Executive Engagement

“I thought you were busy,” I say, trying to throw the ball back in her court. And fuck it, you got me, okay? I’m a bit jealous.

“I was,” she says. “I had sex with Ethan, or do you live under a rock?”

Fucking Christ. That just takes me down. She doesn’t even fucking care. I can tell the guys are looking at us but trying to enjoy their own festivities - one or two are even popping champagne. I can tell DeShawn is trying his best to pretend like nothing is happening next to me, but he’s still wearing his fucking jock strap - too weirded out to take it off.

“Nah, I fucking saw that,” I say, wondering if I’m sounding like a little bitch.

“But I’m free tonight, if you want to see if you can do better?” she says out loud.

She doesn’t fucking care that a few of the guy’s snicker. I don’t care at this point either.

She doesn’t say anything more – just smiles sweetly at me and turns around.

And all I can do is stand there and watch her sway her hips, her perfect ass cheeks teasing me as she walks out of the room.

It takes about two hours to finally get into the city.

I can’t believe it but I’m fucking nervous. I have no reason to be. But I am, as I stand outside Julianna’s door.

I managed to scarf down a burger and a vitamin water on the way over here. I didn’t want to be fucking late.

Jesus Christ, will you fucking listen to me? I sound like a fucking 16-year-old on his first fucking date in his life!

But still, I take a deep breath and I ring the doorbell to her penthouse condo. Apparently, the receptionist was expecting me It’s just her door in the hallway. And the elevator that brought me up. Nothing else.

At first, there’s nothing.

Then the door opens.

Julianna’s standing there. With a glass of wine. My cock is fucking twitching like a fucking snake just seeing her.

She reaches over, grabs my shirt, and pulls me inside.

Fucking hell, this girl is gonna be trouble.

Julianna

“Do you want some wine, Colt?” I ask him, my fingers still tight on his shirt. I pull him so close to me I can feel electricity building up between our lips.

“Was that what you did with Ethan? Drink fucking wine?” He asks, a hard edge to his words. I can’t stop myself from laughing straight to his face. Colt Stackford, the big bad wolf of the league, the nemesis of all married men around the country, is jealous.

How cute.

“No. We had no time for that,” I tell him, a provocative grin dancing on my lips. “You know Ethan. He doesn’t talk much. He prefers to act.”

Colt squints his eyes at me, and I know I got him right where it hurts. These two really can’t stop competing. In a sense, it’s almost as if they live for each other. Maybe they don’t see it, but they can’t fool me. These two spend a lot more time than would be reasonable thinking of each other. There’s something there, I can feel it.

“Ethan’s nothing,” Colt snickers. “Just wait until you’ve tried a real man.”

Before he even knows what hit him, I put my wine down and take my hand to his crotch, grabbing his cock harshly over his pants.

“I’ve had a lot of real men already. That no longer does it for me. I need more, Colt,” I whisper in his ear, my lips softly brushing against him. “Are you more?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply - he lets one hand of his climb up my leg and under the hem of my dress, his open palm pressing hard against my thong. Grinning, I look straight into his eyes, squeezing his growing cock with my fingers. So far, so good - Colt seems to be packing as much as Ethan. Now I just need to see if he knows how to use it.

“I’m going to show you the true meaning of more, babe,” he growls at me. Before I can chide him for calling me babe, he presses his mouth against mine, holding my head with his hand on my neck. I part my lips, allowing his eager tongue to wrestle against mine, his fingers rubbing my pussy over my black lace thong.

I start to get wet fast, the fabric sticking to my skin as he rubs on it over my pussy. Suddenly, he lets go, both his hands flying to my collarbone and grabbing at my tight dress. He tugs on it, the sound of it ripping apart almost too painful to hear. There goes one $10,000 designer dress. Whatever.