CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
STERLING
I thought I never fit in the city, but Rorke sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s taller than most everyone on the street. Women are drooling whenever he walks by. He’s had at least three women pass him their numbers. And God forbid, should he talk. His sweet southern accent leaves them panting like dogs in heat. Does he get this reaction in Fall Springs?
Come to think of it, my book club peeps seem to think he’s hot, and he did have a damn fan club in the stands at the charity baseball game. Apparently, he’s as big a hit in the city. Are the women of New York that in need of new men? Not to mention, Rorke is completely old-school charming. When he opened the door for this one woman, I thought she was going to ask him to father her children.
They aren’t subtle, but at least they don’t catcall like some asshole men do. Seriously, what is the purpose of the catcall? Do they really think women are going to respond to that? I guess some women might be flattered by such attention, but not me. The only thing a catcall accomplishes with me is making me feel unsafe and increasing my displeasure with the male species.
I spend the morning showing him some of the sights you’d go see on your first trip to The Big Apple—Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, and Central Park. There’s still a ton more to see and do, but it’s time for me to work. He looks up at the street sign then down to the open map feature on his phone. The city can be overwhelming; it’s so huge. But after a little while, you learn the neighborhoods. They each have a distinct personality.
New York City is set up on a grid. Avenues run south to north and streets run east to west. It can be confusing at first, especially because there are exceptions to the rule. And you know men and directions—although I’m sure Rorke would have no problem getting some sexy woman to help him, not that he’d ask. I could easily get him a guide, or have my security team drive him around, but when I started to suggest it, Rorke immediately shut me down.
“You got it?” I ask.
“Think so. If I hit water, I’m in trouble,” he says, laughing.
We stop out front of the office building that houses my company. Security is just a few feet from us. They have been all morning, giving me more space than usual, per my request. I’m safe with Rorke, and I know he needs to get used to this. I hand him a spare key to my apartment just in case then kiss him on the cheek. He looks up at the tall, sleek glass building. “So this is your company?”
“Just the fifth floor.”
“Take me up,” he says. “Show me the empire.”
I hadn’t planned on that, but figure, why not? The women in the office are going to have a field day with this. No one knows I’m engaged. It’s not a secret, but I’m just not close with my employees. Don’t get me wrong, I think I provide a great work environment. We have lots of fun, but my private life is private. I tell security I’m in the office for the afternoon and will text when I’m ready to leave for the day. The office building has its own security, so there’s no point in them sticking around. Then Rorke and I head inside to the elevators.
The ride up seems quicker than usual. The elevator door opens to the fifth floor, and I release his hand. I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t matter because he takes it right back. The glass doors to my offices are open, and a sculpture of the company logo greets us.
Paramour.
I watch Rorke step inside, quietly, cautiously, like he’s approaching a new lover for the first time. His hand caresses the side of the sculpture. “This is you,” he whispers.
It shouldn’t surprise me that he’d know the curves of my body, but it does, a beautifully sweet representation of how well he knows me. “That’s a secret,” I say.
“Good morning, Ms. Jamison,” the receptionist says. “It’s good to have you back.”
I give her a small smile, but her eyes are all over Rorke, so I don’t respond. Taking a back hallway that leads straight to my office, I sneak us inside, avoiding the gossip for a moment. I’m not dressed for work and need to change. I learned quickly to always have extra clothes at the office. You never know when something might come up. I didn’t want to walk around the city in business clothes, but I need to change before my lawyer shows up.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone,” I say, disappearing into my private bathroom.
*
RORKE
I wonder if it was this weird for her when she walked into school and saw me teaching. Probably not. Her office looks like a small apartment, complete with a sofa and table. She has a wonderful view of the city streets. And her desk is as big as a bed. The fact that I’m thinking about fucking her on top of it is the only normal part of this.
She steps out of the bathroom. Gone are her cute dress and sandals, her brown hair loose and flowing. Now, she’s in a skirt, blouse, and blazer, her hair slicked back in a tight bun. Even her green eyes don’t look the same.
This isn’t my Sterling.
Normally, she looks so approachable, so friendly, so fuckable. But not this woman. This looks like a woman who’d eat you as a snack. It’s really throwing me.
“Ready?” she asks, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. I nod, and she steps to me, her hands roaming my chest and shoulders. “Try not to be so charming and sexy. You’ll distract my employees. And I need them to work.”
And just like that, my Sterling is back. Placing my hand at the small of her back, we step out of her office. I’m not sure how many people she has working for her, but they all seem to be loitering in this one spot. No doubt the receptionist gave them a heads-up about my presence.
But one look from Sterling, and they scatter like roaches. She glances up at me. “They’ve never seen me with anyone before. You’re big news.”
“Does that make me your new toy?” I ask.
Giggling, she walks towards her assistant, who stands. “Can I get you anything? Or anything for your guest?”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Miles, this is Rorke,” Sterling says. Then she leans down and whispers, “My fiancé. Spread the word.”
Smiling, she takes my hand. “This office is mostly research, marketing, development. The manufacturing plant is over in Jersey.”
“No testing rooms?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She laughs out loud. “Hoping for rooms with two way mirrors to observe?”
“Did my research last night,” I say, seeing her cheeks turn pink.
Playfully, she elbows me, popping her head into an office to say hello and introduce me. I’m kind of surprised how many men she has working for her. But if I had to guess, I’d think most people in this industry are men. Wonder how that feels for Sterling? I work in a field comprised mostly of women. I guess in that way we have similar occupations, both surrounded by the opposite sex, but that might be the only thing our jobs have in common.
She leads me into an empty conference room to show me the latest European marketing campaigns. “We actually don’t do much in the way of direct advertising.”
“So how’d you get so successful?”
“A great product,” she says. “And luck. We’ve gotten great endorsements. Magazines run an article, we send them a device to try, and they rave about it. And just recently, we’ve gotten endorsements from some leading physicians in women’s health. That’s what sells.”
She points to a framed magazine article on the wall called The Science of Sex Toys, where her vibrator was featured. The article explores how the sex toy industry piggybacked on the technology age and surprised everyone by becoming a billion-dollar industry. What once was a business shadowed in the underground has grown into a high-tech business comparable to those in Silicon Valley, complete with apps and USB chargers. Mechanical satisfaction is big business.
“We have a whole team that works on the science behind the toy,” Sterling says. “Part of what I wanted to create was something that can be customized to the woman. Women are very different. What works for one, doesn’t work for another. It’s important for her to be in control. That’s why I chose the name Woman on Top.”
Suddenly, music starts to play through the entire office. James Brown, “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World.” I hear voices singing. “What’s happening?”
Sterling looks up at me and giggles. “Afternoon pick me up,” she says. “You know how you start to lag in the afternoon? So everyday around this time, a song plays. It’s our little break time.”
How could I not love this woman? “So instead of coffee breaks, you have little karaoke breaks?”
“What were you expecting? Masturbation break time?”
I pull her hips to mine. “Judging by last night, that would be too quick.”
“Ms. Jamison,” Miles says, barging into the conference room.
Sterling quickly pulls back. “Yes, Miles?”
He glances at me, and I can’t tell if he’s apologizing or happy he interrupted. “I was wondering if you’ve given any more thought to guest lecturing. I’ve gotten several more phone calls with requests.”
If there was a brick wall to ram her head against, it looks like Sterling would. “Miles, I told you I’m not interested.”
“But they keep calling,” he says.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“The Ivy League,” Miles says, grinning.
“It’s nothing,” Sterling says, giving him the side-eye, but I can tell she has a soft spot for him.
Miles steps closer. “Colleges all over keep asking Ms. Jamison to come guest lecture in their women’s studies departments. We’re up to ten schools asking now. And that’s only counting the upper crust.”
Turning to Sterling, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m not doing it,” she says.
“She’d be great. Don’t you think?” Miles says.
I hate to agree with this little suck-up, but he has a point. “You should think about it,” I say.
“You’re the teacher in this relationship,” Sterling says.
“You’re a teacher?” Miles asks. “Where do you teach? Harvard, Yale?”
“High school,” I say, without looking at him.
“Oh, which subject?”
Sterling exhales, taking my hand. “Thank you, Miles.”
“Tell me you’ll at least think about it,” I say. “You’d be fantastic.”
She nods as we walk down the hallway, but I don’t quite believe her. She likes to keep a low profile, and this would force her center stage. Still, she deserves to be recognized. But I know she needs to come to that decision on her own.
“What do you think of the place?” she asks, closing us in her office after giving me the grand tour. “Is it what you expected?”
“Not sure what I expected. But it seems like a good group of people.”
“They are.”
“Everyone except that Miles dude. He’s a little ass kisser.”
She busts out laughing. “He is not. He’s my assistant. He’s supposed to help me.”
Placing both my hands on her ass, I pull her into me. “Maybe you like having your ass kissed?” I lean in closer. “Is that what you like?”
“Rorke,” she whispers in the saddest excuse for a protest I’ve ever heard.
Reaching past her, I turn the lock on her door then go check the other door, making sure it’s secure. When I turn back to her, she’s slipped off her blazer. That’s all the go ahead I need.
Her green eyes hypnotize me. They can break a man’s will and make his dick hard all at the same time.
And I’m happy to be under her spell. Reaching out my hand to her, she slips hers into mine with no hesitation. I pull her to me, then turn her around, letting my fingers roam up the outside of her thighs, inching the fabric of her skirt up as I go.
Her neck rolls a little, granting me access to the spot that makes her quiver. Tracing a path down her spine with my finger, her body rolls, pushing her ass into me.
The smallest bit of ass cheek sticks out from her slightly lifted skirt. I really hate that she wears panties. A man’s underwear serves a purpose, helps to hold his balls in place. But what is the purpose of women’s underwear? I can understand it during that time of the month, but other than that, they should be banned. They just get in the way.
Forcing her skirt all the way up, I slip my hand under the sides of her black panties, forcing them to her ankles. I kneel, helping her step out of her heels and panties. Softly, I kiss the outside of her thigh, working my way up to her perfect ass.
Her body jerks in surprise, but her moan lets me know it’s a good one. Coiling one arm around her, I pull her tighter, nibbling, sucking, and kissing the soft skin of her ass. A warm blush falls over her whole body. Feeling her legs wobble, I move to the sofa in her office, motioning with my finger for her to come to me. She starts to straddle me, but I stop her.
“Over my knee.” Her eyes widen, but she slowly crawls over me.
She looks over her shoulder at me. I take her hips, hiking her ass in the air a little and run my hands across her naked flesh. God, she looks so fucking hot. This time, when I lean over to kiss the soft skin of her ass, I let my fingers roam between her legs. She’s warm and wet and so ready to come.
“Oh, God,” she moans. “Please fuck me.”
Those might be the three greatest words in the English language. In one motion, I lift her hips, angling myself behind her—one foot on the floor, the other bent on the sofa—unzip and bury myself inside her.
For a second, her body relaxes, her desperation for my cock fulfilled, but as soon as I move, her starvation comes roaring back, meeting me thrust for thrust. “That’s it, baby, take it all.”
There’s nothing like watching your dick slip in and out of a woman, her glistening over you, her ass pounding against you. “I’m gonna come,” she pants out over and over again, almost like she’s willing it to happen. The power of positive suggestion at its finest.
That’s the thing about a woman’s orgasm, her head’s got to be in the game. A man, not so much. We could come while reading the dictionary, but women are different. I think that’s why dirty talk helps so much, keeps them focused on the task at hand—their pussy. Men can stay pretty focused on their dicks, but that’s not the case for women. I’d bet most women could go days without giving their pussies a single thought. Horrifying, but true. So it’s our job to give women – and their pussies all the attention they deserve.
“I want to hear all of it. Don’t hold back,” I grunt.
Just as she starts to come, I slip my finger to her sweet spot, and her muscles tighten, pulling my orgasm from me. I’m still panting when she glances at me over her shoulder, teasing, “Who knew I liked having my ass kissed so much?”
*
Sterling’s been busy with work all afternoon, so I’ve been on my own. She thinks I’m off doing tourist things, but really, I’ve been looking at some schools. It’s summer, but I managed to snag a couple meetings. She doesn’t know about those, either. I don’t want to get her hopes up. Truth is, it doesn’t look good. Two principals agreed to meet with me, and neither had any openings, but said they’d keep my resume on file. That’s the kiss of death.
And if I’m being honest, I don’t see us living here. It’s not me. Hell, it’s not her. Her whole demeanor changed as soon as we stepped off that plane. She’s sad here. I can feel it. Even those button-up clothes say it. She’s free back at home, free to be who she is. Here, she’s created a life where no one except the doorman knows her. I know she’s done it to protect herself from criticism and judgment, but that’s no way to live.
Making my way back up to her offices, I see the doors are closed this time. It’s late, so I guess everyone has gone home for the night. But the doors are unlocked. I make my way through the back hallway. I don’t know another way, so rather than meander through her offices, I go the way Sterling showed me this morning.
I don’t make it far before hearing voices. The door is open, a man’s hand holding the side like he was about to exit, but turned back. I can’t see Sterling, but I can hear her voice. Turning to go wait in the lobby, I hear my name. It’s wrong to listen. And if it were business, I’d give her privacy. But since, I’m the topic of conversation, I stay put.
“He’s a teacher, for God’s sake,” the man says. “The only thing worse would be if he was a wannabe actor. Don’t be naive.”
“Rorke loves me,” Sterling says firmly.
“I’m not saying he doesn’t. In fact, I’m sure he does,” the man says, shifting his weight. “But what about in five or ten years? All I’m saying is, if you divorce, you need to be protected. I’ve seen people who once loved each other, do terrible things to hurt one another. Once he grows accustomed to the money, he may not want to live without it.”
“Money hasn’t changed me. And it won’t change him.”
“Then he won’t have a problem signing a prenup.”
There’s a minute of silence, and I’m not sure if they’re still talking, or I just can’t hear.
This asshole must be her lawyer. He breaks the silence. “I’ll draft a prenup and send it over in the morning.”
She doesn’t object.
I’ve heard enough, and turn and walk away.