Aberration (2 page)

I clear my throat. "So how did you know my parents and Cam were out of town?"

"I had a meeting with your Dad yesterday."

It's the second time in five minutes that my mouth falls open. "You
what?
"

"I told him that I wanted to prove it wasn't me who embezzled money. I asked him to look back into it."

"Because you want your job back."

"There is that, now that more positions are opening up." My father's software company is possibly expanding. A merger with another company is in the works. Dad hasn't been able to stop talking about it. "But more importantly, I want to be on good terms with your family again. And with Cameron. And you."

The inflection in his voice changes at the end, and I swallow. "You left me in Massachusetts without explaining yourself."

"I didn't know how to."

"You're a pussy."

"I--" He stalls, and then sighs. "I don't stick around for girls often, so when the situation arose and you realized I was lying to you, I just did what I do best. So yeah, I guess I am a pussy."

It's my turn to grin smugly. "So, what did my dad say?"

"He said to fuck off."

I choke.

"Kidding. He said he'd look into it. I don't know how serious he is about it though. He might have just wanted to get me off his back."

"I know my dad. He wouldn't have been so kind if he didn't mean it... more like have you escorted from his office by security."

He glances at me, and like an unfortunate fish, I'm hooked. I open my mouth, hoping the right words spill out, but I'm not so lucky.

"So," he says, breaking the silence. "What would you have done if I hadn't shown up at your bedroom
window just now?"

I raise an eyebrow. "It's two in the morning. What the hell do people usually do at two in the morning?"

At the same time I say
,
"Go to bed," he says, "Get off." I'm glad the lights aren't on so he can't see my blushing, because getting off was
exactly
what I was planning on doing.

"Please," Jaime drawls, slow and sexy. He dips his head so his face is only inches from mine, and my spine erupts in shivers. He isn't even touching me. "After Massachusetts, I know the real Britain McCulley, and I know she wouldn't dare go to bed sexually frustrated."

I narrow my eyes. "You don’t
know
that."

His lips inch closer to mine, and I hold my breath. "I know she wouldn't rely on shitty pool sex with some guy who has no idea what the fuck he's doing to get her off. Tell me I'm wrong."

I can't. Instead, I say. "I don't rely on any guy to get me off."

He bites down on his full bottom lip, and the look of hunger in his eyes is enough to spark wild energy between my thighs. I know I'm wet already, wetter than I've been all night. And that's saying a lot, considering I was, you know, in a pool.

"So where do you keep it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The vibrator."

I scoff. "Like I only have one."

"Where's the closest?" He looks around, spotting the drawer in my nightstand.

When he reaches for it and pulls it open, I hiss, "Wait! You can't touch it."

"Please." He digs around in the drawer and pulls out a little pink vibrator. "I've touched where it's been, haven't I?" The energy between my legs doubles, and I squeeze my thighs together as he studies the vibrator. "It's cute."

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Taking a picture isn't exactly what I had in mind." When he glances at me again, heat flushes through my whole body.

"Are you insinuating that you want to get me off?"

He shrugs. "I could. Or I could leave out that window, since I told you what you wanted to know. The choice is up to you."

Sure, I've been dying to get off since the horrible pool sex. And Jaime-fucking-Rivera, who I haven't been able to stop thinking about since Boston, is sitting on my bed with my vibrator in his hand. The pieces are falling into place, but just because they are doesn't mean I want them to.

"I don't really think that you deserve to get me off."

"Probably not, but this isn't about me, now is it?" He presses his hand against the flat of my stomach, and says, "Tell me to leave, and I will." He leans forward, warm lips brushing my ear. "It's your job to give the directions. Am I right?"

I open my mouth to tell him he's right, that it
is
my job to give him directions and he should probably leave, but the words are lodged in my throat. Instead, I scoot back onto the bed and lie down.

I'm expecting Jaime to be smug about my response, but he grows serious, eyes fiery and determined. I'm so soaked already, and he's about to find that out, because he kneels next to me, hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, and tugs them down. When they're all the way off, he brushes his fingers along the hem of my polka-dotted panties. "These are cute."

"Like my vibrator?" I try to joke, but my voice is thick.

"Yep." He crawls up so his face is above mine.

When his warm hand cups my pussy, and I know he feels how turned on I am, I manage a straight face and say, "Don't you dare fucking smirk."

He smirks, but it isn't because I'm so wet. He slips the vibrator between his palm and me, and turns it on.

The vibrator isn't even directly against me; I'm still in my underwear. But the fact that Jaime is in my bed and pressing a vibrator against my cotton panties and right on top of my clit is enough. “You win,” I tell him beneath a gasp of pleasure.

He shifts his hand and the vibrator moves. My eyes roll back. I can feel the pressure building already. His lips brush against mine. "This isn't about winning or losing, but if we want to play that game, I think you're the one who is about to win."

He's right. I shamelessly grind myself against his hand. When he licks up my neck, I'm pushed to the brink.

"Scream," he demands. He rolls the vibrator between me and his palm again, and a shriek of pleasure leaves my mouth. My entire body trembles beneath him. He keeps his hand pinned, the buzz of the vibrator relentless until I beg him to turn it off.

He does, and I release a sigh. His face hovers over mine as I take slow and steady breaths.

"A good rule of thumb," he murmurs, "is to not give a guy any part of you if they don't take the time to make you come."

I can't help it. A giggle escapes my mouth, and I poke him square in the chest. "Excuse me, mister. I can give a guy whatever I want."

He shrugs and rolls off the bed. "Suit yourself, if you want shitty sex for the rest of your life."

I roll onto my stomach, watching him make his way to the bedroom door. He turns back toward me, and even in the bad light I can make out the bulge in his pants. But he never asks me for anything. "I'm
just going to use the front door, if that's cool."

"I thought you said climbing back down was
so easy
."

"I lied, okay? Needed to seem like a manly stud." The corner of his mouth perks up, and I have the strong urge to run to him and pull him back into bed with me. "So, I'm still on your payroll, right?"

I place my chin in my upturned palm, cross my ankles, and kick my legs back and forth. I'm trying to look as nonchalant as possible; I still haven't fully come down from my orgasm and my heart is pounding hard in my chest. "I'll call you."

He opens the door to leave, and I call his name. He stalls for a moment, long enough for me to say, "I'm glad you talked to my dad."

He shuts the door without a word.

I'm still in my sweats when Mom, Dad, and Cameron get home a little after noon, but that doesn't mean that I haven't been productive. I've eaten two bowls of cereal in bed while watching
The Daily Show
and
Al Jazeera America
news clips (I'm informed, okay?) I also went over some generic outlines for the next three storybooks I have planned with my new editor.

Our goal is to successfully merge literature and erotic photography. The stereotype is that chicks like romance novels and guys like porn, so we're combining the two worlds to create something that all sexual beings will find appealing. While my self-published storybook sold well and my editor believes in me, I still don't know if we're being overly ambitious. No one has tried anything like this before. There's been some excited chatter about this endeavor on the internet, but until I see sales numbers, I won't be convinced.

But worrying about sales isn't my job right now. I'm signed on for two more storybooks after the first, both of which are due by the end of the year. I skim through plots that Andrea, my writer, has come up with, but none of them really wow me. CEO and secretary... boring. Naughty cheer squad... gag. Priest and schoolgirl... too fetishy.

I hear Mom call my name and decide that
I guess
it's time for me to crawl from my cave and socialize with the rest of my family. That's why I'm staying here for two months in the first place. I leave the wing that Cameron and I share and head down into the kitchen, where our staff—yes, my parents have a staff—have whipped up fruit salad and a sandwich buffet.

"The princess has arrived," Dad says as he washes his hands in the kitchen basin. I grin for him. I used to think that this whole daddy's little girl thing was an advantage for me, but now, being almost twenty-three, I'm kind of over it.

Mom takes one look at my attire and rolls her eyes. "How many days this week have you worn that shirt?"

I motion to my "Bitches Get Shit Done" T-Shirt. "This old thing? Only like every day of my life." I sit down next to Cameron, who's already shoveling a sandwich into his face.

"I don't even understand it," Mom says, sitting down at the head of the table.

Cameron snorts into his food like he's five. "Animal," I mutter. "It means that women who aren't afraid to be bitches are the ones who are successful."

"So it's political," she says.

I roll my eyes. "I guess."

"Come on, Barbara," Dad says. "Brit probably thought it was sassy. Nothing wrong with that."

I grit my teeth and glare at the wall like it was the one that said something stupid. Cameron's laughing
into his sandwich, and I have to remind myself that this is normal. This was my life before college, before I felt empowered through the lens of my camera and photographing erotica became a part of my life that I had to hide from my family. I want to think that it isn't their fault. It's me who has changed. Britain, who changed from adorable little Brit into a businesswoman, unafraid of sex or calling herself a Bitch.
Enjoying
sex and calling herself a bitch.

I make myself a sandwich. When Dad has seated himself at the table and we're all eating together, I finally have the guts to say, "So get this, I ran into Jaime Rivera the other day."

Dad stops fumbling with his sandwich, and Cameron nearly chokes.

"That so?" Dad says softly.

"He told me about the embezzlement, or should I say him being accused of embezzlement. I can't believe you guys never told me."

From across the table, Cameron is gaping at me. He knows that Jaime models for me—I told him at the end of fall when I was still in Boston. That was when he spilled the beans about how Jaime got fired, and how he hadn't talked to Jaime
—
his best friend
—
in years.

"Well darling," Dad begins, wiping his mouth. "It was company business, and I didn't want to worry you with it. Plus, I didn't think that you and Jaime were friends."

"Not friends," Cam says darkly. "Brit hated Jaime, didn't you, Brit? The asshole tormented you relentlessly in high school."

"Just like you," I counter. "Jaime was over here almost every day. He was a part of this family. A brother." I inwardly cringe at how incestuous I sound, and suddenly the memory of last night pops into my head without warning, followed by the memory of him fucking me from behind while we were in Boston. Lovely. Thanks, brain. "I should have at least known about it."

The only thing that interrupts the silence in the air is the sound of Mom cutting her sandwich in half. When Dad is overdue for a response, I tack on, "He told me he talked to you about looking back into the data you used to pin him."

Cam grunts into his sandwich and gapes at Dad. I guess Dad hadn't broken the news yet that he spoke with Jaime.

"He did," Dad says calmly.

"And?"

"And... and I said I would look into it. But you know, Britain, I don't have high hopes that I'm going to be able to find something that proves he didn't steal. You know that, right?"

"But are you going to be able to find something that proves he's guilty?"

Mom and Dad exchange looks before she glances down at her plate. I know Dad lets her in on all business matters, even though Mom technically doesn't work for the company. She's been a housewife
since I was born.