She’s turned me upside down from that first night. I took her to this stuffy as fuck dinner at a colleague’s house. I knew his wife would have some conveniently single friend of hers there trying to set me up.
My personal assistant Marjorie listened to me bitching about the upcoming evening and told me about this agency, Cherry on Top, and I made the call and the rest is history.
I’ve been trying to figure out how to get this lush creature into my life permanently ever since but she’s a slow burn and has shut me down more than once.
This is professional, not personal, remember?
It’s fucking personal to me and pretty soon, I’ve figure out how to show you just how personal things are going to get.
The valet moves to open the passenger door, but I wave him off with a growl and do it myself. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, looking up at me, fingers entwined in mine.
She’s fucking takes my breath away every time I look at her. I might need to start pulling a oxygen tank with me if I’m not careful.
She slides her legs out of my Mercedes, her gold stilettos glinting, the slit in her red dress making my dick throb, the glimpse of her angel-white skin making my temples pound from my racing pulse. She rises from the back seat like a Hollywood starlet. Every move is smooth and elegant as she takes my hand properly, holding my arm close like we are walking down Fifth Avenue in New York, circa 1949, all high glamour and proper etiquette.
I inhale her scent. Her warmth and honey. And for one fucking second, I’m dizzy on it. High on her presence. Like I am every single time I’m near her.
“This is amazing,” she whispers. Pretty little lashes dust her cheeks. Natural, a bit of mascara but not encumbered by a set of huge falsies which would only detract from what God already gave her.
She’s always wide-eyed, inquisitive. She’s not so young as to be jailbait, but she’s got an innocence about her, a purity, that just makes me want to fucking…
I tighten my hand around hers as I see a few other swinging dicks looking her way. Her sweet little fingers slide comfortably between my thick, muscular ones. This is as close as I’ve gotten to since we started this. Never kissed her. Never tasted her. Never really touched her.
But that hasn’t stopped me fantasizing about it all the fucking time. I’ve practically worn my dick raw jerking off. Built up callouses on my palm from the endless beat-off sessions I have, thinking of all the ways I would violate her sweet, soft body.
I’ve even taken time off at work, which I never do, just to go home and attempt to put an end to the battering ram of an erection that has her name written all over it nearly 24/7.
I lead her inside the gala, trying to talk my cock down before security is called because this is supposed to be a family event. The big ballroom roars with laughter, people talking and enjoying themselves. On the far end of the room is a big bank of crates and a play area for the dogs and cats at the night’s adoption drive.
Her hand tightens. “Okay. Serious now. You promise you won’t let me go over there?” She looks up at me, and I get an image of how her eyes would look as she kneels at my feet. “My landlord doesn’t allow pets. But I won’t be able to stop myself if I get too close.”
I know the fucking feeling. “Maybe you need a new apartment…a new place to live.”
Like my house.
Because I’ve already been buying shit for her and if anyone knew, they’d think I was losing my mind. I even bought fucking three kinds of tampons, hundred-dollar bottles of shampoo and shit, not to mention the closetful of lingerie.
She bites her lip, looks up at me blinking. She shakes her head a little, admonishing me. “It’s called The Cherry on Top, Hale. Not Kept-Woman Incorporated.”
Fuck, I love her fire. She made it clear on our first date, there would be nothing but time purchased. We would be friendly, even friends if that came about, but nothing more. Hard line.
I raise my eyebrow to tell her just exactly how I’d like to keep her. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Her exotic Elizabeth Taylor looking eyes glimmer as she giggles, teasing me. She calls their color blavender, a mash up of blue and lavender and it’s perfect. She’s perfect.
She’s got this sweetness mixed in with her fury. Half Marilyn Monroe, half Frida Kahlo. All genuine Isabel. “You’re insatiable.”
“Fucking right. Have you seen yourself? And don’t bullshit me. You love it.”
She looks down at her shoes, embarrassed but beaming. “Yeah. I do love this dress. And I got the shoes thanks to you and your more than generous tip from our last date.”