Sinfully (2 page)

She proceeded to walk over to my desk and sit on it with her legs spread out in front of me.  My black dress slacks began to tighten as I became aroused by the beautiful woman before me.  Did I mention that she was wearing a black, scoop top dress that barely covered her ass?  I stared at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds before hearing her walk through how her character couldn’t get thoughts of being with her boss out of her head and wanted to satisfy her craving.

The way Savannah moved my rough hands from her voluptuous hips, up her tiny stomach, and massaged those store-bought tits while she discussed the scene was enough for me to not think clearly.  I took her on my desk and learned a couple things from Savannah that night: 1- that I should make sure the door is locked before going at it in my office since the janitor walked in on us and stood there in fucking awe and 2- that I should never work with authors of mine because our night ended up in her next book and she was very detail oriented (including my birthmark on my left hip bone and tattoo on the other).

It had been a while since I had to go out and search for a new author, but I had a feeling this one would be worth it.  Over the past few years, Lorelei, my assistant, had found a few knockout authors and the rest I had practically begging at my door.  I could go and meet with Reece, maybe go down to the beach together and go over her concerns and questions about coming on board with me.  It would be an easy in-and-out situation and my slump would be no more.
Wait, my personal slump or professional? Head in the game, man, this is going to be strictly a professional pursuit.

After I finished my workout, I got cleaned up.  I changed into a black Armani suit with a gray shirt and a dark purple silk tie, and headed into the office to set my plan in motion.  Lorelei could handle most of my normal work and was great about emailing me or texting me when something important came up.  I was thankful I had hired her instead of the blonde Barbie who I was tempted to, but then realized it probably wasn’t the wisest business decision. 

Payton

Sitting at the local Starbucks, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  No matter how long I looked at the email I had just received, it didn’t make it any more real.  Why would anyone want to have my story published?  I wanted to get my story out there but hadn’t intended on anyone but a handful of friends actually reading it.  After staring at my laptop for what must have been a solid five minutes, I finally shut the screen, packed up my journal and notes, and threw away the now cold coffee that I had been looking forward to.  I went there to brainstorm different ideas of what I wanted to write next but was distracted as soon as my email popped up on the screen.

On my walk back to my car, I could only focus on that one sentence, “I look forward to meeting with you soon to discuss details of having your phenomenal work published by Warrington Strom Publishing Agency.”  I was an unknown author for the most part and my fan base wasn’t that impressive.  Where did they find me?  The email was from R. Strom—not that I knew who that was, but assumed by the last name and status as ‘Vice President and Senior Editor’ that they were probably an old and important guy who needed to get laid.  The way he addressed me was too arrogant and cocky to be a woman.  I wasn’t sure how he found out about my book and was even
more
unsure as to why an actual publishing company would want to read about my sex life.

When I started writing my personal stories, I guess I didn’t really think about what could happen if people liked what I wrote.  I felt it was okay to leave in the “juicy” parts and didn’t really feel the need to embellish what happened.  It helped that no one knew it was me who wrote it, since I didn’t have the courage to use my real name when I wrote the story.  Some things are just too personal to put out there in the open.  Plus, if the guys I were with ever read it, they wouldn’t be able to connect it as easily.  They all knew me as Payton.  Even though I may have embellished on my life story with some of them, I was still me with them, not Reece.

My Lips are Sealed
was almost like a diary of the fun I had during my frequent trips to Las Vegas.  I considered myself a pretty good judge of character, and realized during one particular trip to the city of sin that I could have flings with men in town for business without getting attached.  I could meet a handsome man at a bar and let him know as much—or how little—about me as I desired.  I had the control of letting the relationship go to the next level—meaning as far I wanted to take it in bed.  

By the time we started getting more personal with each other, their business trip was usually over.  It was the perfect way to have fun, meet new people, not get attached, and be free to kick them out afterward without feeling guilty. In the morning, I could move on to my next craving; finding the flavor of the day was never a challenge.

These encounters started off without even realizing what I was really doing.  It was only when I got back to San Diego that I realized what I had done and how much I wanted more of it. I craved going back and meeting someone new.  Just the thought of it made my core tingle and my nipples deliciously hard.

I missed being affectionate with people and didn’t go out enough while home.  I enjoyed being a children’s author from home and going to bars with friends didn’t have the same appeal that it did in college.  It was the same guys at the bar each week and I needed a little more spice in my life.  I know it sounds bad, but I hated picking up men in my hometown.   Once we ended—which I planned on happening—there was always the chance of seeing them again, and well, that’s awkward.

I learned from an early age that if you don’t really let people into your life, the less it hurts when they leave.  Being adopted by my loving parents at the age of seven was supposed to be my dream come true, along with my forever home.  Little did I know that they would be taken away from me six short years later. 

Reports say a drunken teenager was behind the wheel of the car that hit them, but what wasn’t said—due largely because of my family’s lawyer—was that my father was also drunk behind the wheel that night.  My parents were used to going to big parties of the most affluent couples in San Diego.  Drinks flowed freely and my parents weren’t ones to say no to any offerings. Being lawyers themselves allowed me to have a hefty trust fund when I turned eighteen.

My Aunt Katy took me in when my parents died so that I wouldn’t have to go back into foster care.  This was mainly because my best friend Chloe’s parents agreed that I could stay with them during her overnight shifts as a nurse. 

I met Chloe right after my adoptive parents took me in and she’s been there right beside me ever since.  Kids in my class thought I was weird because I didn’t want to play with them or talk to anyone.  I was so worried that I’d mess something up and get sent back into the system.  Chloe, a blonde haired girl in my class, was the only one to walk around the playground with me at recess and talk to me about anything and everything.  It was almost a week before I broke down and started talking back.  She never asked questions but always listened.  We slowly became best friends and she’s always been there for me since that day in the playground.  Her parents welcomed me into their house and treated me like their own daughter.  Chloe seemed more like a sister to me, anyway, so it made sense.  All throughout grade school, she was the one constant in my life.  

After I graduated high school, I moved into a place of my own by using a small portion of my trust fund.  It was a nice, three bedroom, three bath with a bonus room upstairs that I made into a media room.  It had a cottage feel to it that I fell in love with instantly.  It was enough room for me and it has been my home and safe place ever since. 

Chloe’s house was less than a mile away from me, and a lot nicer than mine, but she only stayed there when her boyfriend stayed the night, too.  Most other nights, she ended up at my house, making the media room her makeshift bedroom.  She hated staying alone and I didn’t mind the company.

Chloe had been pestering me for months to put my experiences from Vegas on paper since I had told her a handful of my encounters while there.  Everyone assumes it’s always prostitutes and strippers galore, and for some guys it is.  I had found some of the most intriguing, admirable, and sexiest men while vacationing there.  So what if I felt like it was my home away from home?  I could privately fly there and be in my suite two hours after leaving my house in San Diego.  A select few knew me there and it was the only time I could really feel free to be me.  Although I took my girls with me on occasion, Vegas was somewhere I could go to relax, let go, and have fun without having to get too personal.

I guess being best friends since we were seven gave Chloe and me the ability to talk about our sex lives with each other and provide advice and encouragement when needed.  She and her boyfriend of three years had a stable, yet boring relationship.  She said she needed to hear my stories from my trips to Vegas to spice up her love life.

I’m not sure anything would help Grayson, her accountant boyfriend.  Traveling was a normal part of his job and Chloe didn’t mind him being away for days on end.  She used that time to catch up with girlfriends and have some time to herself, away from the douche she called her lover.  He was the typical arrogant frat boy who had the charming looks, pedigreed to take over his father’s company, and was the ‘right guy’ to settle down with.  What she saw in him, I hadn’t quite figured out yet.  When we hung out together, Grayson was always flirting with me in a non-discreet way right in front of Chloe.  He was disgusting.

While Chloe and I had quite a bit in common, taste in men was something we agreed to disagree on.  She went for the well-kept, polo wearing ivy-school grad who was destined to be a CEO in the near future.  That worked for her since she was a cheerleader at UCLA and daughter to one of the top neurosurgeons in the country.  Her five-foot-three petite frame with curves in all the right places, sparkling green eyes, and luxurious, wavy blonde hair might have helped a tad bit, too.  She worked for her father’s office in reception and didn’t feel the need in trying to achieve a well-paying career that she was passionate about.  She figured she wouldn’t be working long term, anyway, once she got her MRS. status.

I, on the other hand, played soccer for eleven years before quitting due to multiple ankle injuries.  It gave me my lean yet muscular legs, ample booty, and a toned stomach.  I have been complimented many times on my “nice rack” and long brown hair that was “begging to be pulled” so I guess I have that going for me.  I like my men tall and fit.  It may be shallow, but the personality, humor, and everything else that matters can come second.  I wasn’t looking to settle down; I just wanted to be free to be whomever I desired.

Out of the twelve trips I made to Vegas that went into my book, Tate’s story was one that I always looked back on and wondered “what if?”  During one of my monthly visits to Las Vegas, I became well acquainted with the personal trainer from Chicago.  Tate was built with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, jet black hair, and the lightest of brown eyes.  Out of all the chapters in my book, his story was the most fun to write.

*****

We met at the poker tables of a hotel a few doors down from mine and he was easy on the eyes.  He had been talkative to the entire table and was generous to the dealer and waitresses.  His left dimple would show when he had a decent hand—that was his tell—and I found it adorable.  After he saw my luck dwindling, he offered to walk me back to my hotel.  Normally, that would be a red flag, but he seemed genuine and I could always change my mind on the walk back if I started getting the creeps.

While at the tables, I learned that he became a personal trainer after injuring his ACL while playing football in college.  He had a passion for tending to the human body—which would hopefully come in handy later that night—and training allowed him to help people make their bodies less prone to injury while maintaining his own scrumptious physique.  He was also the oldest of three siblings, both sisters who looked up to him as the male figure of the house while growing up since his dad left them before they’d even entered elementary school.  

Maybe that was why I seemed to be able to trust him?  He didn’t seem to have a goal in mind with taking me back to my hotel, although I secretly hope he did. 

My mind began to play out different scenarios that could happen as we headed into my hotel. He seemed sweet enough and I was curious to see his personal training skills in bed.

“Payton? Where’d you go?” Tate interrupted my explicit thoughts of us together upstairs and I noticed we’d stopped in front of security who was waiting for me to show my hotel key.  

“Just thinking about how sweet and sincere you are,” I responded, hoping I was able to disguise my blush while reaching in my wallet for my key.  His crooked grin told me that he knew I wasn’t thinking something innocent and the look in his eyes told me he wanted to devour me. 

He placed his hand on my lower back, ushering me toward the bank of elevators. 

Once we got to my room, Tate descended to the lower level and looked outside the window.  “Ever think of being watched while you fuck?”

“We’re on the thirtieth floor, Tate?  I don’t think anyone would be able to see anything.”  The image of him fucking me against the glass did turn me on.  We could pretend that people could see us, it was almost like getting caught in the act.

He walked back over to me and guided me to the window.  My hands were placed against the cool glass and his hips were aligned with mine behind me.  He pulled my dress up and I was suddenly exposed.  I was left waiting for him for a moment before he slapped my ass in one powerful swing.  I jumped forward at the unexpected touch and instantly wanted more.  “You’re a dirty girl, Payton.  I bet this turns you on—thoughts of me fucking you so everyone can see how dirty you are?”  My panties were instantly soaked and I wanted, no needed, him to touch me.  Immediately.