Pulling him up by his arms, with a superhuman strength I didn’t know I possessed, I urged him to crawl up my body until his knees cradled my neck. His long, gorgeous shaft was poised at my lips. A bead of pre-come already leaking from the tip. I licked the tip of him, relishing the way his body quivered in response, before I swallowed him whole. I surprised myself by this feat—that I could take him down with ease. For once, my body and mind seemed to have one goal in mind.
He tasted just as I’d remembered—slightly bitter, a little tangy, and 100% male—like a decadent piece of chocolate from a specialty shop in a foreign city you can’t pronounce. It was truly one of a kind. Joel held the headboard and eased in and out of my mouth, all the while groaning and writhing like he couldn’t get enough.
I knew the feeling.
Just watching him restored the blaze that swept through my veins at the mere sight of him.
“No,” he shouted, escaping my mouth with a resounding pop of my lips. “I have to come in that snug cunt of yours. The next time you orgasm I want that pussy clutching me for all it’s worth.”
He rolled off of me, and before I could make out the large appendage that seemed to cast its own shadow in the filtered light, he was pulling me astride him—my back to his chest. I watched as he broke the foil wrapper open, sheathing his erection with a condom. Two bruising hands clasped my hips. I rested my palms on his thick thighs, admiring the raised veins like tree roots breaking soil. The hairs of his chest tickled that sensitive spot bridging my shoulder blades. His lips were at my ear, each breath warm and heavy against the shell of my ear.
“God you’re better than I remembered. How can you give this up? Give us up? Fuck, Blaire. You know what? It doesn’t matter because right now I own you. And I’m going to spend the next thirty minutes proving it to you.”
I wasn’t sure we were still talking about what was happening in that very moment, in that hotel, in that room. Was he talking about owning my body, or did he want something more? It didn’t matter; I put it all aside and did precisely as he asked, no commanded.
I rode him, hard and fast, without pause, without letting up. Joel’s chest was pressed against my back so close I felt his heart compete with the drumming of mine. He pinched my nipple and flicked my clit, and I climaxed, screaming his name until my voice was hoarse. He grew thicker and fit tighter inside my body, and when he erupted, I felt my body instinctually pull him in deeper, holding him into the recesses of me. With every jet that shot into me, his hands found new places to touch, to hold, while he rocked himself until we both sank back into the mountain of disarrayed pillows, spent.
Did I say anything to him before I left? I wasn’t sure. I answered Kerri’s questioning look, telling her I went inside to get a drink so I wouldn’t have to wait in the heat. All the while I lied, I brushed my hair and fidgeted with my sarong placement. It wasn’t an outright lie. I did go inside.
Chapter Six
After a day from hell, all I wanted to do was return home and find solace in a bottle of wine and some mindless TV. Anything to help me forget about the worst parts of my job and, more specifically, the assholes I worked with. Well one asshole in particular, but who’s counting? Kerri warned me that morning that Fitz came in with a chip on his shoulder, but as it turned out, it was more like a boulder. Sarah said Henderson had been riding Fitz’s ass especially hard over the Lara Farrows case. The only gratification I got from the whole situation was the fact that at least Lara seemed to be a problem in everyone’s life and not just mine.
As much as I wanted to distance myself from the case, I started looking into the validity of Lara’s claims. If Henderson was going to ask for millions from Joel without solid proof that he, in fact, was the one to leave her battered, chances were they would lose in court. But if there were even a shred of evidence to suggest otherwise, then they would have to lower the settlement amount to get Joel to consider it worthwhile to settle. Although, he seemed a bit stubborn and this was domestic violence we were accusing him of. Some men would fight the claim just on principal—something I could easily see Joel doing.
I pulled into my garage, entering my house through the back door when I heard my doorbell. That was weird, considering I’d just pulled up and didn’t notice anyone near my driveway or parked outside my house. My body felt heavy as I lugged myself back to the front of the house to answer the door. I was in no mood for solicitors, so if it even looked like someone who was selling something or telling me to find Jesus, there was going to be hell to pay.
The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard through the door, but I didn’t stop to look through the peephole. Instead, I swung the door open with enough gusto that the blinds ruffled from the wind I’d created. Four men stood on my stoop in matching candy-striper vests, white button-down shirts, and black slacks. I didn’t have time to question who they were or what they were doing before the one in front—a stout man with a receding hairline and dimpled cheeks—started counting off.
“1, 2, 3.”
He waved his hand in a flourish and their voices harmonized before breaking into a jaunty tune.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
He hopes you will say yes.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
Oh, won’t you be his guest.
You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire
And he hopes you won’t say noooooo.
He swears that it’s just lunch, Blaire
Oh please, oh please just gooooo.
They ended with a jubilant waving of arms and smiles that were infectious in their enthusiasm. Whoever said smiles weren’t contagious had never had a singing telegram.
I stood inside my door dumbfounded by what I was seeing. Was I supposed to clap? I’d never been stumped at the proper etiquette of singing telegrams because I didn’t even know they still did singing telegrams. I smiled as three of the men stepped back and the stout man stepped forward.
“Thank you. I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like…this before.”
“You’d be surprised how many telegrams we do a week,” he said, pulling a paper from his pocket.
“Wow.”
“Please sign this as proof that we were here.” He handed over the paper before digging around in his pockets for something else.
“Oh, and I can’t forget this.”
I looked at the paper that he put forth and there, written in chicken scratch, was a scrap of paper I could have easily received while in grade school. Next to three large boxes were the words, “yes,” “no,” and “try harder.” I laughed as I looked over the words. Joel definitely had a way of brightening one’s day, I could say that much about him.
“It would seem a bit cruel to put ‘no,’ wouldn’t it?”
“Depends on what he’s apologizing for.”
“I take it most of these telegrams are for apologies?”
“That, and birthdays.”