Copyright © 2014 Jessica Ingro
Friend-Zoned characters & dialogue, Copyright © 2014 Belle Aurora
Chapter One
The Legend of Multiple Orgasms
Hello. I’m Elizabeth Ward. Your Personal Concierge.
I found myself giggling at the absurdity of that statement. I sounded like I was at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, when in truth, I was writing my newest client a note to introduce myself. You’re probably wondering why it is that I’m introducing myself to a client through a witty, little note. It does seem strange come to think about it.
I always leave a calling card, if you will, when I visit my client’s homes. It’s my way of connecting with each one of them without having to be in their faces. Most of them prefer to have me be a presence that hovers in the background and doing my business without them knowing how it gets done.
These notes are my signature branding. I spend way too much money each year on creamy, heavy stationery with my name in calligraphy at the top. Each piece of elegant paper has a light blue ribbon weaved through the top and tied in a bow. Elegant and classy.
So here I am, standing in a man’s house with his grocery list in my hands when I’ve never actually met him. See, I was hired last week by his middle-aged executive assistant to assist the Mr. Grant Morgan.
Mr. Morgan is known around Manhattan as one of the top litigation attorneys. People from all over New York, New Jersey and Connecticut pay big dollars to have this bulldog on their side. I would even bet my next payment from Mr. Morgan that his clientele reaches beyond those three states, which is precisely why I was stoked to gain his business. He is an excellent reference to have, and hopefully he’ll recommend me to some of his friends and colleagues.
His prowess doesn’t stop in the courtroom though. It very much extends into the bedroom as well. Even though I’ve never met him, his reputation precedes him. There are legendary stories circling the city about his stamina, his endowment, and how well-versed he is at using both to exact pleasure from his partner. You can hear it whispered amongst the socialites or gossiped about by assistants. I once heard a story about him leaving a woman practically catatonic, she was so thoroughly fucked. It took her days to recover. I’m sure that is a bit exaggerated, but hell! He’s even been in the running for New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelor four years in a row.
I’ve been known to have a decent fucking every now and then, but the very thought of receiving multiple orgasms and having earth shattering sex for hours with this man, makes my toes curl and my body feel flush. And I don’t generally react this way to my clients. I’ve never found myself turned on by any of them. I’ve always kept the lines between my professional and personal life clearly defined.
I’ve seen pictures of Grant on Page Six and in other various newspapers and magazines. He’s perfect in every way. He is tall, measuring in at over six feet and appears dark and demanding. Even in a picture, it feels like he is looking through you. If he told you to drop your panties in the middle of church, you’d be compelled to do so. With his dark, curly hair and his piercing, blue eyes, this man could have sonnets written about him. Hell, I’ve thought up a few on my own, and I’ve never actually met him.
But, alas, I never get involved with my clients, so I’ll have to find my orgasms somewhere else. My father always warned me never to mix business with pleasure. I’ve witnessed the scary, life altering results of such bad decisions, and I’ll never succumb to that temptation. Take a look around you the next time you are at work. Americans spend about a third or more of their time at work. When love goes bad, you’re forced to look at the other person day after day after day. Sheer torture if you ask me – to have to be pleasant to an ex after a bitter break up or to be forced to watch them date when you’re still in love with them. Just think of the secretary who thought her boss loved her, but instead refused to leave his wife. How do you think she feels whenever the wife drops in for a quick “lunch”?
You wouldn’t shit where you eat, so why would you fuck where you work?
I started my concierge business while still in college. I grew up in upstate New York as an only child. My mother was a school teacher, and my father worked as a field engineer for the local telecommunications provider. Money may have been tight, but I always had the things I wanted, and we always had fun together. I never felt any hard times my parents may have had.
When I got accepted into NYU, I was beyond excited for my future. I was only a couple of hours away from my parents, living the high life in the city and going to the school I had always dreamed of. Then my father had a stroke during my junior year that left him completely debilitated. Seeing as how dad was the breadwinner, it didn’t take long for medical bills and the cost of living to deplete my parents’ savings. That is when money became so tight, everyone in my family could feel it constricting around our throats.
I no longer had the luxury of their financial support, so after my scholarship, I was responsible for the rest of my education and living expenses. I know it was hard on them when they couldn’t finish giving me my education, but sometimes in life shit happens.
I was twenty-one years old at the time, and I knew waiting tables wasn’t going to be the ideal situation with my school schedule and the way of life I was slowly becoming accustomed to living. There is so much to see and do in New York. It really is the city that never sleeps. Restaurants, museums, and clubs abound. I didn’t want to be forced to sit back and watch while my peers were out having fun and getting into trouble.
That’s when my own fairy godmother came to rescue me.
When the money troubles hit, my college roommate, Maya, reached out to her aunt Collette, a top fashion designer in the city. Over a holiday vacation, Collette had been complaining to Maya and her family about how desperately she needed an assistant – someone who would make her life easier. Someone who would do the nitty gritty errands and jobs that she found consumed too much of her time that she didn’t have to spare.
That is where I came into play. I became that person for her. I was the one waiting for deliveries, picking up dry cleaning, folding laundry, and so on. I busted my ass morning, noon and night to make sure her expectations were met. I began craving her assignments. I was young and shopping in high end boutiques while networking with some of the most influential people in Manhattan. Serving her needs and being the best assistant I could be became my obsession.
Collette was so happy with my work that she started referring her industry friends to me. People who didn’t require a full-time assistant at their beck and call. I’m talking big name clients that any personal assistant in the business world would give their left tit, or nut for the males out there, to have. And they were mine! All mine!
They weren’t all easy to work with and the tasks weren’t all glamorous, but I was good at it. Damn good. I had found my calling. And over time, money became less and less of an issue.
Being a personal assistant allowed me to be the control freak that I knew, deep down, I really was. Organization, control and essentially telling people how to run their lives – these are the things I specialized in. Throw a challenge my way, and I will beat it every time. I am that good!
Of course, these character traits extend into my personal life as well. Some people say I keep myself too regimented and need to let go a little. I say there is nothing wrong with having things carefully crafted and planned. Chaos breeds disaster. Plain and simple. And that is not how I want to live.
Besides, I don’t have a lot of free time to enjoy my personal life. I’ve had hookups, but nothing long-term. I live for my clients these days. A time will come when I can focus on me. Now, however, is not that time.
Once I graduated from NYU, I had half a dozen clients and just as many new referrals looking to have me as their fairy godmother. Life was great. I moved into a quaint, one bedroom apartment in an up and coming neighborhood in Greenwich Village and hit the ground running with my new business that I masterfully titled, Your Personal Concierge. Calling yourself a personal assistant is so last year… don't you think?
Over the last decade, I guess you could say I’ve seen everything. And I do mean everything. The stories I could tell you would keep you laughing for days and wondering what the hell people with money were really thinking.
Let’s see… There was the investment banker who was having an affair with his young, Swedish nanny. I walked in on him with his pants around his legs, literally, and his wife wasn’t much further behind me. Needless to say, the girl got deported and the wife took him to the cleaners, getting me in the divorce. I still have visions of him continuing to fuck her, while I watched, and then scrambling off her when the wife started throwing stuff at his head.
Oh, and there was the Sweet Sixteen party for a snobby Manhattanite. The little brat made me organize a trip beforehand to Italy for her and her ten “closest” friends, so that she could find a one-of-a-kind dress to wear to her party. Then I had to convince the “it” rapper of the moment to appear at the party, just to have her snub him and decide I should have gotten another “it” rapper instead. That was embarrassing and a complete waste of her daddy’s money.
To make it worse, she whined all night like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she had started singing “Give it to me now.” She even had the nerve to kick a girl out of the birthday party just because the girl’s diamond necklace was bigger than hers.
But the real kicker was when she disappeared, and I had to hunt the bitch down so she could cut her cake. For almost an hour, I scoured every nook and cranny of the rented mansion in the Hamptons, wearing the ridiculously high and uncomfortable shoes she insisted I wear, just to find her in the wine cellar. And what I found there had me cringing and wanting to bleach my eyeballs. She and another girl were experimenting with the bottles of wine, if you catch my drift. Not only were they underage, but they seemed to be enjoying it way too much for my liking. And when she realized that I could out her for being a lesbian, she tried to have me fired.
Then, there was the big shot executive of a major television network that I found handcuffed to his bed with whip marks all over his body. Turns out he paid a Dominatrix to punish him and bring out his submissive side. How cliché is it to want to reenact Fifty Shades… Seriously? Apparently, when he refused to pay her bill, she decided to teach him a lesson by leaving him locked up. That was a three a.m. phone call I wish had gone to voicemail.
I was quite disappointed and a little embarrassed for him when I released him from his confines and got a good look at his package. I realize when aroused a man’s penis expands, but his penis was so small, I’m not sure it would effectively be able to penetrate anything. Poor guy…
There was also the client who had such a crush on me. He was delusional enough to think that if I walked in on him masturbating, I would be propelled to join him. So not going to happen. Especially since he was as hairy as a gorilla. It totally creeped me out. There was nothing remotely sexy about watching him yank on his dick or begging me to take over.
Then of course, there’s the prime Manhattan realtor who insists on fresh lilies every week, regardless of the season. Or the plastic surgeon who thought I could actually get corn on the cob in December. Or the actor who likes me to find him young blondes to whet his appetite after he finishes his Broadway show each night. And I do mean barely legal blondes.
Don’t think that just because I’m giving you these intimate details into other people’s lives, that their secrets aren’t safe with me. I’m known for my professionalism and anonymity, which is why you’ll never – and I mean, never – find out the names of the people I just spoke about. If you did, then I wouldn’t be the ultimate in indulgences and cleaning up messes.
These examples aren’t even the worst of the bunch. I could spend hours telling you scary, funny, dirty and beyond unbelievable stories. Maya loves it when we have “storytime.” Before she started working for me part time, we used to sit in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine every Sunday night, and I would entertain her. Now, we entertain each other with tales of sex, drugs and insanity.
By the second day of living together at NYU, Maya and I became inseparable. She is the yin to my yang in every sense. With her dark, brown hair and green eyes, she is the epitome of the girl next door. But don’t let the sweet face fool you. Maya is fierce, loyal, and has quite a dirty side.
Maya is outspoken and extremely social, which is why she tried her hand at acting. She got a few random commercials, but never caught a big break. When her roommate after college moved out, she decided it was time to look for alternate ways to supplement her modest income, so she came to work for me on the side. She handles my less high-maintenance and lower-profile clients. Thanks to her, I’ve been able to take on a few more clients, which is perfect since I send money home to my mom now that my dad has passed on. I felt compelled to take care of her since she can’t work anymore because of a bad back.
And all that brings me here standing in Grant Morgan’s multi-million dollar apartment in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. What I wouldn’t give to live in that place. It is palatial in terms of what an apartment generally looks like in New York City. At roughly four thousand square feet, it has four bedrooms, including a master bedroom, five bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, and a wrap around deck. The views of the Manhattan skyline are to die for and can be seen from almost every room courtesy of the floor to ceiling windows.
As is customary on my first day on the job, I might have snooped a little to find out a bit more about our Mr. Morgan. It’s all in the name of providing superb service of course.
I’ve learned that he likes to wear Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I imagined they were nice and tight on his gorgeous tush. Don’t judge… One of my tasks is doing his laundry. It was necessary and legitimate research.
I also found his bulk package of condoms – size extra-large. I’m trying not to think about that one. Must stay professional.
And I’ve learned that his apartment might be immaculate, but his bedroom seems to be where he spends the most time and thus has the most mess in it.
There aren’t many personal items in the house. I did find one picture of two young boys and a young girl on a beach. Other than that… nothing. The place is sterile. Beautiful, yet void of any personality. I hope that isn’t a reflection of the man.
After finishing my note, I did a final sweep through the apartment, admiring the beauty of it before heading down to the street to catch a cab. For as much as I’d have loved to stay and admire the scenery a little longer, a lady’s work is never done.
Chapter Two
The White Rabbit
Dropping my bags on the floor, I flopped back on my couch unceremoniously and closed my eyes. This afternoon was a doozy. After I left Grant Morgan’s apartment, I headed over to Mr. Rosencrest’s house. I needed to bring his aging father’s seemingly vintage car to get a tune-up. Carrying the grocery bags for delivery to my next client, I loaded up the car and got in, adjusting the seat. I turned the key, and nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.
After pounding my head against the steering wheel a few times, I sucked it up and called a tow truck. Seeing as how we live in New York City, of course the wait was outrageous. Without any other choice, I waited. And waited. And then waited some more.
While waiting, one of my higher maintenance clients decided she needed ten new pairs of silk thigh-highs, pronto. She didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to hear about how I was stranded with another client’s car. All she wanted was her new stockings.
Such is the day in the life of me.
After waiting for a tow truck for almost three hours and running around to three different stores to find the right silk stockings, I couldn’t wait to get home and prop my feet up on the table and down a glass of wine.
“Knock, knock,” Maya shouted from the doorway to my apartment.
“Hey,” I called back as I watched her walk through the room.
My apartment is cozy. It is by no means large and spacious. It does, however, have a fireplace, which is an amenity you didn’t usually find in the city. There are lots of eastern facing windows, which means lots of early sunshine to get me going in the morning. I had the place decorated with warm, rich tones. Family photos and knickknacks were scattered throughout the space, while the walls are covered with paintings that I picked up at a steal from an artist friend of mine.
My white couch faces the fireplace and overflows with accent pillows that are soft and feel luxurious. I figured if I didn’t have the money for fancy furniture, I could at least accessorize with more expensive pieces. Hence, the extremely expensive Egyptian cotton sheets on my bed.
Perpendicular to the couch is a plush white chair. Its back draped with an Indian scarf that Collette bought me when she was in the Middle East. In between the couch and the fireplace is a dark-stained, square teak coffee table that I found at a flea market. It is sturdy and looked gorgeous. It is one of my favorite pieces in the room.
On the left side of the fireplace is the doorway to my bedroom. The living room opens up to the kitchen, just big enough for a small table. Off to the side of the kitchen is the door to the bathroom, complete with a claw foot tub.
“Get your lazy ass up. We’re going out tonight,” Maya informed me with a kick to my foot.
“You couldn’t get me off this couch if you paid me,” I grumbled in response. She had to be smoking crack if she wanted me to move. I could sleep for days with how exhausted I felt.
Maya gave me an exasperated look and said, “I don’t care if I have to drag you by your hair. We haven’t been out in forever and I talked to Tina earlier. We have VIP tickets for the White Rabbit. You can’t turn that down. Besides, we haven’t seen them in a while and are due to catch up. It will be fun. Which I know is something you have forgotten how to have, but I swear to God, tonight. You. Will. Have. Fun.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Maya was as tenacious as a pit bull if she really wanted something. Arguing with her wasn’t going to do me any good. I knew this, but still I wanted to throw a temper tantrum like a little girl. Why couldn’t I just stay in? Why did I have to do something just because she wanted me to? Granted, it had been a long time since I actually got dressed up and went out.
“Remember that cute outfit we bought a few months back? The teal-colored one? You were just complaining you haven’t had a chance to wear it. Tonight is that chance.”
“Fine. But next time I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to hear shit from you. Not one single word,” I threatened even though I knew that was never going to happen.
“Yay!” She squealed and jumped up to run into my room. “Get in the shower, pronto. I’ll lay out your wardrobe.”
Pulling myself together, I stalked off to the bathroom and prepared for a night out filled with booze, dancing and great friends. A small smile played on my lips. Tired or not, I knew it was going to be amazing.
* * *
Entering the club, the bass pounded, vibrating through me, straight down to my toes. I felt my body moving of its own accord to the beat of the music. Going out tonight was a good idea. I’m glad that Maya talked me into it. I really needed the release after working so hard this week.
The White Rabbit is the premier club in that part of Manhattan. Luckily, I knew the wife of the owner, Nik. Otherwise, we probably would have been stuck in line with hundreds of other people looking to have a good time.
I walked into the main room of the club, where booths ran along the sides of the room. The retro black and white tiled dance floor sat four or five steps below the bar. Bodies writhed against each other in perfect unison, beckoning you to join them in their debauchery, as the deejay spun old school hip-hop beats.
We greeted Asian Alice controlling the entrance to the VIP area and made a beeline to the bar for a Cosmo. The thing about the White Rabbit that made it so unique, and in demand was the fact that it played up the Alice in Wonderland theme – from the whimsical, swirling paint lining the walls and the framed pieces of artwork to the big bronzed Cheshire Cat statue by the bar. The waitresses even wore short light blue and white pinafore dresses with puffy sleeves, thigh-high white lace stockings with garters and white Mary Jane shoes with four-inch heels. Their look was capped off with long, blonde wigs with a light blue bow. It was quirky and very adult Disney.
Taking a sip of my drink, Maya and I joined Nik’s wife Tina, and her friends Nat, Mimi and Lola at their table.
Tina owns Safira Boutique across the street. I met her when I was shopping for one of my clients. Her merchandise is top of the line, and a must have for many in the city. The girls all work for her at the boutique. Nat is married to the head security guy, Ghost. Nik and Ghost, along with their other friends are so damn hot they could make you melt with just a look. I swear it should be illegal for that many hot guys to be friends. They threaten a girl’s sanity whenever they are together.
“Oh my God! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you!” I hugged the girls, trying to think back to how long it had been since we’d all hung out.
Tina rubbed her swollen belly when she sat back down, taking me by surprise. I had no idea she was pregnant.
“This is yours and Nik’s first child, right?” I asked while sipping my Cosmo.
“Oh sweetie, they aren’t mine.” Smiling, she reached over to pat my hand.
Mimi and Lola couldn’t quite hide their chuckles while Nat looked at Tina like she hung the moon. And stars. And everything in between.
I met Maya’s gaze and lifted my eyebrow. Not hers? What? I think I missed a step somewhere.
“Not yours?” I asked, bemused.
Nat surprised me when she lifted a hand to hold Tina’s belly. So much love and affection was written on her face. She glanced over to me and explained, “I can’t have kids. Tina already has two little princesses. And these little peanuts are mine.” Tina coughed. Nat rolled her eyes. “Well, mine and Asher’s of course.” She looked over at me and winked. “But they’re gonna be like their mama. If they’re like their daddy, I’ve got problems.”
“That is so wonderful! So, you and Nik have little girls. And Nat and Ghost are having twins! I feel like I’ve missed everything!”
Lola smiled sweetly. “I know, right? These guys don’t mess around. Tina’s vagina is a freakin’ clown car!”
Mimi bit her lip to hold in her laughter. Turning to take in Tina’s miffed expression, she lost her battle and howled with laughter. Lola, looking a little embarrassed, tried to soothe a sulky Tina. “I’m sure it’s a nice clown car! Nik can’t seem to get enough of your clown car. It’s a golden clown car!”
Nat bunched up her face. “Ewww.”
Mimi laughed harder.
Tina glared at Lola. “Would you stop calling my lady bits a clown car? It’s bad enough I look like a whale right now.”
Nat wrapped an arm around Tina and pulled her close, resting her head on Tina’s shoulder. “You’re the most beautiful whale I’ve ever seen.”
And although Tina tried to look upset, she scowled with a radiant smile in place. She really did look gorgeous. Pregnancy was good to her.
“I happen to like clown cars,” I chimed in hoping to make Tina feel better. Maya spit out her drink, while the rest of the girls choked on their laughter.
“What?” I asked, not sure what was so damn funny.
Tina squeezed my knee and threw me a serious expression. “You just said you like my vagina, honey.” It was my turn to choke on my drink. Did I really just say that?
Tina chuckled, “Not that I’m complaining. It’s nice to know someone who isn’t Nik appreciates my lady bits.”
“Well, maybe I do like a little muff every now and then,” I huffed indignantly. My face started to burn with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I had just said that.
Nat scoffed, “Oh, please. You are as straight-laced as they come, woman. You need to let down your hair and stir up the vanilla. You don’t have to go from vanilla to chocolate right away. You can just add some chocolate chips here and there.” Her face turned dreamy. “You wouldn’t believe the pleasure in chocolate chip.”
Mimi cocked a brow my way. “Vanilla’s lame.”
Lola grinned, “Totally lame. You need your ass spanked, babe. Be a bad girl. They love it.” She winked. “You’ll love it too. I swear.”
Tina sipped her drink. Looking down into her glass with a furrowed brow, she mumbled, “I like vanilla.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with vanilla sex. Christian Grey even said so,” I defended the fact that everyone seemed to think I was such a prude. I might not talk about my sexual exploits, but they were fulfilling enough. I had an orgasm… most of the time. Whatever.
“Who is that hottie talking to your husband?” Maya asked Tina, her gaze fixated over my shoulder.
Curious, I turned and locked eyes with the most delectable, dark haired man that I had ever seen. I never would have thought it possible, but the pictures had done him no justice whatsoever. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high, his eyes piercing, his hair short on the sides, but longer and wavy on top, and his suit should have looked out of place, but on him it was anything but.
“Oh, that’s Grant Morgan. He’s Nik’s lawyer.”
I vaguely registered the girls talking behind me about the man holding my gaze. A shiver worked up my spine the longer he stared. I felt as if he was stripping me with just his eyes. I felt bared to him and at his mercy. My thighs started to tremble, and my palms were sweating. The effect he was having on me was out of this world. I’d never felt this way before, especially about someone I didn’t even know. He made me feel aware of every single thing about myself.
“Earth to Elizabeth! Come in Elizabeth!” Maya chided from her seat across from me.
“What?” I asked distractedly, not wanting to break my gaze from the man who was slowly beginning to own me. How could he possibly be having a conversation with Nik right now, while all my systems were shutting down?
“Seriously! You are practically drooling over him! And he’s staring right at you! You should go talk to him!”
“No.” I shook my head and turned to face Maya, breaking the spell he was weaving over me. “He’s a client. Besides, I’ve heard the stories. He rarely goes back for seconds. I’m not in the market to become a notch on his fancy bedpost.”
I downed my drink and signaled the waitress for another. I was definitely going to need alcohol to forget about all the thoughts that seeing Grant was putting in my head.
“You’re too rigid, girl. You need to loosen up a little,” Mimi said, backing up Maya’s typical diatribe.
“See! I’m not the only one who thinks so,” Maya joined in, making me roll my eyes. I was so over this conversation. Seemed a subject change was in order.
“So, Nat, did you guys pick out names yet?”
Nat leaned back with a sigh. “We haven’t. We’re stuck. Ash seems to think we’re going to have two boys. I’m pretty damn sure it’s going to be two girls, what with my family having all girls. We can’t decide. Not until we find out the babies’ genders.” She smirked, “But I’ve got some pretty good names in my head. And in my head is where they’ll stay until they’re born.”
Mimi piped up, “It’s a boy and a girl.”
Everyone turned to look at her, stunned by the determination in her voice.
Suddenly looking uncomfortable, Mimi added with a shrug. “Just a feeling. Whatever.”
While the girls chatted away, Tina leaned closer to me and whispered, “I know it’s none of my business, but I just wanted to let you know that Grant is a really good guy.” The look of disbelief clear on my face, she added with a grin, “When you get to know him, that is.”
Remembering the way he looked at me had my body flushing with arousal. There was a magnetism about him that couldn’t be denied, but he was dangerous with a capital D. Even if I didn’t have my rule about getting involved with people I work for, there was no way I could pursue anything with Grant. I had a deep sense of foreboding that he would be my downfall. I couldn’t chance the structure I’ve worked so hard to create for my life crumbling at my feet.
A while later, a tap on my shoulder made me turn, and I was greeted by the sight of my friend with benefits, Matt.
“Hey, pretty girl!” He shouted over the music and pulled me out of my chair, so he could engulf me in a tight hug.
“Hey, you!” I replied back and kissed his cheek. It was always awkward when we were together in public. I mean, are friends with benefits supposed to hold hands and engage in PDA? The whole thing was a definite gray area. And I didn’t do well with gray areas. I preferred life to be defined.
Matt set me down on my feet and signaled the waitress for a beer. He turned back to me, and his eyes journeyed down my body, flaring in a familiar way that showed me he liked what he saw. Even I had to admit I looked pretty hot in this outfit. My leather pants cupped my ass perfectly. The teal shirt had a black lace overlay and was fitted across my chest and torso. It had barely there black sleeves and the V-shaped neckline cut down low and accentuated my cleavage. I had on the most amazing pair of platform teal and black four-inch heels that made my legs look extra long. My wrist was covered in black beaded bracelets, and my ears had black dangling earrings hanging from them. My long, blonde hair was styled in soft waves down my back with the sides pinned loosely back, and small pieces framing my face. And my makeup was done up in what I liked to call, “Drama.”
“I didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” I said as we waited for his drink.
“Maya called me before you guys left,” he gestured towards Maya with his chin. “I figured it would be fun. This place is crazy slammed tonight. I can’t believe how many people are here.”
His eyes wandered over the bar, and I noticed several girls staring in his direction, licking their lips and panting like cats in heat. I didn’t blame them. At just under six feet, Matt could be a model with his tousled brown hair and green eyes. His body was fit and lean from his active lifestyle. But a sure sign that things with Matt and me would never progress was the fact that I wasn’t jealous in the slightest from all the attention he got. I had no claim to him, and he had none to me.
Once he had his beer, he sucked back a healthy amount before pointing towards the dance floor. “You want to dance?”
I nodded and let him lead me by the hand out to the floor. Whenever we were out together, we always danced for hours. Matt could definitely move.
Arms in the air, hips swaying, I lost myself in the sounds of 112’s, “Peaches and Cream.” Matt moved up behind me, pulling me back against his hard chest, grinding his hips into mine. His hands glided teasingly down my arms and sides, causing a slow burn in my belly. His hand moved my hair over my shoulder so his lips could skim along the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
Feeling like I was being watched, my eyes opened and looked directly into the blazing, heated gaze of Grant Morgan. I had made myself forget that he was there, but apparently he hadn’t forgotten I was. He sat forward in his booth, one arm propped on his leg – watching me. He was the master of his domain and of his body. You could tell he was at ease with himself and knew how to command his body. He had a powerful aura now that I was closer to him. And if I wasn’t mistaken, his jaw seemed to tick when Matt ran his hands intimately down my thighs as he danced behind me.
The dance floor was packed with bodies gyrating together. I could feel all my movements being tracked by Grant through the crowd. I could see the movement of his eyes on my hips as I dipped low. Whenever my hands would run up my torso and over my breasts, he would lick his lips. If Matt touched me intimately, Grant’s hands would tighten into fists.
At one point, I even caught him subtly adjusting himself. When he did that, I closed my eyes, overcome with a wave of need. I ran my hands over my breasts and down my torso, further stimulating myself. I could imagine my hands down his pants, feeling his hardness beneath my palm as I squeezed it and made him hiss with pleasure. And when my hands skirted further down my body, I imagined they were his, seeking to give me the same pleasure that I was giving him.
When I opened my eyes, the hunger I saw in his made my desire increase exponentially. I was so hot I felt like I would combust at any second. He was looking at me like I was his next meal, and I desperately wanted to find a platter to serve myself to him on.
From that moment forward, I danced for Grant. It was beyond my control. My imagination went wild with thoughts of him behind me, moving me sensually against him. Matt or not, I only wanted Grant to watch me. Only wanted him to touch me. Only wanted him to want me. It was dangerous. It was reckless. It was everything I wasn’t.
Grant watched me the whole time. Even when waitresses brought him what looked like whiskey or scotch, and even when Nik came back to talk with him. It was a rare occasion for me to look his way and not see his eyes on me. His heated look made my skin tingle, and my panties grow wet with desire. I might as well have been naked, for the way his eyes stripped me bare.
And that was how I spent the rest of the night. Seductively beckoning Grant to join me. Secretly wishing he would answer my unspoken call. When a man I didn’t know came up and pulled him away, I watched him leave the club and felt an odd sense of loss blanket me. What was happening to me?