CHAPTER NINE
brOOKLYN
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“What we found is going to shock you,” I say into the microphone and scroll through my notes.
Jesus, where is the information?
Scott clears his throat as I scroll up again, unable to find it.
I’ve been having trouble focusing all day.
We are halfway through the show, and I’ve lost my place three times. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the throbbing ache in my pussy. It’s both a craving for more and mild bruising from an insatiable night with Travis.
Luna was unhappy with me when I got home the next morning, circling my legs for food and demanding to tell her where I’d been all night.
“Sorry Luna, your ears are too innocent,” I’d said, filling her food bowl and heading straight to my bedroom where I’d face planted on my bed.
Holy hell.
That was the number one most sexual night of my life. The things Travis had done with his teeth, his tongue...his cock. He knew how to angle that thing like a professional race car driver.
Stop thinking about his cock.
“Sorry, you guys, I’m just... Scott can you...”
“Page four,” he says in my earpiece so only I can hear.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Is Travis watching?
Did he find my podcast and listen to any of the old ones, or is he watching me right now?
Is he thinking about my pussy as much as I’m thinking about what he promised to do to me tonight?
Jesus Christ, I’ve never had sex so many times in a twenty-four-hour period. Every time I tried to leave, he’d slide right back in, and I was powerless to stop him.
Not that I was tied up, but if he’d wanted to...
This is hopeless.
I glance over at Scott, who’s watching me with narrowed eyes, as if I might collapse because I’m ill or something.
I am never not on form.
“More on that next week, but before we finish up today, I want to touch quickly on the Leo Taylor story. We’ve received all your emails and are doing our due diligence.
I’ve always said I want this podcast to represent high-quality journalism, and while this is slightly outside our control, I find I’m unable to let this story go. ”
As expected, we have had a lot of messages making claims or being upset with us.
It takes time to go through them.
We were also expecting his legal team to reach out soon given the story had gone semi-viral. Once it hit one of the larger media channels, then they would for sure.
Susan’s story was so common these days that I wasn’t shocked by it, which is sad in and of itself. What was keeping me going was the email I’d opened late last week from one of our listeners. He’d been forced to give Taylor head after being driven home by him one night after filming.
The man, who wanted to remain anonymous, had been a supporting actor. It was a small part, he said, one that could be paramount in launching his career further. One that Leo said he’d make sure never happened if, and he quoted, he didn’t get his mouth on his dick right now.
After reading the email, I’d felt revolted.
It’s hard to explain how I can tell the difference between someone wanting a few minutes of fame and someone who has had a terrible experience, but I can. Some are obvious, some you can feel. This one felt genuine, despite not knowing the identity of [email protected].
I wrote back, asking if he’d ever made a complaint. Because if he, Susan, and the two other people I suspected were telling the truth all reported Taylor, we were now looking at a powerful and influential man who had spent years abusing that power.
The authorities would have to take this seriously.
Travis was right about one thing last night. I did work for The New York Times in my twenties, where I reported crimes in Manhattan. I’d seen a lot of terrible things. I left the NYT because, while I am a truth seeker, the dark side of society isn’t for me.
The McKenna Files focuses on misjustice and other community issues, helping those that don’t have a voice and bringing awareness to things that the mainstream media won’t.
“Many of you followed me here from The Times , and I suspect that’s why we were contacted about this story in the first place. Well, guys, we are going to keep talking about this, but first we need to make sure we have our facts straight.”
Or I’ll be sued.
And could destroy a man’s life.
I still have a few contacts in the NYPD, so I plan to reach out tomorrow to ask some questions. After my date tonight.
We host the show twice a week, so we have ample time to do research in between.
“Right now, let’s jump to our sponsor...”
When the show finishes, I freshen up, say goodbye to the team as they head out the door, then check my phone. A smile hits my lips when I see Travis’s name.
I feel like a silly schoolgirl.
God, he’d turn that thought into something naughty if he heard it. That man can turn anything dirty. Not surprised given his club.
I wonder how often he visits and if he participates in the activities. I snort, of course he does. It’s why he has so much confidence and...talent.
My eyes glance across the room, not focusing on anything but feeling uncomfortable about that.
Why does that bother me?
After all, I’m clear with myself that I don’t want to date anyone, and so meeting a man who is pure sex and not a loser, then that’s a good thing, right? So, what’s tonight?
I swipe the message.
My driver will pick you up at six. Dress warm.
His driver?
Where the hell is Travis going to be?
If he takes me to the Alliance Club, I am jumping right out and into an Uber. There is no way I’m going to let him fuck me in front of other people.
Not my scene.
Yet, I’m suddenly hot and moist between my legs.
I need more information. I’m not getting into a car with a stranger.
He’s not a stranger. He...saw you last night.
I let out a gasp. How dare he remind me of that erotic, yet public and humiliating moment? There is no way I am climbing into the car and spending the drive alone with a man who is going to pretend he didn’t see and hear me come.
Jesus.
We aren’t leaving the city, nor will we be alone.
Oh Jesus. He is taking me to the club.
I can’t. I can’t go. It’s not the type of place I’m into. If I’ve given him the impression I’m some sex kitten who likes to fuck in public places or with people watching ( damn that driver!) then he’s got me all wrong.
What am I going to do? Cancel? Decline?
Damn him. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Travis since he dropped me home early Sunday morning. For two days I’ve been squirming, looking forward to feeling his body against mine, the way his large hands caress my skin, and his gray eyes locking mine in place as he thrusts deep inside.
Damn him.
This thing between us will be over in the blink of an eye.
There won’t be next week or even next weekend. Both of us will end it before then, or it will fizzle out. Tonight might be the last chance to sleep with him again.
The stupid, sexy billionaire can drive me out to his damn sex club if he wants, but I’m not going inside. He can come out and tell his driver to take us somewhere else.
I scroll the text messages and frown when I notice his other point. Dress warm. Why would I need to dress warmly? Maybe it was a typo and should’ve said hot? Well, he said warm, so warm is what I’ll be wearing.
Pays to spellcheck.
I grin to myself and reply quickly, see you tonight!
Is it strange that I’m disappointed he won’t be picking me up in the Maserati?
Watching him drive me home, wearing only his T-shirt and sweatpants as the engine roared, was sexy as hell.
When he caught me looking, Travis did a double take, smiled, and then reached over and slid his hand between my legs.
“Open,” he ordered, and like a pair of automatic doors, my legs did just that. I was quite aware at that point in our not-date that he had full control of my body.
Leaning my head back against the headrest, I closed my eyes and enjoyed his touch.
“Fucking hell,” Travis cursed, pulling up outside my building. He twisted around, grabbed my face and slammed his mouth down on mine as I clenched around his fingers. “You are the dirtiest, sexiest little slut I’ve ever fucked. And I want more of you.”
As my orgasm exploded, my bruised lips silenced by his demanding mouth, I reminded myself that this was just sex and I couldn’t go liking anything about him.
But I do like him.
I like his cheeky humor, how he can meet my banter and make me think. I like his home and how he’s decorated it simply, but without it being cold and unwelcoming like a lot of single men’s homes.
I like how he touches me even when it isn’t sexual—despite that being most of the time.
I like how dominant he is.
How his clothes drape off his muscular frame with ease, and he looks strong, healthy, and powerful in a pair of sweats or a suit.
Travis opened the car door after that, walked me to the door of my apartment, kissed me, squeezed my ass, then stood in the doorway until I closed the door.
Then he knocked.
I opened it, he pushed me inside and up against the wall, then kissed me for about three solid minutes.
I smile remembering the way my heart beat so hard, delicious adrenaline roaring in response to this man desiring me so much. After hours in his bed.
Panting, we pulled apart and stared at one another. A knowing in his eyes. One that was mirrored in mine, I’m sure. Do we...is this...?
Shit, we liked each other.
No!
I slammed that shut so damn tight and nudged his chest. “Go. Leave. Now.”
Travis ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up as he let out a breath. “Yup.”
We took one more look at one another, then he turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. That’s when Luna had shown up with her big tail swinging in the air, meowing her demands.
“He’s nobody,” I said to her, hobbling to the kitchen.
I kept telling myself that all Sunday and today. Now, as I’m on my way home in a cab—because sprained ankle—Dad phones to see how it is.
“Almost healed,” I tell him. “I stayed off it most of yesterday, watching movies and researching.”