January (Calendar Girl #1) (6 page)

I moaned. “Ground rules?” I barely made out the words, while enjoying his talented fingers as they tugged and elongated each peak. My body was on hyperalert, his hands massaging and cupping each globe while those relentless fingers gave each nipple the most beautiful torture.

“Rule one: We’re going to have an insane amount of sex this month.” He pressed hard on each tip simultaneously. I cried out in bliss, the heat between my legs soaking the wisp of fabric I was wearing.

“And that’s a rule?” I said breathlessly leaning further back into him, grinding my ass into his thick erection. Sounded like a damn good rule to me.

Wes groaned and then retaliated by twisting each nip, perfectly adding just the right amount of pleasure and pain.

“Rule two is when we’re together like this, it’s only me and you. The entire month we’re monogamous.”

I bit down on my lip and focused on swiveling my hips pressing against what I could feel to be a pretty impressive package. “Agreed.”

Both hands moved off my breast for a moment then they were back, though somehow wetted. They slid smoothly around each areola and I melted, barely able to stay in a standing position.

He must have sensed the instability and moved to lock an arm around my waist but kept up his sweet seduction of my breasts. Jesus, the man was my new hero. If he kept this up, I’d come without ever being penetrated. I leaned an arm back and clasped him behind the neck, arching into his hand, wanting so badly to kiss him, but his lock on my waist and the firm pressure of his front against my back prevented it.

“Rule three: We
never
sleep in the same bed. We do not want to confuse this with something it’s not. I like you, Mia. A lot. I wouldn’t want to hurt you by making you believe I was in a position for a relationship. Understand?”

The hand that was around my waist shifted and crept low, very low, until he was there, right
there
where I wanted him most.

“Oh, fuck yeah, I understand,” I said and pushed my hips into his twirling finger. And I did understand. We wanted exactly the same thing. Friendship and physical release. 

He chuckled against my neck, the puffs of air stirring my hair. Out of nowhere he flipped my body around, sank to his knees, and yanked down my panties. They were stuck at the ankles where I had neglected to remove my heels. As I locked eyes with his, he opened me with his thumbs, flattened his tongue, and went to town on my clit.

“Oh, oh, oh.”  I was relegated to monosyllables and nothing more.

Between licks I could swear he started talking. My brain was having a really hard time paying close attention, but finally he pulled away and I zeroed in, gripping his hair and trying to push him towards my aching cleft. “Rule three:”—his eyes twinkled and he inhaled my scent then licked his lips like he was enjoying the finest delicacy and was about to feast. “Never fall in love,” he said with a grin then sucked the throbbing nub into his mouth and flicked his tongue against the tip.

I almost fell over. I leaned back, and he helped me into a position where I was lying on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, and opened wide, him in between them. “That might be impossible…” I whispered as his tongue drove into my sex. I was right on the edge when he stopped in the middle of a perfect combination of tongue and finger action. I groaned loudly.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice tight with a razor’s edge.

I gripped his hair and did an ab curl up to my elbows. “Relax, Wes. I’m in love with your fucking tongue. Now stick it in me and make me come so I can return the favor.”

The sexiest grin I’d ever seen slipped across his face. “Best decision I ever made, hiring you.” He licked his lips and leaned down to blow across the wet flesh.

I lifted my hips, “Prove it!” I taunted and he did, again and again.

***

“So why are we having dinner with this guy again?” I asked while Wes led me into an elevator that would take us to a restaurant at the top of a skyscraper. I’d lived in Los Angeles half a year, and I didn’t think I’d been to a ‘dress up’ dinner once. Reminded me how sad my dating life was. At least with this job, I’d get to experience the finer things…at least I hoped that was a pleasant side effect. Guess it would depend on the client. Right now though, I was holding the hand of what I’d definitely consider the sexiest man alive and thoroughly enjoying myself.

Last night after he took care of me multiple times with his mouth, I returned the favor by giving him what I would consider a top notch blow job. When he was done, we showered together and talked while we cleaned up. When I noticed him get hard, I promptly got on my knees and took care of it, to then have him finger me into another state of sated bliss. It was odd, but I realized this morning that we never had actual intercourse. On top of that, we’d never even kissed. It was by far the best sexual experience I’d had and yet, the emotional side was left to the wayside. Maybe that was in fact the trick? What my best friend, Ginelle, and all my other girlfriends had already figured out.

Fucking…with no strings attached.

It seemed to go against the grain for me. Even though I considered myself a badass, half attitude, eyes always-on-my-goals type of girl, I had still fallen in love with every man I’d ever slept with.

Every single last one of them.

But after last night, I felt better with Wes than I ever had with any of them, and it was all based on mutual respect, friendship, and a heaping dose of pleasurable orgasms. After I had finished showering, he stayed in, and I made my way down the hall, through the living room and face-planted into a cloud. I vaguely remember Wes covering me up and kissing me on my temple with a “Goodnight, sweetheart.” Then I woke to my schedule slipped under the door and bacon and eggs at the breakfast bar. Ms. Croft served both Wes and me as I went over the schedule for the week. Wes explained the finer points, such as whether an event was casual or not, and I’d made notes about clothing, timelines, and the goal for each outing.

It actually seemed like a real job. As if I was a personal assistant to Weston Charles Channing, the Third, and not a hired hooker. Technically, I wasn’t a hooker, even though I did have sexual relations with him on the first date. But, that was because I was horny, lonely, and he was hot, and I felt down about myself. Wes definitely fixed that problem and set the rules. I was perfectly happy with those rules and planned to stick to them. No screwing around with anyone else, no sleeping together, as in going to
sleep
, and no falling in love. Easy peasy.

Wes pressed the button for the top floor and leaned against the elevator wall. “It’s a meeting with the primary director on
Honor
number four that I’ve named
Honor Code
. It’s about a soldier who writes secret messages and codes to his officers while hiding undercover with the enemy. He sends messages to his girl with those same codes, but she doesn’t know what they say until he leads her on a journey toward finding out how to decipher the letters.”

I smiled at him, watching while his eyes lit up explaining his story. “Sounds really romantic.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “That’s the idea. It gets the women hooked on movies that are typically geared towards men. Blood, violence, things blowing up, the military, espionage, things a man’s man can really wrap his head around.”

I nodded and followed him as he led me to a quaint table for four. A man in a suit and a petite blonde were already sitting.

“Mr. Underwood, Mrs. Underwood,” Wes held out a hand to shake each of their hands. “Good to see you. This is my date, Mia Saunders.”

I shook both their hands, and Wes held out my chair. I beamed up at him and his eyes softened momentarily before turning back to his business persona. The pretty blonde to my left said her name was Jennifer, and complimented me on my dress. It was actually a pretty tame cocktail dress. Royal blue jersey with a deep V to offer a nice dose of cleavage, but other than that, it wrapped at the front, tied at the side, and didn’t have any other embellishments. I wore my hair down and had flat ironed it leaving it a shiny black sheet of ebony down my back. The best part of the outfit was the shoes.

Ms. Croft might look like Mary Poppins, but she must have had a gold card membership at Prada, Gucci, and Louis Vuitton, and scoured over the latest trends because she was right on point with these LV ankle booties.

If I didn’t make it a year with this gig, at the very least I’d have some serious cash in designer shoes and clothes I could hock if I had to. These shoes alone were listed as twelve hundred and fifty dollars online. It may sound gold-diggerish, but I had to check.

“The dress is nothing, check out the shoes!” I leaned out a foot and we instantly started gabbing about her outfit, the designer, and what she did all day. Basically, not a whole lot. She was official arm candy and spent her days making sure Mr. Underwood’s needs were met. I figured that meant she did what she wanted all day, made sure his cook made what he wanted, his maid ironed his clothes and kept his house clean and kept herself, his sparkly piece of ass, waxed, buffed, and primed to go when he got home from work all day.

“It’s true; I don’t know what to do with myself,” Jen whispered. Yep, in twenty minutes we were already on a first name basis, and she was telling me her problems. I had that kind of face. Turned out she originally met her husband, whom she married only a year ago at the tender age of twenty-three—he’s thirty-eight—when she was cast as an extra in one of his movies. Apparently, it was love at first sight or lust at first sight. I laughed internally at my own joke.

Twisting my lips to the side, I leaned closer. “Why don’t you volunteer or something. Got any hobbies?”

Her big blue doe eyes blinked happily. “I love to swim. I swim every day!” and it looked like it too. Her body was svelte but not in the anorexic way that seemed to be the theme in Hollywood. She definitely had the fake ta-tas, but they looked good on her size fourish frame. 

“You could volunteer at a local ‘Y’?” I offered, but she scrunched up her face and shook her head.

“I don’t think Jay would be okay with that.”

I mulled it over for a minute. “Do you like kids?”

Again, eyes lit up like the candles on a fifty year old’s birthday cake. “I love children! Believe it or not, I used to teach preschool before I met Jay.” She looked over at her husband, and her smile widened. I caught his gaze when it slid to her, and he winked then continued nonstop in his conversation with Wes. She turned to me happy as could be. It was almost infectious how cheerful she was.

“Why can’t you work with kids, or better yet, have some of your own?”

Her head slammed back as if struck, then she looked at Jay and then back at me. “We’ve only been married a year, and we only dated a few months before that. Don’t you think it’s too soon?” she said, though I could tell her wheels were turning.

I shrugged and took a hefty sip of my wine. “Doesn’t matter what I think. It only matters what the two of you think and want. If you want kids, you’re young, have at it. Besides, he’s fifteen years older than you. That’s got to slow down some swimmers. Could take a while.” I leaned back nonchalantly.

As Jen thought about it she became physically excited with her enthusiasm. Her back went straight, her knees started bouncing, and she couldn’t stop fidgeting, or smiling for that matter. Her eyes were locked on her husband. Again he turned, looked at her, but this time he held up a finger to Wes to pause whatever they were talking about. I’d started tuning them out when I realized that Jennifer wasn’t a soulless bimbo.

“What is it, darling?” Jay asked his wife.

She smiled wide and I swear, that smile could bring peace to the Middle East. “Just happy. And, I can’t wait to talk to you when we get home,” she leaned a hand over and placed it over his on the table. He leaned forward and pecked her lips then nuzzled her nose.

“Is it anything that can’t wait?” he asked with concern, all eyes on her, his focus redirected completely.

She kissed him softly and shook her head. “Nope, it’s good. Very good.”

Wes leaned over and slid an arm around me. “Anything I should know about?” he asked conspiratorially.

“I’ll totally give up the goods later,” I whispered in his ear referring to the gossip.

“I’m counting on it,” he nuzzled my neck. “And I want to know what was up with that, too,” he gestured with a head tilt to the happy couple mooning over one another. I laughed at his blatant innuendo.

Dinner continued without a hitch. Apparently, I’d helped keep Jen busy which allowed Jay to feel at ease with discussing the upcoming movie. Turned out, he was going to let Wes direct a lot of the heavier dialogue scenes between the couple and possibly even the bedroom romantic scenes. I found that hysterical and laughed when he made his announcement.

Wes’s eyes shot to mine and narrowed. “Sorry, I remembered something funny from earlier, don’t mind me,” I covered, but I could tell by the way Wes tucked me into his side when dessert was delivered that I was going to get an earful.

“What was so funny?” he asked when Jay went out for a cigarette and Jennifer went with him.

Twiddling with my napkin, I leaned closer to him. “I’m sorry. I just thought it was funny that Mr. I’m-Not-In-A-Position-To-Have-A-Relationship is going to be directing romantic scenes. It just seemed out of your wheelhouse is all,” I giggled.

He looked as though I’d ruffled his feathers when he brought up a hand to cup my neck. “You weren’t complaining last night.” His voice lowered to that sultry timber I recalled him having when he was issuing the rules. So much so it sent fire shooting through me to warm and soften the space between my legs.

I leaned very close, so close my lips were only an inch or two from his. Definitely close enough he could feel my breath against his lips as I spoke.

“Last night was fucking...” He inhaled and licked his lips. They looked good enough to eat, and I wanted a taste so bad. “...except,” I added, “we didn’t fuck.” I let the word ‘fuck’ roll of my lips with a hard ‘k’ sound. “We had sex, not romance.”