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My imagination was a poor substitute for the real deal, but I’d have to make do.
I pictured Lauren between my legs, my hands threading through her thick, dark hair as her mouth slid up and down my shaft, her slender fingers gently cupping my balls as she worked my cock.
I pumped faster, hungry for the friction. In my imagination, Lauren met my gaze while her mouth worked me. I nearly lost it at the thought. I groaned more loudly as I fucked my own hand harder. My heart rate quickened as the tingling started in my balls, rattling the cages and shaking the foundation.
“Jesus, Lauren.” I moaned as my orgasm hit with a ferocity I was unprepared for. I came hard, spilling everywhere as I continued to pump against my palm, gasping as my release stole my breath and left me wheezing from the sheer force.
It was several minutes before I could think again, my heart still thundering.
I rolled to the side, grimacing at the mess I’d made. I jerked my shirt off and used it to clean up, tossing it to the floor for the maid to deal with later.
A sigh escaped my parted lips and I rose slowly from the sofa, no longer suffering an erection, but the release had been only partially satisfying.
I wanted the real deal.
What did Lauren sound like when she came? Was she loud or breathy? What did she taste like? Was she sweet or musky? I liked both but I wanted to know Lauren’s essence, the unique taste of her as she came, preferably when she gushed into my mouth.
Before the kiss, Lauren might’ve been able to play off that she wasn’t interested, but that woman had set my ass on fire with her response.
She was a powder keg of need and want—and I was just the man to give her what she craved.
But she wasn’t going to just give in. Lauren was too stubborn for such an easy win.
No, this situation required finesse and a certain level of clever manipulation behind the scenes to make things happen.
As I noodled the situation, my wandering gaze settled on a gilded invitation I’d tossed to the coffee table. I was expected to make an appearance, smile, nod and wave, to represent Donato Inc. Seeing as I wasn’t actually needed on the business front, my brothers often threw me the public appearances.
But I needed a date.
Usually, I selected one of my regular fuck buddies, someone who understood I wasn’t interested in dating, just a hot body on my arm, and an even hotter time in bed afterward. No expectations, no entanglements: a good time for everyone involved.
I wanted Lauren to be my plus-one.
Of course, she’d decline—spouting something to the effect that being my date would be inappropriate—but what if I made it impossible for her to turn me down?
A cunning smile curved my lips. All it would take would be a little nudge here, a little encouragement there and I could get Patrice, Lauren’s editor, to make it happen.
But I couldn’t make it look obvious or else Lauren would sniff out my hand.
Subtlety was the key.
Times were hard in publishing these days. The right dollar amount in the advertising department might grease the wheels well enough. Luxe could always use a high-rolling client within their pages.
Donato Inc. owned several boutique wineries—my father collected wineries like some might collect stamps—and it just so happened that one of the wineries was debuting a new tasting room in Manhattan. I could run a series of ads for the tasting room, which would be a legitimate but quite pricey expense on the guise of promoting our little boutique winery.
The acquisition of a high-end client would tickle the advertising execs, and Patrice would bend to whatever I asked.
Including strong-arming her reluctant reporter to be my date for the event.
Yes, the more I gave it thought, the more the idea had merit.
I would place the appropriate calls tomorrow.
Inordinately pleased with myself, I retired to my bed to dream of all the dirty, delicious and downright damnable things I wanted to do to the delectable Miss Hughes, the hottest MILF I’d ever met.
CHAPTER NINE
Lauren
“WHAT?” I ASKED, not quite sure I’d heard Patrice correctly. “I’m going where?”
But Patrice was already anticipating my refusal and frowned in my direction over the horn-rimmed glasses she insisted were the height of fashion but in my opinion only made her look like an owl.
“I don’t know why you insist on being so damn difficult. It’s not often that the hottest bachelor in town is willing to have you as his date at a very high-end, high-profile event.”
My head was spinning. Nico wanted me to go where? “Don’t you think that’s a little unprofessional? The article hasn’t even run yet. I shouldn’t be seen out and about chumming it up with the man we’re trying to tell the world is available.”
“I didn’t say to date him,” Patrice said as if I were being deliberately ignorant. “And on the contrary, being seen out and about with Donato is excellent publicity for Luxe. You can subtly drop some hints about the upcoming feature, create some buzz.”
“Did Nico put you up to this?” I asked flatly. Patrice answered with an unamused stare. I shifted, defending myself. “It just seems odd that he would pick me to go as his date. I barely know him. Surely he has other women he could invite.”
“Nico has nothing to do with this. I put this in motion, not Nico,” she said sharply. “I caught wind of the event, found out that Nico would be there and asked Nico if he wouldn’t mind squiring you about for the sake of the upcoming article. He was a perfect gentleman about it, and I appreciated his willingness to be a good sport.”
In spite of Patrice’s answer, I smelled a rat. I couldn’t exactly tell Patrice about the red-hot kiss Nico and I had shared a few days ago at his apartment without looking like a complete hypocrite, but there was no way in hell Patrice just casually discovered that Nico needed a date for the event.
No, this had Nico’s hands all over it.
I made a show of checking my calendar. “As much as I would love to go and talk up Luxe, I’m busy that night.”
“Busy how?” Patrice asked, her brow climbing with disbelief.
I tried not to take offense, but Patrice’s constant disdain for my social life—however dull it was—got old. “I have a date,” I lied.
“Yes, I know...with Nico Donato,” Patrice replied, daring me to say otherwise.
“No, I mean, an actual date with a man. I mean, of course it’s a man, but someone I might actually have a connection with. We’ve been talking for a few weeks and we’ve finally found time in our busy schedules to meet up. He’s an engineer,” I finished with a smile, seeming enamored with my fake date. I tacked on brightly, “Oh! And we have reservations at Tochi’s, and you know how hard it is to get a reservation at that place. I couldn’t possibly cancel on such late notice.”
Patrice’s mouth pursed with displeasure. “This looks very bad for Luxe.”
I wanted to quip, I didn’t realize Luxe had entered the escort business, but wisely didn’t. Instead, I suggested, “Send Daphne. She’d love to spend an evening with Mr. Donato, and I’m sure it would be good for her to network for new story leads. Those dinners are terribly boring unless you know who to talk to. Daphne could use the practice.”
“If I wanted Daphne, I would’ve given her the assignment.”
I was on dangerous ground with Patrice, but she couldn’t actually make me go as Nico’s date, could she? I mean, surely that was breaking a few HR rules.
I held my breath as I awaited her decision. Just when I thought I was going to lose and she was going to force me to cancel my fake date, she relented with a sour look. “Well, I guess all I can say is enjoy your date. I’m sure Daphne will have a lovely time,” she said, dismissing me.
Phew. Dodged a bullet. I didn’t trust myself around Nico after that kiss
. It was too good and I was still thinking about it way too much. That damn kiss had ignited some questionable ideas that were getting harder to dismiss—I didn’t need anything to pitch fuel on the fire.
However, if I were being honest, it pinched a little at the thought of Daphne landing in Nico’s arms, and that was precisely why it was the right decision to avoid him.
The man could probably convince a nun to toss her habit with one flick of that tongue, but I wasn’t about to lose my fucking mind over one kiss.
But would it be so terrible to have some fun? I used to know how to have a good time, but I seemed to have forgotten the basics.
Kissing was fun; sex was better.
Just playing devil’s advocate for a second...how bad would it be to have a little fun with Nico—assuming neither of us was looking for anything real or permanent?
Unlike my sister, Claire, I didn’t believe in soul mates and happily-ever-after.
You know what I believed in? Hot tea with honey on cold mornings, freedom of the press and the satisfaction found in paying my own bills.
The rest was hogwash.
Maybe at one time I believed in that happily-ever-after stuff, but life had disabused me of that silliness.
I found satisfaction and fulfillment in a job well done. And as I put the finishing touches on my article on Donato, I knew I’d hit the mark. As I’d told Nico, no matter my personal feelings, I could deliver a well-written article on any subject.
