Thor (Recherché #1) (7 page)

By the evening, my head has finally stopped hurting. I head downstairs and find everyone hanging out down there as usual. Even Xavier is lingering in the office doorway. Cora is sat on the breakfast bar and Maddox is pressed between her legs, a cocky smile on his face. He’s been trying to get in her pants ever since she got here. Everyone knows she’s more into girls.

“You know, I’m very good with my mouth.” He tells her.

“I’m sure you are, big boy, at least when it’s wrapped around a cock.”

“Oh, she’s got you there, Mad.” Kaden calls from the sofa.

“Well that’s something we have in common so I hear.” Maddox grins.

She lets out a tinkling laugh. “I’m better with pussy.”

A strained groan makes its way up his throat. “Damn, I’d pay good money to see that shit.”

“Oh, you can. I have this friend.” She sits up, bringing her lips close to his. She runs a hand up the back of his neck, pulling him even closer and wrapping her leg around his hip. “Ten grand and we’re yours for a night.” She whispers. Poor guy looks like he’s about to come in his pants. To be fair, I probably would if Cora were wrapped around me like that. The girl is smoking hot and she wears sex like it’s just another outfit in her vast wardrobe.

The problem with Maddox and Cora is that they work together a lot. If someone wants a threesome then it’s those two who go, because whatever situation arises—guys, girls, both—they’ll do it. They should just fuck and get it over with.

I ignore them and go to the office, closing the door behind me.

“Hey. How was Dubai?” I ask Xavier when I walk in. He’s sat at SJ’s desk using the computer.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything outside of the hotel room.” Xavier has some gig with one of the daughters of a Sheikh. He’s a braver man than me, those guys cut off body parts for less.

“How was the wedding?”

“Yeah, good. That Whitely chick was actually a good laugh.” I glance over at him and he’s staring at me with a cocked eyebrow. “What?”

“I guess you don’t read the newspaper very often.” I shake my head at him. What the fuck is he rambling on about. He twists the computer screen half in my direction and I cross the room, bracing my palms on the desk as I look at the screen.

There’s a picture of Poppy and me on the dance floor at the wedding. Guests are looking on as we kiss, right there in the middle of the wedding. “Careless.” He says.

I drag a hand down my face. Shit. I wasn’t thinking. Anything like this at an event like that is a no go. Poppy Whitely lip-locked with a guy at her sister's wedding is going to get people asking questions, wanting to know who I am. My entire business is built on discretion. This is about as far from discrete as it gets. I can feel Xavier’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, waiting for an explanation but the truth is I don’t have one. I got caught up in the moment and I kissed her because I wanted to. The problem is, that’s never happened before. I don’t have lapses in judgment, or off moments. I’m Thor Jameson. Professional in every sense of the word.

“It won’t happen again.” I turn away and go back to my desk.

“What the fuck? Are you into this girl or something?”

“No! Look, just drop it. It will blow over when my face doesn’t pop up again. The press aren’t that tenacious.”

“Your clients might not say the same.” He shakes his head.

I ignore him. My clients don’t give a fuck. The only thing I could do to make them stop both fucking and paying me would be to tell their rich husbands exactly what their hard-earned money is being spent on.

I can’t focus on anything, so I get up and go upstairs. As soon as I close the door my phone buzzes with a text. And it’s from Poppy:

How’s the head? X

I clutch the phone in my hand and tell myself repeatedly to ignore it, but still, I find myself typing out a response.

Better. I see we’re famous. X

Poppy:

Well, that kiss was pretty hot. ;) We should do it again sometime. X

Shit, what does that mean? Wait, why do I even care? Why am I texting her? I throw the phone down on the sofa as if it’s going to burn me, change into some workout clothes and go downstairs to the gym. I pound the heavy bag until sweat is pouring down my back and chest and the muscles in my arms ache from the exertion. I clutch the bag between my forearms and brace my forehead against it, trying to catch my breath. As soon as I close my eyes the sound of my heavy breaths are drowned out by the memory of Poppy’s moans, her calling my name as she came against my tongue. I can practically taste her right now.
Fuck.
I shove away from the bag and start working it over again. I need to stop. 

One week later…

“So, the wedding was good?” Elodie asks, crossing her legs beneath her.

I put the wine back in the fridge. “As good as can be expected.”

I take a seat on the sofa, pressing my back to the arm and tucking my legs under me. “You know I wasn’t really asking about the wedding, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Thor was very charming.”

“Please.” She snorts. “Charming?”

I take a gulp of my wine. “Amongst other things.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She raises her eyebrows. “And you haven’t heard from him since?” She probes.

“I texted him and he replied, but then nothing.” I shrug. “I’m not going to be the crazy chick that stalks him.”

“No one likes desperation.” She sings, downing her glass of wine and placing the empty glass back on the table. “Anyway, I have to go pack.” She stands and I push to my feet, wrapping my arms around her.

“You only just got back.”

“I know. It’s just a month, though.” She pouts.  Elodie’s parents have houses all over the world. She couldn’t make the wedding because she had to go to New York, hence she organized Thor to come as a stand in. She got back three days ago, and this is the first time I’ve seen her. She flies out to Thailand tomorrow and won’t be back for a month. I miss her. Some people have loads of friends. I don’t connect with other people easily. The social circles I grew up in look down their nose at me and normal people think I’m just a stuck up trust fund baby. Elodie is my best friend, and I miss her.

I release her and she flashes me a smile before making her way to the door and opening it. “I’ll call you. Love you!”

“Love you too.” And then she’s gone. I go back to my spot on the sofa and pick up my glass of wine. It’s been a week since the wedding and I wonder, not for the first time, what Thor is up to right now. I debate calling him but quickly decide against it. If he wanted to see me again he would have contacted me. I’m a pretty independent person, but with Elodie gone I suddenly realize I have no one. There isn’t one person that I can invite over just to share a glass of wine. How desperately sad is that? And upon realizing that I decide I need to drown my sorrows alone. So I crank up the sound system and grab another bottle of wine.

An hour later and I’m drunk. It hasn’t helped, in case you were wondering. My mind goes to Thor. Why did I have to text him? I mean, maybe I get off on the rejection. I know I should just delete his number and move on, but there’s something about him. He’s the kind of guy who can make a girl forget about everything that isn’t him. He’s so damn hot, he feels like an apparition, something I dreamed up.

So of course, I text him.

Me:
What are you up to, oh, godly one? X

I don’t expect a response so when my phone buzzes a couple of minutes later I almost spill my wine.

Thor:
Honing my godliness. What you up to, ginge? X

My stomach flutters and I want to punch myself in the face. I mean, really?

I reply:
Drinking wine. There’s a bottle or twelve with your name on it. X

I take a picture of my wine fridge which actually has about fifteen bottles in it, and send it to him.

Thor:
If you’re trying to tempt with wine, then you’re going to have to do better than that. X

The wine has me feeling brave and just the thought of him has me horny, so I go to my room and throw on some lacey underwear, snapping a quick picture. Part of me feels ridiculous, but there’s also a little thrill in it. I send it to him and want to cover my face with my hands as I wait for his response. I lay on the bed like a starfish and blow out a long breath. I know I just changed the game. I took this from the nice girl he went to a wedding with him to the nasty girl who wants to bang him senseless. But I do want to bang him senseless. Elodie always says there are girls you fuck and girls you marry. I’ve always inherently been the girl you marry, but I haven’t heard from him in a week. Ergo, he is not viewing me as dating material. So…why not make myself the girl he fucks? Hell, I want to be the girl he fucks. I pick up the phone and glance at the screen. Nothing. I wait and wait, but he never responds.

Insecurities raise their ugly head and a small voice at the back of my head tells me I’m ridiculous for thinking I’m even remotely in the same league as Thor. He probably has Victoria Secret level women throwing themselves at him.

I throw a tank top over my slutty underwear and go to the fridge to get more wine. I grab a bottle and am reading the label when there’s a knock at the door. It’s probably the grumpy woman from downstairs complaining about the music.

“It’s not that loud!” I’m already shouting when I open the door.

Thor stands there, arms braced either side of the doorframe. A cocky smile is plastered all over his face. He’s wearing jeans that are riding low on his hips, and with his arms braced like that, his t-shirt is riding up, exposing a strip of tanned skin and that deep cut V.

“You’re here.” I stammer.

“That tends to happen when you send pictures like that.” His eyes skate down my body until they hit my legs. “You always answer the door in your underwear?” I’m so busy staring at him that it takes me a second to realize what he said.

“Sometimes.”

He steps forward, straightening to his full height. His presence seems to grow. Morphing into something intimidating laced with a hint of danger. I can barely form coherent thoughts or words because he’s looking at me like I’m his prey and he’s about to tear me to shreds. That refined exterior is fraying, exposing this beneath it, this primal edge that he hides so well. My heart is pounding frantically, as a shot of fear induced adrenaline fires through my veins. He closes in on me and I back up, maintaining the tiny gap between us. His lips twitch as though he’s amused by me.

The door closes and the clicking of the latch makes me jump. Amusement crosses his features. “There I am, thinking about that tight pussy of yours, when you send me that picture.” He says. I swallow heavily, taking another shaky step back, not because I’m scared, but because I like the chase. “What’s a guy to do?”

“Send a dick pic?”

He smiles that sexy as sin smile of his and I stop moving, allowing him to close the distance. Every hard plane of his body presses against me. My chest rises and falls unevenly. His fingers wind around my neck and my pulse pounds so hard I can hear it thrumming against my ear drums. I feel so small, so insignificant compared to him, and yet I trust him. I don’t know why.

He lowers his face and uses his grip on my neck to pull me up onto tiptoes. “I remember what you taste like, Poppy.” He growls. “But I can’t stop thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around my dick.”

Okay, I’m done. My pussy is so wet I’m ready to rape him right here in the middle of my front room. My eyes drop to his lips and I release an unsteady breath. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile before they brush mine in a feather light kiss, but it’s not enough. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. His fingers at my throat are restraining me. He’s in complete control.

“Thor.” I mean it as a warning but it comes out sounding more like a plea. He huffs a laugh and presses his free hand against my stomach. It slides between our bodies before his fingers disappear below the lace edge of my underwear. His eyes remain locked on mine as his hand dips between my legs. I spread my thighs, inviting him in. When his fingers brush over my pussy his eyes spark with something savage and unhinged. I’m drenched for him. I can see how close to the edge he is, so I give him a push.

“Fuck me.” I beg. I don’t even care. I’m desperate. This is an itch that only he can scratch.

“Shit.” He hisses, twisting me away from him. A hand slams between my shoulder blades, forcing me over the back of the sofa. Cold air hits my arse when he yanks my underwear down my legs. I’m completely exposed and I have no idea what he’s doing. The anticipation of him touching me is enough to have me shaking.

I hear the clink of a belt buckle, a zip, the tearing of foil. His cock barely nudges against me before he grabs the back of my neck and slams inside me without warning. I choke on a breath, unable to make any coherent noise.