Tycoon

  His hand slides up to grip a wad of my hair in his fist, and Aaric slants his head, exerting pressure with his mouth, forcing me to open my mouth for him. “Open, little bit,” he rasps commandingly.

  I do—because…I don’t know.

  Oh God, his tongue should be illegal! All of him should be illegal. He thrusts it into my mouth, kissing me—passion, sexual frustration, more.

  And what started out as an angry, punishing kiss soon starts becoming softer, his hands begin to explore me, he begins to really savor me, to caress the back of my head with his fingers.

  He lowers his head and grazes his teeth over my nipple, his hands kneading. I’m grabbing at him too, sort of out of control. I can’t think of anything except how much I want this—him—how much I ache all over. How good he smells, how the calluses in his hands feel against my skin, and how his thick lips feel as he moves his mouth over my nipple.

  He’s panting, his breath hitting my skin as we stare at each other.

  I take inventory of the situation and realize he weighs a ton, and that he’s hard against my tummy.

  His lips hover over mine, his forehead, his eyes, his entire face hovering over me before he leans down and takes my mouth. Softly at first, brushing his fingertips over my forehead as if I’ve got something he needs to brush back. But I don’t. I don’t think I do. Hell, I don’t care if I do. I grab his shoulders and massage a little.

  “Aaric,” I beg, lifting my mini dress so he can touch me.

  “You fucking tease,” he rasps, leaning to lick his tongue into my ear. I close my eyes as he dips it into my ear and I feel a warm shiver shoot down my spine.

  “You fucking tease,” he says, starting to undo my buttons, and I just don’t even know what to say but please undo my buttons, please make it stop, please give me take me do whatever you want but don’t stop touching me.

  “Do you like teasing me?” he says, opening my top, and when I nod and bite my lip nervously, he’s lowering his face, sucking my nipple as if in punishment.

  I groan and turn my head aside as he sucks me again, slipping his hand into my waistband and panties. “Do you like getting me hard?”

  I groan, feeling him rub my clit at the same time he grinds his erection against me.

  “You’re so much more trouble than you look.”

  I feel his hard bulge bite into my pelvis as he shifts, raising my legs to his sides. I raise my arms and curl them around his neck as he settles himself between my thighs, and before I know it he’s free of his slacks, pushing them down to his ankles, and he’s sheathed and he’s entering me, so huge I almost scream from the sensation of fullness, and then I just want more, more, more, and he’s giving me so much we’re both just bodies moving and straining to get closer.

  We’re groaning, kissing and groping, my back nearly breaking against the desk and my nails nearly drawing his blood on his back, and his hips relentlessly pummeling against mine as we kiss like our lives depend on it and like we have no control, like we’re animals and don’t care of the consequences, only want to fuck and taste, fuck and groan, fuck and bite down on each other’s tongue and then suck it and kiss while our breaths explode against one another’s face and our bodies strain to get closer and our hips madly hump and we’re humping like crazy and I’m crying out and he’s coming and we’re both coming and it’s coming over us like crazy and it’s here between us and even then we keep fucking as we come…even keep fucking a little slower as it starts easing—

  --what’s my name?

  --fuck, he weighs a ton

  --shit, but I’m not saying a peep about that because I still want his dick inside me for a little longer

  --God. BEST SEX EVER!

  --shit. What did I do?

  --um, this is going to be awkward.

  It’s actually not awkward yet because he pulls out, and he’s still hard, and he rolls me around, makes me wet again, and gives it to me again.

  There, folded over.

  We don’t talk, it would ruin it, but our bodies do the talking for us, his hands, his sucking mouth, his groans and my moans, the way we move, sort of like our bodies don’t agree with the words we sometimes tell each other, like being close is what we were born to do—how we instinctively crave to be.

  When he asks me to come, come harder for him, I come a second time, and it feels like I do come harder. Harder because he wanted me to.

  He’s breathing harshly in my ear moments later, and I’m fighting to breathe at all.

  I really think we needed that. It was a good way to work each other out of our systems. He stands and helps me up, and then he helps me rearrange my clothes.

  He looks at me and there’s intimacy there and heat. I look down.

  “That was actually the best sex I’ve ever had,” I breathe as he steps aside and heads over to his window.

  He drags a hand over his jaw, staring outside, his shoulders broad and square.

  “God, you’re an asshole.”

  I start to leave. He stops me, a hand on my elbow. “Come home with me tonight.”

  “What for?”

  “For more of that.”

  I exhale. “So you liked it too.”

  He looks at my mouth.

  The look melts me, heats me, it’s so raw. I breathe, “You’re an asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you until you admit it.” I tilt my chin, but inside I really just crave to hear it. Our eyes hold deadlocked.

  “Put your hand on the front of my pants.”

  “What?”

  “Do it.”

  I do. He’s really hard. I rub him. “Did you not come?” A smile curves my lips. I’m teasing him.

  He looks at me, the heat intensifying.

  “Oh my God, you’ve got pre-cum coming out already…”

  And when I gasp he moves swiftly to take my mouth and kiss me stupid. Long and slow.

  “I can wrap up at seven. Why don’t you meet me in the lobby when I’m done?”

  He halts my hand, on his hard dick, and doesn’t remove it. I can feel him, hard and pulsing as I try to swallow. “I have a date with Natchez. One of my dogs. But can I use a computer while you finish off…”

  “Use my laptop.”

  I pry my hand away from his hot body and grab his laptop, then I start to take it outside.

  “You can stay here if you’d like.”

  I halt midtrack. Eye the leather sectional in the seating area of his office and the glass coffee table before it. “This will do.” I smile, and he smiles briefly before he heads behind his desk to get business done.

  On his laptop, I discover a folder titled Bryn. I click on it. Pictures of me appear. Some when I was younger, others of me now.

  I look down at my lap. He’s moody today, but a part of me knows I’ve been giving him a tough time about us. About me and him. I can’t imagine how frustrating I have been, and how hard it is for him to see me every day too, and maybe want things that I keep fighting him on.

  As Aaric finishes up, I close his laptop and bring it back to his desk.

  “You have a folder called Bryn in your computer.” I feel flushed, and I’m as unable to stop the flush as I am to keep from smiling. “I have one too but in my mind. Called Aaric.”

  He looks up at me, eyebrows high.

  “I’ve got two what ifs in my life that have always hurt me to think about. You’re one of them, Aaric,” I admit.

  He stands up and pushes his chair in, coming around to lean on his desk, attentive. “What’s the other one?”

  I hesitate.

  “The night my parents died, they called me, I got home around midnight. Got ready for bed. At 12:55 a.m., I thought about calling back, but I convinced myself it would be better if I called the next day.”

  “12:59 is the time the fire started,” he says.

  I nod, my throat suddenly tight.

  His eyes shadow, and for a while he says nothing.

  “When Leilani went into labor, I was away on business.
She ended up in some shitty hospital. My daughter didn’t make it.” He eyes me for a long moment. “I thought I didn’t want her. I convinced myself it happened because I didn’t want her.”

  “Of course it didn’t happen because of that. She wasn’t in your plans. We couldn’t have known.”

  “We should’ve.”

  “But we didn’t.”

  He reaches out to touch my shoulder, peering at my face. “Hey. The fire wasn’t your fault.”

  “Neither is the death of your baby.”

  He looks at my whole face, then at my mouth. “Some what ifs, some you never get to do over, Bryn,” he says.

  I blink, dipping my head in consent. “Sometimes you get another try,” I breathe.

  As I hold back my tears, he sets his thumb on my bottom lip, and kisses me. It’s just a soft kiss as he says, “I’ll take you home.”

  And I ask if he can take me to Natchez instead, just because I want to prolong this. Just because, even when consciously I want to put distance between us, subconsciously I seem to want something else.

  Bryn

  I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. This is more. This is more than I ever thought possible. Him—how much I want him. How much I care. I toss and turn all night, thinking of nothing but Christos and how much I want to do the brave thing, and for once in my life let myself fall without worrying. Let myself fall for him—the guy I’ve been falling for since I was seventeen.

  I’ve always been reliable and levelheaded. Cautious, you could say. But that bitch is gone. That was the young me. The adult me says yes, go for it, you have been into this guy since the moment you saw him, greasy and hot at the shop. I want to try and see where this goes, but I’m scared it will end up provoking my heart, even while up on the highest shelf where I’d put it. But who am I kidding? It’s no longer on my shelf, it’s been in his. For a long time.

  On Saturday morning, I look up my horoscope for the weekend.

  Dear Cappie,

  The stars are aligning for you! If you’ve had your hopes on a certain someone, this week might be the time you two can take the relationship to the next level. Just be patient, as they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day…

  I’m not sure how I feel about this. It says nothing about what happens if you jump recklessly into a forbidden romance.

  No, I am totally not the Cappie that horoscope is talking about. But once Becka told me your sun sign is not the only clue as to the weather around you. She had used a handy little internet tool to find out my ascendant, based on the hour you were born. So I read Pisces next.

  Dear Pisces,

  Boy you must be thrilled the square alignment has eased some this month, and with Mars back in good form after its retrograde in your house of travel, you should be ready for business and pleasure, both! Keep your eye on your goals and don’t forget to have a little fun this August while Venus travels your fifth house of love and creativity.

  “I do enjoy reading these suckers, though I never pay attention to any negative things they have to say. I only run with the good ones. This time though, it’s way off.” I sigh.

  “Read mine. Wait, you read it first before telling me what it says. Shit, don’t tell me if it’s bad.”

  “What’s your sign?”

  “Taurus. Ruled by Venus, I apparently like very beautiful and expensive things.” Sara smirks while taking a peek. “What does it say?”

  “Don’t peek and don’t talk, I can’t concentrate reading with noise around!” I start reading hers.

  Dear Taurus,

  After the recent mercury retrograde in your sister sign Virgo during the month of July, you’re back in full form and able to work off the kinks in your communications. Now is the time to iron out the details of that professional plan you’ve been holding in the back burner, and if a relationship has felt the rough and tumble of the stars, remember the universe always helps us with course corrections to fix what’s broken, or learn to let go.

  “What does it say?”

  “Dear Taurus,” I begin. “If you still love him, go for it. Don’t wait for my astrologer permission, don’t wait for me to give you a safety net, just do it!”

  “What?” She starts reading and says, “Bryn, you are a lousy astrologer. You’d die poor.”

  I can’t seem to fully stop a giggle as I set it aside. “No, really. You’re hooked on him, Sara. I do think you need to find him. Why wait? You can be waiting forever. Why do we give our power away?” I frown. “I mean, we’re bombarded by all these marketers telling us what to think, how to feel about ourselves, we wait to see what others think about our clothes to determine if we really like them. We wait for an astrologer to tell us the coast is clear to do something we’ve been wanting to do. It’s wrong.”

  I chew my nail. My mind wanders back to Christos and I wonder why I had the balls to give Sara this advice when I don’t have any balls of my own, apparently.

  I also remember touching Christos’s balls and how much I wanted to go down on him. A pang of unwelcome little feelings strike and I’m not really sure if I’ll be able to push them away, but I try to, especially considering I was talking to Sara about her love life. Not mine.

  “Let’s do something we really want to do. Let’s finally do something for ourselves, take our own advice.”

  “Okay then.” She makes a phone call. “Hi, I’d like to see if you can do me a favor and check back on the guest list for last year. I need the name of someone.” Her eyes spark up as if the answer delights her. “Really? You’d do that for me? Thank you!” She hangs up. “He’s helping me find him. Your turn.”

  “Did you really call?” I ask, doubting that she did.

  “Do you want to call back to verify? Come on. Your turn. Go after him, Bryn.”

  I bite down on my lip for a moment, then I grab my phone and decide that I don’t want to keep wondering what if anymore. Not when there’s something I can do about it.

  So I’ve been thinking about it.

  And I’ve decided this is healthy, this is the best scenario possible, neither of us expects more.

  So please tell Christos that it’s yes.

  Tell Bit for me

  I do want more

  And she won’t regret it.

  But let’s keep it low key please. I don’t want anyone at Christos and Co or your brother to know

  I don’t report to my employees or my brother, but I understand your concern. I’ll be discreet as long as you want to keep a lid on it.

  I read the message, relieved, when suddenly a new one pops up.

  What are you wearing now?

  I tingle.

  Panties and a T-shirt.

  What color panties?

  Soft lilac.

  Soft lilac. What material are they?

  They’re silky. A little sheer.

  And under the T-shirt?

  Nothing.

  What color T-shirt?

  I close my eyes.

  I just took it off.

  Butterflies in my stomach as I read his reply.

  Take off the rest.

  Put on one of your little dresses

  And meet me downstairs in 20 minutes.

  I reach for my panties. Bryn, what the hell are you doing?

  Honestly, something has just clicked in my mind. The fact that I no longer care. I want him—desperately. And for a long time, Christos has wanted me. I don’t want to deny myself his presence, his laughter, his touch. Fuck what the cosmos says, or if it’s written in the stars, or if its doomed, or if it’s right or not. Life goes by in a blink, and I don’t want to blink one second and once again, find him gone.

  We walk along Gramercy Park until it starts to rain. One second we’re dry, the next we’re getting pounded by raindrops. Christos glances around and motions farther down the block, to a tall skyscraper. “Over there.”

  He rushes me to a building where the doorman greets him.

  “Penthouse still empty?” He runs his hand through his wet h
air as I feel water drip down my legs.

  “Sir, yes. They’re putting in the finishing touches until they start showing next month.”

  “We need shelter for a moment,” he says with a smirk.

  The doorman pulls out a double set of keys. “Of course, sir, go right in. I’ll be sure you’re not disturbed.”

  He slides a key into the elevator slot, then uses the second one to open the double doors when we reach the top floor.

  We walk into a huge, vacant marble-floored penthouse.

  “You own this?”

  “Yes.”

  “The penthouse or the building?” I gaze out at the panoramic views.

  Silence.

  I turn. “Wow. You amaze me.”

  “You’re amazing,” he husks back. He walks forward. “Did you take off what I told you?”

  “Yes.” Flushing, I motion to him. “Seems right that you take off something too. It’s only fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair.”

  He smiles, but when he stares at me for a moment, something flickers in his eyes. He starts to unbutton his wet, white shirt, then he shrugs it off his powerful shoulders.

  “Are we even?”

  I gulp. “Not even close,” I breathe and hold his wicked—w i c k e d—gaze. His tattoo is shining wetly on his shoulder and bicep, and I get wet in places the sunlight doesn’t touch.

  His chest is wet. I try not to notice.

  But I notice.

  Oh boy.

  He is speaking to me.

  Did he ask me something?

  I can’t hear. A drop of water slides down his abs and falls into his belly button.

  His pecs are hard, his muscles so defined I could trace them with a pencil. My tongue could act as a pencil, I suppose.

  I want to trace the tattoo with my fingers, his whole body with my fingers.