June (Calendar Girl #6) (7 page)

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Would you now? Looks like we’re going to have to use our imaginations. Starting with your hands. Pull down the cups of your bra and touch your breasts. Christ, they’re sexy and soft. Remember how it felt when I’d push the fabric down and lift each one to my mouth. How I’d bite just enough to get you squirming. Pinch those sweet pink tips for me. Wet your fingertips and start soft then hard just like I would.

Jeez Louise. The man was three thousand miles away and had the power to make me come with just a simple text. Lost in the haze of lust that only Wes could pull off from this distance, I pressed down the fabric of my bra. My breasts were full, heavy, and ready to be worshipped. Licking my fingertips, I closed my eyes and swirled them around the erect peaks. Then, like he said, I wrapped thumb and forefinger around the tips and tugged, elongating them before pinching the tissue. I cried out at the intense sensation that rippled through my chest to settle heavily between my thighs. The material of my panties was soaked, my pussy clenching around nothing but air, feeling empty, needing to be filled.

Another text came through.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Are you wet, sweetheart? Achy, ready to be fucked hard?

My fingers fumbled and my breath came in heavy pants as I typed back.

To: Wes Channing

From: Mia Saunders

This is torture.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

I know baby, but just stay with me. Slide your hands down your tiny waist. Swirl a finger around your belly button and tickle the skin the way I did. You remember? Of course you do. Slide that hand down to where you miss me most, but don’t enter that bit of heaven just yet. Play with your hot, little clit. I’ll bet it’s hard as a rock for me. Small, tight, rounded flesh. If I was there, I’d lick it until you came. I’d swirl my tongue around that hot button of nerves and suck so hard your legs would clamp around my head, caging me in, keeping me there. Play with yourself now.

Gone. Completely lost in the fantasy, I did exactly what he said. Tickled my stomach, sliding a wet fingertip around my naval the way he’d lick me on his path to what he called heaven. My breath was labored, coming in soft pants. I could feel the wisps of hair against the tingling tips of my breasts, jutting out, the nipples zipping with the need to be touched, sucked and bitten. Slowly, I allowed my hand to trail beneath the lace covering my sex. Wet. Practically dripping. Only Wes was capable of doing that to me. Just words in a text turned me into a melting pot of pure need. The need for him to touch me. Taste me. Make love to me.

Doing as he said, I played with my clit. Flicking the little button teasingly the way Wes always did before he went to town.

Another text came in.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

I’m imagining your taste and stroking my cock thinking of you, of your pussy. Your cunt would be warm, sweet, and juicy like a peach off the tree. Remember how I’d cover as much of that tasty pussy as I could with my mouth and suck on you…

Oh fuck. His words lit a fire so hot it was burning through three thousand miles of space. I continued reading while pinching my clit, tugging on it, rocking my hips back and forth.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Suck so hard you’d scream. And when you came, I’d start all over again. By the time I was done with you, your cunt would be crying to be filled. Is it that way now? Ready for my dick? I’ll bet it is. I know that greedy pussy. It wants to be jammed full of hard cock. Don’t be shy. Push two fingers in hard, sweetheart. Pretend it’s me thrusting into you that first time.

I couldn’t stop. It was as if I was a marionette and he the puppet master. I shoved two fingers in hard, just like he instructed and cried out at the small sting of the fast intrusion. The pain only lasted a second. It was just enough to trick my mind into thinking he’d entered me, except that two fingers were a very small comparison to Wes’s package. Right now, it would have to do.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

Do your fingers feel good sweetheart? Not as good as it would feel to have me there. Now thrust those fingers in and out. Take your other hand and pluck that little clit I love to nibble on. Fuck yourself until you come. Come for me, sweetheart.

I was helpless to resist. My fingers moved on autopilot, my mind using the images he’d conjured. Tingles broke out over my skin as a fine mist of sweat tickled the surface. Every pore gasped with the intensity of pleasure ripping through my system. Heat built until pleasure coiled low, spiraling from the center and out until nothing but sparks of multicolored lights blasted across my closed eyelids. As the orgasm took hold, its claws scratched and shredded along my nerves until the euphoric edge hit home and the release splintered through me.

A few more jerks, my hips arched off the bed, and the newly inked skin screamed in agony as the last dredges of bliss spiraled along each limb. I finally came down into a lifeless heap.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

You asleep?

I laughed at Wes’s last text.

To: Wes Channing

From: Mia Saunders

Sorry. You took me for quite the solo ride.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Wes Channing

I was right there with you, sweetheart. You weren’t alone. Came harder imagining you touching yourself thinking of me, than I have since Chicago.

And that’s all it took to pop the pristine little bubble of happiness he’d created for me.

Chicago.

That was the last time we’d been together physically. Three long months ago. Since then, I’d had a booty call with Alec and a month with Tai. All the while, he’d been with the sultry actress, the same one that all the celebrity mags were calling this year’s most beautiful woman alive. And my Wes was fucking her. Regularly. It was only a matter of time before he cut me loose. Maybe I should make it easier for him. Cut him loose first.

If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t know if I could cut off Wes forever. There was too much there. Things left unsaid and undone, all while attached with the weight of a promise for more. A promise I’m not sure either of us could keep for another six months. For such a short time with him, it felt like years of history sat between us.

I couldn’t do this over text. With a deep breath and a sigh I hit the “Call” button on my phone.

Wes answered, a sleepy timber to his voice. “Hey beautiful, I figured you’d be avoiding what happened between us for at least a week or two?” He chuckled, and the sexy sound went straight to my over-taxed libido. Criminey, all the man had to do was breathe and I wanted him with a fierceness that was unmatched by any other.

“Wes, we should talk about this. What we’re doing to one another…” I let the statement hang heavily between us.

He sighed aloud, a deep rumbling noise. It reminded me of when I would lay on his bare chest and listen to the beat of his heart and the sound of his breath moving in and out of his lungs. One of the most soothing places in the entire world was being lost in his arms. If only the rest of life could be that comforting.

“Let’s not make this more than it is. Two people who have a mutual affection for one another, taking the edge of.”

I huffed. “So that’s how you want to play this?”

“I’m not playing anything. Nothing has changed. You know where I stand, I know where you stand. That doesn’t mean we can’t meet in the middle now and again to remember how good it can be.”

The man had a point. “I’m so tired.”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Wes had a way of lulling me into complacency. Making me believe that this thing between us could just be. For now, I had to trust in him and in that. “Washington, DC is filled with nothing but gold-digging whores, and stuffy old dudes with too much money and far too much power.”

He laughed out loud. “You speak the truth. So what’s the problem? The guy you’re with want you to be something more than an escort?”

I shook my head and made a gagging sound which was reciprocated by his rich laughter. I loved every bit of it. Without even trying, he made the air seem lighter. “Warren is a good guy. Not at all interested in me in that way.”

Wes scoffed. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“I’m not his type.”

“Mia, sweetheart, you’re
every
man’s type.”

I rolled my eyes and twirled my hair, inspecting my tattoo while I thought about what he said. “Whatever. It’s just being here is weird. I’m not exactly sure of my place.”

“How so?”

“Well, he’s hired me to be the pretty piece on his arm so that he fits in with the other rich old dudes. They all have a young woman clinging to them. But he has this woman at home that he’s been with for years and yet he hides her away.”

“Huh. That is odd. Why do you think that is?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” The image of the shrine came flashing across my mind. “Not sure he’s over his dead wife. But she died twenty-five years ago. It’s weird. And he has this house attendant that he’s been having a hidden relationship with for years, but he keeps it under wraps. I don’t know, I guess the fact that he keeps a woman as his dirty little secret doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Me either. Think you could maybe make him see the error in his ways? You’re pretty good at that.”

“Probably be more fun than sitting around his McMansion with nothing better to do than go out and spontaneously get a tattoo.” Wes was quiet for so long I had to check the display to make sure the call didn’t drop or the phone battery had died. “Wes?”

“Sorry sweetheart, I was just imagining you with a tat. Shit, you got me hard again.”

I grinned. “Maybe we can do something about that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Close your eyes and imagine me kissing my way down your chest…”

Chapter 6

“Honey, you spend a spell with the other ladies here while the men and I talk business,” Warren said while dropping me off at a table with seven other women. All of them were dressed similarly. Tight little dresses, hair long and luxurious, and some serious sparkles all over their ears, necks, wrists, and fingers. These women were kept and didn’t have any bones about flaunting that fact.

I waved awkwardly. “Hi, I’m Mia.”

All but one looked at me with daggers in her eyes. “Hi, I’m Christine Benoit the only one here married to my guy. The rest of the girls are a little bitchy. They don’t like sharing the limelight, do you ladies?” She puckered her lips and sneered then lifted her hand to shake mine and nearly blinded me with the size of her diamond wedding ring.

“That’s a serious rock!” I exclaimed grabbing at her hand, lacking total grace or tact. I really had never seen a diamond quite so large.

Her entire face lit up as she held her hand aloft. “I know right? My
Daddy
takes good care of me. Five karats on top another five surrounding my princess there.” She pointed to the square cut diamond blinding me. I needed a pair of sunglasses to view the thing; the rays of light bouncing off seemed to have their own zip code.

“Shut it, Christine. Just because old man Benoit finally put a ring on it, doesn’t mean you need to rub it in our faces.”

I looked over at a scowling brunette. Her ring finger was, not surprisingly, bare of giant jewels. I’m guessing her attitude had absolutely nothing to do with it. I rolled my eyes covertly, pretending to fawn over the ring some more.

“It’s beautiful, Christine. You said you’re married to Mr. Benoit? You’re visiting from Canada right?”

A huge buzzer went off in my head.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Benoit was one of the names that Warren wanted to talk up. Apparently, the man had ships set all along the Eastern side of Canada. A port in Yarmouth he said was located on the Gulf of Maine in Southwestern Nova Scotia. It was the perfect location to transport supplies from Canada to the United Kingdom, where they’d be loaded into freight vehicles that could run all the way down to Mali, one of the poorest countries in Africa. I knew this moment was not fate. My opportunity to help just hit me upside the head in the form of a ten-karat diamond ring on a tiny little blonde.

Christine’s surgically enhanced lips widened. “Yes! We’re from Canada. My Frances is here on business. I saw you were with Mr. Shipley.” She nudged my shoulder.“ He’s probably the most handsome of all the men here…aside from my husband.” Her head tipped up gesturing to a man who couldn’t be more than five foot eight on a good day. Thank God, she was petite. In my heels, I’d dwarf the guy. He had a gray mustache and thick gray hair. At least he had hair. The ratio of hair to men was about fifty-fifty in this crowd. I tipped my head to the side and looked at Mr. Benoit and back at the woman who had to be at least thirty-five years his junior.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old is your husband?”

Her eyes glittered as much as her diamond. No concern with my question showing on her pretty face. “He’ll be sixty-six this year.”

“And you are?”

“Twenty-five.”

I chewed on that information and sipped at the full glass of champagne I’d tagged before Warren handed me off to the wolves. “And forty-one years difference in age doesn’t bother you?”