The Big O Series Page 4

  I'd been honest with Gina when I said I didn't make a habit of messing around with nice girls. I didn't have time, and honestly, the kind of nice girls she meant when she talked about Michelle – nervous, shy, a little uncertain about her own sexuality – they didn't often come looking to pay a man for sex. Maybe they dreamed about it, thought about it...? I had no idea.

  But they steered clear of men like me.

  I tossed the magazine back down on the table, running my hands through my hair. I hadn't always been a whore.

  There had been a time when I probably qualified as nice and normal myself. Looking up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the tattoos covering some older, rougher – uglier – work, studied the muscle that had been developed over months and years of a hard life. There was no sign of the nice, normal boy I must have been once upon a time.

  Maybe that was why I wanted to spend time with Michelle.

  She hadn't instantly gone from hi to let's go fuck.

  Although one thing was sure...let's go fuck was pretty high on my list of things to do.

  Six

  Michelle

  The phone was ringing.

  That annoyed me because it interrupted one hell of a yummy dream.

  In reality, my sex life sucked.

  The ringing stopped, and I shoved my face under a pillow, happy to let my vivid imagination take over where the dream had left off.

  He'd been wearing his mask.

  I'd been naked.

  He'd taken my hands...

  The phone started ringing all over again.

  Grabbing it, I snarled, "Oh, for the love of all things chocolate, this better be important!"

  "Oh, honey..." Aunt Blair barely managed to squeeze the words out between gales of laughter. "You must have been having one hell of a dream. Either that, or I interrupted...something."

  "I'm just tired." Face red hot with embarrassment, I sat up. I could still feel the echoes of that dream strumming inside me. It was going to kill me, this heat. This hunger.

  "Too tired for some really lovely news?" she teased.

  I knew my aunt. She'd called me about lovely news before – sometimes it was lovely. Other times, it had to do with a great new coffee shop. However, something about the tone in her voice made me think this had nothing to do with anything so mundane...this might actually be in that lovely news category.

  "What's the news?" I asked softly, dragging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting up.

  "The managing editor wants more articles – your piece was a hit and they want a series." She paused. "Isn't that wonderful?"

  "Yeah." I managed to smile as I pushed my hair out of my eyes. "Yeah, it is. I imagine Gina will be thrilled. I saw her posting online yesterday that she'd be able to get back to work in a limited capacity."

  "Oh, yes." Aunt Blair's voice changed...grew lower. "She will be, but darling...Jake King has insisted that you be the one handling the interviews, and the articles need to have something to do with him. It's the whole point."

  I gulped.

  Lowering the phone, I stared at it as if it had just become a living, breathing snake. Then I jerked it back to my ear. "Are you telling me I have an assignment from Coterie?"

  "Yes." She laughed, sounding as delighted as I felt, although there was no way that was possible. Nobody could be as delighted as I felt. "You've got an assignment from Coterie, and you're interviewing the King of Multiple Orgasms again. Tell me something, sweetie...is he as yummy as Gina makes him sound?"

  Later, standing under the shower, I scrubbed my hair and pondered the question Aunt Blair asked.

  Was Jake King yummy?

  It was funny, but I hadn't even known his last name until she mentioned it.

  He hadn't offered it, and he'd simply signed his name as Jake in the email.

  I hadn't identified him in the article – how could I? He'd explicitly said he needed confidentiality.

  On the phone, I'd dodged around answering the question because I wasn't about to tell my aunt that I'd completed the interview without seeing his face. I'd also screwed the entire thing up, and if he hadn't emailed me, there would have been no article at all.

  No way was I telling her that.

  But my answer? Yes, he was yummy. It was in his voice, in the way he framed the air with his hands as he talked. It was also in his body language and the way he listened.

  Yes, Jake King was yummy, and I doubted that would change even if I looked at him and found a man with average features looking back at me when I was finally able to see him.

  Assuming he let me.

  "Let me. Shoot. You know what, I think I'll make a stipulation of my own," I said to my reflection in the shower's plain white tile. "I'll tell him that his hiding in plain sight isn't necessary. I know how to protect my sources." Not that I'd ever had any. He didn't need to know that though.

  We could meet, talk, get the interview out of the way and I could see him. Just see him.

  Because I was too much a coward to do more.

  Part of me wished that wasn't the case. These dreams that kept featuring him were enough to drive me crazy. I just wanted to see him – talk to him a little more.

  "Quit lying to yourself," I mumbled, narrating my thoughts. "You want to know if he can really do what he talked about." I wanted to know what it was like to lie under a man and...

  My breathing hitched at the thought of lying under Jake.

  The fantasy settled in, and since the dream had been interrupted earlier, I decided to just go with it. Reaching for the handheld nozzle, I adjusted the spray and directed it between my thighs.

  Thank god for inventors of massaging showerheads and vibrators.

  And my imagination.

  I closed my eyes and imagined he was with me under the warm spray. He'd been the one to come to the door and tell me about the lovely news. I'd been pleased, but calm and casual, inviting him in. No telling how we'd ended up in the shower, I'd figure that out later.

  But now, he was on his knees in front of me.

  Not all women like oral sex, you know. But that's usually the fault of bad partners. I can tell you, every woman I've ever gone down on has loved it.

  I had no doubt I'd be the same.

  Feeling his tongue flick my clitoris before sliding lower to toy with the entrance of my body, his fingers sliding up the sensitive inner skin of my thighs.

  He'd part my folds, then push inside me and I'd ride his hand, rocking against his mouth until I came. When I did, he'd catch me, holding me steady and secure–

  I came with a harsh, hungry groan, my breath so ragged I could hear it over the pounding of the water.

  Groaning, my head fell back against the tile wall.

  "This is going to get out of hand," I muttered.

  It took two cups of coffee and twenty solid minutes of the most sobering, unappealing thing I could think of before I was ready to talk to Jake.

  I read the news.

  All the hard stuff, the boring stuff, the gross stuff.

  By the time I was off the phone, there was no way I wanted to think about anything remotely romantic, or even sexual – I avoided the news for a reason – and I felt confident that I could pick up that phone and make the call I needed to make without my voice going all sex-kitten on me.

  The last thing I wanted to happen was for my voice to practically scream – or in my case, whisper – do me the second he came on the line.

  He answered with a brisk, businesslike, "King here."

  The urge to quip, "The King of Multiple Orgasms?" leaped to my lips, and appalled at myself, I grabbed my coffee, about ready to drown myself with it. "Hi," I blurted out before taking a scalding swallow. Now my tongue hurt, my throat, my professionalism – but at least I hadn't blurted out anything about the big O to him.

  "Yes," he said, drawing the word out.

  Of course, he hadn't recognized my voice. What was I thinking? Just because that husky drawl of his was memorable didn'
t mean my flat, slightly midwestern accented one was. "It's Michelle Nestor. We spoke...um..." When did we speak? My brain had short-circuited, just hearing his voice.

  "I know who you are, Michelle," he said, his voice softer now, warmer.

  Yeah, sure you do, I thought wryly. But I didn't voice the words. Instead, I asked, "How are you?"

  Falling back on social niceties was such a relief at times, filling in that void as I struggled to work my way to the reason I'd called to begin with.

  "I'm doing rather well, even better now than I was two minutes ago. And you?"

  "Oh, I'm fine. Good. I'm good." And babbling...don't forget you're babbling, a gentle voice inside my head chided. Stay on topic! "So, I imagine you have a good idea of why I'm calling."

  "Please tell me it's because you missed hearing my voice as much as I've missed yours."

  My heart lurched at first, then began to race. Five seconds later, blood suffused my face as I realized he was teasing – or flirting, as it should really be interpreted. That's what the man did. He was a pro at it. "You're a smooth one, aren't you?" I said, swallowing around the knot in my throat. Without giving him a chance to respond, I went on. "You talked to Gina, I think...maybe yesterday?"

  It couldn't have been today. Gina rarely rolled her ass out of bed before one in the afternoon and the managing editors were infamous for being gone from the offices by two unless it was press day. Since it wasn't...well, it wasn't likely Gina had called them at the crack of dawn, so she'd likely talked to her editor yesterday and Aunt Blair had taken care of talking to the editorial team before calling me. That was why she'd called me at the unheard hour of eight.

  "You guessed it. Have you talked to her?"

  "No. Gina and I don't talk much. We exist on different planes, you could say." And I envied Gina's plane. She was cocky and confident and if a man like Jake flirted with her, she'd flirt right back. She'd know how to handle him and all that simmering sexuality, and if she felt moved to make him an offer or offer him a job or however this was all handled, she wouldn't have trouble doing it. "We've bumped into each other at parties and at the offices for Coterie on occasion, but not much more than that."

  "Hmmm." It was a speculative sound that he made, drawing it out like he was pondering my answer. "You know, she told me something about you...warning me, maybe."

  My heart lurched again. He seemed to have that effect on me. "Warning you? She said something to you about me? What?"

  "Don't sound so worried, sugar." He chuckled. "It's not like it was anything bad. She told me that you were a nice girl, like maybe she was afraid I'd corrupt you. Are you?"

  A nice girl. My face still felt hot, so hot it was like I might spontaneously combust. Nice girl Michelle. That was me. "Am I what?" I hedged, hating how faint my voice sounded.

  "A nice girl." He paused. "And is there a reason she should be afraid? Are you corruptible?"

  I wish I were. I bit my lower lip to keep those words from spilling out, knowing it wouldn't make me sound sexy at all – just desperate. "You know," I said, forcing a light note into my voice. "I'm almost positive this has nothing to do with why I called."

  "But you haven't answered my question."

  "I guess you'll have to figure it out on your own. Now...can we get back to business?" There. Nice and firm.

  "Since you asked so nicely. Why can I do you for, Michelle?"

  I hesitated, wondering if I'd heard the words I thought he said or if it was wishful thinking, but the silence hung there between us, a tangible thing. Finally, awkwardness turning my voice thick, I said, "My editor called me. I'm sure you're aware the big shots at Coterie were pleased with the article. They want more of you."

  "And you?" he teased. "Do you want more?"

  Hell, yes... "I want to do the job I'm assigned," I said calmly. "And it I've been told you want to speak with me. I guess you've decided you want to tease nice girls this February."

  "Only certain ones," he admitted. "When were you wanting to arrange our next meeting?"

  "I..." Pursing my lips, I looked around my office – my nice, safe, secure office. "I was thinking a telephone interview would work just fine. That way, you can feel confident about your privacy remaining secure."

  "I'm not too worried about that. After all, I've been assured that you're a nice girl."

  He was smiling. I could hear it in his voice. "I'm tempted to tell you to shove that comment where the sun doesn't shine," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

  "Oh...Michelle. Now that doesn't sound very nice." Jake laughed, the sound deep and rich even through the phone. "But...okay, okay. I'll quit teasing. However...no. No telephone interviews. I was thinking we could have dinner."

  "And have me face away from you the whole time?" I sniffed. "I don't think so. That was a bit too awkward for my taste."

  "No. Dinner. As in we sit at a table and talk."

  Sit at a table–

  Whoa. Could I sit at a table and eat with him? Talk to him without babbling?

  "That sounds perfect," I heard myself saying without any conscious decision to do so. "When?"

  He named a day, and I started to say that was fine, but stopped. "Wait a minute. That's Valentine's Day. I'd think you'd be in high demand on the day of hearts and flowers."

  And orgasms.

  "No." This time, when he spoke, he sounded almost...remote. Cool, even. "Taking on a job on Valentine's Day would make it seem...real. I'd rather not do that. Will the day and time work for you or do you have a date?"

  "I...no. No dates."

  "No boyfriend who'll be upset that you're spending the holiday interviewing a man in my...line of work?"

  I was fooling myself, imagining that there was a note of curiosity, maybe even something more in his voice. Completely fooling myself.

  Although I'd take that fantasy to bed that night and think about what it would be like to have a man like him interested in me.

  "No, there's nobody. Valentine's Day works."

  Seven

  Jake

  I spent more time debating on what to wear in one night than I normally did in a month's worth of assignments. And considering sometimes I had two a day, that was pretty pathetic.

  In the end, I went with a finely knit sweater and a pair of tailored slacks that more than a few of my clients had told me made my ass look amazing.

  It wasn't arrogance to know that I had a decent body. In my line of work, it wasn't just a plus, it was a requirement. I spent a good hour in the gym each day and every meal I ate on my own was a healthy one, save for the one or two cheat days I allowed myself each month,

  Sometimes, my clients wanted to indulge in a lavish meal, and when that was on the agenda, there was very little to be done but join in. I wasn't going to order broiled fish and salad when she wanted a steak and was craving crème brulee.

  That didn't do much to make a date feel special. And while my dates paid for my time, it was all about making them feel special from beginning to end.

  It was strange to think about, but I was more nervous about the upcoming dinner with Michelle – and it wasn't any kind of date – than I'd been in a long time.

  Because it did no good to brood about such things, worry about such things, or get nervous, I told myself to knock it off. Just get the hell to the restaurant early, maybe have a glass of scotch while I waited for Michelle and check with the staff, make sure everything was set up as I'd requested.

  I'd cultivated a relationship with the maître d and staff of almost every restaurant I frequented, so it wasn't hard to request something in the way of special service, a seat at the chef's table, wine waiting when we were seated, a special dessert, little touches all designed to make the woman feel special.

  And the woman always paid.

  Except Michelle wasn't paying tonight.

  We hadn't discussed it.

  Standard procedure would be either each of us picking up our own tickets or her paying, possibly with a
company card since she was doing an interview for a magazine – and that was funny as hell to think about – a magazine paying for an interview with a manwhore.

  But I was paying for her meal.

  Maybe I'd even talk her into going for a walk with me.

  I didn't know why, but she was in my head way more often than she should be. I needed to do something about it. I just didn't know what.

  Okay. I'd been lying to myself.

  I knew what I needed to do about it.

  I needed to fuck her blind and hear her moaning out my name, screaming it, sobbing it, squealing it, whatever noises she made when she came, and I needed to hear her do it over and over again while wrapped around my dick.

  And preferably soon.

  Because if I didn't, I was going to keep obsessing about the thought and keep obsessing about her.

  I couldn't afford either distraction.

  Michelle was one hell of a distraction too.

  With those blue-green eyes that made me think of warm, Caribbean waters and deep red-brown hair, her skin all soft and creamy, everything about her was a little vivid, a little too surreal. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty, kind of like the girl next door the nice kid I used to be would have wanted, but he knew she was out of his reach.

  Now, though, she was sitting across from me, wearing a halter-styled dress that played up the ripe curves of her tits, and I wanted to free the tie at her neck, peel the dress down and free her from whatever kind of bra she wore, then have her breasts spill into my hands. She'd been wearing a shrug earlier, but she'd slid out of it and now the light from the fire just a few feet from where we sat gleamed against that pearly skin, making my mouth water and my hands itch.

  "So you just...go by instinct," she said, eyes still on her notepad.

  We had spent most of the evening like that, her asking questions and staring at the notepad instead of me. I knew why. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink that shone through despite the very excellent application of makeup. I wanted to get her so mussed up, the makeup had no chance at hiding her blushes. But I couldn't do that here.