. I don't keep track of Quinn's social calendar." Aidan and Chase joined us. Chase had a model on each arm. Aidan gulped his beer. "Who are we talking about?" I wasn't in the mood for small talk, especially small talk about my brother's dance partners, so I didn't bother to respond. But Katrina felt the need to fill them in. "I was just mentioning to Mr. Party Pooper here that his brother has been dancing with a cute blonde." Chase smiled at the models to let them know he needed his arms back. They reluctantly released him. "Yeah, I was surprised to see her." He looked at me. "I'm guessing you invited her?” "Invited who?" Katrina huffed with frustration. "The woman dancing with Quinn. Boy, you really are out of it tonight. Maybe you should have stayed at home, drinking a warm glass of milk in bed." "Think you're right about that, Kat."
"Well," Chase continued, "did you invite her?" "What the fuck are you talking about, Chase?" "The reporter," Aidan snapped, having lost patience with the confusing conversation. "Quinn is dancing with the reporter from Contemporary Life magazine." I stood stock-still and stared at Aidan, wondering if he was joking. He nodded, letting me know he wasn't. I smacked the glass down on the table behind me and plowed through the crowd. By the time I reached the dance floor, Quinn was reluctantly handing Georgie off to a guy name Lowell, an ignorant asshole who worked for our accountant and who fancied himself to be a real ladies' man. Only the ladies didn't concur with him on that assessment. It was a semi-slow dance, and Lowell was taking full advantage by wrapping his arms around Georgie's back and hauling her closer than necessary. The tight line of her forced smile assured me she was not enjoying the dance. Which was all right because Lowell was going to need to find a new partner. Quinn stopped me on my determined path through the maze of dancers. "Hey, are you coming out here to dance alone? Lowell just stole my sweet little partner, but I plan to get her back on the next song." "Think again, little brother." I continued on my war path, leaving Quinn no chance to respond. Lowell had a stupid grin plastered on his face as he glanced over Georgie's shoulder at me. The grin faded fast when he realized I was marching toward him. His face blanched, and his arm fell away from Georgie's back. She turned around to see what had startled her dance partner. "Trey," she said through parted lips that were glazed in hot pink lipstick and just begging to be kissed. "Hey, Armstrong," Lowell said, with regained confidence. "You'll have to wait for the next dance. We just got started." "Sorry, Lowell, your dance is over." Just like with Quinn, I didn't wait for a response. I was in no mood for responses or conversations or small talk tonight. I grabbed Georgie's hand. She put up a good show of a shocked gasp but followed right along behind me. I led her off the dance floor and past a lot of curious, surprised stares as I walked her out to the hotel lobby. "That was rather rude," Georgie quipped as she toddled along behind me. I held firmly to her hand and didn't slow down, even as she struggled to keep up with my long, determined stride. "I guess rudeness is one of your character flaws," she continued. "I sure saw it on full display yesterday." The lobby was crowded. I still hadn't said a word to her or even looked at her, but she continued talking, apparently deciding this was the time to get everything off her chest. "And another thing, how dare you tell me to use my superpower and then the second I walk out in a bikini to use that superpower—"
I pulled her through the crowded lobby toward the elevators. Some of our guests had spilled out of the ballroom to get fresh air or have a few minutes without the noise. They too watched with dropped chins as I led Georgie across the tile floor. But I didn't give a damn. There was only one person I was interested in seeing right now and that was the woman chattering away behind me. "And my boobs aren't my superpower—my brain is my superpower. Everything else is just extra, like condiments. Like ketchup on fries . . .” I slapped the elevator button and the doors opened. I pulled her inside the empty elevator and hit the button to close the doors. Then I turned to face her. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and her blue eyes sparkled as she blinked at me. "Or nacho cheese sauce, if you prefer extra fattening fries," she said a little less firmly than the first part of her scolding. "Damnit, Georgie, what the hell have you done to me?" I yanked her into my arms and my mouth slammed down over hers.
Chapter Twenty GE O RGIE
T hings sort of went blurry after Trey's kiss. Most likely because I'd been waiting
for that damn kiss for so long, my head grew dizzy from all the release of tension. We'd hardly spoken more than ten words as we rode up to the top floor and racewalked along the richly decorated corridor to Trey's room. He slid his room card through the slot. The door opened into a massive suite with a view similar to the view he had at home. City lights decorated the skyline and made the polished marble and wood in the room sparkle. A round couch sat in the center of the living room, in front of a kitchen that was at least three times the size of my apartment. "Nice place," I quipped. Trey's hazel eyes had been dark and lustful for the entire ride up to the top floor. Now they looked positively predatory. And it thrilled the hell out of me. His dark lashes dropped as he surveyed my outfit. "Nice dress." He gripped the pleated skirt. "Let's see how easily it comes off." "Oh, I suppose we could do that." I lifted my arms without even a moment of resistance. My resolve to tell him off had begun to crumble the second I saw him on the dance floor, looking like a man possessed, with his breathtaking physique wrapped in a perfectly cut suit and his clean shaven jaw set with steely determination. I'd worked up courage enough to give him a piece of my mind as he dragged me through the ballroom and hotel lobby, but the second the doors on the elevator shut and the kiss seemed inevitable, I knew my original plan to tell him off had been obliterated. He swept my dress up and off with hardly stirring a strand of my hair. I was thankful that I'd pulled on my nicest black lace bra and panties to go with the dress. I stared at the dress he tossed on the back of the couch. "You, sir, have done that before. You are quite skilled." "It's one of my superpowers." He yanked off his coat and dropped it on the ground. I'd forgotten how hot he looked in a dress shirt. His arm circled around my back and he pulled me into his arms. "Should I show you some others?"
My throat went dry as it occurred to me that this was happening. I was going to have sex with Trey Armstrong. Shit. What if it turned out to be peanut butter sandwiches? Impossible. The man had only looked at me and my panties were already clinging to me with moisture. I swallowed away the dryness. "I would like to see the whole catalog, if possible." "Considering how many times I've gone through this in my mind, I don't think that will be a problem." "You've gone through this in your mind?" "Many times." His mouth pressed hard against mine, and before I realized it, my bra slid down my arms and off my hands. I went to kick off my high heels, the one piece of my party attire I was more than eager to take off, but Trey pulled his mouth from mine long enough to mutter a command. "Leave them on." The second the words left his mouth, I felt my panties drop to my ankles. Apparently, stealthy moves that undressed women without their realizing it was one of his powers. The other one had to do with his kisses, kisses that I was feeling straight through my entire body. Trey's arm smoothed up my back. He gripped my hair in his hand, tugging it back just enough to lift my face higher. His tongue flicked over my bottom lip before slipping inside. A deep groan rattled his chest as he swept me up into his arms. I took the opportunity to kick my panties free from my ankles. Trey carried me down a short hallway to a beautiful bedroom with a massive bed that was covered with satiny linens. He hesitated and I worried he was having second thoughts. I lifted my head from his shoulder. "What's wrong?" I asked with some trepidation that he would drop me back to my feet and call the whole thing off. Trey shook his head. "I want you so fucking badly, I can't even decide where to start." I smiled and ran my fingers over his chin. "Just start with your favorite go to move, and we'll see where it leads." "Right." He dropped me rather abruptly in the center of the bed. Again, I reached to remove the shoes, but he grabbed both my ankles and slid my bottom toward the edge of the bed. The satin sheen on the sheets made me nearly slip over the side. "Thought I told you to keep those on." "My mom used to scold me when I put my shoes on the bed. Old habits, I guess." Trey propped my heels up on the bed so that my knees were up. He set my feet wide enough apart that my pussy was in full view, and rather than follow my instinct to drop my knees together and shield that view, I found myself dropping my knees farther apart. "You really do have powers," I said, my voice much grittier sounding than before. "I find myself doing things that I never would have done in front of other men." His demeanor had darkened, and the set of his jaw was serious and sharp. "You
mean like spreading your knees, so I can see that beautiful pussy?" He ran his hands along my inner thighs and pushed my legs even wider as his fingers neared my pussy. His eyes stayed focused on my face for a moment longer, then his lashes dropped and he gazed down at my most intimate parts. I sucked in a breath as his finger dragged through the moisture pooling between the folds of my pussy. Then he lifted that same finger and tasted it. The erotic gesture caused gooseflesh to rise on my whole body. I badly wanted him to taste more of me. I dropped my knees wider, in invitation. "That's it, baby." He lifted his hand to unbutton his shirt. He went to push the shirt off his shoulders. I leaned back on my elbows. "Stop. Leave it on." I lifted one high heel toward his cuffs. "Unbutton those and roll them back to expose your forearms." He curved his brow in question. "Hey, we've all got our fantasy thing." I lifted my leg again to point out the shoes he made me keep on. "You've got your high heels. I want my rolled up shirt sleeves." I blinked up at him. "Shit, that sounded sexier in my head." He grinned down at me as he rolled up his sleeves, as if he was about to get to work. He was, it seemed. He knelt down next to the bed and began with a trail of kisses along my inner thigh. His hands slid beneath my ass, and he lifted me to his mouth and probing tongue. I gripped the bed covers and dropped my knees wider as he stroked the entire intimate length of my pussy with his tongue. His finger slipped inside of me, then two, as his tongue continued to stroke my clitoris. Oral sex had always been hit or miss with me, and I'd blamed myself. But, it seemed, it was the partner that made it a success. And this particular partner knew me as if he'd been between my thighs a million times. He knew exactly the right pressure and the places to touch that made me nearly slide off the satiny bed. As my body reached that point of no return, where it felt as if someone was just about to pop the cork on a shaken bottle of champagne, I rocked against the rhythm of his mouth. Each time his fingers, now at least three, impaled me. "Trey," I moaned, "holy shit, Trey." His hands still had a firm hold on my ass, and he spread my cheeks apart as he pushed my pussy firmly against his mouth. My wide spread knees closed around his head, and I held him there, captive between my thighs as I came hard against his mouth. His tongue didn't stop its sensual dance along my clit. Each caress made my entire body convulse with pleasure. A growl rolled up from his throat. He pushed to his feet, his lids heavy with lust. He pushed the shirt from his shoulders. His naked chest seemed to revive the stirrings he'd left behind with his mouth and fingers. He unbuttoned his fly. I watched eagerly, nearly biting a hole through my lip as he pushed his pants down and off. Yep, everything about him was perfect. "I don't want to kill the mood, but do you have a condom?" Even his ass was gorgeous as he walked to the dresser and pulled a handful of
condoms out of his overnight bag. He carried the fistful of condoms to the bed and dropped them on the nightstand. "Wow, yes. I guess the answer is yes. I like a man who comes prepared." My eyes flicked sideways to the shiny packages piled on the nightstand. "That's a lot of them." "Yeah? I was just wondering if I brought enough." He towered over the bed. I watched with eager anticipation as he rolled the condom on, stretching it to capacity. I scooted back as he knelt on the bed and stood over me on his hands and knees. "Georgie, I've been waiting to have you naked in my arms since the first second I laid eyes on you. Spend the night with me and you'll have enough, not just for an article, but for a whole damn book." He leaned down and kissed me lightly, ending the intimacy with a light bite on my bottom lip. "See, I knew that lip was bitable. This time, I just need to be inside of you. We can get creative later because we've got all damn night." He took hold of my hands, lifted them up by my head and held them firmly against the mattress. He settled between my thighs, gazing down at me as if he could read every emotion on my face. His mouth covered mine and a deep moan vibrated my throat as Trey pushed inside of me. He started long slow movements, impaling his cock into me in deep sweeping movements. With each thrust, his arcing movement jammed his cock tighter, touching every sensitive place, including the magic G-spot that I’d had no idea existed until the wonderful toy pointed it out to me. But Trey wasn't just any man, he was a man who made a business out of pleasure, and he was giving that pleasure to me good. He held my hands firmly against the bed, even though I struggled some to touch him, to feel his muscular shoulders as he braced his body over mine. But he kept control of my arms and, for that matter, my entire body. I loved every minute of it. His hazel eyes glittered with hints of green as he gazed down at my face, watching me as he drove into me with long, fluid motions. With each delicious dive into my pussy, his cock grazed that sweet spot that made my entire body pulse with pleasure. "You will come for me, Georgie. I won't finish until I've felt your pussy tighten around me." His request was easy to grant. I was teetering on the edge of an explosive orgasm. I lifted my bottom off the bed to meet his thrusts. "Oh, Trey, yes, fuck yes!" Drugging waves of ecstasy rippled through me as my pussy clamped around him. "Fuck, baby," he growled. "I knew you would feel like this. I knew you'd be fucking perfect." As sputtering, tender aches pulsated through me, Trey began moving faster, his body meeting mine, knocking the breath from me with each thrust. I threw my legs around his waist, making it easier for him to pump his cock into me. He released
my hands. They tingled as I gripped his arms. He held me firmly beneath him and drove into me so hard the bed thumped against the wall. "Fuck yes," he groaned as his arms stiffened in my grasp. His entire body was like hard steel as he came inside of me. I reached up and wiped the bead of sweat off his forehead as his breathing slowed. He turned his face and kissed the inside of my wrist, gently. I was stunned how much I enjoyed just that simple gesture. Trey dropped down next to me and pulled me into his arms to spoon. I stroked his magnificent forearms as they tightened around me. I had one phrase running through my head—anything after sex with this man was going to just be peanut butter sandwiches.
Chapter Twenty-One T RE Y
T he work week had stretched on impossibly long. Georgie and I had both worked
hard to fit some alone time into our schedules, but I had been looking forward to a weekend with her at my house. We even both agreed to unplug from the internet and our phones for at least half of that time. Georgie had promised to head over as soon as she was done with revisions on her story for the magazine. She was also drafting her resignation letter. She knew Contemporary Life was no longer the magazine she'd signed on for. The intercom beeped and I pushed the button to open the gates. I waited for her on the porch. It had only been eight days since Chase walked Georgie into my office, but I felt as if I'd known her forever. In a way, I had. She had been the woman in my imagination, the one who was my soul mate on earth. I knew she was out there and that one day I'd find her. And I had. If there was one woman worth giving up my playboy bachelor days for, it was Georgie. She parked her car. I walked down the steps to meet her. She hadn't heard me walk up and backed into me as she was pulling a duffle bag out of the backseat. "Oh! Sorry, I'm late. I had to give Tiger's feeding, ear scratching and neck rubbing instructions to my neighbor." "Ear scratching and neck rubbing require instructions?" I asked. Her cheeks were pink as she straightened from the car. She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and handed me her duffle. "You've obviously never owned a cat. There is a very thin line between an ear scratch that will earn you a purr and one that will earn you a nasty scratch on your arm. It takes a great deal of knowledge and expertise to get it right." I lifted the bag up and down. It was heavy. She shrugged. "My phone must have given me a hundred weather scenarios for the weekend, so I wasn't sure what clothes I would need." I pulled her into my arms. "I'm going with none. My plans for the weekend do not include clothes. In fact, clothes will just slow us down." I took hold of her hand. "Come on. I've got a surprise." "I'm a big fan of surprises. Is it covered in chocolate?"
"No, but I could think of a few things I would like to cover in chocolate." I ushered her through the front door. "You are super duper horny, aren't you?" she asked. I laughed as I led her down the hallway to my bedroom. "If super duper means I spent the morning thinking about how many places in the house I intend to fuck you, then yes. You could say I'm super duper horny." I pointed to the new piece of furniture I'd added to the room just for her. She blinked at it through her glasses. "It looks like a giant wedge of cheese that has been covered in plush velvet." She tilted her head to the side. "Are those restraints hanging off the sides?" "Yes. They were optional, but I thought you might like them. As I recall, you were intrigued with the chair on the Plaything Two. I decided to get you something just for fun. Unless you're not interested." "In fun? Oh, I'm interested, buddy. But I think I need a drink first."
Chapter Twenty-Two GE O RGIE
T rey and I sat on the couch and snacked on cheese and crackers and sipped Pina
coladas. We always found something to talk about, whether it was about work or our friends or our future dreams. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight, he had pretty much achieved his, at least everything but a family. I'd decided to leave my job at the magazine. It was no longer a good match for me. I had already sent my resume out to several highly respected newspapers, and I'd already had two call backs. I felt sure my career would be back on track soon. Which would go nicely with the rather fairytale like relationship I'd managed to end up in. I guess I could thank the wretched Meredith Vee for that slice of happiness, and I was deliriously happy. Trey seemed to sense it. He pushed his foot against mine to stir me from my thoughts. "What's that starry eyed look about?" I made a soft, dreamy sound that went with the starry eyes. "I was just thinking that I've never had everything in my life go right at the same time. It's kind of nice for a change." "So, this feels right for you?" I hadn't expected the question and wondered if I'd said too much. I looked at him. "Y-e-s?" I said slowly, with a question in my tone. He relaxed back. "Thank god, because I'm thinking about you night and day, and I'd feel pretty damn stupid if you weren't feeling right about this." I turned to him on the couch. "You think about me night and day?" "I sure do. I think about you with your big glasses, plucking away on your computer, that terrific brain of yours writing all manner of important things. I read through some of your articles, by the way. Great stuff." "Thank you. I am proud of my work. Even this last piece. It might be a little different than my usual, but I think it turned out well." "I'm dying to read it." "Soon." I kicked off my shoes and ran my foot along his. "So, when you're thinking about me night and day, you're thinking about me working at the computer?"
"Naturally, you are stark naked while you're at the computer." He stood up and offered me his hand. "Which I think would be a perfect wardrobe choice for the next four hours." "Four hours?" I placed my hand in his and he led me down the hallway. "At least. It'll all be research for your article." "Uh, as I mentioned, the article is finished." He turned to me. His hazel eyes had that thrilling predatory look that I was growing extra fond of. That look meant I was about to be lost in a dizzying spell of multiple orgasms, and after several days of sitting at the computer, I was looking extra forward to it. He pressed me up against the wall. "Then maybe you should start a new one." His mouth covered mine and his fingers fumbled with the hem of my shirt. He parted his mouth from mine long enough to pull the shirt off. He set about taking off my shorts. In seconds, I was standing in his hallway, sandwiched between his hard body and the wall, wearing just my bra and panties. "Fuck, it's been too long." He grabbed my hand and popped open his door with his foot as he led me into the bedroom. I sensed that he was mad with wanting me, which only made me that much hotter. "You up for it?" he asked, inclining his head toward the plush covered wedge. I stared confidently up at him and pushed my panties down. "Hell yes, I'm up for it." I hadn't had one case of hiccoughs since we'd started dating, and I credited Trey with that. He'd improved my confidence and made me realize I needed to take charge of every aspect of my life. I gave my naked ass an extra wiggle as I sashayed toward the wedge. A small cushioned ledge ran below the tall side of the wedge. I knelt down on it and then leaned my body over the wedge, relaxing my upper torso along the decline. My ass was up high in the air. Without much foreplay other than the suggestive talk and a kiss, my pussy was already wet and anxious with tingling sensations. "Well, sir, am I doing this right?" I heard Trey's pants drop on the floor behind me. "Fuck." It was his only reply. He circled around to the front of the wedge. I lifted my head to peer up at him. From my vantage point his erection looked enormous, imposing. Trey crouched down in front of the wedge and took hold of one hand at a time, securing my wrists in the soft leather handcuffs on each side of it. With Trey, the experiments allowed me to test my limits and stretch my imagination. I had definitely found a part of myself I never knew existed. I liked a bit of kink. Not too much, not much more than handcuffs and the occasional spank, but I had truly found my sexual self. Something I would have never found without Trey's help. "Comfortable, my sweet little captive?" Trey's deep voice alone was almost enough to bring me to orgasm. "Very." My voice was leaving me as my mind began drifting toward what was about to happen. "One more thing."
Before I could open my eyes to see what was happening, Trey had covered them with a satin blindfold. "This is new." There was a slight waver in my voice, but it wasn't from nerves. It was from anticipation. Trey had this preternatural ability to move with hardly making a sound. Although, I was sure I caught a low, far off groan that I knew had not come from my own mouth. The sound had come from behind me. I was in a ridiculously vulnerable position, my naked bottom thrust in the air, while my hands were secured on the sides of the wedge. And I couldn't see what was happening. I gasped as his hands, covered in warm, scented oil smoothed over my back. Immediately, my entire body relaxed, and I melted at the feel of his touch. I felt the heat of his body as he leaned over me and pushed aside my hair to kiss the back of my neck. He always knew exactly how to place his mouth where it would be appreciated the most. His warm breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine, and it ended in my pussy. As high up as my ass was, I found myself jutting it higher, begging for attention. Trey's oiled hands moved down my back and circled my ass, taking extra time along the crack. His finger dipped into the tight puckered hole. I startled and tightened away from the intrusion. But that didn't stop him. His hands smoothed over my hips and underneath to my pussy where he deftly found my clit. The slick oil on his fingers mixed with the warm heat that had already pooled there, creating the most luxurious pool of moisture. His one hand continued to stroke my clit, bringing me easily to the height of arousal and creating a pulsating urgency in my pussy. I could do nothing. He was in control, and he was one hell of a pilot. I heard some rustling behind me and sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation of him putting on a condom. But his hands returned to my ass. He dragged a soft rubbery tip of something down the crack and pushed it inside the puckered hole. "Trey," I gasped. "It's a plug, just a training tool for some anal fun, if it interests you. Just try this for now. If you don't like it, we won't use it again." He leaned up over me and kissed the side of my neck, which immediately relaxed me. "Remember, we're still finding out everything you like. And I know there's one thing you like best of all." He slid through the slippery moisture coating my pussy and pushed inside of me. I could feel the pressure of the butt plug as Trey filled my pussy. The angle of the wedge made it possible for him to go deeper. My arms remained splayed to my sides as my body hugged the velvety wedge beneath me. All the while, Trey stroked my clit and pumped into me. The intensely erotic and submissive position coupled with every intimate part of me being stimulated or filled brought me quickly to a deep, surging orgasm. I cried out, no longer able to keep control of my emotions. My body was wracked with spasms of ecstasy. "That's it, baby. That's what I need," Trey growled against my ear. My pussy still
throbbed as Trey began pushing harder into me. I felt him place his hands on the top of the wedge, next to my hips. He lifted his body off of me as he thrust his cock into me. Each blow sent a shattering wave of pleasure through me. A deep, guttural growl rained down over me as Trey buried himself to the hilt and came. As his ragged breathing returned to normal, he stayed firmly inside of me, waiting until every sensation faded away. He lifted off the blindfold and unfastened the restraints. Then he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed. He lowered me onto the blanket. I reached back and pulled out the plug. The top was decorated with a shiny red heart. "Why do I get the feeling that I was just doing some product testing?" Trey laughed and climbed onto the bed next to me. "Maybe a little, but I figured since you came up with the theme, it was your time for some input." "The theme? You mean bottoms up?" "Yep, the team is working on it." He took the plug from my fingers and placed it on the nightstand. "Plus, I thought you wouldn't mind stretching out the repertoire a little." I circled my arm around his neck. "Oh, I'm all about stretching the repertoire. Especially when you're a part of it."
Chapter Twenty-Three T RE Y
T he Sunday morning sun blazed through the front windows as I filled the coffee
pot. I heard the bedroom door. A few seconds later Georgie walked into the kitchen with my shirt pulled over her naked body. Suddenly, the blazing sun was dulled by the bright light that always seemed to dance around her. Or maybe only I saw that light. Georgie's eyes dropped to the underwear I had pulled on after my shower. "I wholeheartedly support the idea of the boxer brief." She plucked a cup off the shelf above her. "The coffee will take a few more minutes." She smiled and tilted her head, still admiring the briefs. "I think a few minutes is all we'll need." Her fingers grabbed the end of the shirt she was wearing, and she inched the hem up to show me that she was still naked underneath. She returned her attention to the snug briefs, making sure her shirt lift had achieved the desired effect. It had. "You know, you didn't even have to lift the hem," I said. "I was working up an erection strictly on the thought of your nipples rubbing against the inside of my shirt." Georgie laughed. "Is that right?" She walked up to me and cupped my bulge in her hand. Her fingers caressed my balls through the fabric. Even that light touch made me crazy with wanting her. As she kissed my chest, her hands slipped under the waistband of my briefs and she took hold of my cock. She ran her hand up and down my shaft and danced her tongue around the hollow at the base of my throat. Slowly, she dragged her mouth along my chest and down to my stomach. She dropped to her knees and yanked my underwear down to my ankles. I rested my hands on the counter behind me, to keep steady as her luscious mouth sucked on the tip of my cock. Her free hand cupped my balls, as she skillfully ran her lips and tongue along my erection. Her hand pumped me closer and closer to coming. I reached forward and tangled my hands in her hair, holding her head against me as she took my cock in deeper. "Fuck, baby, your mouth feels so good." I sucked in a breath and held it as she
flicked her tongue around the fleshy tip again and then stopped to lick the salty liquid off her lip. "God, Georgie watching your lips cover me like that—" I groaned. "I'm going to come, Georgie." She kept her mouth firmly over me as my seed spilled. She finished by wiping my cum from the side of her mouth with her pinky. I pulled her to her feet. "You've been holding out on me, beautiful. I knew those lips were magical but holy shit." I pulled her against me and kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-Four GE O RGIE
I waved to Olivia on my way past her desk and headed down the hallway to Trey's
office. Chase poked his head out of his door as I walked past. He looked at the papers I held in my hand. "Is that the article?" "It sure is. The magazine hits the market tomorrow. I thought I'd give Trey an advanced copy." "So, the Vee liked it?" "She did. In fact, she offered me a raise if I stayed on, but I told her I wasn't interested." "Good for you." Chase disappeared back into his office. I knocked on Trey's door. "Come in." I poked my head inside to make sure he wasn't in a meeting or on the phone. He was sitting at his desk with those damn shirtsleeves rolled up. "Look at you, sitting there all provocatively with bare forearms." Trey smiled. "Yep, I've been behind the desk just like this all day, not doing any work, just waiting for you to walk in and catch me with my shirtsleeves rolled up." I fanned my face with the article, pretending to cool the hot flush, but in reality, it didn't take much more than a tilted smile or a glance at his forearms to stir the heat. Not only had Trey helped me find my sexual self, he'd turned me into an uninhibited mad woman. I was thinking of sex day and night. It seemed the two of us couldn't be alone in a room together for longer than ten minutes before we were pulling off each other's clothes. Even now, I wondered just how strong his scientifically designed desk chair was. I dropped the article on his desk. He picked it up and read the title and the subtitle. "No More Peanut Butter Sandwiches. How a Notorious Playboy Stole My Heart." He peered up at me with an amused sparkle in his eyes. Damn, I loved those eyes. "I see you took a different angle." "My sexual awakening is sprinkled throughout, but I focused a lot on the reason behind that awakening. You're the star attraction."
He dropped his gaze to the papers in his hand and didn't respond. My stomach suddenly felt as if it was filled with stones. I should have asked him if I could write about our relationship. What an idiot I was. Holy shit, what if the whole thing was one-sided, namely my side? "I should have asked, Trey. I'm sorry." He pushed up from his chair and walked around the desk. I kept stumbling over my excuse, feeling as embarrassed as I felt heartbroken. How the heck did I think I could have snared the heart of someone like Trey? He walked past me with sharp deliberate steps. "I jumped to conclusions," I blurted and wondered if I should just make a run for it and leave with a spoonful of my pride intact. My heart was already shredded, but I deserved it for being so silly. Trey pressed the button on the blinds. They rolled down to cover his office window. "Trey?" I asked, hating the waver in my voice. "Say something." He locked the door. "Slip your panties off, Georgie. I've got twenty minutes before my next meeting." I blinked at him as he walked back to me with the same determination. He stopped in front of me. "So, you're not mad about the article?" "Why would I be mad?" I shrugged and decided not to say another word. "Do you need help with those panties?" "No, I can manage." I reached under my skirt and started shimmying out of my underwear. He unbuttoned his pants. "Did I really steal your heart?” His question caught me off guard, but I decided that in a situation like this, when I was standing in the middle of the man's office with my panties down around my ankles, I should just be honest. "Every bit of it." Trey stepped toward me and took hold of my face. "Good fucking thing because you've owned mine since you first walked through that door." He kissed me long and hard.
COMING SOON
More from Tess Oliver
Loved Easy Come? Ready for more? Chase’s story is up next in Sweet Spot!
In the meantime, keep reading for a sneak peek at the first three chapters of Tess’s other super sexy novella, Sugarplum. Sugarplum is part of the Silk Stocking Inn series in which each book can be read as a standalone.
SUGARPLUM Copyright© 2017 by Tess Oliver & Anna Hart Cover image: Kruse Images & Photography Cover models: Amanda Joan & Jonny James
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Chapter One
D eep green eyes stared out at me from beneath perfectly shaped dark brows. His
chiseled jaw was hidden beneath just the right amount of permanent black stubble. The gunmetal gray shoulder and chest plates only accentuated his incredible physique and daunting black metal gauntlets and spiked gloves glistened over his powerful arms and hands. He was pure hero eye candy from the top of the spiked mohawk on his head to the shit-kicker knee high boots on his feet. His trusty steed, a black stallion that transformed into a motorcycle when the terrain called for it, was being designed by Louis, the designer in the next work station. "Ziggy Holt, you are one hot computer graphic," I muttered to myself as I surveyed the close-to-final design. I did a little happy dance at my standing computer desk. Everyone in the company had to spend at least two hours a day with their computers hoisted in the air. Stan, the boss and owner of Phantasm Game World, insisted it was necessary to avoid what he termed as "Dreaded Flat Butt Syndrome", a plague which rendered its victims unable to wear pants properly. I, for one, was happy to be provided with a standing desk. When I was a kid, my parents called me antsy pants because I could never sit still. I never grew out of it. I particularly liked to shuffle around whenever I working on a digital exoskeleton or color layer. My mom also never dropped the nickname, an embarrassing little fact I discovered when she called me antsy pants last Thanksgiving in front of all the relatives. Of course, they all had a good laugh and decided to use it instead of my real name, Jennifer, for the rest of the night. I glanced at the time. I had a few minutes before the surprise meeting. Although, calling it a meeting was sort of an exaggeration. A team huddle, as Stan termed it, was more of a free for all where people could air grievances or brag about accomplishments. There was no real protocol in the boardroom. Phones weren't silenced, and sidebar conversations were frequent and expected. At times, there was so much chaos and noise in the 'huddle', I would actually pull out my earbuds and listen to music on my phone to drown it out. Stan didn't even care about that as long as I participated. Stan, my very sexy, rich boss, who knew damn well that he was sexy and, of course, rich, believed that the chaos nurtured creativity and team spirit. I wasn't completely convinced of his theory, but I didn't mind. It had to be
better than sitting in a morgue-like boardroom with stuffy, backstabbing coworkers all trying to kiss up to the owner. Tanya, a team artist and my best friend, skipped down to my work area. "Jen, are you still ogling Ziggy Holt? Maybe if you wish hard enough, he'll just pop off that monitor, sweep you into his metal plated arms and carry you away. You know, like Officer and a Gentleman but with a sci-fi twist." "I do think he's mighty fine." I pushed up my sleeve to survey the tattoos on my wrist and arm. "I'm seriously thinking of getting him tattooed right here next to the star burst. Too bad guys like this don't stomp around in real life, killing off wraiths, ripping out souls and taking time in between for a good roll in the hay. Or, I guess, in Ziggy's world it would be fire and brimstone." I tilted my head to the side and stared at the three dimensional computer graphic, a graphic so lifelike he could fill a girl's mind with all kinds of dirty thoughts. "I'm still not convinced the spiky mohawk was the way to go." Tanya had been the lead artist on the Ziggy Holt character creation. She was extremely talented, and I loved being the teammate who took her drawings to the digital level. We worked well together. "I loved that cool, short cropped dark hair you had on him in the earlier sketches. I mean hair takes a bit more programming, but I for one am a big fan of the full head of hair. Besides," I lowered my voice and looked around to be sure my nosy, self-important neighbor, Ellen, wasn't in ear shot. She'd apparently left early for the meeting. "I'm not sure how that spiky mohawk would work for oral sex, if you catch my drift." Tanya snorted a laugh and elbowed me. "C'mon, Jenny, where's your sense of adventure? Now stop having erotic daydreams about our Ziggy, and let's head over to the meeting." "Right." I grabbed my tablet in the rare case that I needed to take notes or add to my daily planner. Loud voices and laughter were already bubbling out the open door of the boardroom. Tanya grabbed my arm to slow my pace as we watched Jordan, the new girl from the programming team, walk out of Stan's office. She was an exceptionally pretty blonde with big boobs and a lot of talent, or at least that was what I'd heard from the people in programming. Tanya tilted her head closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. "See that blush on her cheeks as she's walking out of Stan's office? I've heard she's his newest conquest." I hated the word conquest used in the same sentence with Stan. Not that I was being judgmental because I could have cared less what Stan did, or at least that was what I kept telling myself. My biggest problem with the term was because I too had been one of his conquests. Back when I was new to the company, stupid, silly girl that I was, I got swept up in the fantasy romance of sneaking quickies after lunch with the boss. For him it had been a good time, but I'd stupidly allowed myself to fall for him. And for a time, I was delusional enough to think he'd fallen for me too. But then reality slapped me in the face, and I quickly discovered that Stanford Gregory wasn't a one woman type of guy.
The boardroom vibrated with energy as people speculated what the unscheduled meeting might be about. The last details of our newest game, Hell's Rangers, were being perfected and polished, and the artist and writing teams were already brainstorming and sketching storyboards for part two. I figured Stan's impromptu huddle had something to do with preorder numbers. Hopefully they were good. Mitch, Shelly and Turk, our main programmers, had apparently gotten bored waiting for the meeting to start and had set up a game of some sort in the center of the table using strategically placed donuts and folded paper footballs. Tanya grabbed us two chairs, and I headed to the pink box to see which donuts the nerds had left out of their game. Disappointment. I turned to the table. "Uh, is that my French cruller in the center of your game?" Mitch turned back with a sheepish grin. "We needed a middle earth." "I told you Jen would be pissed if you used the cruller." Shelly shrugged my direction. "I tried to warn them." "Thanks for your effort." Mitch reached for middle earth and held it up to me. Most of the white glaze had broken off. "It's a little beaten up, but I'm sure it'll still taste good." "Not with your fingerprints all over it." I waved toward the game. "Carry on, dorks." I spun around and almost smacked directly into Stan. He was wearing that musky aftershave that I used to love but that I now hated. He somehow always managed to touch me, even when there was no reason for it. This time he took hold of my arm as if our near crash had thrown me off balance and he'd had to catch me. "Hey, it's my star graphic designer." His blue eyes always had a sparkle. That wasn't necessarily a good thing when it was coming from your playboy boss. "Good work, Jen." He threw a wink in with his sparkle and walked past me in a cloud of fragrance. His fingers didn't leave my arm until he was out of reach. Jerk. I sat down next to Tanya and didn't need to say a word because we were both fairly expert at reading each other's thoughts. "What's the old saying?" she mused. "If looks could kill?" "I don't know why I even waste a second of emotion on the man. He doesn't even have broad shoulders. I mean, jeez, who needs that, right?" Tanya laughed. "Well, his bank account makes up for the lack of shoulder span, but you're right. Who needs that?" Stan clapped his hands several times to get our attention. I noticed then that his hands were far too clean and smooth. He could never be one of Hell's Rangers. There. Another reason not to waste a second of thought on the man. The clamor in the room quieted, and all the attention turned to the front of the room. Stan's eyes swept around the table as he pulled out a chair and propped one leg on it. I typed a quick message to Tanya on my tablet. "I think he invited us here just to admire his crotch. Joke's on him. It's not all that admirable. I'll bet Ziggy Holt is
nicely hung underneath all that leather and metal." I elbowed Tanya. She leaned over and read the tablet on my lap. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "I thought the team would like to know that we just surpassed the ten million mark on preorders for the new game." A loud cheer rattled the tinted windows lining the room. Donuts flew through the air and high fives and fist bumps were tossed liberally around the table. Stan lifted his hands to quiet us. As rambunctious and out of control as the huddles could get, Stan still had the ability to grab our attention in seconds. "Because of this great news, I've decided to cut short the work day so you all can go home and pack for a ski trip at Swanson's Ski Lodge." Another round of cheers followed. Tanya leaned closer. "That's cool. Maybe we can share a room." "Oh, and I left out the good part—" Stan continued. "I've rented the entire lodge and ski facilities for the whole weekend. We will be the only people on the mountain." "Holy shit." Even though she was sitting right next to me, Tanya had to raise her voice higher to be heard over the exuberance in the room. "That must have cost him a fortune," she said directly in my ear. I turned my face to her ear to respond. "We just made him a fortune, remember? Ten million preorders. This weekend will be like pocket change to the man." "So, all of you finish up your work so you can get on the road by noon. There's a snow storm rolling in later tonight. Not a bad one. In fact, the opposite. It'll be gone by morning, and the slopes will be covered with fresh powder. I've sent an email to everyone with the address for the lodge. See you up there." With that, he walked out with his head held high like the king of the world.
Chapter Two
T anya hopped up from her chair. "This is so much better than spending Saturday
doing laundry and buying groceries. I've got to get home and dig through my closet for my snow gear. Do you want me to drive?" I followed her out of the boardroom. "I'm not sure if I'm even going to go, Tanya." She stopped and grabbed my arm. "Are you kidding? What else do you have planned?" "Stuff. I have stuff planned." She tilted her head to the side. "Oh really?" "Yep. All kinds of big, important stuff." I sighed. "I just don't want to go and hang out with Stan and watch him cuddle with his newest conquest." I motioned with my head. "Looks like Becky and Yari are making plans to drive up together. Why don't you catch a ride with them?" "Darn it, Jen, this could be so much fun. Reconsider. We don't have to be anywhere—" Her face paled slightly, and she sealed her mouth shut. A smooth hand touched my arm from behind. Musky aftershave swirled around me as Stan circled around with his pearl white smile. "I've got work to do," Tanya blurted before scurrying away like a traitorous little mouse. "Hey, Jen," Stan said, "if you need a ride up to the mountain, I've got room in the Land Rover." "Thanks, Stan, but I'm not entirely sure I'm going. I've got stuff to do." His dark brows pinched together. "Ah, come on, Jen, it won't be the same without you." "Oh, I'm sure everyone will have a good time with or without me. But thanks. This is very generous of you." He squeezed my hand again, a completely unnecessary gesture between a tech president and his designer. "Well, I hope you change your mind." "Maybe." I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "I've got a few things to finish up at my station." I dashed away before he could say any more or find some other non-reason for touching me.
I tried to shake off the odd encounter. My mind rushed back and forth in debate about whether I should go on the free weekend or skip it. I had one foot on each side of the fence. I reached my computer and shook the mouse to wake it. A website popped up that I had most definitely not clicked on. My eyes dashed across a banner about some place called the Silk Stocking Inn, and I caught some cheesy phrase about filling my every heart's desire blah blah blah. I clicked the X and waited for the site to be swallowed up into cyberspace. But it stayed like melted bubble gum on the bottom of a shoe. I tapped my mouse a dozen times in an attempt to close the site. Instead of vanishing, pictures and a text box popped up. An old Victorian style home appeared next to the banner. Snow was mounded like pillows on its slate gray roof and icicles clung to the gingerbread style fascia board running across various roof lines. Even though the photo was obviously taken in the winter, a long vine of bright pink roses climbed the porch railings and arched over the portico, creating the perfect romantic exterior. I'd been so drawn to the charming vintage house, I'd ignore the text box that came with it. I blinked at the words. "Hello, Jen, I think you should forget the ski weekend and head up to the Silk Stocking Inn." My eyes peered over my monitor, and my gaze circled the room. Everyone was busy hunched over a computer or drafting table, working hard to finish up and take off for the snow. But, obviously, someone had finished, and they'd decided to play a prank on me. Funny. I had it narrowed down to Mitch and Shelly since they were the programming geniuses. Maybe they decided stealing my French cruller was not enough. I looked across the vast room to Mitch's work place. He looked busy enough, and there was nothing suspicious about his behavior. The same regular old boring work scene was happening at Shelly's desk. They were good. I would bet anything they were in it together. I decided to go along with it. "Oh my, Silk Stocking Inn, huh? It sounds amazing." "Great. Then I can expect you this afternoon. You won't be disappointed. I promise. After this weekend, you'll never think twice about that arrogant boss again." My gaze flashed their direction as my cheeks burned with a flush. "You guys suck. I'm done with this." The text box filled again. "I'm sorry. Who are you guys?" "Right. Very funny." My fingers pounded the keys. "Fine then. See you soon." I clicked the mouse over and over, but the site remained and the text box popped back up. "I forgot to ask—what is your favorite cupcake flavor?" I shook my head. "Don't you mean donut? And as you know, it's middle earth. Otherwise known as French cruller." There was a long pause. I stared at Mitch and Shelly over the top of my computer, but they kept up the farce and kept working at their stations.
"Actually, I did mean cupcake. Do you have a favorite?" I huffed in annoyance, asking why I hadn't just shut down my computer instead of playing along. I looked at the blinking question and thought about a running joke that we had in the company. Whenever it was time to sign up for the annual holiday potluck, Stan always sent a text asking who was bringing the sugarplums. The last person to respond to the text was required to show up to the holiday party with their own version of sugarplums. No one knew what the hell they actually were, and information online was sketchy at best. It was fun to see what people came up with. The task had fallen to me once, and I showed up with powdered sugar covered prunes on a silver platter. Surprisingly, they were kind of tasty. I typed the word sugarplum in the box and sent it. "Ooh, I haven't made sugarplum cupcakes in years. Wonderful. See you soon." The site disappeared. "Very funny, you two," I called across the room. A few people looked questioningly my direction, but Mitch and Shelly never looked back. I decided to walk over to them. Mitch looked up from his monitor as I hovered over his desk. He kept on with the programming. "You still mad about the donut, Jen?" "No. Just wanted to let you know the gag was cute. Well done." Shelly's head popped up over her computer. "What gag? What did you do now, Mitch?" "Oh don't flash that look of innocence, Shel. I know you were in on it." They looked at each other. The only thing on their faces was confusion. Mitch took his fingers from the keys. "I'll buy you a French cruller on my way in on Monday." "No," I said abruptly enough that it caught the attention of several other people. "It's not about the donut," I said in a quieter tone. "I'm talking about the Silk Stocking Inn." Mitch blinked up at me through his glasses. "Jen, I have no clue what you're talking about." I knew both Mitch and Shelly well enough to know that one of them would have cracked up by now, but they both looked genuinely worried, as if I was losing it. I decided not to push it or risk being the topic at the digital water cooler. And yes, it existed. We were a tech company, after all. I backed up with a smile. "My mistake. I'll let you two get back to work." My eyes shifted stealthily around the room in an attempt to catch a guilty expression or hidden smile, but everyone seemed focused on getting finished with their work so they could head home and pack for the weekend. I headed back to my own computer, deciding that was a good plan. A weekend away might just be what I needed too. It was a big mountain. I was sure with some strategic planning I could avoid the boss altogether.
Chapter Three
T he temperature dropped dramatically as my car puttered up to the higher
elevation. Trees went from bare branched skeletons, waiting for spring sunlight to revive them from their wintry state of dormancy, to lush, fragrant evergreens, standing sentry over the snowy hillsides, their branches still heavy with needles and cones. Climbing up a mountain always felt like driving into another dimension, like reaching a different world in a fantasy game. It also meant cold, and I was starting to forget that I had toes and fingers. I reached forward and flicked the heater on higher. Warm air blasted my face and began to dry the condensation on my windshield. I lowered my head and peered up at the sky. The clouds looked heavy with snow. According to my phone, I had an hour to go. I was regretting not taking Tanya up on her offer to drive together. But by the time I'd firmed up my decision to go, she'd already made plans to drive up with two coworkers, Rocky and Gus. And since she had a secret crush and an even more secret plan to snag Rocky one day, I didn't want to get in her way. I could have driven with them, but I had too many things to do at home. I didn't want to hold anyone back. I was sure there would be no downtime for the rest of the weekend, so the lonely, quiet drive gave me a chance to relax. The curves in the road had begun to get curvier, and I had to pay attention. My eyes were glued to the asphalt in front of me, so I hadn't noticed that a dense, white fog was moving in on the mountain. It seemed to swallow up my car. The light from my headlights was absorbed by the opaque moisture. I couldn't see more than three feet in front of me, but worse, I couldn't see the side of the road. There was no way to spot a turnoff or vista where I could stop safely until the haze lifted. The only logical explanation I had for the suddenly viscous air was that I was driving through a low cloud. The cool moisture seemed to seep through the heating vents. A shiver went through me, and my earlier fantasy about driving into another world seemed to be coming true. Only it wasn't exciting or exhilarating, like reaching the next level on a video game. It was downright terrifying. I slowed my car to a crawl and prayed that some blowhard with rocks for brains didn't come barreling up the road behind me. But I didn't see anyone. Not even a
hint of life. It was just me and my old car and a shroud of fog. Full on panic was about to set in just as the fog seemed to lighten. The feathery tufts of white air rolled up and off my windshield, and as I drove around the next curve, it disappeared completely. My sigh of relief was cut short by the landscape in front of me. I was no longer on a twisting mountain road. A snowy landscape rolled out in front of me that reminded me of the picture on a Christmas card. The landscape was mostly flat, with the occasional soft rolling hill to give it some dimension. Tall pines, dripping with icicles and burdened with mounds of snow, dotted the otherwise pure white countryside. Countryside? How the heck was that possible? I'd been traveling up a mountain. The only explanation I could devise in my baffled mind was that I'd found a terrace of flat land within the mountain range. Geographically, it didn't make much sense but then what the heck did I know about landforms? I picked up my phone to take a quick glimpse at the route. I hadn't switched roads, and there was only one that I knew of leading up to the ski lifts so I wasn't worried. I rubbed my thumb across the screen. The map popped on for a second and then disappeared completely. I rubbed my phone again. Nothing. Obviously, I was driving through a dead zone. There couldn't be any other explanation for it. I placed the phone down and kept driving. In the distance, I could see a huge cloud of powdery snow drifting up from the landscape. A snow plow or kids playing, I concluded. It was the first sign of civilization since the fog had cleared, and I was relieved to see it. I drove along and watched as the cloud of snow moved through the landscape. Suddenly, a chrome and black snowmobile exploded through the powder. Another one followed right behind. The two riders were clad in motorcycle helmets, chest plates, thick leather gloves and boots. They were racing, motocross style, but on the snow. The lead machine made an impressive leap in the air and then landed in a pile of fresh snow before kicking out a white rooster tail and racing away. The second machine was in close pursuit. I pulled my eyes back to the road. A white hill of snow loomed in the distance as if it had just popped up in the landscape. I squinted through my pasty looking windshield at the silhouette of the house on top of the hill. It was the house on the Silk Stocking Inn website. My mind was so busy trying to logic out the scene in front of me, I'd forgotten that I was driving. "Ah shit!" I gasped as my tires dropped a foot down and my car skidded off the road and came to an abrupt stop in a pile of snow. I put the car in reverse and pressed the gas pedal, but I only seemed to dig myself deeper into the bank. Seconds later, my car shut off as if some of its moving parts had seized up with the cold. With the defroster and heat no longer running, the inside of the car turned glacial almost instantly. Most of the car's front end had vanished into the snow bank. I had to shove the door hard to get it open. As I stepped out, the loud rumble
of a motor vibrated the frozen ground beneath my feet. I spun around and a puff of white air followed my gasp. The snowmobile racer had pulled up behind my car. He turned off the engine and stood up from the bike. From my vantage point in the ditch, he looked twice the size of an average man. His black helmet was topped with a mohawk of chrome spikes. His black chest protector and dark tinted goggles made him look nothing short of scary. My heart raced as I considered all the ways this could end. I was stranded in a snow bank on a deserted road, and a menacing man, who looked as if he could use a pine tree as a toothpick, was standing ten feet away. The rider pulled off his helmet, and some of the earlier fright was replaced with surprise. "Oh my," I whispered to myself. The words left a white puff of air in front of my mouth. The man set the helmet on the seat. He reached up and rubbed his dark cropped hair with his gloved hand. It stood up all over his head. Swirls of black ink climbed up past the chest protector and along the side of his neck. I was sure there were plenty of tattoos beneath the racing gear. He moved closer. My mind was telling me to back up, but my feet were frozen in place, not from the cold but from shock. His dark green gaze looked familiar, and as my eyes took in the handsome face, with its chiseled jaw and black beard stubble, I remembered where I'd seen the eyes before. Dizziness swept over me, and I swayed back. The giant stranger moved with graceful speed as he closed the gap between us. His arm curved around my back to keep me from falling. "Whoa there, I've got you." I closed my eyes to erase the dizzy spell, then opened them slowly, wondering if he'd still be there. Since his steel arm was hooked around me, I was fairly certain of it. The deep green of his eyes held just enough worry to assure me that I wasn't in danger. I forced a smile. "I'm fine. You can let me go," I said the words aloud, but inside my head I was thinking 'or you can hold me longer too'. I wouldn't complain. Cautiously, he lowered his arm. "Guess you took a wrong turn somewhere. I can pull your car free with my snowmobile." "Thank you. That would be great. I'm expected up at Swanson's Ski Lodge. My friends will be worried." Confusion wasn't a good look on most people, but he pulled it off just fine. In fact, I was sure every expression would look fine on him. I knew that for certain because I'd just spent months designing a video game hero who could easily have been his twin. "Swanson's Lodge?" he asked. "Don't think I've heard of it." "How's that possible?" "Don't know. Anyhow, I'll get the rope." "Thank you, Mr. Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.” He stuck out a huge black glove. My small blue glove got lost in it. "Name's Holt."
My throat went dry, and I had to consciously remember to breathe. "No. No, it can't be." His perfectly shaped brow lifted. "Yep, I'm pretty sure that's my name." "That just can't be your name." "No? Then I guess I should call my mom and let her know she sewed the wrong name into my underwear when I was a kid." I shook my head and looked around to see if my surroundings were real. Then with some trepidation, I glanced through the back window of my car to see if I was still inside slumped dead over the wheel. Nope. The car was empty. I was alive, it seemed. Only, it felt very much like I was in a dream or having an out of body experience of some kind. It had to just be a crazy coincidence. "Holt, huh?" "Yep." He turned around and headed to the snowmobile. "As long as your name isn't Ziggy," I said more to myself than to him. But my words stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He turned back around and stomped toward me. This time, I took a step back. "What did you say?" I shrugged nervously beneath the puffy down of my coat. "I just said as long as your name's not Ziggy." My head felt light again. "Is it?" Without a word and with his green gaze glued to my face, he yanked the sleeve of his coat back along his arm. There, in black letters, running along the steel like cords of his forearm, were the letters Z-i-g-g-y.
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About the Author
Tess Oliver is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of sexy romances. She’s always working on new and exciting projects. You can stay up to date, and get a free book by visiting her website and subscribing to her newsletter. @Tess_Oliver tessoliverauthor www.tessoliver.com
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