Chapter Seven
ISOBEL
Bar Harbor, ME
Begrudgingly taking my seat at the side of the small conference room, I scanned the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces but not anyone I wanted to invest the effort of small talk into. I’d spent the last few days with my head down, concentrating on taking notes in the workshops I’d attended and spending as little time at the group activities in the evenings as I could get away with.
Adrian still wasn’t acknowledging me, and the cold shoulder was starting to sting. Especially since I’d be spending the next half hour listening to him speak.
When Sloane told me via email yesterday afternoon that the conference organizers had asked him to be a presenter, I was a little insulted that neither of them thought to give me a heads-up, but I guess I should be used to it by now. Adrian was peacocking and getting all the attention, and I was pushed to the side when the self-important blowhards of the other genres realized I was an editor who worked exclusively with romance. Never mind that my degree was from an Ivy League school I’d earned a scholarship to, or that I graduated with honors. According to them, I was wasted potential.
Resentment toward Sloane had been building as I stewed this morning, hearing Adrian’s door open and close before I finally headed down to the lobby. Whether I liked it or not, I was his colleague, so I couldn’t exactly blow this off.
I was so absorbed in my head that I hadn’t realized Adrian had been announced to the room until a shiver ran up my spine at the sound of his voice over the speakers.
“One of the most important things I’ve learned as an acquisitions editor is to divorce myself from the notion that authors should have impeccable grammar,” Adrian started, and the room was silent. I almost felt bad for the tepid reception he seemed to get, but he didn’t look fazed. “I’ve learned that grammar and fluidity in storytelling is something that can come with practice and some not-so-subtle hints at continuing education in the craft.”
“What letting go of the technical details allows you to gauge in a story is how it makes you feel,” he explained, and I saw several heads nod in my periphery. “The first time you lay eyes on a manuscript, you’re a reader, not an editor. You need to approach it as such.”
I had to admit; I wasn’t expecting Adrian to suggest something quite so astute.
“Of course, you want to see how the story flows, how the characters develop, and that the arcs have a satisfying conclusion. But the most important thing is that the story resonates in your heart.” His palm settled where I’d always thought his was absent, and he looked straight at me.
Until now, I’d thought Adrian left all this to his interns, but clearly, I’d misjudged him. I didn’t like the feeling of warmth that spread in my chest at the discovery. A few sentences in, and he was softening the armor I’d tacked into place over the last few days.
“If you have the gut reaction that the story has the potential to move people, then sign the damn manuscript. Lock it down. Because you can always polish those words until the story shines.”
“Conversely, a beautifully grammatically structured story with no heart might look good, but everyone knows that a bright and sparkly turd is still just a turd—only with glitter. ”
A few chuckles arose from the crowd, and I rolled my eyes. Only he could get away with calling a manuscript a turd in a room full of publishing professionals.
“Don’t be afraid to put in the hard work and collaborate with your authors to develop their craft. Sometimes even the most competent authors need help getting a story out the best way. But don’t discount the stories that are rough around the edges. Don’t automatically dismiss the ones that are thought-provoking and cause an emotional response that is messy. Sometimes it takes peeling back the superficial to see the potential in something.” He hesitated for a moment, running his hand through his hair.
When he glanced back at me, the corner of his mouth was set in an amused smirk. “And the best novel of your career may come from seeing past the bullshit. Because life is messy, and sometimes manuscripts and being an editor or publisher is messy, but don’t ever be afraid to put in the hard work to create something truly impactful.”
My heart pounded while he stared straight at me, those steely blue eyes locking me in place. I felt that the last part might have been aimed squarely at me.
He knew I’d judged him solely on appearance—what he wanted everyone else to see. I’d bought the act he’d been selling, but I could tell it bothered him I’d fallen for it too. Because whether I wanted to admit it or not, I’d misjudged Adrian, and all the things I thought I despised about him were proving to be the things that somehow seemed charming when framed differently. Not the sexist comments, because he deserved to be kicked in the balls for those, but I could relate to all the word vomit and gut reaction things he said just to see if others would react.
Adrian still saw me as some spoiled Ivy League brat. But in reality, hadn’t I done the same thing to fit in while I was in school? Hadn’t I adopted the personality traits of my peers to blend in and stay under the radar for being different? Hadn’t I combed through second-hand shops to find clothes to make me look like anything other than the country bumpkin whose mother had never worn a designer anything in her life?
Maybe the designer suits, the grooming, and the crass words that came out of his mouth were his armor, just like my sometimes cool exterior. And that realization shook me to my core because maybe we weren’t so different. And perhaps the initial attraction to him all those years ago wasn’t so wrong anymore, and perhaps I might like the person he had buried under that pile of shit. He might have been acting like himself for once a few days ago and not the persona he wore most often.
My brain was static as Adrian finished his presentation, going on to talk about other topics we dealt with daily as editing professionals, his words resonating with me despite my inability to concentrate.
He easily answered a few questions from the audience before he shook hands with one of the event organizers and headed toward where I was sitting along the side of the room. Maybe he was finally ready to stop giving me the silent treatment. I wasn’t sure if the idea terrified me or thrilled me.
“Was I that bad?” he asked with a grimace while he took in my likely stunned expression. It felt like my entire perception of him—years of interacting with him in the office and feeling like a terrible human being after every exchange and watching him swagger around like he had a fifteen-inch dick—had all culminated at this moment when I realized he wasn’t who I thought he was.
Everything he’d ever said to me in the office was now running through my head on a loop. Was it possible that his bravado was complete and utter bullshit? And even worse, if it was, I’d fallen for it. I believed he was a dickhead. I’d thought that he was a genre elitist. I assumed he didn’t deserve the praise he got for his work and his over-hyped authors. But I was wrong .
I was wrong.
Fuck .
“I’m not exactly sure how to interpret the look on your face right now. I tried to tamp down the comments you always scold me for and be honest for once, and you’re looking at me like I just murdered someone in cold blood right in front of you. I know we got off on the wrong foot the other day, but I was hoping to call a truce for real this time. We have to spend five hours in a car together tomorrow, and I don’t want things to be strained.”
In a way, he had. He’d flat-out murdered something—my impression of him. Dickhead might be a decent human being, and I didn’t enjoy coming to that conclusion.
“I need a fucking drink,” I muttered while I shoved my notebook into the tote bag at my feet. I needed alcohol to deal with this epiphany.
“Geez. I must have totally bombed if I’m driving you to drink.”
Ignoring his sarcastic attempts at humor, I turned away from him and headed toward the outside aisle, pushing past other attendees who were still lingering despite the session being over. I kept my head down, avoiding making eye contact because I wasn’t sure my brain could form coherent thoughts right now or—lord forbid—small talk. Fuck that shit.
“Is, geez, slow down. I didn’t mean to piss you off by not telling you they asked me to speak.” Adrian followed closely behind me, still trying to talk, but I could tell from how his voice was pitched that I was freaking him out a little. I was freaking myself out.
As I watched him speak—the audience transfixed on his every word—the only thing I could think was that he had to be the most attractive man I’d ever met. And when the total dickhead personality was stripped away from that, I wanted him. I wasn’t sure I’d ever wanted another human being this much. Listening to him talk, watching his lips move, my ears picking up on the tiny little inflections of his hidden accent, I’d been aroused. Painfully so .
He followed me into the elevator, settling in along the opposite wall and staring at me with wary eyes. I didn’t blame him. I was fucking scared of my thoughts right now, too. Of the images that were forming in my head of all the flirty little interactions we’d had a few days ago—hell, the last five years—and how every single time I’d felt a twinge of attraction to him, he’d killed it by opening his mouth.
“If I said something to upset you, just talk to me, Is. I’m not mad at you. The way you laid into me on the trail wasn’t wrong, but it stung. I just needed some space away from you to think. You make it hard to keep my thoughts straight around you.”
I’d been dreading this trip because I didn’t want him to embarrass me, but he’d been downright nice in the car on the way up here, and I felt like my entire world was crumbling around me with each charming thing that came out of his mouth. Even when he was mad at me, I felt more guilty for being mean to him than angry when he reacted to it.
“You didn’t upset me.” My voice was quiet, but he didn’t look convinced. There wasn’t any easy way to explain the chaotic thoughts that were whirring through my brain.
The elevator dinged, and he stepped forward, using his arm to hold open the door. Glancing up, my mouth watered at how his dress shirt clung to his chest, the buttons pulled tight, revealing tiny slivers of his white undershirt.
“You coming?” he asked, his brows pinched together, and the only thought in my head was…
Not yet.
Nodding, I stepped forward, holding my breath as I passed him in the small opening. The scent of him was starting to set more than just my temper ablaze.
He was only a few steps behind me as I headed toward our rooms, just wanting to flee and figure out the mess of what was going on in my brain. Maybe it was the fact that today was Valentine’s Day, and I was alone, but the ache in my chest wasn’t just loneliness .
“You’re not going to talk to me?” he asked, only a few steps behind me.
It was hard to remind myself I was here to be a professional. My job was to represent Vivid and be the face of our publisher at an industry event. I’d anticipated having a massive headache the entire time because I knew I’d have to do damage control every time Adrian opened his mouth.
But the ache I was feeling right now was not in my head. My entire perception of Adrian had been demolished with one brief presentation. I’d expected him to get up there and low-key brag about the accolades his authors had piled up, but he didn’t. He didn’t mention the words ‘best seller’ or ‘awards of excellence.’
Instead, he’d gotten up in a room of semi-elitist professionals and implied that some of their precious authors wrote glittery turds. It was so charmingly him and simultaneously the hottest words I’d ever heard come out of his mouth. Because it meant that despite being crass and judgmental, he respected his authors. He saw them as creative professionals with value, which was sometimes rare in our profession.
“I don’t know what to say right now.” I didn’t trust myself not to turn and climb him like a tree. Devour his mouth in a way I’d only imagined fleetingly before now.
“Are you sure you’re o…”
I cut him off with my hand over his mouth as he stopped in front of his room.
“Open the door,” I demanded, trying not to focus on how soft his lips felt beneath my fingertips.
“But…” he mumbled against my hand, but I grabbed the plastic key card from him and swiped it over the electric lock, yanking him through the door after me and pushing him against it.
“Don’t say anything. Just…” I panted as I stared at how his chest heaved, finally inhaling and getting a full mind-altering whiff of his expensive cologne. My fingers dug into his chest, enjoying the flex of the firm muscles beneath his clothing.
“Look, Is, I’m sor—.”
I glanced up at him, noticing his wide eyes, watching to see what I was doing. He didn’t have the usual arrogant smirk I was used to seeing, just adding to the fire in my veins.
“Don’t say another fucking word,” I warned, before my hands traced down his powerful chest and stopped at his belt. “I don’t think I’ll survive it if you keep talking.”
“Was what I said that bad?” he asked, suddenly sounding unsure. The vulnerability in his eyes should have stopped me, but it only drew me to him more. Made my impression of him dissolve as he revealed the layers of who he really was.
“No. That’s the problem,” I whispered, looking up at him. “It was the exact opposite of bad.”
“Then why are you so upset with me?”
Shaking my head, my fingers tightened on his belt buckle, slipping the end loose from the clasp. “I’m not upset with you, Adrian. I’m upset with myself that I let you convince me you were such a terrible guy, when you’re…” My voice trailed off, but I could feel his eyes scanning my face as my gaze drifted to his broad shoulders.
“I’m…?”
“You might be everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Running on pure instinct, I pulled his belt loose, quickly unbuttoning his suit pants and yanking down the zipper before he could respond to my confession.
A dull thud caught my attention, and I glanced up as I began pushing his pants down his thighs. Adrian’s head was pressed tightly against the door; his eyes clenched shut and his neck flexing with every heavy swallow. His fists were balled at his sides, his knuckles white as they pressed into the door behind him.
“Oh fuck,” I practically moaned when his boxer briefs came into view, the outline of his hard cock throbbing beneath the dark material. “And I thought the office gossip had been overly generous all these years. ”
“Told you it wasn’t tiny.”
As my fingers pulled down the waistband of his briefs, he grasped my wrist, my eyes flying to his.
“Fucking Christ, Isobel. I at least wanted to take yah to dinner first,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “We’ve spent days avoiding each other.”
“It was you avoiding me, but you can feed me later. I told you to stop talking.” Shaking off his hold on my wrist, I slowly revealed what he’d been hiding from me all these years. “Or maybe you have something to feed me now. I was right when I called you a big boy.”
A deep chuckle came from his mouth, his fingertips sliding along my cheek and plunging into my loose hair. “I don’t know what has gotten into you today, but whatever it was I said, I’m not sorry.”
“Shut up.”
“You could shut me up with your lips,” he murmured, and I momentarily considered kissing him before I touched his cock, but that might be too far. This was attraction, not affection.
“They’re going to be occupied, and I told you to shut it.”
“You got it,” he chuckled, his thumb caressing the edge of my jaw as I returned my attention to revealing the surprise he’d been hiding in his expensive suits.
“Is this okay? I mean…” I faltered, staring at his very aroused cock down the front of his boxer briefs.
“What do you think?” He clasped my hand, sliding it inside the front of his boxer briefs and placing it against his warm skin. Leaning down, his warm breath tickled my cheek while he used his grasp on my neck to pull me closer. “Do you have any idea how fuckin’ sexy you look takin’ charge? If you want to touch my cock, babe, consider this an open fuckin’ invitation. Use me how you want, just touch me already. I’ve fantasized about havin’ your hands on me for so long, and I’m desperate for it. ”
Deciding my mouth had done enough to feed his ego, I focused on the task at hand, shoving his pants to the floor and quickly—but carefully—yanking down his briefs to join them.
As I grasped the base of his surprisingly impressive erection, he groaned, his head thumping against the door behind him once again.
I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe for him to be just as controlling in bed as he was in real life, but his hands balled into fists at his sides again, the knuckles drawn tight.
“Watch me.”
Dropping to my knees on the carpet, I watched while his eyes fluttered open, widening slightly as I gripped him harder. Flexing my fist, I began pumping his length from base to tip.
“Fuck, Is. Look at that mouth,” he groaned, his eyes fixated on where I was licking my lips. I hadn’t touched him with my mouth yet, but he was throbbing at the promise of what this position could provide.
I’d never bought into the idea that blow jobs were considered a submissive position. From where I was kneeling, he didn’t appear to be the one in control. I held the power over his pleasure, and with the way his pretty blue irises were studying me from beneath hooded eyelids, he knew I was in charge.
“Hm,” I hummed, slowly drawing circles around the crown of his head with the tip of my tongue, enjoying prolonging the tease. “Should I use it for this?”
Bracing one hand on his muscular thigh, I held him steady with the other, licking up the underside and sucking the head briefly between my lips before teasingly stroking his length with my palm.
“Fuck,” he panted as I loosened my grip, lazily smoothing my fist up and down. Not enough pressure to do anything but draw a frustrated moan from his lips. “Please don’t tease me.”
Biting back a laugh, I continued with soft strokes, reveling in how he flexed his hips forward, trying to thrust in my grip. There was a heady sense of satisfaction knowing I was likely torturing him with my hands, as he’d often tortured me with his words.
“I’m sorry. Did you need something?” I tilted my head to the side and fixed him with an innocent flutter of my lashes.
“Fuck. You’re an evil temptress,” he moaned while I kissed his head, darting my tongue out to gather the moisture beaded at the tip.
I hated to admit it, but his package was just as pretty as the rest of him. Long, with just enough girth to give it some weight, curved slightly. I clenched my legs together, picturing what it’d feel like inside me, but pushed that thought aside. I wasn’t sleeping with him. I just wanted to play with him a little.
It’d turned me on watching him speak, and now that he was a captive audience—with his pants around his ankles—I wanted to exact a tiny bit of revenge for these new conflicting feelings I was having.
“So, you don’t want me to do this?” I asked before I leaned forward, engulfing his length until he hit the back of my throat and slowly sucking my way back to the tip.
“Fuck,” he grunted, one hand shooting forward to my cheek while he looked down at me with desperation in his gaze. “You’re driving me crazy, Is. I can’t take it.”
“Hmmm,” I hummed while I backed off to suckle the tip, watching his expression grow pained as I moved when he tried to thrust forward. “You’ll take this if you want me to continue. I want you to think back to all the times you’ve said crass things to me over the last five years. How you used that mouth to torture and degrade me. I want to make you frustrated and desperate like you’ve made me. And when I think you’re sorry enough for your behavior. I might let you come in my mouth.”
Adrian’s chest heaved, and he nodded his head, his thumb stroking softly across my cheekbone. “Ah fuck, do whatever you want with me. Just don’t stop.”
That was all the encouragement I needed as I sucked him back in and used my hands and mouth to torture him. He groaned, cursed, and grunted his way through a prolonged tease that had me clenching my thighs together.
I could tell he was close a few times and immediately backed off, ghosting my lips along his length and leaving whispers of kisses along the head before I dove back in to get him worked up again.
Before long, he was pleading, his eyes desperate as he flexed his thighs, the muscles bunching underneath my fingertips.
“This is fucking torture,” he moaned, his fingers finally tangling in my hair. “But don’t you fuckin’ stop. Oh, God. Just like that. Swallow that dick like you own it. You fuckin’ own it, Is. Goddamn.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, sucking slowly before rubbing my tongue along the underside of the head and releasing him again.
“Please, oh God, please,” he pleaded while his other hand stroked my cheek, his eyes imploring for me to put him out of his misery. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’m sorry. Just let me come in that pretty mouth and I promise I’ll behave.”
“Hold on, you don’t need to sound so needy. All you had to do was ask nicely,” I teased as I finally caved, needing him to come so I could go relieve the tension that had built up from watching him become desperate in my hold.
“Fuckkk,” he groaned when I set a rapid pace, caressing the soft spot behind his balls with my fingertips. I took him deeper and deeper with each pass of my mouth along his length. It may have been years since I’d given head, but my blow job skills had once been epic.
Pressing my fingers firmly, I took him to the back of my throat, swallowing hard, and that was all it took to tip him right over the edge. His fingers clenched in my hair, and he moaned loudly, pulsing in my mouth. “Ah, fuck. That’s it, swallow that cum.”
Watching him slump against the door behind him panting, eyes clenched shut as the previous tension in his muscles eased, I began to panic.
Shit.
I just gave Dickhead a blow job on a business trip with no warning, and I think I liked it.
If the state of my panties was any indication, I fucking loved it. And I loved the dirty things he said while I was doing it.
But what the fuck?
Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already was, I gathered up my messenger bag, found my room key in the outside pocket, and palmed it as I pulled the strap over my shoulder.
He was still propped against the door, trying to catch his breath. It was now or never— time to beat and retreat.
Really, it was too bad he was an epic jackass half the time. He’d been surprisingly almost sweet in how he touched me while I had his dick in my mouth. Not what I’d expected at all. The package or the way he’d let me take charge. I’d expected hair pulling or holding my face, not the tender way he’d stroked my cheek and begged me to let him come with his filthy mouth.
But that didn’t matter, because I needed to figure out how to get him away from the door so I could return to my room. I had a very pressing matter to take care of.
I reached for the door handle and his hand shot out, loosely grasping my wrist while his eyes lazily focused on my rigid posture.
“Going somewhere?”
Oh God, did he expect me to have sex with him now?
“I need to get ready for dinner tonight. But this was...fun.” Cringing at how awkward that sounded, I tried to push down the lever on the handle, and his hand tightened.
“We’re not finished here.” Pushing off the door, he stood to his full height and stepped forward until my shoulder was pressed into his solid chest. The solid chest I’d seen glimpses of in the gym at work, but I hadn’t bothered to uncover it in my desperation to pull down his pants .
“I think we are. We’re good. Just...consider this a truce.”
He chuckled, leaning in toward my ear, his breath warming my neck. “So, you’re telling me if I put my hand down your panties right now, you wouldn’t be wet, your little pink clit throbbing for release?”
Bonus points for Adrian. He knew what a clit was.
“Not anything I can’t take care of by myself,” I squeaked.
“But you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself, Is. I want to. You don’t know how often I’ve dreamed of bringing you pleasure. How desperate I am to watch you fall apart at my touch.”
“It’s not a good idea.” My voice was still high, my body shaking from the adrenaline of what I’d just done.
“Please don’t shut me out,” he whispered, trying to tilt my face toward his with gentle fingers. But I couldn’t do this. There was no way I could sort through my conflicting feelings right now, and if he touched me… I wasn’t sure there would be any coming back from that.
“I… I need to go.”
I escaped, pushing the lever and slipping through the open door before he could catch me. I had the advantage of my pants not being around my ankles, so I quickly swiped my key card against the lock. Slamming the door before he could come after me, I collapsed back against it and panted, chastising myself for whatever had possessed me to do that.
Don’t get me wrong, it was hot, but letting things go further was bound to blow up in my face, and not like the blowing I had just done.