“Am I?”
“Oh, yes. Tie me up. Spank me. Fuck me however and wherever you want.” I slide my hand over his now-hard cock. “I have a few interesting toys in my bedside drawer, so feel free to help yourself. But that’s what I want. To be used by you. Very, very thoroughly.”
His eyes are alight with a very wicked shade of green. “Sounds more like a present for me.”
“Believe me, I want it.”
He slides his finger between my legs, and I’m so sensitive that even that gentle touch on my clit makes me shudder as electricity tingles over every inch of my skin.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess you do.”
We snuggle close again and sleep until almost lunchtime. And then we spend the day exactly how I said we would. It’s LA, so the weather is gorgeous, and my deck has such a wonderful view of the hills and city beyond that it’s easy to pass the time out there, me working and Dallas reading, with only small breaks for food and conversation. It’s nice and comfortable. It feels like home.
Hell, it feels awesome.
As the afternoon draws late, I shut down my laptop and head to the railing, then look out over the green hills below and wisps of white clouds above. After a moment, Dallas joins me, his arms encircling me at the waist. I lean back against him and sigh deeply. “This is nice,” I say. “If I didn’t have two tickets for a concert tonight, I might have to stay here and do naughty things with you.”
He tightens his grip and kisses my ear, then whispers, “I promise we’ll be naughty tonight,” with such heat that I’m tempted to forgo showering and changing clothes in favor of pulling him down on a chaise lounge and having my way with him.
Soon enough for that, though.
“I need to get ready,” I say, then start to push back from the rail so I can head inside to my bedroom.
He tugs me to a stop. “If you don’t mind, I thought we could go with some friends tonight. They can swing by and pick us up.”
“Oh.” I’m a little surprised; I hadn’t expected that we’d be going with other people.
“But only if you’re cool with having company tonight,” he hurries to say. “I’m more than willing to have you all to myself.”
“Who?”
“Damien and his wife, Nikki,” he says.
“Damien Stark?” I ask, referring to the professional tennis player turned entrepreneur turned multi-billionaire.
“Westerfield’s is his club, and he’s the one who scored the tickets for me.”
I nod, the pieces falling into place. “You invested in that island resort one of his companies recently launched, right?” I try to remember what I read about the high-end retreat just off the coast. “The Resort at Cortez?”
“I did. And the architect and project manager would be joining us, too. Jackson Steele and his wife, Sylvia. But only if you’re okay with company. It’s your birthday, and that means your wish is my command.”
I slide my arms around him and press close. “I like the sound of that,” I admit. “But I’ll issue my commands after the concert. I’m happy to go with your friends. Honestly, I’d like to hear more about the resort. It sounds amazing.”
“We can go tomorrow, if you want. I’ve got a little bungalow there, actually. An investor perk. What do you say? Concert in public tonight, with both of us on our best behavior? Island getaway tomorrow, alone and being very, very naughty?”
I laugh, remembering the last time we were alone together on an island; frankly, naughty is an understatement. “Actually,” I say, “I think that sounds like an absolutely perfect plan.”
Tsunami
We arrive at Westerfield’s in a Stark International limo and get the full VIP treatment. I walk up the red carpet with Nikki and Sylvia, with whom I’ve been chatting and drinking during the drive from my house down to West Hollywood. The guys are behind us, talking about the resort and plans for a retail complex that the three of them are considering working on together.
Honestly, it’s far too much business talk during my birthday celebration, and when we get to the door, I step back from the girls and tell the men that it’s time to be festive. I almost put my arm through Dallas’s, but he steps back at the last second, and I shoot him a grateful glance. I’ve been so comfortable with these four all evening that it’s far too easy to let my guard down.
And while I don’t get the impression that any of them—Jackson or Damien, Sylvia or Nikki—would judge us harshly, that’s not a theory that I’m willing to put to the test.
“My birthday,” I point out. “My rules. Fun and dance and drinking from here on out.”
“And right next to the stage,” Damien says. “Best seats in the house. Except for the fact that it’s standing room only. But if you want to sit we can go up to my office and watch through the window.”
“Not on your life. I want to dance.”