31. Mandy
31
MANDY
“ I t’s horrible!” my sister wails as soon as I walk through the door into my familiar, albeit much dingier than I remembered, studio apartment.
“Lauren, you don’t even pay rent. Can’t you at least clean up in here?”
My sister continues to wail as I pick up an empty Sun Chips bag off the floor and stuff it into an overflowing trash can.
“I had a maid when I lived with Kenny,” she cries. “I’m in crisis, and we don’t have any more wine coolers.”
“I thought you found a new guy?”
“He’s not my boyfriend—we just hook up.” More sobbing. “But not often because he’s busy working.”
“At least he has a job.”
“Amy doesn’t need to have a job.” Lauren’s wailing again. “Kenny bought her a charm bracelet, and he’s taking her to England. England is our thing.”
“To be fair, England is a lot of people’s thing.” Turning on the tap, I rinse out an empty wine bottle. “Why don’t you call your friends?”
“They all ditched me when I got with Kenny. They were jealous. Said they didn’t want me to steal their boyfriends.”
“Funny how that works.”
“But…” Lauren sniffles. “No man is going to want you, so you’ll never leave me.”
I set the bottle on the counter with a clunk . “That’s not necessarily true.”
Lauren lets out a peal of laughter. “You can’t mean Salinger! Your boss? Aw, Mandy, he just wants to have sex with you. Too bad you’re going through early menopause—otherwise, you could just get pregnant by him.”
Breathe. “Never mind.”
“I bet you cook for him too. Steak and a blow job? Does he even buy you nice presents?”
“We’re not…” I remember his hands on my skin between my legs. “Like that,” I finish lamely.
Opening the freezer, I pull out the rest of the pastitsio and pack it in an insulated grocery sack. Unfortunately, there’s only two little squares left.
I need to go to the grocery store, but I can’t. Salinger’s going to be ticked off if I don’t show up back at his penthouse, but he’s also going to be pissed come Monday when I don’t have his usual lunch.
Can I stop by Trader Joe’s and be in and out quick enough that he won’t flip out? I wonder as I head into the bathroom to grab my travel-toiletries bag. Why am I even entertaining his demands? I shouldn’t go to his penthouse. It’s complete lunacy.
I trip over an extension cord, which triggers a chain reaction and causes the stack of bottles and beauty products to clatter into the filthy sink.
“Lauren!” I scream at my sister. “You can’t just trash my bathroom!”
“I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
“There’s dried face mud all over the sink. You need to clean it up. You can’t stay here and destroy my place.”
“You’re always nagging me.”
My phone rings. I ignore it. I’m not letting this go.
“Lauren, you’re going to have to grow up and realize that the world isn’t just going to hand you a maid and an American Express black card on a silver platter. You need to take responsibility for your life.”
“You’re being boring,” my sister argues. “Besides, you’re abandoning me for a man. I know you were with Salinger last night. I need my big sister.” Lauren throws herself in my arms.
I suddenly feel guilty, even though I know that’s what the whole performance is about.
The phone’s ringing again. I bet it’s him. “Hi, Salinger. You need a what? Okay, hold on.” I text his pilot.
“You’re not going to convince him to marry you if you talk to him like that,” Lauren says.
“I’m not trying to get him—I’m trying to go grocery shopping.”
“What? It’s Friday night, and you want to grocery shopping? We’re going out. I want a drink. Girls night! I’ll clean the apartment if you come out with me.”
“Doubtful. ”
“Look.” Lauren sticks her phone in my face. “This bar is right next to Trader Joe’s. Sister time?”
“Fine,” I relent. “One drink.”
“Just a shot, then you can leave. This will be good for you!” Lauren throws dresses out of my microscopic closet onto the bed. “You’ll get your flirt on, lighten up, make out with a not-so-hot bartender.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re going to have to change, though.”
I’m just not sure where I’m going to cook his food, I fret as I park in a shadowy lot.
I have to go to his penthouse, but I don’t want to cook it there. Maybe there’s a chef’s kitchen? A lot of those luxury residential towers have one in case residents want to host a fancy event.
“This must be a popular spot,” I say. “There’s a line to get in. I’ll just go to Trader Joe’s. I don’t want to be here all night.”
“You promised,” Lauren wheedles. She’s wearing what I think is a little much for a neighborhood bar—glittery stilettos, long gold earrings, a short black cocktail dress.
I’m not much better. I changed into one of the microscopic dresses Lauren insisted I wear, with one long zipper up the front of it. Definitely put on fresh panties and did some grooming. Lauren practically vomited when I sat down in the dress and she claimed she saw a pubic hair.
As we stand in line with girls who look like they’re going to the club, I’m surprised I still haven’t heard from Salinger wondering where I am, considering how long it took me to clean everything up down there .
The doors open. Pounding music blasts out. A large, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt and sunglasses gestures to several of the girls.
“You said this was a chill bar, Lauren.”
My sister tosses her hair. “This is chill. It’s not even eleven o’clock. The real clubs don’t open ’til then. Sister time!”
“We’re not even going to be able to hear ourselves talk in there.”
“You’re so old.”
“You and you,” the bouncer calls to us.
“Yay!” my sister squeals, grabbing my hand and dragging me into the dark club.
Green bracelets are attached to our wrists.
“This really does feel like a club,” I say.
Lauren ignores me, dancing along to the music.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, especially because some sort of purple-and-green strobe light is blinking in time with the beat of the hip-hop music.
I stumble as Lauren and I make our way to the bar. The bartender is flirting with a group of what look like college-age girls.
“One shot!” I yell at Lauren over the music.
“What?” she screams back.
“One,” I shout, holding up a finger, “shot!”
The bartender is still flirting with the girls. The bass is so loud, it feels like I’m about to have a nosebleed.
“Excuse me!” I call out over the music, trying to signal to the bartender. “Excuse me?”
“We’ll show you our tits if you give us a drink!” Lauren screams at the bartender.
That gets his attention.
“Older women.” He whistles appreciatively .
“I’m not old,” Lauren says. “She’s old.”
I hush my sister. “Two shots, please.”
“ID.” The bartender whistles again as he inspects my card. “You’re thirty-four? You don’t look thirty-four.” His eyes settle on my chest. “Do you have kids?”
“She doesn’t even have a boyfriend,” my sister yells over the music as he slides our IDs across the bar top.
“You look good for your age.”
“One, thank you. Two, it goes faster than you think. You’re going to be this age soon, and you’ll be just as shocked and horrified as I am.”
“Sure, lady.” He rolls his eyes. “What’ll you have?”
“Surprise us.” My sister winks.
The bartender pulls out a bottle of toxic-looking green liquid and slides two full shot glasses over to us.
“This isn’t roofied, is it?” I inspect the glass.
“No way—he just started his shift.” Lauren hands me one of the shot glasses. “To sisters. But not Amy.”
I toss the shot back, and flames spill down my throat.
“I’m dying,” I gasp out.
“That was fun!” Lauren claps her hands. “Another one!”
The bartender slides over two more.
“No, thanks.”
He shrugs. “I already poured it, so you have to pay for it.”
Lauren knocks back her shot.
I hand over my credit card, wondering how much this is all going to cost.
“Oh my gosh, that’s Jenny!” My sister waves. “Let’s party!”
“Lauren, wait. ”
She’s already gone, disappearing into the crowd of dancers.
Annoyed, I knock back my own shot. My eyes water.
The bartender still has my card, but instead of running it, he’s flirting with the college girls again. Does he not know I just had the tongue of a man worth ten figures down my throat?
I still can’t believe I kissed my boss. Or that I’m about to go stay at his penthouse all weekend. What if we have sex? We won’t have sex, though, right? I’m going to bake pastitsio all weekend, and he’ll catch up on work. It’s a big penthouse. I’ll barely even see him.
Where is the bartender? I slip off my stool, searching for him. I find him making out with one of the college girls.
“Excuse me.” I tap his shoulder.
He ignores me.
“I need my credit card. I need to go grocery shopping.”
The girl rolls her eyes.
“Whatever.” The bartender shoves the card at me then goes back to kissing her.
“Can I have a receipt?”
He waves me away.
I push into the crowd to find Lauren and tell her I’m leaving. Two girls dance out of my way, leaving a space in the crowd, leaving a view of…
“Jaxon,” I whimper.
I need to get out of here.
He hasn’t seen me, right? There are several girls hanging on him, and he’s swigging from a bottle of expensive champagne.
“We’re not going to panic,” I say to myself. “We’re going to get out, go to our car, and drive straight to Salinger’s… ”
“No.” The bouncer blocks my path to the door.
“What do you mean, no? You can’t let me out?”
He points to the wristband. “You have to spend thirty dollars before you can leave.”
“But I bought four shots.”
“Receipt?” He holds out a meaty hand.
“You don’t understand. I need to leave. Can I just pay you here?”
“No, you have to pay at the bar.”
“The bar?” I can barely get the words out, not that it matters over the pounding music. It’s a fast dance song, and the strobe lights are pulsing.
I squint, disoriented, into the foggy club. Someone has started a bubble machine.
Lauren. I need to get Lauren out. My baby sister. I can’t leave her here. Not with him.
Scanning the room for her, I try to stay out of sight. But as the lights flash and the bubbles and fog waft around, I can feel Jaxon’s eyes on me.
I need to escape.
The bouncer is still guarding the door, so I need to find a fire exit or something.
I push through the crowd, praying my stalker hasn’t actually seen me. There’s a glowing red exit sign on the far side of the room. I lose one shoe then another clambering over the couches where people are making out. The thin material of my dress tears.
The floors are sticky under my bare feet as I push through the crowd. I look over my shoulder. I can’t tell if I’m being chased because of the crowd, but it’s too late—I’m already in a state of panic. Someone grabs me and I yelp, my heart in my throat, then I realize it’s just a drunk patron .
I shove out of the fire exit.
Outside, my ears ring in the quiet of the empty alley. I don’t know where I am. Where’s my car? Where’s a street sign?
Behind me, I hear the metallic click then bang of the door opening and closing.
It’s him. It has to be him, right?
Male voices. A bouncer yells, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be out here!”
With my feet stinging from the rough asphalt, I hike up my torn skirt and hurry to the street.
“You’re not having a nightmare. You overreacted.” I try to calm myself down so I can get my bearings.
Whatever was in those shots is making me feel lightheaded. Or maybe it’s the panic.
I pat my purse. I have my key and my phone. I’ll just find my car, and everything will be fine.
A black sedan almost hits me as I dart out from between two parked cars down the street from the club. I try to wave at it to go around.
Instead, the door opens.
Run! everything in me screams.
But it’s too late. Huge arms wrap around me. “Mandy.”
It’s Salinger. He’s furious.
Horns blare as other cars maneuver around the sedan. Salinger picks me up in his arms, opens the back door to the car, and practically throws me inside.
The engine roars as he drives off, peeling into an empty parking lot so I can clamber into the front seat.
“I told you…” The deep voice rumbles around the car interior, which feels like it’s closing in on me.
“I needed to go to the grocery store. ”
“Liar.” The words brush against my cheek.
I shrink back. His huge hand pins me against the seat.
“Who are you wearing that dress for?”
“We were just going to get drinks,” I gasp.
“After I told you not to? After I told you to come back to me?”
His shadow falls over my face.
“So, tell me again, since you weren’t going to my place—who were you wearing that for?” He’s half on top of me in the seat. I struggle against him.
His fingers graze my jawline.
“You don’t dress like that for anyone except me.” Then his mouth is on mine. His tongue forces its way in my mouth. His hands are on my thighs, pushing them apart. I feel his fingers there against the lacy panties. “You never dress that nice for me.”
The hem rides up on my hips so he can spread my legs wider. His fingers are under the fabric now.
“Were you going to let some other man do this to you? Spread your legs, open your dripping-wet little pussy for him? Fuck, and you even got yourself nice and smooth for him. Greedy little slut.”
I slap at his chest. He just laughs and digs his fingers into the swollen slit of my pussy.
I nip his lower lip. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“Yes, I’m fucking crazy. You make me fucking crazy. You’re making me lose my mind.”
I can’t tell if I want to back away or grind against his hand as he starts stroking me.
His mouth is on my breast, sucking at the nipple. His hands are rough as he strokes me, his fingers playing in my opening, curling. I need them higher, need them on my clit .
“You can’t,” I whimper. “This is a public street.”
“You’re mine, Mandy, and if I want you to come screaming my name, you’ll do it anywhere.”
I moan as he twists his hand.
“You don’t want me to stop,” he whispers against my mouth. “You want my cock in your greedy little cunt. Ever since I told you I was going to throw you down on the floor and fuck you ’til you screamed, that’s all you can think about. I bet you were in your bed last night, stroking your clit and thinking about me. I bet it scared you, so you thought you’d go find someone else, someone safer, someone lesser.”
“You’re so self-absorbed. Not everything is about you.”
“This is.” His fingers twirl around my clit, making me whimper.
I’m panting, my breath fogging up the window.
“I have half a mind,” he whispers in my ear, “to drag you out of this car, bend you over the hood, and make you spread your legs…”
His fingers are really working my pussy now. Three fingers shove inside me roughly, making me wish they were his cock.
“Let you stand there, your juices running down those thick thighs, your fingers spreading your pussy—you begging me to give you my cock, to let you know what it’s like to be fucked by a man who wants to own you.”
“Shit,” I gasp.
His fingers are insistent on my clit, and I cling to the wool fabric of his suit jacket. His hair is still perfect while mine is a sweaty mess. My teeth sink into the expensive fabric of his jacket.
“No.” He shakes me off. “I want to watch you come. ”
He sits back, one hand on my neck, pressing me back against the leather seat. I grab his wrist with both hands. Unrecognizable, needy whines come out of my throat as he strokes me hard.
“That’s right.” His voice is rough in the dark. “Spread your legs for me, push your panties to the side. I want to see your dripping pussy.” He gives me a shake. “Do it.”
I spread my legs, one hand hooking the soaking-wet fabric.
His eyes flick from my sweaty face to my bare tits, exposed by the bodice of the dress, down to my pussy.
My nails dig into his wrist. He watches, a half smile on his face as he works my clit, my hips bucking against his fingers as he takes me higher and higher.
“Say ‘thank you, Mr. Svensson’ when you come.”
Then there’s explosions as I gush on his hand.
“Go fuck yourself, Salinger,” I gasp as he milks the pleasure, still stroking me hard, leaving me shuddering and panting in the passenger’s seat.
He releases my neck, his hand drifting to grasp my breast. His other hand lifts to my chin. He slides his wet flingers over my lips. My mouth is slick with the salty taste.
His eyes narrow slightly as he runs his thumb over my nipple.
“You’d look better with my cum on your face.” He jerks his chin. “Lick it off.”
My tongue darts out against his fingers, now sliding in my mouth. My lips part, and my tongue swirls around them. Then he kisses me, tasting me.
Maybe it’s whatever was in those green shots, or maybe it’s that I’ve just had the most amazing orgasm of my entire life while Salinger hadn’t even worked up a sweat, but I grab his tie, pull him down, look him right in the eye.
“So, does that mean you’ll be licking your cum off my mouth?” I can’t tell if he’s about to yell at me or slam me back into the seat and fuck me.
Instead, he smirks. “I like that you’re thinking of my cum in you.”
I am thinking of more than that as we drive back to his penthouse. I’m thinking of his whole, entire cock in me. I cross my legs. The zipper on the dress is jammed, and I have to hold it closed.
“I won’t make you do the walk of shame through the lobby.” He parks next to a silver McLaren.
Before I have a chance to put my bare feet on the cold concrete, Salinger’s there, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the elevator lobby.
“Wow, special treatment.”
“Yeah, Imagine what you get if you let me come in your ass.”
“Whoa!” I struggle, wiggling out of his arms. My feet hit the floor, and I scamper away from him.
“You scared or excited?”
“Is that what we’re about to do? This is all just a little bit fast, don’t you think? Maybe I can just get a hotel?”
Now that I’m experiencing post-O clarity, my inner rule-follower is very unhappy about the prospect of sex with my boss.
Yes, but is anal sex really sex? The girls at bible-study camp certainly didn’t think so.
I scoot to the far end of the elevator lobby.
Salinger, an apex predator, watches me as he swipes the keycard to call the private elevator. Then he advances on me while I clutch at my dress. He crouches down then lifts me up right above my knees, flipping me over his shoulder.
“I told you, you’re staying with me this weekend. I clearly can’t trust you at a hotel.”
“I promise I won’t drink anything out of the mini bar or order room service.”
The hand not secure around my legs slides up my bare thighs. His fingers nudge against my panties then higher.
I let out a low moan as his fingers push there through the damp fabric.
“You’re getting wet again just thinking about my hot cum dripping down your legs, aren’t you?” he asks conversationally as the elevator dings, signaling our arrival.
A few soft lamps are on in the penthouse. His hands are still on my legs as he heads over to the wet bar, sets two crystal tumblers on the marble counter, and pours what smells like bourbon into them.
There’s the sound of glass scraping against the stone.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t come in your ass until you’re begging me to.”
“I see now why you have a historically difficult time getting rid of your ex-girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends is a bit of a stretch. They’re just women I fuck.”
“Is that what we’re going to do?” I ask my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the water.
Then he carries me up the stairs, giving no indication that my weight is in any way bothersome. “Hm?” The noise rumbles through his chest, vibrating against the hands I have splayed on his back. “I have standards, Mandy.”
“So do I.”
“I made you come in a parking lot. I highly doubt that. ”
That immediately makes me want him again. I try to force the desire back down.
“I know what you’re thinking.” His laugh reverberates through my chest. “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to make me feel wanted, special. I need to know that my cock is the only thing you’re thinking about.”
I slap his firm backside. “Put me down, and I’ll show you.”
He sets me down in the dark room and places the two glasses on the wooden dresser. His face is half in shadow from the soft light coming in through the bedroom door. “Show me,” he breathes.
I make a big show of teasing my hair up. “I want to feel your thick cock in my—”
“Do better.” He crosses his arms.
I’m really trying for sultry here, guys, but like I said, the zipper’s stuck and I’m pretty lightheaded from being hung upside down.
The corner of his mouth quirks as I decide fuck it and just shimmy off the tight dress. Then I throw it at him.
He grunts as he catches it. “Damn, your tits are nice.”
“You like these? Homegrown.” I smush them up, rubbing my hands over my hard nipples, sending thrills of pleasure down to my pussy.
Salinger grabs one of the glasses. Takes a sip.
“You know,” I murmur, imagining his hands on me there, “no man has ever made me come like you do. I think you ruined me, and you didn’t even take off your clothes.”
His eyes are dark slits. He takes two steps over to me, holds the glass to my mouth, tips it.
I take a sip. It’s light-years better than that nasty green shot .
Then Salinger drains the glass, my dress still thrown over his shoulder.
My lips dart out to lick the last of the bourbon from my lips. My fingers slide down, down to the waistband of my panties. I sink down to the floor, legs splayed, my fingers under the fabric, stroking the slick wetness there.
“I think,” I moan, “I’m going to spend every night for the rest of my life that I’m not with you thinking about you”—I lift my fingers to my lips—“with your fingers on my clit, telling me how you want to bend me over and come in my tight little ass.”
I can hear the hitch in his breath.
“You’re the first man who will ever take me there. I’m a little scared but a little excited.”
“Damn, Mandy.”
I’m practically there already, thinking about how I’ll be on my knees, my legs spread for him, his fingers in me, making me ready to take him.
“Take off your panties.”
I hook my thumbs in the waistband and pull them down, leaving a trail of wet on my inner thighs. Then I slingshot them at him. “Bullseye!”
Maybe in hindsight not the sexiest, but he doesn’t seem to care.
My boss catches them, presses them to his face, inhales the scent. “I need to taste you.”
Shoot, I haven’t even considered his tongue.
“Get on your knees.”
It’s a direct order. I kneel in front of him. I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Close your eyes.”
What’s happening? What’s he going to do ?
The floor gives ever so slightly.
“Wait.” I open my eyes to see him stepping through the doorway. “You’re leaving? What the hell!”
“I need you to know,” he says, pulling a key out of his pocket, “that this is for your own good.”
“Salinger!” I scream, running to the door.
But I’m too late. The key is already turning in the lock.
I pound on the door, shaking the handle. “Let me out!”
“Next time,” he says, a warning in the deep voice on the other side of the door, “don’t disobey me.”