6. Denise
Chapter six
Denise
I f someone had told me before the wedding that I'd end up at Cory's place not once, not twice, but three times in the span of two weeks, I would've asked which edible they were on. It must be a hell of a lot stronger than the one I take to deal with my insane commute. That I even know where he lives is bonkers. He's supposed to be one step up from a stranger.
Sure, he's hot—tall and jacked, with long, dark, barely tamed hair and a wide mouth that I bet says the filthiest things in bed…Under normal circumstances, I'd definitely hit that. But he's already proven himself to be a garbage human being, and sleeping with him was a huge party foul on my part.
Yet here I am, pacing in front of his swanky building off Columbus Circle, when I should be home, finalizing my sketches for the Bailey Maxwell show. New York Fashion Week is mere months away, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. It's my tenth year, but my first time working on a team with plus-size representation. Nine months from now, my designs could be on the racks of Saks Fifth Avenue!
The pressure of the impending show on top of the days I spent worried sick my necklace was gone forever has me taking a fortifying hit of my vape to calm my nerves. Anxiety and depression continue to be the gifts that keep on giving!
I turn to blow my smoke towards the street—some doormen are weird about THC even though it's legal now—but instead, blow it directly into Cory's face as he comes up behind me.
"Shit!" I say, desperately trying to clear away the smoke.
He lifts his head to take a whiff of the air, then cracks a sly smile.
"You partake?"
I eye him warily and brace myself for judgement better suited to the 1950s.
"Yeah. So?"
He extends his hand.
"So…pass that shit." He shakes his hand impatiently. "I just got out of a brutal meeting and the client would not shut up."
I slowly pull the vape from my pocket and drop it in his palm, squelching a smile. His lips close around the mouthpiece, and I try not to stare. That mouth can definitely do things. Dirty things. I clear my throat.
"So…about that necklace?"
He nods, taking one final drag before handing the vape back.
"Sure thing. Come on up and I'll grab it for you."
He turns, but stops and looks over his shoulder when I don't follow.
"What's up?" he asks, a tiny wrinkle creasing his forehead.
"Couldn't you just bring it downstairs while I wait here?" I suggest. I make no effort to hide my reluctance, and he raises an eyebrow in challenge.
"Let me get this straight. I turned my apartment upside down to find your necklace, rushed home from work to meet you, and after all that, I have to go up and back downstairs to return it to you?"
Fuck. He has a point. Being alone in his place reminds me of my previous poor decisions, but he did go out of his way…and I'm already here, so…
"Fine," I grumble. "Lead the way, pal."
He smirks and turns, not bothering to see whether I'm following him this time. Once again, I'm struck by the ritz of his building; his comes with an elevator and a lobby covered in marble, while mine has a front door that sometimes jams and hot water that runs out after 10am. I didn't get into fashion for the money , I remind myself.
After an awkward and painfully silent elevator ride, I follow him into his spacious living room. He takes off his suit jacket, exposing broad shoulders that test the limits of his dress shirt. Did I say he was hot? Try scorching. When he casually rolls up his shirtsleeves to reveal defined forearms lightly dusted with hair, I decide to look around his apartment rather than ogling him further.
I didn't notice before, but the man has exquisite taste. A geometric rug pulls together the royal blue of the curtains, the gray of concrete countertops, and the cream of hanging globe lights that illuminate the space. There's art on the walls that I can tell wasn't just purchased at a garage sale or inherited from a frat house, and an impressive vinyl collection that lines walls of exposed brick. It's definitely a bachelor pad—hookups are likely the only feminine energy this place gets—but it's surprisingly…stylish.
Cory gestures to the couch—it's deep brown leather that looks butter-soft—before heading towards his bedroom.
"You can have a seat while you wait. Feel free to grab a beer or whatever. I'll be right back."
I remain standing—that couch looks dangerously inviting and I should keep this visit as short as possible—then walk to his kitchen, because a beer doesn't sound half bad. When I open the fridge, however, I feel like I've stepped into a Whole Foods. There are trays of baked salmon and grilled vegetables, individual cups of fruit salad and assorted chia puddings, bottles of juices in all the colors of the rainbow, and beverage choices from beer, to wine, to kombucha. I can't help but gape before settling on a cup of pineapple and a sparkling water.
Not a fan of eating while standing, I take my snack into the living room and settle into the irresistible couch. As expected, it cups my butt like a Tempur-Pedic mattress, and I have to stifle a moan of pleasure. When Cory sits next to me with a beer, I whirl on him.
"What exactly do you do for a living?" I ask, a little harsher than I intended.
He gives me a quizzical look.
"Why do you ask?"
I flail my arms towards the decadence that surrounds us.
"Look at this place! There's no way you're paying less than five G's a month, and that's not including the entire grocery store you have in your fridge. By the way, if you had all that, why did we order pizza the last time I was here?"
He looks at me sheepishly and takes a sip of his beer.
"That's just meal prep. I have zero time to cook. And everyone knows greasy food trumps healthy when it comes to hangovers."
"And what do you do to afford all this?" I repeat.
Cory's expression turns guarded, and he takes another swig from his beer. What is he, like, the first guy in NYC not willing to brag about being loaded?
"I work in Finance," he answers vaguely.
I snort before I can stop myself.
"Of course you do!"
Cory smiles, but it's tight around the edges.
"I thought we talked about not insulting me in my own home."
I pop another piece of pineapple into my mouth, and the tangy juice explodes onto my tongue. Damn. Even his fruit is deluxe.
"I'm sorry, man, but come on ! Finance? Wall Street and the greed it runs on is at the core of all that is wrong with this world."
Before I can continue what is sure to be a scathing rebuke of the inequities perpetuated by the finance industry, Cory reaches over my lap and confiscates my pineapple cup.
"Hey! Give that back!"
When I reach out to take it back, he playfully swats my hand away.
"Treats are for nonjudgemental guests. Your fridge privileges have been revoked."
I'm so shocked, my brain stutters and I actually laugh.
"What the hell?" I say through a giggle. "Did you really just take my fruit cup? What are you, five? Are you going to pull my hair next?"
I'm still giggling when Cory puts action to words and pulls a loose braid by my shoulder.
"Ooh!" I gasp, and another wave of giggles overtakes me. That was actually…kinda hot!
At my outraged expression, Cory starts laughing too; big, belly laughs that have him leaning back and slapping my knee just below the hem of my skirt. The unexpected contact raises goosebumps on my skin and moisture pools between my legs.
Wait. What is going on? I don't like this guy. I can't . He stands for everything I'm against. For some reason, though, my vagina has not gotten the message. His hand is still on my knee as his laughter subsides, and I place mine on top, intertwining our fingers.
"Pretty please," I playfully bat my eyelashes, "can I have my pineapple back? It's so juicy!"
The husky timbre of my voice surprises me, but, from the heavy-lidded look on Cory's face, he doesn't mind. He takes his time returning the fruit, letting the skin of his arm brush softly against my bare legs as he places the container in front of me. When my nipples harden immediately, it hits me.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no!
I dive for my purse on the other end of the couch and rummage through it until I find the culprit. Instead of a 5 mg vape cartridge, I loaded a 50 mg cartridge! If 5 mg is "unwinding after work", 50 mg is "getting turnt at a bachelorette party"! I check the back of the bottle and groan out load. Not only is it ten times stronger than intended, but this strain of THC is particularly… horny . No wonder I feel like climbing the walls!
I turn back to Cory, who's practically panting as he rakes his gaze over me.
"Oh my God, Cory. I fucked up. I loaded the wrong cartridge into my vape pen and now we're both way higher than planned."
I can already see the red creeping into his eyes.
"Yeah," he says, his voice a bit dreamy. "I think I'm starting to feel it."
His hand is back on my leg, inching past my knee to the smooth skin of my thigh. His eyes are locked on mine, and the pleasure rolling through me is quickly drowning out the voice in the back of my head saying we shouldn't do this.
"I…" I swallow, desire so thick in my throat it's making it hard to speak. "I'm definitely picking up what you're putting down and I'm super into it, but…are you sure you want to do this? It's most likely the weed that's got us so turned on. I wouldn't want you to do something you'll regret."
His eyes never leave mine as he slowly pushes my skirt up, caressing every inch of skin he uncovers until my lace panties are in full view. I bite my lip to contain a whimper.
"Shouldn't that be my line?" he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. I huff out a laugh, and my breath hitches when his fingers skim my seam through the damp fabric.
"Seriously." I'm the one panting now. "If you want, I can just take the necklace and head out, though I'll have to catch a cab, so I'm not humping the pole in the subway."
He chuckles, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. God! I feel like I'm about to combust! I might have to take care of myself in the bathroom before it's even safe enough to take a cab.
He pulls back far enough to look me in the eye. There's tightly reined need there, but also an earnestness that stills me. I force myself to release the death grip I have on the couch cushions.
"You are more than welcome to leave, but, if I may…We have already had sex."
"That neither of us remember," I interrupt, and he frowns slightly.
"True, but this doesn't have to be a big deal." He takes both of my hands in his, kissing my fingertips. "We can just be two consenting adults scratching an itch because somebody didn't check their weed."
His words aren't chastising, but playful, and he punctuates his sensual offer by nipping at the tender skin of my neck. The motion snaps my control, and I launch myself lips-first into Cory's face. He captures my mouth with his, boldly plunging his tongue inside. His hands slip back under my skirt, which is basically a belt at this point, and he pushes two fingers beneath my panties into my aching core.
Thankfully, I'm too far gone to be embarrassed by the sounds he's eliciting with his ministrations. If we were at my place, the neighbors would probably call to complain about a loud cat in heat. They'd be part right, too, considering I feel feral, scratching at my zipper to free myself from the pesky fabric separating us.
"God, you're so fucking hot," Cory moans, licking down my neck towards the swell of my breasts.
He pulls away just enough to yank his shirt out of his pants, and once it's loose, I rip it open. Buttons fly everywhere, dinging against furniture and windows, but I'm hypnotized by the bare chest in front of me.
"Chiseled" is an apt description, as he looks to be cut from solid granite. A scant patch of hair covers his chest, growing thicker and darker as it trails down before disappearing beneath his dress pants. I reach out instinctively, marveling at the delicious contrast of my dark hands against his pale abs.
"Damn, Cory," I sigh. That's all I can come up with; his physique has struck me positively dumb.
He quirks his mouth—not quite a smirk—and nudges my legs apart so he can fall down between them. My shirt has buttons too, but instead of hastily ripping it open, he unbuttons it one button at a time, pressing a kiss to my collarbone, then the sensitive space between my breasts, and finally nuzzling the lace of my bra aside to lick my areolas. I shudder with anticipation.
"I'm not going to lie. When I saw you that first morning after," he breathes into my skin, "I was really bummed I didn't remember sleeping with you. These tits are just…" He trails off, palming one before squeezing the heavy weight in his hand. The rough pads of his fingers send ripples of sensation through me, and his pupils dilate with lust. Then he yanks the lace the rest of the way down and sucks a nipple into his mouth.
His touch is neither clumsy nor tentative. He swirls his tongue around my tight peaks in hard, sure strokes that leave me breathless. I arch my back to push them further into his mouth, helpless against the rush of euphoria threatening to consume me.
"I wanted to taste them," he continues, my nipple still in his mouth, "Would've stayed with you tangled up in my sheets for the rest of the day if you had let me."
His words make me feel drunk, their potency fueling the passion already burning in my veins. I put both my hands on his shoulders and push to flip us until I'm on top, straddling his hips. My nipple slips from his lips with a wet pop.
"Less talking. More fucking," I demand.
He chuckles and the gleam in his eyes blazes even hotter.
"Yes, ma'am."
I scramble off his lap and tug down my skirt and thong in one fell swoop. Cory openly gawks as I stand before him in nothing but a bra that leaves little to the imagination, and my Nina Chanel Abney green Jordans. His eyes widen when they land on the shoes, and I start to kick them off.
"No!" he blurts, and I freeze. I really hope he hasn't changed his mind.
He looks up at me with a shy smile, his cheeks turning pink.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Just…Please. Leave them on?"
I straighten and level him with a smirk.
"You want me to keep my shoes on ?" I ask. Cory nods. "Are you a sneaker head or something?"
He looks chagrined and shrugs lightly.
"If you consider having an entire closet just for my sneaker collection being 'a sneaker head', then yes."
Oh really? I see you, Cory! My smirk turns into a genuine smile, and I reach behind his head into my bag for a condom.
"You'll have to show me later."
As I tear open the wrapper, he wrenches his pants open and shoves them down to his knees. I straddle his hips once more and slide the thin latex down his impressive length. I shouldn't be surprised; he definitely has big dick energy . He grabs hold of my hips, sliding them forward, then lifting to line his cock up with my center.
"Oooh, shiiiit," I groan as he enters me, his girth stretching my walls almost to the point of pain.
"Goddamn, your pussy is so tight, Denise," Cory grunts through clenched teeth. I preen under his praise and squeeze internally, tightening around him.
"Ooh, don't do that, baby," he hisses. "Not unless you want me to bust right now."
Once he's seated fully inside me, we both sigh, relishing the feel of our bodies coming into alignment. I recover first, pressing my hands into his chest for leverage as I bounce up and down on his throbbing shaft.
"God, Cory. I can feel you everywhere ," I moan. My walls start to tremble around him, and I increase my speed, chasing my ecstasy.
"Fuck! Shit!" he growls, his grip on my hips turning painful. "Slow down, baby. Don't make me cum yet."
I ignore him, bouncing even harder, riding his dick like my personal mechanical bull. My orgasm is hovering so close, so fucking close.
"Shiiiiit!" he shouts, and bucks beneath me so wildly I have to hold on. I feel the warmth as his seed fills the condom, and it triggers my own elusive release.
"Aaaahhh! Cory, shit!" I groan, falling apart around his still pulsing cock.
Fully spent, I collapse onto his chest, smiling to myself that his heartbeat is just as wild and thunderous as mine.