Filthy Gorgeous (23 page)

It isn’t the first time I’ve uttered those words in the throes of passion, but this feels different. She may not have come out and said it, but she’s challenging me. You have to read between the lines. I’ve dated enough women to know that Ella wants to know where this is going.

And my answer to that is I don’t know. What I do know is that lying here with Ella is comforting, and so, so goddamn arousing. I’ve got a stiffy again. I could happily spend the rest of the week in this hotel suite, looking at her.

Touching her.

Tasting her.

Isn’t that good enough for now?

Last weekend I entered this hotel a broken man.

Now I’m checking out with the hottest woman in New York on my arm. Excuse me for sounding like a goddamn pussy, but I feel like I’ve grown wings and I’m flying. I’m excited. I want to gain her trust. Know her secrets.

It’s like my brain got a boner.

Or my boner got a brain.

Go figure.

It’s a beautiful day and we’re walking back to her apartment. We stop at a café for a gelato and I’m struggling to conceal a smile. Ella chose Rocky Road. I read an article once that noted women who favor Rocky Road show a strong inclination towards the exploration of anal sex.

I’ll be sure to road test that theory next time we’re naked.

Yeah, you heard me. I said next time.

I figured I’d give this one-woman harem business a try. No more Sladies. No more crazies. My dick knows what he likes and he’s made his stance pretty fucking clear over the past few weeks. He’s all about Ella. Judging by the way she rode my dick around that hotel suite, I’d say she’s into him, too.

Look at us. We can barely keep our hands off each other. I lick a stray glob of ice cream from her cheek and kiss her. We can’t stop smiling, like one of those smug, smiley couples on cosmetic dentistry billboard ads.

We tumble through the door of her apartment, our lips still glued together. We’re totally engrossed in each other, and then she pulls away from me. “Did you hear that?” Ella lowers her voice. “I think it’s coming from the kitchen.”

I shrug and push my blooming erection against her waist. “Carrie?”

She shakes her head. “She was supposed to go out of town this morning.”

We make our way into the lounge, and Ella’s mouth rounds like a pail.

And then I see why.

It looks like Hurricane Katrina just ripped through this place. The pink bouquet of roses from Jockass is in shreds. Petals are strewn around the room, shards of broken glass cover the coffee table, and DVDs have been ripped from shelves. The couch looks like it’s been reupholstered by Freddie fucking Kruger. In amongst the disarray sit seven kittens. They’re hissing, mewling, and peeing like cats do. A black kitten shoots me the same ‘I-want-to-kill-you’ stare I get from Petie.

Ella looks at me with wide eyes. “Tyler had a key.”

I grind my teeth. I swear to God, if he’s in here, he’s going down. I roll up my sleeves and grab my cell. “I’m calling the cops.”

She blocks my arm. “No! Please, Alex. Just leave it. This is my fault. I should have got the stupid key back before he had a chance to make a copy.”

We hear a thud and Ella follows the source of the noise. A split-second later, there’s a scream.

What the …?

Heart pounding and spoiling for a fight, I bolt after her with my fists in the air, ready to strike a roundhouse kick à la Chuck Norris.

I reach the passageway and still right behind Ella. Her hands are cupped over her eyes.

Because is no intruder.

It’s Parker.

Well, a semi-naked Parker. He’s wearing his pants around his ankles.

Confused?

My apologies, I think I failed to mention that he’s underneath a very naked Carrie. I shake my head in disbelief.

I need a scotch.

And an eye bath.

Stat.

***

The next two weeks are complete bliss.

I’m on cloud sixty-nine, but I won’t lie to you. I’m freaking out. And shitting rainbows. Confused? Me too.

The scariest thing about dating is that you’ll either break up or get married. I didn’t think it would be possible to feel this way about a woman. I’m a connoisseur of women, but this feels different.

I like her more each time I see her, not less.

We’ve spent every night together, except the one time I was out of town on business. It was the longest twenty-four hours of my goddamn life. Whenever I used to find myself in the Windy City, I’d call on Vanessa. Vanessa is one of my out-of-town Sladies. I had one in almost every state for back up.

Except Alaska.

The women of The Last Frontier are hairier than the polar bears, and I don’t just mean their vagina’s folks.

Anyway, on this occasion, I was a good boy. Instead of going for a discreet hook-up, I scheduled an hour-long video call with Ella. I was well-rewarded for my efforts because Ella showed up for our virtual date wearing nothing but stockings, high heels, and a pair of string panties.

Thank God for Skype and travel-sized Passion Lube.

Parker and Carrie have been inseparable since we caught them sexually destroying her apartment. We went to Carrie’s gig in The Village. Big mistake. She roasted me about my harem in front of two hundred people. It was freaking humiliating, but it made Ella laugh so I took it like a man.

I even met her parents, albeit accidently. They rocked up at her apartment one morning, completely unannounced. I opened the door and greeted them with my dimpled smile while wearing nothing but my underpants.

Once over the initial shock, the twinkle in Mrs. Bryant’s eye was undeniable. Jacqui is a ten on the milf-o-meter, by the way. Not a wrinkle in sight, and now I know where Ella gets that delicious body from.

While we’re on the subject of parents, my father is still buzzing about winning the account. I’m off the Aubrey campaign, and I did eventually fess up about my confrontation with Tyler.

His response?

He was livid, until I told him that Parker had offered Juliana my body as a sweetener to stay with us. Then he laughed and told me that karma is a bitch so I should take it like a man.

Thanks for the professional advice, Dad. Really profound. Buddha would be proud.

And now for Jockass.

He’s still hanging around the periphery of my life like a bad case of VD or a gruff nut that just won’t flush, but luckily he hasn’t shown his face around the office.

Good job, too. I’d bury the fucker. Then I’d dig him up and do it all over again just for kicks. Cougar paid him a stack of bills to front the next three ad campaigns, which means he’ll be in our orbit for the next eighteen months.

Rumor has it he’s screwing pneumatic blonde twins from a reality TV show. I truly hope he’s happy with his downgrade, because he’s less popular in Ella’s parental home than a deadly strain of swine flu.

As Mrs. Bryant so eloquently said over breakfast one morning; “Move over Wickham, Mr. Darcy’s in town.”

***

Men would pretty much do anything to get laid, which is why I’m sitting in the changing rooms of an upscale boutique. Ella is trying on dresses for the Slade Group summer ball this coming weekend.

I have a secret.

I hate shopping.

It sucks ass.

I’d rather wax my balls with duct tape than set foot in a mall. I’m not alone. Blame evolution. Men are hunters. If we need a shirt, we head to a store, we grab a shirt. If we’re feeling particularly adventurous, sometimes we even try it on. We then take the said shirt to the counter and we pay for it.

Then we get the fuck out of there.

I’m a stylish guy, so I have a personal shopper for this bull-crap.

No fuss. No drama.

Last year I had an eleventh hour meeting with a client. I needed new business brogues, and fast. I’m a busy guy so I forgot to check the calendar.

Turns out it was Black Friday.

Ladies, it was like visiting Pamplona during the bull-run. I swear women secrete a hormone that makes them turn gaga as soon as they get within fifty feet of a mall. I witnessed one crazy woman trample over her own grandmother to get hold of a cut price neon mini-dress that was two sizes too small for her junk.

Our retail clients tell us that men tire of shopping after just twenty-six minutes. They beg us to help make the male shopping experience more pleasurable than a tooth extraction.

I tell them it is easy; just dress the store attendants in a bikini.

Joking aside, I’m only here because Ella insisted that she needed help.  As we’re still in the early stages of our blossoming whatever this is, I obliged.

Remember I told you about that list of the top ten places to have sex in New York?

Well, there’s one more place I need to strike off my bucket

A fitting-room tryst.

It’s a huge turn on, right up there with a threesome with twin sisters and getting spanked by your teacher.

It’s all about the danger. The thrill. I’d be in the booth with her already if it wasn’t for the bitch attendant giving me the hairy eyeball every two frigging seconds.

Here’s the two-headed dragon right now. She hangs several garments of various colors beside Ella’s booth. I look up from my magazine and tell her, “You know, I can do that—my girlfriend’s colorblind. She probably needs some help.”

She just scowls.

Maybe not.

I stand up and do a quick reconnaissance of the area. Do these places have CCTV? Like on that movie, Sliver? That would be awesome. My hidden-camera fantasy daydream is thwarted when a silky smooth leg emerges from behind the curtain.

Goddamn it.

Once again, Ella Bryant has rendered me speechless. Almost. It’s pretty hard to keep me quiet. Her dress is pale yellow and floaty, and allows easy access for curious hands.

Not many girls can pull off yellow without looking like Big Bird, but she’s nailed it. I give her the thumbs up and wiggle an eyebrow. “I hope you’re going to wear heels?” I brace an arm on the wall and flash Ella a smile that could have been lifted straight from the pages of a catalogue. “You need any help with that zipper?”

Ella brushes a crease out of the dress and twirls around. “Control yourself, Slade. Seriously, do you like it? Your Mom will be there on Saturday. I want to make a good impression.”

She’s meeting my mother, yet any feelings of commitment-phobia are instantly quashed by my penis. Seems my resident jack-in-the-box wants to put in an appearance. He’s already willing me towards the booth.

I sneak a look over my shoulder—all clear—so I follow Ella inside the cubicle and draw the curtain.

Look what we have here; a chair, a full-length mirror, and a hook. It’s like a mini BDSM chamber. Ignoring the disapproving click of her tongue, I snake a hand up Ella’s dress and check out her ass in the mirror.
Peachy.

“You’re insatiable,” she hisses in my ear. She slaps my wrist and turns toward the mirror. Like a horny teenager, I press my dick against her back. She sighs and lifts her hair above her head. “Well, what are you waiting for? I’m going to need some help out of this dress.”

Sweet Jesus.

My knees buckle slightly under the weight of anticipation. This is actually happening. I nibble on her neck and take the zipper between two fingers, tugging it slowly downwards. Her dress falls to the floor, taking my jaw along with it.

Ella smiles. “Something wrong, Alex? Cat got your tongue?”

“I …I … Is this a new—?”

“Bra?” She finishes my sentence. “Yes. It’s a balconette. It’s supposed to lift the bosom and enhance the cleavage.” She squeezes her breasts together. “They’re all the rage in France, but then again you probably know that already. What do you think?”

What do I think? I think my face and those fleshy beauties need to schedule a meeting. I yank down my trousers and sit on the chair. Pulling her onto my lap, I rub that inviting space between her legs with two fingers.

FYI—she’s right.

I’m a goddamn expert with the balconette. I’ve unhooked dozens of those babies. My hand disappears around her back and I pinch the clasp. See? I peel the blue lace away with my teeth and let it drop to the floor.

A voice booms through the curtain. “Is everything okay in there?”

We both freeze. Back off bitch. This fantasy is mine.

“Sure, everything’s fine.” Ella answers, her voice brimming with vague, unfocused urgency. We wait for what seems like a damn century until dragon face disappears.

I cup Ella’s breasts between my greedy hands and suckle on her nipples. Her hands aren’t idle, either. They’re hunting around for my wallet.

I’m breathing hard now, so Ella pushes a finger against my lips, urging me to stay silent. She falls to her knees and pumps my slick cock a few times before rolling a rubber over my erection. Christ, does this woman have any idea what she does to me? She stands up straight and juts out her hip before tugging the bows on either side of her blue panties.