Decker
Agirl walks into a bar…
And blows my world apart.
"You're not engaged anymore."
I don't know what possesses me to say that, but it's the truth. The second she took my kiss, I marked her as mine. Anyone tries to take her from me, I'll bury them.
Mine.
Fucking seriously. Twenty minutes ago, I was settled on the fact that I would probably die alone. A fucking hundred-year-old virgin. And now, I'm ready to skin any motherfucker who looks at her like he's got a claim. This sweet little thing sitting on my desk like a ripe cherry waiting to be picked.
"What?" She tips her head to the side, and her cheeks plump out with a smile that nearly empties my balls into my pants. "Yes, I am. I'm engaged. For real. I have a fiancé. And so, I suppose, I'm a cheating whore right now."
The way she talks makes me want to wash her mouth out with soap and tug her into my lap. Not only does she look like no other girl I've ever seen, she doesn't talk like any I've ever heard. And trust me, I've heard plenty in this business. She's clearly no whore, and I doubt she even knows what the word means.
The sound of the words "fiancé" and "whore" on her lips makes me want to throw her over my knee and spank those thoughts out of her. No fucking way is she engaged. Her eyes give her away. She’s as fresh as a Sunday afternoon in spring. And if she really belonged to someone else, she wouldn't have kissed me like she just did. I can taste something in her, something familiar, something I've been waiting for my whole life. So whatever this engagement bullshit is, I've just added it to my to-undo list.
"Do you kiss him?" I grumble. If any word comes out of her mouth butno, I'm hunting down this Fiancé fuck tonight.
She wrinkles her nose at me. She's thinking about what to say, which means the answer's no.
"Naw," she says, shaking her head. "It's kind of a strange set-up. It's my family, they're very…" She bobs her head side-to-side, squinting one eye. "…traditional."
That's all I need to know.
I shift closer, splaying her knees farther apart, and her eyes go wide. They're silver-gray, wrapped in a cord of black. Alabaster skin just waiting to be tasted, framed by long amber waves of hair. I'm admiring every inch I can see, memorizing it for later because I intend to map her with my tongue until I know where I'm kissing with my eyes closed.
"Are you going to make me orgasm again?" she chirps, turning her head up to smile at me, as she leans back on locked arms, swinging her feet back and forth.
I try to hide my bewilderment over this tiny weirdo. She's sugar and spice and everything that I didn't know I wanted, all wrapped up in mismatched Rodeo Drive clothes.
"Orgasm?" I lean forward, hands flat on the desk next to hers, my torso twisted in knots, trying not to flip her on her back and bury my face in her pussy this second. The sound of that word on her lips makes my cock kick against my zipper. "You want me to give you an orgasm, Pink?"
"Yes. That would be nice." Her eyes flash from excitement to fear. "But I shouldn't."
"Yes, you should. Someone should give you orgasms every day. And starting tonight, that someone's me."
"Oh, wait!" She leans back and forth, trying to see around me. I'm still stuck on all the ways I'm going to give her the orgasms she wants, but my May's attention span is flashing on and off like one of the strobe lights on the dance floor. "Can you grab my bag from over there? I brought you something."
She bites her bottom lip, and my dick weeps, but I can't say no.
I twist and reach down, grateful that I don't have to step out from between her knees to pull the Marc Jacobs Sapphire bag up from the floor. It's another side effect of being around all these women for all these years. Purses are big talk, and I can't help that I fucking know this shit. Besides, I bought all the girls Marc Jacobs bags for Christmas last year, so I know far more than I wish to about fucking handbags.
It must weigh as much as she does, and it's nearly as big. What a little thing like her needs with a purse big enough to carry a full-grown pit bull, I'm not sure, but from the excited look in her eyes, I don't much care.
I set the bag down next to her, and she giggles, pushing her hair behind her ears and making this little enthusiastic eeeeep sound.
"This is weird, right?" She rustles around inside her bag, her voice rising, and pulls out a gift box with a lime green satin ribbon tied around it. "I mean, I've never applied for a job before. And, well, I just met you, and you kissed me, and that's sort of weird."
Her eyes come up to meet mine, and I nod because she needs my agreement to work through whatever is happening here.
And she’s right, this whole situation is pretty fucking weird. But I'm fine with weird, as long as it involves her.
"And I get my first orgasm, and I don't even know you, but I like you, and that's weird too." She tightens her knees, hugging the outside of my thighs, and I lose my fucking mind.
She drops the purse on the floor and sits straight up.
