AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dorian flares his nostrils and honest to God grunts before relaxing his arms. Instead, he shuffles his hands into his pockets. “I’m not smiling, though.”
What a tough nut to crack. When other clients or subjects act indignant it tends to really piss me off. With Dorian, it’s almost endearing. Like he’s a wounded puppy and I want to scoop him up and squeeze the hell out of him, but something tells me he may not respond so well to that.
I seize the opportunity and click away. The overcast lighting coming from the open window provides the perfect atmospheric shot. He looks like a billionaire superhero…or is it a super villain?
His words echo in my head. Dorian lived on the streets? How in the hell did he get there, and why won’t he tell me about it? My mind races with assumptions. It eats at me, almost enough to tell him that I wouldn’t put it in the article if he told me his story.
“I think I got it.” I say, reaching into my back pocket for my lense cap.
“We’re done?” He rises from the desk. Standing in front of me, the man towers over me. He’s so big it’s like a shadow forms all around me, but it’s not cold. The heat coming off of him is unbearable, and all I can do is imagine what it would feel like to sink my teeth into his swollen bottom lip.
“Painless, right?”
“Right.” He rubs his hand across his brow before turning to the window. “Oh shit, it’s really gotten bad out.” I read this as another not-so-subtle hint that he’s not too keen on having me here, and I throw my free hand up.
“Don’t worry, I’m heading out now.” I turn to leave but his voice stops me.
“Maybe you should wait it out.”
“Here?” My head snaps back in his direction. An image flashes through my mind. Dorian grabbing me with those big, strong hands, kissing me passionately as he brushes all of the papers off of his desk before bending me over and plowing his rock hard length into me until I scream with delight.
“I’ll be fine.” I say, desperately clearing the inappropriate image from my brain.
“It isn’t safe.”
“Well,” my cheeks flush with embarrassment as if he can read my thoughts. “I’m a pretty safe driver.” I rush into the living room and grab my camera bag. Dorian stays hot on my heels. Why does he care so much about my safety all of a sudden? Especially when I’ve crossed the imaginary professional boundary in my head. I shouldn’t be thinking this way about someone I’m interviewing. It’s best to cut those feelings off and hightail it out of here. I don’t think they’re going to promote someone who sleeps with her subjects.
“Thea, don’t be hard headed.” The way he says my name in that thick voice—like he’s gargling rocks in a pool of warm honey—causes my panties to drench on the spot. Is it weird I want him to press me down until I succumb to his forceful seduction?
Yes, quit it! This is inappropriate!
I gather my things, meet his glowing multi-colored eyes and extend my hand. “Dorian, it has been a pleasure.”
He takes my hand and a wave of electricity shoots up my arm. It’s like my body can’t even handle being this close to him without completely wanting to jump all over him.
I have to get out of here before I jeopardize my job by letting my libido get in the way. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this badly in my entire life, and why? He’s aloof, lacks a sense of charm, and clearly doesn’t want to open up to me.
Sounds just like your type, Thea.
“Shut up.” I whisper to myself.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” He releases my hand and I give a curt nod. “Can I go out the front this time?”
“Of course,” he says, sounding a little bewildered. As a billionaire, he probably just isn’t used to people telling him what’s what. I’m sure his way is alwaystheway in his world.
He opens the door for me and I don’t even bother looking back. “Thank you. We’ll have someone reach out when the article is scheduled for publication.” I nod, brush a stray strand of hair away from my face, and stomp out into the rapidly falling snow.
4
Dorian
The simple snowstormhas evolved into a full blown blizzard. I don’t even close the door behind me. Instead, I watch Thea traipse through the mess, slipping and sliding with each step. This is a bad idea. I can’t let her get in the car.
It can’t happen again.
My body is frozen to the spot. If I go out and tell her she can’t leave, I’ll have to explain to her why. She’s a journalist, and I’m certain nothing that I tell her will be kept between the two of us. Of course I’d feel this way if anyone wanted to brave shitty weather, but this feels different. It’s almost as if I feel responsible for her. There’s only been one other person in my life I felt that way for, and I let her down.
