Taking It All Read online

  He is big. BIG. My hands go wandering too. Down to the lump in his pants. It feels like his cock is at least twelve inches long. And thick.

  I've never...I was waiting for marriage to have sex. So I have no idea how that would work, how something that huge would fit inside a girl so small. But I have a feeling I'm going to find out. Soon.

  The sooner the better.

  But, dammit, he's my boss!

  And I don't do this kind of thing! I'm a good girl!

  Who am I kidding?

  I rub his erection through his clothes and a deep, rumbling growl echoes in our joined mouths.

  He nips my lower lip. “If you keep doing that, I will fuck you. Right here. On my desk.”

  Oooh! The dirty talk is so freaking sexy I can't stand it.

  I rub more, up and down the length.

  He clamps a hand around my wrist and yanks it away from his crotch, pinning it behind my back and I shudder. God, that's hot. How he takes control.

  That's it. I want him to be my first.

  Grayson Parker can be my rebound fuck. I know for a fact he'll make me forget all about Whats-his-name.

  And my problems.

  And, probably, my name, even.

  Holy crap, he makes me burn.

  He shoves my shirt up and I practically cum. “You are so beautiful,” he mumbles. He traces one of my bra cups and little electric currents tingle through me. He bends to kiss me. His mouth hovers over mine, lips barely touching, teasing. “I'm going to make you so hot you're going to beg me to take you.”

  I know, without any doubt, that he's more than capable of keeping that promise. Because I'm ready to ignite as it is.

  A whimper bubbles up my throat.

  My heart pounds. Sharp, loud. The sound echoes through the room.

  “Fuck,” he growls.

  Yes, that's what I'm thinking. Let's fuck. Dirty. On the desk. Against the wall...

  He jerks backward.

  Now, that wasn't what I was expecting. Dazed, I blink at him.

  He yanks my clothes back in place, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth between me and the door.

  The door.

  Ohhhhh! Ohmygod, that pounding sound wasn't my heart. Someone's knocking on the door!

  I hop down from his desk and nearly fall to the floor. He grabs me by the waist and steers me into the chair facing his desk then stomps to the door and opens it. His receptionist is standing framed in the doorway, holding a box.

  “This came for you, sir.” Her gaze locks on me.

  My blush blooms.

  Crap, she knows.

  He takes the package, jerks a nod. “Thank you.”

  She pulls the door shut behind her.

  I leap out of the chair. My legs are steadier now. So is my head.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I'm going to get myself fired. And that's the last thing I need right now. My job is the only good thing I have going at the moment. “I need to get to work. My boss is going to fire me.”

  “Not a chance of that happening.” He hooks an arm around my waist and drags me against him. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he says while staring into my eyes.

  “When?”

  “Tonight. Tomorrow. Every fucking night for the rest of our lives.”

  “What?”

  He chuckles. The sound vibrates in my body. Like a drum beat. “Let's just start with tonight.” He brushes his mouth against mine. “For now.”

  Holy smokes, those little teasing kisses drive me crazy. Crazy in a good way. But a dangerous way.

  My brain shuts down.

  My body decides Plan A, using this very willing, very capable man as my rebound fuck, is an excellent idea.

  “Okay,” I say on a sigh.

  “Good. Come up at five o'clock.”

  “Okay,” I say again, head spinning.

  What the hell is happening here? Did the owner of Parker Enterprises just invite me out on a date?

  Did we just practically have sex in his office?

  Or am I dreaming again?

  The instant he releases me and I stagger out to the elevator, I pinch myself.

  Nope. Not sleeping. This is real. Very real.

  Holy shit!

  Chapter 3

  Grayson

  Seven hours.

  That's how long it took to pull tonight's plans together.

  I'm ready. Everything's ready. And it's time.

  She should be walking through that door any minute.

  I stare at the clock. I've been doing that a lot today. I've never watched a clock before.

  You know what I've learned? Time goes by really fucking slowly when you're watching it.

  A knock.

  My heart jumps.

  So does my dick.

  It's her. It has to be.

  I push out of my chair, grab my jacket, hung in the closet, and shrug into it.

  When I open the door my breath is knocked out of my chest.

  She is so fucking beautiful. Why hadn't I ever seen her before? If I had seen her, I would have remembered. There's no doubt about that. She is the most glorious creature on the planet. I couldn't have not noticed her.

  She gives me a tight little smile.

  She's nervous. That's okay. I'll make sure she isn't nervous for long.

  Or needing anything. Anything at all.

  A car.

  Money.

  Whatever she wants. It's hers. All she has to do is ask.

  “Hi,” I tell her, my heart galloping in my chest like a racehorse. Holy hell, I'm nervous too. I've never been nervous around a woman before. “Hungry?”

  “Um, I'm getting there.”

  Her voice is small, sweet. Delicate. Just like the rest of her.

  Except those satiny, fiery locks cascading down her back. I can't wait to tangle my fingers in that hair and pull.

  While I pound into her from behind.

  My dick swells, and I shove the image of her in my bed—on all fours—from my mind. I don't want to start the night with a raging boner. Bad enough it took two orgasms to get rid of my morning wood today. Of course I imagined it was this sweet little woman stroking me as I came. Both times. Best fucking orgasms of my life.

  I can't imagine what it'll be like when she really is stroking me.

  Or sucking me.

  There goes my dick again. I have to stop this.

  I step behind her in the elevator so she can't see my pants tent. I learned yesterday that she gets a little riled up when a man sports wood around her.

  As the car glides down to the ground level, I lean forward. She smells so fucking good. Her hair. Her skin. Her clothes. My mouth waters at the memory of her taste.

  I want to kiss her.

  I need to kiss her.

  Mine.

  I gently wrap my fingers around her neck. It's so slender and delicate, just like the rest of her. “Come here,” I whisper in her ear, applying pressure on her neck to coax her around.

  The elevator stops.

  Fuck.

  I drop my hand and glance up at the number. We're on the fifth floor.

  The door rolls open. Colbe is standing in the open doorway. His gaze locks on Jordan first. His jaw visibly tightens. Then he looks at me.

  No doubt about it, Colbe has a problem with her. If he knew how completely, thoroughly obsessed I am with her, he'd probably bust my nuts.

  Fuck him.

  He steps inside. “Dinner tonight? At the club?” he asks.

  “I have plans.”

  “Oh?” He glances at Jordan. “Who is it tonight? Ashley? Or Brittany?”

  Jordan tenses. I sense it more than see it. Is she jealous? I like that.

  “Neither.” I place my hands on my Jordan's waist. There's no reason for her to be jealous. She's mine. I'm hers.

  Colbe's gaze drops to my hands, still holding her waist then swoops up to my face. His eyes practically pop out of his head. “I...oh.” His brows furrow.

 
He doesn't get it. Tough shit.

  The elevator stops on the ground floor and I steer my Jordan out with my hands, stepping beside her and sliding an arm around her waist as I lead her outside. “Have a good night,” I tell a visibly bewildered Colby as he heads toward his car, parked next to my usual spot. Today my car is in the back of the lot where I left it this morning.

  “You too,” he says, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

  Jordan says nothing while we weave through the parked vehicles toward my car. She waits for me to open her door then sinks into the seat and watches me dash around to the driver's side.

  I sit, and with my heart beating faster than a hummingbird's, I start the motor and steer out of the parking lot.

  Unable to help myself, I reach to her, cradle her hand in mine.

  I feel like a fucking sixteen year old on his first date. I want to get tonight started, to see her face when we get to the airport, when we land on my island. When she has her first orgasm.

  I try to make small talk as I drive, but I'm shitty at small talk. There's lots of silence. I'm usually good with silence. But not with this girl. It feels like forever before we pull up to the hanger, at the small regional airport where I keep my G6. It's outside, ready to go.

  “Is that for us?” she asks, pointing. “Where are we going?”

  “Yes. And it's a surprise. But don't worry. I'll have you back by sunrise.”

  “Sunrise? As in tomorrow morning?” Her pretty eyes widen. Her milky skin goes pure white. The hand resting in mine stiffens. She reaches with the other one and un-clips her seat belt.

  “Do you need to be back tonight?” I ask. Maybe it was presumptuous of me to assume she'd be okay with an overnight excursion. But I don't regret it.

  “No...”

  “Then are you afraid of flying?”

  “I don't know. I've never been on a plane.”

  “It's not a long flight.” I open my door. Jake, my usual flight attendant gets Jordan's door for her. He gives her an up and down look as she steps out of my car. A wave of jealousy burns through me, surprising me. I've had my share of beautiful women. In my bed. In my car. In my G6. Never have I been jealous of the way another man looked at one of them before.

  Holy shit, I'm jealous for the first time in my life. I don't want another man looking at this woman, let alone touching her. Even an (openly) gay flight attendant.

  I'm jealous. Me...

  I want to give her everything she could possibly want...

  I can't stop thinking about her....

  Unbelievable. I'm in love!

  Is that possible? I don't even know her. I met her yesterday. It's been less than twenty-four hours.

  Inside the jet, I lead her to a pair of chairs. Jake waits for us to get comfortable before asking if we want a drink.

  I look to Jordan. I'm in the mood for some champagne. I'm hoping she is too. “Champagne?” I offer.

  Her pretty, kissable lips curl into a sweet smile. “Champagne? A private jet? I think I could get used to this.”

  “Good.” I nod at Jake and he heads to the galley for our drinks. “I want you to get used to it. You deserve to be pampered. And spoiled.”

  She shakes her head. “If I didn't know better, I'd actually believe you're being genuine. But I do. I know better.”

  She thinks I'm playing her.

  I smack my hand over my heart. “You wound me.”

  She giggles. God, I love that fucking sound. It's like...sweeter than an angel's song.

  Angel's song? Fuck, where did that come from? I'm thinking like a girl.

  “If the player's shoes fit, you gotta wear 'em,” she says.

  “You know what? I deserve that,” I concede. “I should have a great big P sewn on my chest. I have been a player. A complete asshole. But I'm done with that.”

  She grips the armrests. Her face turns the shade of fresh snow, and I realize after a moment or two that she isn't freaking out about what I said. We're taking off. I'm so used to flying I don't even pay attention to what's happening anymore.

  I gently pry her fingers from the leather and sandwich her hand between mine. “It's okay. Once we're in the air you won't even know we're moving.”

  “Why did you have to take me on a plane?” she asks, blinking huge, beautiful eyes at me.

  “Because I want tonight to be the best night of your life.” I cup her cheek. Her skin is so soft. If I could, I would touch it all day.

  She laughs. Hard. The sound is even sweeter than that intoxicating little giggle of hers.

  Still, what the hell is so funny?

  “Wow, you're good!” she says, tugging her hand from my grasp. “How many girls have you sweet-talked into your bed?”

  “More than I care to admit right now,” I confess. “I'm a little embarrassed about it. But I'm not trying to sweet-talk you. I swear.”

  “Sure you're not.” she gives me a pointed look then rolls her eyes. “Because I'm different. I'm special. I'm not like the others.”

  It's true. She isn't like the others.

  She's far more beautiful.

  And intelligent.

  And funny.

  And challenging.

  She hasn't thrown herself at me. No, she's done the opposite. At least, when we aren't shoving our tongues down each other's throats

  It's driving me crazy.

  “I guess I'll just have to prove it,” I tell her, determined to do exactly that.

  “I guess so.”

  Jake finally brings our champagne, the bottle chilled in a bucket of ice. He pours two glasses, handing Jordan hers first. Then he disappears.

  I lift my glass. “To new adventures.”

  She smiles, clicks her glass to mine, and sips. Her eyes twinkle. Those glitters are adorable. “Wow, this is good.” She sets her glass on the small table next to her chair. “But I see what you're doing. Getting me tipsy so you can have your way with me.”

  “No. I've never done that. Taking advantage of a drunk woman isn't part of my game.”

  “Aha! So what is part of your 'game'?” she asks, making air quotes. “Private jets? Gushing compliments. Promises you don't intend to keep?”

  “I get the skepticism, given my past,” I acknowledge with a nod. “To a degree. But I wonder why you're so cynical. Aren't you worthy of being spoiled?”

  She shrugs. Her gaze drops to her hands, clenched in her lap.

  I've struck a nerve. This lovely, smart, fascinating woman doesn't believe she's deserving. Why? Will she tell me?

  Is it that asshole she punched in the clubhouse?

  I want to know.

  Then again, why should she trust me?

  Give her a reason to trust you.

  How? What can I do? Say? To her, I'm just a rich playboy looking for some pussy.

  A rich playboy who always gets his way.

  Who has never known how it feels to have his heart broken.

  Or wonder where his next meal was coming from.

  That gives me an idea. There is one thing I could share with her. It might... But...I haven't told anyone. Only Colby knows. And that's because he's been my friend since we were in the seventh grade.

  I gently cup her chin and lift it. “When you look at me, what do you see?”

  Her lips quirk. “You know.”

  “No. Tell me.”

  She leans back, pulling away from my touch. “What every girl in my shoes would. A rich, powerful, good-looking man who can buy anything he wants.”

  No surprises there. “That's because that's what I want most people to see. But not you. I want you to see what I really am. Who I really am.”

  She tips her head. “And who's that?”

  “The son of a migrant farmer,” I admit. “Who went to bed hungry more nights than he wants to remember.” I watch her reaction closely as I continue, “The young man who was determined to do anything to get his parents out of poverty. The man who is afraid to stop working because he's terrified there won't be en
ough money for the future. That it'll all go away.”

  She doesn't laugh. “I...I never would have guessed,” she whispers.

  “Nobody does. Because, for the most part, people are content to believe the obvious.”

  “So true.” She sighs. “Except when the obvious isn't what you want to see. Like with my ex-fiance. That jerk I punched. At the country club.” Slender, delicate fingers toy with a strand of her hair. “I saw him flirting with women. I saw his gaze scouring every room we entered, looking for pretty faces. But I didn't want to believe he'd cheat on me. I didn't want to believe and so I didn't accept the obvious.”

  And there it is. The truth.

  I feel so fucking lucky.

  I don't know this woman well—yet. But I can tell it isn't easy for her to trust anyone. Especially a man, after what she's just been through.

  I vow to respect this treasure she's given me.

  More than respect. I will cherish it.

  I will cherish her.

  Because she deserves it.

  Chapter 4

  Jordan

  Am I making another huge mistake?

  This guy has loads of money.

  He's good looking.

  He's powerful.

  I'm sure he meets beautiful women every day. Women who would give anything to be his wife. Or girlfriend. Or even just his lover. So why should I trust him? Why should he be anything more than a rebound screw?

  Because I don't do rebound sex, for one.

  Heck, I don't do casual sex at all. That is so not me.

  And because there's something about him that makes me believe what he said. That he was poor. That he wanted to get out of the horrific rut of poverty.

  In that respect, we are similar. I know how it is to feel helpless, too. To look toward the future and see nothing but struggle. And pain.

  But does that make him trustworthy, just because he didn't go to some fancy boarding school?

  Or inherit a huge trust fund?

  Or spend his childhood taking for granted the many privileges the rich in the US enjoy?

  I wish I knew.

  After all, Butthead didn't have those things either. And look at how he turned out. Granted, he'd been raised by a father with ten wives. I guess I was an idiot for thinking (hoping) he wouldn't want a harem of wives for himself, too.

  “None of us do,” Grayson says. “We don't want to believe the worst. Because we want to carry on. To believe the fantasy.” He looks so earnest right now. So trustworthy. But I'm terrified of making another mistake. Of having my heart...