Late Call (Volume 1) (8 page)

Aaron laughs, a rich sound that curls my toes. “Dayton,” he admonishes. There’s nothing to it. He’s merely masking his amusement. “Behave.”

“Not often I get told that. In fact, it’s almost always the opposite.”

His thumbs stop moving, and my hair flutters away from my ear when he leans forward. “How much wine have you had?”

I prop my chin on my hand and reach for my glass with the other. “If there were such a thing as too much wine, I’d go with that.”

“I’d say, in this case, there might be.”

“Pfft. Wine is the greatest invention. Next to the vibrator, of course. They’re equally fabulous.”

“And you’d know this…?”

“Because I own several. All right with that, Mr. Stone?”

I hear his breath catch before I feel his fingers grip my waist.

“Say that again,” he demands, his voice low against my ear.

“Say what? About the vibrators?”

“After that.”

“Mr. Stone?”

“Yes. That.”

His growing erection presses against my back, and I smile sexily.

“Aha. Some things
do
change, don’t they?” I clasp my hands in my lap just in time. The feel of him pressing against me makes me want to reach my hand back and cup him, wrap my fingers over his hard length, but that would be awkward in the middle of a crowded Vegas casino.

Oh, fuck awkward.

My hand comes between us and I trail my fingers down his erection. His grip on me tightens, and I can feel his restraint. Feel him fighting the urge to jerk his hips and push his cock right into my hand.

“It didn’t change until roughly five seconds ago,” he responds in a gruff voice. “The only places I get called Mr. Stone are in the office or a boardroom. How the hell do you make it sound so fucking sexy?”

I spin on the seat and curl my fingers around his silky red tie. I tug him down to me until our breaths mingle in the space between our mouths.

“I’m a master of manipulation, Mr. Stone. I could take the most menial object or phrase and turn into the object of your greatest desire if that’s what I wanted.”

He sinks his fingers into my hair. “And you wanted my name to sound sexy.”

“If I’d wanted to do that, you’d be dragging me out here while fighting the urge to pull my dress up and expose my very expensive, very pink thong that doesn’t cover a lot at all. If I’d wanted to do that, we’d be back in that suite right now with you begging me to allow you inside me.” My smile grows. “No, I didn’t want your name to sound sexy. I wanted it to sound enticing.”

“Color me enticed,” he murmurs. “More about your thong than the way you said my name.”

“It’s bright pink and has white spots.”

He pauses then pulls back, his eyes a swirling mass of amusement and heat. “You are the only woman I know who would talk about her underwear so publicly. Not to mention sex.”

I finish the last of my wine and stand, smoothing my dress over my thighs. “Why wouldn’t I? Underwear isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and sex most definitely isn’t. I’m not exactly the type to sit in the corner and blush at the mention of the word ‘pussy’ or ‘cock.’”

The elevator doors close and cold glass hits me as I’m spun into the wall.

“There aren’t many women who can say those words and not make them sound crude.”

“They’re crude words. They’re not supposed to sound sexy. At least alone. Accompanied by someone who can talk as well as he can fuck? They’re the sexiest words in the English language.”

His heavy exhale covers my mouth. “What are you doing to me, Dayton?”

I move my hips forward and smirk. “Do you need me to answer that?”

He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs lightly, sending a lightning spark right down to my clit. I don’t need or want him to answer it.

I don’t want words. I want skin-on-skin contact. Mouths against mouths. Tongues tracing necks and trailing across stomachs. Hands grasping and toes curling and lips parting and breath catching.

I want every single fucking thing I know I’ll regret tomorrow.

The air in our suite is heavy as we enter it. I can feel Aaron’s eyes tracing my body as I drop my purse on the sofa and move to the windows. Vegas shines up at me the very same way his want shines over my body. It illuminates the room the same way he illuminates me.

Aaron and Las Vegas have a lot in common. Vegas is Sin City for a reason, and Aaron is the walking embodiment of that. They’re both tempting yet obvious, filled with sexual domination that’s attracting and compelling. They make you need them, even if you know they’re the very worst thing for you.

Temptation and sin have no bounds.

Vegas has no bounds.

Neither does Aaron.

And the two combined makes me want to destroy my own.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers in a low tone from just behind me. “You should go to bed.”

“I’m not seventeen anymore. I can handle my wine, thank you.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about. It’s about having you standing in front of me after acting like the woman I know.”

I turn and press my back against the glass. “You’re too caught up in the past.”

He runs his thumb down my jaw to my bottom lip. “In the past? No. It’s not the past I’m caught up in.”

My eyes fall to our shoes. “It’s barely been a week. You can’t possibly be caught up in anything else other than the need to be inside me.”

“You have no idea.” He steps closer, pressing his body against mine. Hot. Hard. “Right after I spoke to you at the Tower, you nearly tripped but caught yourself at the last moment. I knocked your coffee all over you, and I’ve never seen anyone more shocked in their life. Like you expected no one to be there although I’d spoken to you. Your eyes met mine.” He tilts my face up, and I open my eyes to his. “And I knew. I knew then, seven years ago, that no one would compare to the girl standing right in front of me. The second our eyes collided, I knew you were something so much more than I’d ever imagined, and I had to have you. Even if it was just for a moment, I had to make you mine.

“If I knew then, standing in front of you for the first time, that I was captured, caught, royally fucked, then don’t tell me now that I’m not. Don’t stand there with a guard around your heart and your memories and tell me that I’m not still caught up in the person who stole my heart and ran fucking marathons with it.”

“Fuck you and your memories.”

“And fuck you and your defiance, Dayton. Just for five goddamn minutes, surrender control. Let me in.”

I draw in a deep breath. No, no. My job is the epitome of control. Every detail of my life—controlled. My orgasms—controlled Every. Fucking. Thing.

“No.” I push back into the glass harder.

Aaron’s hand slides to my side and undoes my zipper. He tugs the dress down roughly until it’s pooled at my feet and my bare skin is against the cold glass.

“You can surrender by choice or I can make you,” he whispers in my ear. “Either way, you’re coming tonight.”

“People could see me. Probably can,” I breathe unnecessarily. We’re so fucking high up that the only thing that would have a chance at seeing me is the International Space Station.

“Yet the only person who will see your face as you come is me.” Aaron kisses down my jaw, and I tilt my head back. Fucking wine. Fucking job. Fucking—

His lips take mine in a deliciously rough way. I grab his collar and hold him against me, kissing him with the same fervor he’s kissing me with. Fuck. I’m kissing him so desperately that I’m practically begging for him to make me come right now.

His fingers trail down my body, curving over my breasts and sliding down my stomach to the top of my underwear. He runs his finger beneath the material and around to my ass. He cups it tightly, pulling me forward so I can feel how turned on he is. So I can feel the hard length of him against me.

My clit throbs and my pussy aches at the feel of him against me, and his fingers trailing around the top of my thigh sure as shit aren’t helping.

Sense says that I need to push him off of me and lock myself in the bedroom, but my body has taken over. It’s telling me that I need him and the release he can give me.

“Fucking hell. Dayton.” My name is a harsh hiss when his fingers creep beneath the material of my panties. I gasp at the touch of him against me and push my hips into him. Gently, slowly, he pushes two fingers inside me and small cry leaves me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be touched by someone who cares about more than their own pleasure. What it’s like to have lips against your neck, a hand flat against your back, fingers stroking and slipping into your aching pussy. What it’s like to have someone touch you for you.

Aaron pushes his lips against mine as he curls his fingers inside me. His thumb flicks across my clit with each movement of his wrist, sending pleasure ricocheting through me.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs against my lips. “And it’s for me. Isn’t it?”

I gasp and claw at his back as a wave flows through me.

“Dayton.” He nips my neck. “Answer the question?”

“The…what? Oh god.”

He pushes his thumb down hard on my clit. “This. How wet you are. It’s all for me, isn’t it?”

I want to grit my teeth even as I moan loudly. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Can’t.” Oh fuck. Wave after wave floods my body, pushing me to the edge, and he stops. Takes his hand. Fucking bastard. I’m teetering on the edge of a runaway oblivion.

“Say it.” He rubs my clit to make his point.

I thread my fingers into his hair. “Yes. It’s for you. I’m wet for you,
Mr. Stone
.”

“Fuck.” He plunges his fingers back into me and I ride his hand until I’m over the edge, blinded by heat and pleasure. Thrashing against him and crying out into his shoulder. Holding him to me and squeezing his fingers inside me with everything I have.

And he never lets go. He stands there, his fingers curved inside, his thumb pressing my clit, and waits until I calm.

I open my eyes to his. He takes his come-covered fingers and slides his hand over my hip to my ass.

“I forgot how devastatingly beautiful you look when you’re coming apart in my arms.”

I hold his gaze, mine never wavering, never flitting away, never doing anything but returning the intensity coming from the brilliant blue of his eyes. “That was your reminder.”

“Oh no, Dayton. That wasn’t a reminder. That was only the beginning.”

I flinch at the sharp tear across my skin and mutter a few choice words.
Fuckshitcrapouch!
The young esthetician looks at me apprehensively, and I cover my eyes with my hand.

“I’m a wimp. Ignore me.”

That earns a small smile. She spreads some more wax onto my skin, and I grit my teeth because I know this one is gonna hurt. The sides always do. Tear. Wax. Tear. Each strip gets another hiss of breath, a curse, a punch to the bed.

“Do this quickly. I mean it. Whip it off,” I beg as she applies the wax to the very back of my core, right by my ass.

“Absolutely, Miss Black.” She’s as good as her word. The wax barely dries before she rips it off with the vigor of a mother pulling a Band-Aid from a screaming child.

“Sonofa…” I bite my tongue and kick my heels against the bed.

Brazilians. Fucking hate them.

“Thank you.” I smile at the girl, albeit a tight one, and wrap a fluffy robe around me. Sweet god. My legs bend into a half-squat position and I do an odd half twerk. The tender, itchy feeling I always experience after… I let out a long breath. I really need to invest in laser hair removal.

I walk through the spa barefoot to the private elevator that will take me to the presidential suite. The Cheshire Hotel is easily the most exclusive and expensive I’ve ever stayed in. It’s obvious in everything. The décor, the furniture, the way the staff treats their well-dressed, well-mannered, good-looking clients.

Aaron and I certainly got star treatment.

Australia is hotter than I imagined it would be in March, and although I’m not short of clothes to wear, nothing seems light enough. And what is light enough is courtesy of Agent Provocateur. Not suitable for public viewing.

I shrug off the robe and step into my underwear. Nothing in my suitcase is even remotely appealing to wear in this unexpected heat wave. The temperatures are hovering around one hundred thanks to a late-summer heat wave, and if I make it through this without melting, I’ll be amazed.

The suite door closes. “Dayton?”

“In the bedroom.” My cheeks flush. This is the first time we’ve spoken since we left Vegas—since he pinned me against a glass wall and fucked me with his fingers until I came spectacularly. We both slept during the flight and he left early this morning while I was still in bed.

My skin hums with awareness when he walks into the room, and a low, appreciative chuckle leaves him.

“Not what I was expecting to see, but welcome all the same.”

I flip him the bird over my shoulder. “I have nothing to wear.”

“You’re standing in front of three suitcases. How can you have nothing to wear?”

“I didn’t pack for a trip to the surface of the sun.”

Aaron unzips his own suitcase on the other side of the room, and I hear the swish of material as he changes. “It’s not that hot.”

“Are you kidding me?” I spin. And stop dead at the sight of him.

He’s wearing a white polo shirt that stretches across his shoulders and hugs his torso like a second skin, and his shorts hang just below his knees. There’s even a pair of sunglasses resting on top of his head, and I can’t help the way my eyes travel over his body. From his head to his toes, I appraise him. Heat floods my body when I catch sight of his fingers on his hips, remembering them inside me last night.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns, his eyes hot and heavy and lidded. They hold me captive, turning the heat spreading through my body up a notch.

I straighten. “Like what?”

“Like there’s nothing you’d rather do right now than rip these clothes off me and fuck me.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m thinking.”

He smirks and moves to me. “No you’re not. You’re remembering the feel of my fingers inside you last night.” Those same fingers tease the hem of my panties. “You’re remembering how easily I made you come all over them.”

I exhale loudly and knock his hand away. “Stop playing with me, Aaron. I’m not a toy.”

“Actually…” He trails his hand up my body and cups my chin. “You’re whatever I want you to be, remember? I just have more respect than to treat you like a toy. I told you last night. I don’t play. Whether that be with fire or games. I’m not the one hiding my desire behind a thick wall of defiance.”

“Hiding my desire? I think you found it last night, don’t you?”

He tilts my face back, his lips curving deliciously. “For a second, until you locked it away again.”

I step back and turn to my suitcase. “If you’re going to fuck me, just do it. It’s part of what you pay for.”

“If you’re going to let me fuck you, just do it. And again—I don’t give a shit what I pay for. When I fuck you, it’ll be because you need it so badly you won’t be able to breathe. When I fuck you, it’ll be because you’ll feel like you’ll die if you don’t have me inside you. I won’t be taking you to bed just because I pay for it.”

I grab a dress and ignore him. My core is aching too much to respond, because if I do, it’ll be to beg for that fuck.

“Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“To buy you something suitable for a week on the surface of the sun, Bambi.” He walks through the door, and I throw my hairbrush after him.

“Stop calling me that!”

Aaron reaches across the table and threads his fingers through mine. I look at our hands. Large and small, two different shades of tan, linked together and held there by his tight grip. His tan is likely more natural than mine. I can’t imagine Aaron Stone lying on a tanning bed for ten minutes twice a week.

He rubs his thumb across the back of my hand. “So. Dot com work, huh? How’s that working for you?”

I bite the inside of my cheek and gaze at the harbor through the café’s window. “Shut up.”

“I’ve heard it can be a lucrative business.”

“Aaron.”

“Particularly with the e-book boom lately. How have you managed to take time off?”

I look at him, unable to hide the stupid grin on my face. “Shut up.”

“That’s what I was going for.” He returns my smile. “Seriously, dot com? That was the best you had?”

“I was put on the spot! It was the first thing I thought of.”

“You realize they’ll try to look you up, don’t you?”

“Then they’ll find themselves incredibly surprised if they happen to come across Monique’s website.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “There’s a website?”

“Why? Wishing you’d thought to try before you bought?”

“No. I’m thinking I’m not a fan of your picture on there for the world to see.”

“It’s pixelated. You can’t tell it’s me.”

“I’d know your face anywhere.”

“It’s good you didn’t go on the website then, isn’t it?” I tap the back of his hand with my fingers. “How did you get her number?”

“A friend of mine has used her…services…before.”

“This could get awkward very quickly,” I mutter.

“Not you. He said he saw Shelly or someone.” He pauses, and I nod. “I had no idea who I was booking when she gave me your name.”

I smile wryly. “That’s the reason we have two. Working with people you know is off-limits and not something that’s ever happened to me. But it did to another girl. She was due to meet him for an evening function but he was the brother of a high school friend. Monique had to send another girl out pronto.”

“You all grew up in Seattle? Isn’t that risky if you don’t want to be found out?”

“The risk is…well, irrelevant. It doesn’t matter where you do it, there will always be the chance you’ll run into someone you know. It’s why there’s always one or two of us off. We’re always ready to jump in for another girl.”

“Or for calls like mine.”

“Or for late calls, yes. I happened to be the lucky one that night.” I roll my eyes.

“Hey.” He tugs on my hand and I lean across the table. His thumb teases across my bottom lip and he keeps his eyes firmly there. “No luckier than I was when it was you who walked into the booth.”

“There’s nothing lucky about me walking into your booth. I’ve wrecked more guys than I’ve made.”

“And you did both to me, once upon a time.” He leans in and brushes his lips across mine. “But it was lucky because every time I’ve been in Seattle, I’ve always thought about you. Wondered where you were living, what you were doing, if you’d met anyone or had kids. And now I know.”

I pull back slightly, this revelation making my head spin. “Why didn’t you ever look for me?” Is that hurt in my voice? Fuck. No.
Get back in your box, teenage Dayton.

His blue eyes find mine. “I don’t know. I didn’t know where to start, and I was a little scared. We promised each other we’d be just a summer romance, a fleeting fling in a European city. I should have forgotten you the second we got back to the US, but I never did. I was afraid if I found you, you’d tell me my worst fear. That it was just a fling and wasn’t anything real. I loved you too much to hear those words.”

My throat constricts and my chest tightens. I struggle to swallow the emotion in my throat. This… This is what I wanted to avoid. What I never wanted to know.

“I wanted to leave that summer as it was,” he continues, his thumb once again rubbing the back of my hand. “Six beautiful weeks of you and me wrapped in our bubble of passion and love and bliss. I didn’t want anything to ruin that.”

“Maybe… Maybe that was the best idea,” I manage in a voice calmer than I feel inside. Inside, I’m a raging mess of longing and remembering and need.

“Would it have made a difference? If I’d looked for you and found you?” He pushes some hair back from my face in a move that seems too soft. Too tender. Too loving. “Would you have let me love you the way I did in Paris?”

I draw in a deep breath. “At first. But not…after. Not after. Excuse me.” I pull my hand from his and force myself to walk into the ladies’ restroom. I want to run. I want to run and hide and make sense of this shit.

“Remember, call girls don’t fall in love.”

Aunt Leigh’s voice fills my mind, ringing out in my ears and reverberating through my body. The words wrap around me, reminding me, taunting me, striking me, and bringing a pain I didn’t know existed.

I lock myself in a stall and put the toilet seat down. It’s hard as I sit and bury my face in my hands. Call girls don’t fall in love. They don’t feel anything other than physical things for their clients. They don’t feel tingles at the touch of their lips, a hum when they enter the room, a buzz when their eyes darken. They don’t get shivers at a hand on the bases of their backs and their bodies don’t go into overdrive when lust-filled eyes appraise them.

“Remember, call girls don’t fall in love.”

I lean my head against the cubicle wall, staring at a spot on the door, and whisper, “Unless there was always a small part of them that never let that love go.”

The new dress Aaron bought earlier is lightweight and flirty while still giving the impression of class. I stare at the water of the pool swirling around my feet and grab my cocktail glass. He’s having a conference call with his dad in the US, which means I have the next while to myself. To think.

Or I would if the concierge didn’t approach me.

“Miss Black? There’s a call from America for you.”

I accept the phone he offers. “Thank you.” I wait until he leaves, and when I’m alone once again, I hold it to my ear. “Hello?”