Chapter 32 Fitz #2
“Right.” Sipping her wine, she slowly wanders around the living room. “I've always wondered what kind of people live in places like these.”
“Most of them are weird and unpleasant.” I lean back, watching her. My latest prize. “Not me, though. I'm the most amazing man you'll ever meet.”
“Not hard in this city,” she says. “Don't get too full of yourself.”
“What are you searching for?” I ask her after a moment as she tries to surreptitiously look through my penthouse. Somehow I don't mind her trailing her fingers over the priceless art on the shelves.
“I'm looking for the skeletons in your closet that are going to let me know what your deal is.”
“My deal?”
Winnie hikes up her skirt and, wineglass in hand, sits on the coffee table in front of me.
I want to pull her in my lap, kiss the sugary mouth, slowly tug the zipper of her dress down. But this is highly entertaining.
Novelty.
I want to savor the moment like expensive wine.
I'll fuck her later.
“Why are you interested in me? Why would you ask me out on a date?” she demands.
“I just love the way you fawn all over me, sacrifice your needs for mine, crush your own desires and personality to appeal to me,” I tell her, sardonic.
She picks up one of the objets d'art I have on the coffee table threateningly.
“Creampuff, put that down.” My tone is mild.
“Scared?” she demands.
“No, that's a twelve-hundred-year-old Roman statue. It's a priceless artifact.”
“Oh my god.” She gingerly sets the little carved horse back on the table. “Really? Because it looks like you bought it on sale at HomeGoods.”
“She wounds me.” I clutch my chest. I open the box of pastries. “Ooh, watermelon cake.”
“Seriously?” she says as I cut off a forkful. “What are you trying to pull?”
I hold it out to her.
She's determined. Jaw set.
“Maybe I saw you come on a cock and lost my mind.”
“You—saw what?” She yelps, a little panicked.
“I said I saw this watermelon cake a few weeks ago and lost my mind when you didn't carry it anymore.” I feed her the cake. “Or maybe I just like you.” I take a forkful of the cake for myself. “Creamy and tasty. Just like you.” I toast her with my glass. “More wine?”
I head to the wet bar.
In the reflection of the polished bronze backsplash, I see her head into the next room.
I follow her with fresh glasses of wine and swap hers out. “Look away. I have nothing to hide.” Yeah, because the secret door to my collections is closed and locked. She's just going to find a standard-issue billionaire in this penthouse.
Her intelligence, though, is fascinating. She knows something's up, knows it in her bones. It's that knife-edge PE analysis training. The good ones sniff out bullshit like those truffle pigs that I ended up having to dump on my brother's island because they kept eating my mushrooms.
What's more, she isn't trying to ignore her instinct, brush off her concerns so she can get with a billionaire.
I trail her into my study. She's staring at the bookcases in the library.
“Trying to find the Kama Sutra?”
“If you're that trite, I'm leaving right now.”
I laugh, kissing her neck. “Unfortunately,” I drawl, “I don't have your taste in books. No alien stepbrother incest porn.”
“Gran's going to be pretty put out about that.”
“I do have the full set of first editions from the Bronte sisters.”
“Did you ever read them?”
“Of course not.”
“Aha!”
“They're first editions, Creampuff. No one gets to touch them. You're lucky I like you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have even let you in here.”
I follow her, trailing after her—stalking her, if you will—into the adjoining study through the wood-paneled minihallway that leads into the dimly lit room.
“See? I'm not trying to fuck you over. I'm just trying to fuck you. Let me take you upstairs,” I purr, “and I'll show you.”
“So it was just about sex.”
“It's absolutely about sex,” I whisper, my lips barely touching hers. “It's about spreading you wide, eating your pussy, my tongue in your ass. And since you're being such a good girl, you get to decide how rough you want it to be.”
Please want it really rough.
“Oh… well…” she breathes as I slowly run my nose down her neck. “If it's dealer's choice…”
“Yeah, you want it rough, then.” I push her back, not hard, against the sofa in the study.
“What does rough entail?”
I hike her dress up.
Am met with the glistening slit of her—
“Shit,” she slurs. The wineglass is almost falling out of her hand.
“You're not wearing panties.”
“You didn't give me any.” Her eyes are dark as she looks up at me.
I'm laser-focused on that slit.
With the hand that holds the wine, she slyly reaches down, uses two fingers to rub herself.
Her breath catches as she slowly slides her fingers against her clit.
With her other hand, she pulls one of her tits out of the dress, slowly caressing the nipple as she pleasures herself in front of me.
The delicate crystal tips, and a dribble of wine pours out to trail down the smooth slit of her pussy.
I can't help it then.
I grab her thighs, peel her open, spread her before me, and do what I've been craving and taste her, lick the sweet wine mingled with the slick pussy juices.
“Fuck, you taste good.”
“I thought you said you were going to do it rough.” Her voice catches.
I'm gorging myself on her pussy then slide two fingers into her.
I suck on her clit. She grinds against my face, moaning as I add another finger.
She's practically fucking herself on my hand, riding my face.
I add a fourth finger, feel her flex around me as her pussy accepts the width. “Fuck, I want my cock in you.”
She's moaning, playing with her tits, the wineglass still in her hand.
I want to watch her, want to watch her like I did through the window.
“Oh,” she moans when I draw my fingers out of her with a wet popping noise.
She arches back against the couch.
“Put on a show for me.”
She knocks back the wine and sets it on the side table.
Her eyes lock with mine.
She arches back and spreads her legs.
“You like this, daddy?”
“Fuck.”
“You like watching my—” Her breath hitches.
I loosen my tie.
“You like watching me play in my pussy?”
She leans down, looking up at me from under her lashes as her tongue darts out to lick the pink nipple.
I'm hard as I unfasten the cuff links.
She dips one of her fingers with its pink nail polish into the slick, hot opening of her pussy, moaning as she finger-fucks herself, still pinching her nipple.
Then her fingers are back, rubbing her—
It's better when I'm this close to her. No glass between us. I can smell her, hear her, see her in the lamplight as her chest heaves, as her body fights it, but then she's coming, whimpering, her eyes closed as she humps her hand.
“Mh-mhm.”
“I bet it's going to be even better when you fuck me, isn't it?”
I palm myself through my pants. “Come over here and find out. No,” I tell her, undoing the top buttons on my shirt. “On your knees.”
She slides off of the couch, and I watch her slink on her hands and knees over to me.
I pull her other tit out of the bodice of the dress when she's within grabbing distance.
I want to draw this out.
Well, what I want to do is chain her up with her legs spread and see how many times she can take my cock.
Next time, I tell myself.
Something's caught her attention.
I grab her chin, turning her back to me.
“Wait—” She's fixing her clothes.
I look to my right.
Shit.
She's zeroing in on the typewriter… that, because of my freaking sisters, is in the study. Fucking—
“That's the problem with you reading girls,” I tease her, trying to be casual. “Books and stationery.”
I stand up, drawing her into my arms. I then kiss her deeply, grab her hair, pull her head back, and reach behind to stroke her between the legs.
“Shit,” she slurs. “That's good. Just—” She reaches out for the typewriter.
“I don't think it even works,” I tell her, trying to act casual, as casual as can be. “It was one of those white-elephant presents from my brothers.”
It's too much. I'm JADEing. She wrenches away from me.
She types a few letters. “Seems like it works.”
The typewriter pings metallically when it reaches the end of the line of paper.
“Huh, you fixed it. You have the magical touch.” I smile at her.
The adrenaline is pumping.
It's better than watching my two-hundred-million-dollar NFL team play in the Super Bowl.
We're teetering on the edge.
Is she going to figure it out?
Winnie stares at me, brown eyes dark in the dim light of the study.
“You're not going to let me come all over your tits?” I whisper to her, reaching out to dim the lamplight.
She squints at me in the darkening room. “It's a really special typeface.” She visibly swallows.
A lesser woman would have just brushed it off, played along with me.
Not Winnie.
“It's Valera Serif font.”
“Correct. One of the most beautiful typefaces ever designed.”
“They didn't make that many typewriters with it.”
“You just have to confront it head-on, don't you? You have to fight. That's why I adore you. That's why I wanted you here. Though I didn't actually expect you to figure it out. It really is those little things that do you in. Such a cliché.”
She's taking a step back from me, another, as the horror of the realization begins to break through all the wine I made her drink. “Stay away from me.”
I deliberately walk away from her to my desk.
“I'm going to go home. I don't think I feel well.”
Open a drawer.
“I'll see you tomorrow? Rain check for the rest of the date? My treat?” She sounds desperate.
I pull out a pair of thick leather gloves. “Now, Winnie, don't cut our evening short. You said you want it rough, after all.”