Filthy Gorgeous (24 page)

They fall to the ground in one swift movement.

Gravity, have I told you lately that I love you?

Well, I do.

She takes a moment to gyrate around my tip before taking the full length of my erection. I pull her in close and she clamps down on my cock. Holy hell. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she whispers in my ear. “You’re such a bad man.”

Fuck me.

I’m soaring.

Buzzing.

This is better than the first time I licked her juicy pussy. Even better than the time I banged Karl’s ex in the utility cupboard on my eighteenth birthday. Maybe more heavenly than getting a blowie from the angel. I grasp her hips and push her down, forcing us to rock back and forth. Her tits sway and brush against my open mouth each time I thrust.

“Oh, oh …” she pants in near silence. My eyes fall to the gap between the curtain and the floor. I watch a pair of black stiletto heels walk inside the opposite cubicle. Ella’s body tenses, she grips hold of my shoulders for balance, and then she smiles. She’s as turned on by this as much as I am.

We kiss. It’s deep. Intense.

And I snap.

Heart pounding, I push deeper as my tongue thrashes across her jiggling breasts. The sound of a hanger scraping against a wall echoes around the cubicle. I hear the hiss of a zipper and the rustle of fabric, and then it dawns on me; the woman in black stilettos is in the next cubicle … and she’s now naked. My imagination kicks into overdrive and dirty thoughts seep into my consciousness, unbidden.

What if Black Stiletto woman wants to join us?

My eyes roll to the back of my head as I lose myself inside a crazy fantasy. Calm down; it’s not cheating when it’s in your head, alright? This is so wrong it’s almost right again. I stand up with Ella’s legs still wrapped firmly around my waist. I push her against the wall and drive deep inside. Her warm pussy is slick and hugs my flesh tightly each time I drive inside.

My pace is hurried and aggressive. Primal. Ella bites her bottom lip as our pelvis’ rock together. 

I mouth her name in silent desperation as her breathing intensifies. A broken gasp exits her lips. “Alex … oh God …”

I grab her waist and push us against the adjacent wall. Her fingers claw onto the two hooks as I pound her sweet ass from behind. Reaching out, I make a crack in the curtain of about five inches.
Hot damn.
It’s a kinky move. Dangerous.

Seeing the reflection of my balls slapping against Ella’s ass sends me soaring over the edge.

We moan in unison as our bodies slam together and ricochet off the wall. “Yeah … yeah … yeah …”

With one final jolt, I buck, filling the rubber with warm juice. I jerk again, trying to prolong the intense tingling sensation at the tip of my cock. As the waves of pleasure ripple and subside, I brace an arm against the wall and kiss the back of her head.

“Ella Bryant … you’re fucking amazing, do you know that?”

Remember I said vanilla ice cream is boring? When I’m with Ella, it’s like I still have vanilla, strawberry, and tutti-frutti, and every flavor under the sun because I’ve won the keys to the whole damn factory.

Ella turns around. I tilt her flushed face up to mine and tell her, “You’re filthy.”

She smiles. “You too, gorgeous.”

Who am I to argue with that?

Chapter Seventeen

The Slade Group summer ball is held at our family home in Montauk every August.

An orgy of alcohol, food, and dance, it’s the highlight of our companies’ social calendar. Employees and their partners are invited. Clients and suppliers attend. Everybody gets shitfaced.

At last year’s party, I caught our mail carrier and Parker’s mom getting all hot and heavy in the wine cellar. 

This year’s extravaganza promises to be extra special. In addition to our usual summer shenanigans, we’re celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of the birth of a living legend.

That legend would be me.

It’s why my father invited extended family along to the big occasion, including Cousin Timmy. I think he’s trying to put the shits up me. Since we sealed the deal with Cougar, my relationship with my father has seen a remarkable upturn for the better, but I’m by no means off the hook.

That’s okay—I brought my secret weapon.

Ella.

Calm down.

I’m not going to propose, but I hope her presence will be enough to placate my Mom. A happy mom is a happy dad. I think it’s working already—she’s been fussing over my date like a newborn baby.

I head through to the kitchen to help her while Ella freshens up. She throws down her cloth and gives me a hug. “Honey, I love her already. Should I buy a hat?”

I roll my eyes. Talk about jumping the gun. “No wedding yet, mom. We’re just taking it real slow.”

My mother pinches my cheek. “Still, this is the first time you’ve brought a girl home for years. I’m crossing my fingers.”

She piles a dozen plates in my arms and I follow her out to the garden. My father has pulled out all the stops this year. He’s hired a huge marquee that overlooks the ocean. Trees are covered in lights. The stage is decorated in flowers. There’s even an outdoor whisky bar.

Can you guess where I find my team?

I stalk over to the bar to meet them. Karl brought his fiancée Susie. I lean in to kiss her but she turns her cheek away. Yep, she still hates me. I took Karl to a strip club after a client meeting a couple of years ago and she got all prissy about it. You know what I really think? I think she has a secret ladyboner for yours truly, not that I can blame her.

Carrie smiles. “Settle an argument for us, Slade. Are monogamy and Martini mutually exclusive?”

I narrow my eyes. “I think I’m going to take a rain check on that answer.”

She raises her glass and winks. “Pussy.”

Speaking of pussy, here’s Ella. She looks incredible. Bonerrific. I blink. That’s my date. She ditched the yellow dress in favor of a pale blue number. We destroyed her preferred choice during our fitting-room fornication. Turns out, semen stains are hard to remove from chiffon. The new dress is sexy without being slutty. It has a keyhole gap that hints at the delicious cleavage beneath. Best of all, the keyhole is just large enough for me to stick my tongue inside.

I know because I’ve already tried.

We talk merrily for a few minutes until Karl grabs my arm. He’s wide-eyed with shock, like he’s just walked in on his grandmother taking a shower. I follow his gaze to see Raj.

He’s not alone.

Raj Kapoor has a date, with a real woman and not the inflatable variety.

As she draws closer, I manage to get a better view. She’s attractive, in a sexy Goth kind of way. Her pale skin and black lace dress are complemented by a choker with studs, and her lipstick is blood red.

Mr. Kapoor buttons up his Armani suit as he makes his way across the lawn. Would you look at that face; he’s grinning like a possum after a shot of morphine. He proudly introduces us to his new acquaintance. “Good evening, everybody. This is Claire. She’s a librarian by day.”

Susie extends a well-manicured hand to greet our new guest. “Pleased to meet you, Claire.” Then she laughs lightly. “I’m intrigued. If you’re a librarian by day, what are you by night?”

Raj can’t stifle a smile when she says, “Miss C. is a dominatrix.”

Our clique is stunned into an awkward silence. Susie not-so-discreetly wipes her hand down the side of her dress. Karl’s eyes bulge. Parker chokes on an ice cube. Again. Even Carrie is lost for words. I join Ella’s side and chuckle. As I drink my scotch, I’m blindsided by a sudden swell of emotion.

No, I’m not being gay, I just feel content. Yeah, that’s it.

Happy. Everything I need is right here. Crazy friends. Crazy colleagues. Crazy family. A tumbler of scotch.

And best of all?

Ella.

***

Two hours later the party is in full swing.

Mom insisted on giving Ella a tour of her azaleas, so my father and I are shooting the breeze over a scotch. He’s working his way up to something, I can tell. Dad pulls a cigar out of his back pocket, and lights up. “My son is thirty. How the hell did that happen? Goddamn.”

He shakes his head in mock disbelief. “So, tell me about this Ella girl. Is this the real deal?”

I blow out a long breath and tell him the truth. “I like her, Dad. She’s great. She makes me laugh. She—”

“Has a great ass,” he replies. “Your mother agrees.”

I chuckle. “I can’t argue with that. Awesome rack, too”

Then an uncomfortable silence surrounds us. My father turns to me, uncertainty clouding his features. “But is it the real thing? Is she the one?”

As I mull over the last few weeks, my stomach fizzes with excitement. Ella Bryant is everything I never even knew I wanted. And the sex? I’ve let her do things to my body that would make a whore blush

“I like her, Dad. I could bullshit you and say ‘hey, I’m ready to marry her’ in the hope you’ll forget about that stupid ultimatum.”

He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, and now he’s conjured a pen out of thin air.
Idiot, Slade.

His eyes twinkle. He’s wearing his business face now. “How much do you like her?”

“I told you already. You know what? Screw your will. I don’t need you stupid—”

I stop myself mid-sentence and my father raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Is that so? You sure you wouldn’t like an extension?”

I cough. I feel like I’m back at frigging school. “Possibly.”

He chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. I used to look at your mom the same way. It was like I had tunnel vision.” He swirls ice cubes around his glass. “What I’m trying to say is that I consulted my bullshit detector and it told me you passed.”

Passed?

Before I can open my mouth to speak, my father rips the paper into a dozen pieces and throws them in the air. I swear my old man’s in the early stages of dementia.

He stubs out his cigar butt. “Now, I’d better go break the bad news to Cousin Timmy.”

I watch him walk back to the house. Did you hear that? I’m pretty sure Ella Bryant has just inadvertently saved my inheritance. I pick up a shred of paper that’s fallen to my feet.

Wait a second.

It’s just an old invoice. That old dog.

My nostrils are assailed by the overwhelming scent of cat piss. I inwardly groan. Oh, God, no.

“Dah-link! There you are! I’ve been looking for you. I have a special birthday gift for my handsome boy.” Christ, she’s dressed like she came straight from a rehearsal of the
Rocky Horror Show
. She puckers her lips together like she’s been sucking lemons. “Come with me, dah-link! I have a birthday present for you!”

Cougars are dangerous creatures, don’t you think? Nocturnal, they hunt in packs, preying on young and vulnerable males. Solitary by nature, they thrive in low density populations with little competition.

Like Montauk.

Before you can say blueberry-fucking-pie, I find myself being hustled down a canopied pathway to the oak tree at the bottom of the garden like a piece of meat.

“Juliana, let’s go back to the party, where we can do gift-giving”

She presses a bony finger against my lips. Her wine-laced breath rasps. “Parker told me you like your women a little…
seasoned
.”

He did, did he?

My attacker pushes her crinkly bosom against my waist and falls to her knees. I grab the back of her head, trying to remove her from my belt, but it’s impossible. She’s sticking like Velcro.

Stop the ride—I want to get off.

This is fucking insane. I tug at her hat but the old harridan isn’t giving up without a fight.  Undeterred, she yanks my pants down to my ankles.
Shit
. I’m trapped. I can’t run. The mighty cougar has caught her prey.

She freezes. Is it wrong to hope she’s having a seizure?

I’ve lucked out—she’s just removing her dentures.

It’s happening.

I’m about to get a gum job.

What happens next is something that no mother should witness, but that’s the shitty thing about the karma café; you don’t get to choose your own menu.

“… and last year I won gold for my pink hose-in-hose. To win best in class, the flower need to …”

I hear horrified gasps. “Oh my … Alex … is that … is that you?”

Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Have you ever wished you could just magic yourself away? Atomize yourself out of existence? Beam me the fuck up, Scotty, and get me a handle of scotch while you’re at it.

When I finally muster up the courage to open my eyes, I find my mom limp in Ella’s arms. She’s passed out.

This is the worst moment of my life.

My response? Yep, the most cliché phrase in existence. “It’s not what you think …”