Wicked Wish, page 11
He slides in an inch, and it burns oh so fucking good. He waits, and the burn goes away.
“More,” I urge him on.
“Mmm,” he moans as he slides in a little deeper. “So tight. So perfect.”
My chest is heaving, the pressure of the excitement of what he’s doing to me almost suffocating.
Walsh’s hands come to my ass, and I can feel him pulling my cheeks apart again. I look over my shoulder, and, once again, he’s staring in fascination as he enters the one place no man has been before.
He leans his weight against me, sliding all the way in, and I think I want to die from how good it feels. If I thought I had an emotional connection to Walsh before—for saving me when I was bleeding on a bathroom floor or for giving me so much pleasure the last few days—none of that compares to the way I feel about him in this moment.
I’ve shared something with him that’s priceless.
“You okay, Jor?” he asks roughly.
“Yes,” I huff out. “You?”
He chuckles, then his eyes come to mine as I continue to look at him over my shoulder. “You have no idea how fucking turned on I am right now.” His eyes slide back down to where we’re connected. “Seeing my cock stuffed inside your ass.”
I can’t even answer as he pulls back to the tip and slides gently back into me.
“Oh, God,” I moan as I wiggle a little against him.
“Now your ass belongs to me as well,” he says in a guttural voice of triumph that I feel all the way down to my clit. It compels me to touch myself, and Walsh starts to move in and out of me.
He takes his time, stays ever so gentle with his movements, and I reach a quick orgasm with my own fingers. Walsh praises my initiative. With a few more strokes, he’s filling my ass up with his semen.
We collapse to the bed, and I’m out like a light.
♦
“Jorie, wake up,” Walsh calls to me softly.
I feel his lips against mine, and I swat him away. “No more. I’m tired.”
Walsh laughs in amusement and then the smell of coffee hits me. I open my eyes and see Walsh fully dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, his hair damp from an obvious shower, sitting on the edge of the bed near my hip. He’s holding a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.
I manage a sleepy smile and pull myself up to sit against the headboard, wincing as various aches hit my body, most of which is centered around my ass having been fucked last night.
Or was that this morning?
I’ve lost track of time.
“Sore, huh?” Walsh asks me with a knowing smirk on his face.
“You absolutely have to leave my ass alone tonight,” I mutter as I take the coffee and blow on it.
“Good,” he says with a bigger smirk. “I feel like fucking that pretty mouth tonight. We’ll work on your deep throating.”
I roll my eyes at him and take a delicious sip of java heaven. When I swallow, I ask, “You on your way to work?”
“Got property to buy and things to build,” he quips as he looks at his watch, then back to me. “But first, we need to discuss a few things.”
“I’m not letting you push me away again,” I practically hiss at him.
He grins. “Relax there, hell kitten. I’m not pushing you away.”
“Okay,” I mutter and take another sip of coffee.
“First,” he says as he leans on one hip and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a sheet of paper. “This is the code to the penthouse elevator. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Warmth again blooms within me, and I manage to withhold a sappy smile so Walsh doesn’t think I’m getting too attached. He puts the paper on the nightstand and I give him a solemn nod, although I’m dancing inside. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Second,” he says as he places his palm on the mattress near my opposite hip and leans over me. “I need you to call Micah.”
“What? Why?” I ask in astonishment.
“He asked me yesterday to get up with you. Check on you.”
“He did?”
Walsh nods. “And I’d like you to call him and tell him that I got up with you.”
“So he doesn’t worry?” I surmise.
“So he doesn’t keep pushing at me, which makes me feel like shit that he wants me to check up on you and there’s no real need to do that since I’m fucking you,” Walsh says, and that makes me wince.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know this is hard.”
The expression on his face softens as he leans closer to my face. “One last thing… if you want to work things out with Vince, you need to say the word and I’ll step aside. I was being a little selfish last night when—”
My fingers come to his lips, press them closed, and he stops talking.
“I’m right where I want to be,” I assure him, and because he still looks troubled by our complicated relationship, I add on, “For now.”
Walsh’s lips curve into a grateful smile, and I pull my fingers away from his mouth.
Then his lips are on mine, giving me a sweet kiss goodbye. When he pulls back, he says, “Be ready for dinner at seven, here at my apartment. We’ll go out and eat, then I’m taking you back to The Wicked Horse.”
A pleasant cramp of desire hits me between the legs, but I just nod at him.
Standing from the bed, Walsh looks down at me and says, “Don’t forget to call Micah.”
“Got it,” I assure him with a smart salute.
“Going to spank that pussy again tonight,” he says with a grin.
“Looking forward to it, baby,” I say with an answering one.
CHAPTER 15
Walsh
I walk around the 3D mockup of the new shopping center we want to build in Reno, admiring the architect’s rendition. He points at the various features, noting areas where we have multiple options that could be changed up to draw in a variety of retailers.
My partners, August Kline and Carina Van DeBosch, also study the model in quiet contemplation as the architect drones on and on.
I don’t need to hear it. It’s a clever design and we’ll get a very good return on our investment. Carina asks a question about the interior greenspace, asking if it can be enlarged to double as a live entertainment venue.
I listen with half an ear and am all too glad when my phone dings in my pocket, indicating a text. I pull it out and smile when I see it is from Jorie.
It merely says, Pink or Black?
I look up to see Carina and the architect involved in deep conversation, August listening in, and I send a quick text back to her. Pink or black what?
She responds back almost immediately with a picture of two pairs of panties laid out on my bed. One pink, the other black.
Definitely pink.
She writes back. You know, I only used to wear pink panties when I was fifteen.
That just gave me a hard-on. I snicker when I hit send.
Perv, she retorts, and then gives me a smiling emoji.
My fingers fly over the screen, typing back to her. You in the pink panties, nothing else on, spread and waiting for me on my dining room table. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
I smile in satisfaction as I wait for her response. It’s been a damn good week with Jorie. She’s stayed at my apartment every night, and we’ve gone to The Wicked Horse twice. What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is far more intimate than what we do at the club, but I love having her in both places. In my bedroom, she’s all soft and pliant with breathy moans and worshipful eyes.
At the club, she’s a writhing, screaming mess. She’s fucking glorious in her abandonment, and I wonder if she always had that in her, or if I bring it out.
My ego wants to pin the blame squarely on my shoulders.
Can’t tonight, she texts back. Having dinner with Elena.
I stare at her words and take note of the keen disappointment I can feel in my bones. While we’ve been together every night this week, we’ve done nothing more than grab dinner where we tend to find ourselves reminiscing about old times growing up, and then fuck all night. It’s what I wanted… that no-strings, casual sex.
And now that I might not see Jorie tonight, the fact I’m feeling bent out of shape about it gives me the wiggins. It scares the fuck out of me that I might have become dependent on Jorie.
Or possibly even addicted.
This scares me because this is how it started with Renee. Off the charts, kinky, dirty, filthy fucking that neither of us could get enough of it. Yes, we were possibly even addicted to each other and for some stupid reason we were never able to figure out, it led us to the altar.
My inner sense of self-preservation tells me to let it go.
Wish her an enjoyable time tonight.
Play it casually.
Instead, I write, Why don’t I take both you ladies out for dinner? Then we’ll take in a show or something.
I hit send, and then curse, “Fuck.”
“Something wrong?” August asks me from across the table.
I shake my head. “Just something I need to take care of,” I tell him with a casual smile. Then I nod to the model. “But you have my approval to go forward.”
August nods at me, then turns back to Carina, who is still talking to the architect with animated hands. She’s the detail person in our three-way partnership. She’ll hone in on and iron out the nitty-gritty shit that August and I overlook.
My phone dings, and I look down. That’s awesome. What time and how should we dress? I mean… you know… where are we going to dinner? Fancy? Casual? So excited.
And then she put a little heart emoji on the end.
I grit my teeth and write back without any sense of self-preservation anymore. Fancy, expensive restaurant. High-dollar cocktails. Put your dancing shoes on.
God, what am I turning into?
♦
“I got to say, Walsh,” Elena yells as she puts her arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek. “You sure know how to treat the women in your life well.”
I smirk down at her as we wait for Jorie to come back from the restroom. We had a three-hour dinner at the best restaurant in Vegas, and then I suggested a nightclub where we could drink and dance. Except, dancing’s not really my thing, but I sure didn’t mind watching Jorie shake her ass out there with Elena.
“Women?” I yell back at her because the music’s shaking the building.
She gives it right back to me just as loud. “You know… as her best friend, I’m your woman, too.”
“In the platonic sense, right?”
“God, yes,” she says back in horror. “I mean, I’m the bestie. You get me along for the ride. You hurt her, I destroy you. You buy her Tiffany’s, you buy me Tiffany’s. See?”
“Got it,” I tell her with an amused shake of my head.
The music turns slow, and Elena wags her finger in my face. “No, no, no. I may be the other woman in your life, but you can’t slow dance with me. There are some lines I won’t cross.”
I roll my eyes at her, and then sweep my gaze across the club looking for Jorie. Suddenly, I feel her hands on my hips as she presses into me from behind. I look over my shoulder at her, and she slides around to stand in front of me.
“You about ready to go?” she asks. “It’s getting late.”
I respond by taking her hand and leading her out onto the dance floor. It’s practically empty because no one comes to a Vegas nightclub to slow dance, but I don’t give a fuck. I feel like swaying to cheesy music with the hottest woman I’ve ever been with.
The girl in my life I’ve known longer than any other.
Jorie’s smile is soft and her eyes are sparkling with the champagne she drank earlier as I pull her to me. I bring her hand in close to my chest and wrap the other around her back. She presses her face into my neck, and I fucking love the feel of her breath on my skin.
“This is weird,” she murmurs.
“Why’s that?” I ask with a smile playing on my lips.
“You being all romantic.”
I snicker. “I can be romantic.”
“Yes,” she deadpans and then mimics me. “That’s it, baby, come for me harder. Or, take my cock down your throat, baby, and I’ll give you multiples after.”
I reach down and pinch her ass hard. Her pelvis flies into mine as she yelps.
“I do not talk like that all the time,” I admonish her. “And besides, you like my dirty talk.”
I can feel her sigh into my body, and she admits softly. “I really do. I love dirty Walsh.”
My step falters slightly at her casual drop of the “L” word, but her tone was teasing enough that I don’t take it for anything more than her profession that she’s got a kinky side like me.
“You had enough dancing tonight?” I ask.
“Yes, and I’m horny,” she says petulantly. My hand goes down to palm her ass, pressing her in tighter so she can feel I’m horny, too. “Want to go fuck in the bathroom?”
This time, I do stumble. When I regain our rhythm, I pull my head back to look down at her. “I’ve created a monster.”
“You didn’t create it,” she says with a wink. “You just released it.”
“Well, as fun as fucking you in the bathroom sounds, I’m thinking tonight I just want you on my mattress, on your back with your feet pressed into my shoulders and my hand over your mouth,” I tell her.
“Why a hand over my mouth?” she asks, her head tilted to the side and her green eyes dancing.
“Because Elena is going to be in the guest bedroom as she’s had too much to drink tonight, and I don’t want her hearing you scream every time I make you come.”
Jorie bats her eyelashes at me and simpers, “Oh, Walsh… see… you are a romantic.”
“Make fun if you will, but you’ll be owing me an apology soon,” I warn.
She merely cocks a thin beautiful eyebrow at me in question.
“Reach into my pocket,” I tell her.
“I’m not giving you a hand job out here on the dance floor.”
“Smartass,” I tell her. “My jacket pocket, on the inside.”
She shoots me a huge, beautiful grin and her hand dives into the left pocket. She finds it empty, then it dives into the right. When it comes out, she’s holding a square Tiffany’s box.
“Oh, wow,” she says as she looks at it with wide eyes. “You are romantic.”
“Open it,” I tell her as I release my hold and we stand in the middle of the dance floor.
She doesn’t waste any time, and then she’s gasping at the white-gold chain bracelet with the Tiffany charm attached.
Jorie looks up at me, and it kills me to see a little bit of confusion in her eyes. I know I’m crossing a line, but I fucking couldn’t help myself when I walked by the store, which is in my hotel lobby, after work.
I try to make light of it. “Will I get laid tonight?”
She gives me a glare and then looks back to the bracelet. “It’s beautiful.”
“Here,” I say as I take the jewelry from the box. “Hold up your wrist.”
Jorie watches as I put it on her, and then she looks up to me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, but then I shoot a look over at Elena watching us from the edge of the dance floor. “But tell her I’m not buying her one.”
“Huh?” Jorie asks with confusion.
“Inside joke,” I tell her as I bring a hand around her neck. I pull her to me and lay a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll explain it to you later after we fuck.”
Jorie laughs and steps into me for an impromptu hug that surprises me as much as it warms me. My heart skips a beat when she says, “There’s my Walsh.”
CHAPTER 16
Jorie
“What are you and Walsh doing tonight?” Elena asks me through the phone that I have pressed to my ear. I’m walking around Walsh’s apartment, looking for something constructive to do. His housekeeper is too damn good. There’s not even a speck of dust for me to swipe up.
“Not sure,” I tell her as I saunter into the kitchen. “Maybe I could make dinner for us.”
“That would be sweet. Very homemaker-ish. Wear nothing but a frilly apron so when he walks in, he attacks you.”
I laugh as I open the refrigerator, taking in the fact there’s nothing there but coffee creamer and protein drinks. I shouldn’t have expected more… that’s what his fridge has looked like for the past few weeks since I’ve been staying here.
“Never mind,” I say glumly as I close the refrigerator door. “I’d have to go grocery shopping and that seems like overstepping my bounds a bit.”
“Please, girl,” Elena says dismissively. “He’s fucking your face. You can make a goddamn meatloaf.”
My laugh this time is deep and boob shaking. “God, you crack me up.”
“Anymore from Vince?” she asks. I haven’t seen Elena in three days—not since I went home to do laundry because Walsh doesn’t have a washer and dryer. He uses the hotel laundry service. He offered that to me, but I can’t have strangers pawing through my panties.
“He called me yesterday morning,” I tell her.
“And?”
“And nothing. It was the same stuff. He’s sorry for the things he said, he misses me, he wants me to come home. He doesn’t want me to throw away eight years we filled with a lot of great memories.”
“How does that make you feel?” Elena asks.
“Like I should be laying on your psychiatry couch, Freud,” I tell her dryly as I walk through the kitchen into the living room. I stand before the massive glass wall and look out over Vegas, which isn’t so sparkly at four o’clock in the afternoon.
“Seriously, Jorie,” she presses. “You’re in limbo. You need to shit or get off the pot.”
“I don’t want to get off the metaphorical pot,” I tell her candidly. “I like where I am.”
“It will never be more,” she reminds me of the one thing that plagues my soul. “You’ll always be Walsh’s dirty little secret.”
“That’s harsh,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I just don’t want you to get complacent. Fine… burn off some sex calories, explore all the things he can offer. But do it looking forward to your future. You’re gorgeous, a great catch, and you want a family someday. You’re not going to get that with Walsh.”
