The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs (8 page)

He was no longer so sure he wanted to master her. Some women should be left untamed, he mused. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Ben Petruska had a reputation to withhold.

He began filling her sweet ass, half inch by half inch, pausing at times to let her adjust. Her gasps grew throatier and he watched her hands gripping the bedcover tighter as he plowed deeper. Ben tried to steady his breathing, but the excitement was too much. Leaning over her sweating back, he wrapped one arm around her waist and gave that last little push. Filling her. Possessing her. For a moment he waited, the blissful sensation of her ass hugging his cock making him burn with the desire to ram home hard, but natural good sense making it necessary to slow down, be considerate.

He ran his free hand over her left ass cheek, cupped it, squeezed it, felt the throbbing squeeze intensify on his rock hard shaft.

"Go balls deep in me," she gasped out. "I want all of it."

Fuck.

That was it.

He pulled back an inch, resettled his knees on the bed and then thrust.

She screamed out a, "Yes", although it sounded as if she had a mouthful of silk.

Ben let himself go, riding her glorious ass until the friction flared into a white hot spark and then he spent, firing his load with a last push that slapped his balls hard against her sticky cunt. She squealed and groaned breathlessly and he felt it vibrate through his dick. Just as he thought he was done, she moved under him, pushing back, hips swaying, her wet pussy rubbing on his sac as she came to her own peak. The soft trickle of her warm liquid honey, smeared on his balls, sent him to heaven again and he shook as yet another spurt of cum shot out of him and into the condom.

* * * *

Bryony woke abruptly. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but after the exhausting few hours in his company her body had won out over her brain and insisted on much needed rest.

She sat up as carefully as possible so as not to disturb the man sprawled beside her on his stomach. They had not made it under the covers, but they were both naked. He snored softly, his face partially mashed into the pillow, dark eyelashes twitching. Ben Petruska still managed to look incredibly sexy, she thought almost angrily.

After this she'd hoped to find him looking....normal. Looking like any other man, once the mystery was stripped away. Unfortunately it wasn't the case. If she sat there any longer gazing at his hard butt and muscular shoulders she'd probably feel the need to wake him and continue where they left off. Or say goodbye in some squishy way that would later make her cringe. Best slip out quietly. No awkward conversation that way. Really she needed a shower, but that would wake him for sure, so she dressed quickly, picked up her shoes and purse and tiptoed out into the main room of his apartment. It was getting light out already. The city outside his windows looked icy and miserable, sinking in grey dismal surrender to the bitterness of another winter. Grabbing her phone from the window ledge where she left it last night, she checked the time. Eight thirty. Shit. She'd be late for work.

Couldn't go in dressed like this could she?

There were two missed calls. One from Helena late last night and one from her friend Kelly this morning. No time to check them now. About to pull on her shoes, she suddenly froze when the phone on the kitchen counter rang out, piercing the still quiet.

She glanced over at his bedroom but there was no movement from within. He was out for the count, she mused with a jolt of pride. Always knew she could show him a thing or two.

The phone clicked to voice mail after only three short rings.

"Benny, darling, I thought I'd catch you early. Your cell phone is off. Where are you? Look, I'm flying back today. We can do dinner. Call me, ok? I think I left something in your guest bathroom. My hot iron. I'll collect it later. Ciao baby."

Benny?
She scowled at the phone.
Benny?
What was he? Twelve?

No. He was an enormous, fully-grown, extremely arrogant man. He was rough as sandpaper and yet soft as a cashmere sweater. He could be hot one minute, spicy as a good madras curry, and then cold in the next, enough to give ice burns.

Oh, god, what had she done? Succumbed to lust, that's what. And she wasn't going to cry and whine about it now. She knew what she was doing last night, knew the risks, knew it could never be anything more with a man like him. He played with women and last night she'd accepted the rules of his game, without complaint, fully conscious. Of sound mind. 

Now, in the grim light of day she opened her eyes to the wreckage. She'd gone and betrayed one of her own kind—slept with another woman's man. Not that the woman on the message could be considered one of
her
kind. Other than the fact they were both females and shouldn't run around stealing men from each other. Not even if the men encouraged it and couldn't be faithful if they were manacled.

Well, she hadn't stolen him, had she? Just borrowed him for one night.

Somehow that didn't sound any better. Bryony 2.0 was in danger of turning into a slut and a bitch. So what if other women had done it to her in the past, didn't mean she should now turn the tables. 

She stepped into his private elevator and pushed the button with an angry jab of the finger. Never again.

Never. Again.

Chapter Six

By the time she got to the office she expected a reaming from her boss. She'd prepared an excuse about the gas leak at her apartment building, but as it turned out she didn't need to say anything. When Adam Rostrop saw her walk through the doors and summoned her directly into his office it wasn't to ask why she was late.

"Seems you made quite an impression on the new owner of Leonato's restaurant yesterday," he exclaimed, beaming. "He wants to meet with us this afternoon about possibly using the firm for some of his other business. This could be big, Mulligan. Benedick Petruska is a very powerful man. You've hooked us a big fish."

"I don't quite—"

"He's coming in at two. Make sure you're prepared. I've asked Sandy to put a background file together for you on his various other interests and projects. We can't let this one get away."

She hadn't even sat down; he was pushing her backward out of his office. It was ten thirty in the morning and he already had sweat stains under his arms.

"Congratulations, Mulligan. Keep this up and you could be in line for promotion." He winked at her and shut his door.

"Great," she muttered, hurrying to her own office. Three and a half hours to read up on Numbnuts and be "prepared". As if she didn't know everything about him already. It was the being "prepared" bit that worried her. Might have known Petruska would do something like this—embarrass her, make her unravel and drop things in front of her boss. He'd love seeing how unsettled he could make her. This wasn't about throwing more work at Rostrop and Philips, it was about him getting his rocks off.

As she passed the secretary's desk, Sandy looked up and hurriedly finished her phone conversation. She put down the receiver, grinning and bouncing to her feet. "You've got flowers."

Alarm bells rang out loud and clear. "Flowers?"

"Is it your birthday or something?" Sandy beat her to the door and opened it with a flourish. "I was about to call out for a last-minute cake."

Her office was filled with bouquets of peach and white roses. The sweet fragrance was almost overpowering. How the hell did he know they were her favorites? This wasn't just a few flowers. This was an entire rose garden and in the midst of winter. He'd spent a small fortune.

It was certainly a generous way to say goodbye to one of his conquests.

"And then these came," Sandy added, drawing her attention to the credenza and a large box of Italian cream pastries from Veniero's.

Yes, there were cannolis. Smartass.

The man worked damn fast. She'd left him dead asleep two hours ago. Since then he'd pillaged a florist, ransacked a bakery and arranged to meddle in her career. What else had he been up to?

"Also there's a package. I put it on your chair as there was no room on the desk."

Christ on a cracker.

"You should have told me it's your birthday," Sandy burbled apologetically. "I usually get that on the schedule as soon as a new person starts—"

"It's not my birthday until January."

"Oh."

"And please take the pastries out for everyone to share."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I'm not going to eat them all am I?" She laughed, shaking her head. There was a time when she might have been tempted to do just that. Especially with her emotions all over the place like this. She hesitated and then decided to get it over with. "Was there a card?"

"No. Nothing."

Well, that was a relief. He'd spared her that much.

Sandy's desk phone rang and she picked up the pasties, cradling the box in both arms, before dashing back out to answer it.

Bry glumly assessed the rose parade that had parked itself in her office. She ought to phone him, but she didn't have his number. She'd have to ask Carl for it and then Helena would find out. Bad.

What if it wasn't him? Like it could be anyone else. It was over the top just like him. And she had no secret admirers to blame it on. Clearing a path through the roses, she finally found her desk and the chair with the package. She sat, holding it gingerly in her lap.

The phone rang on her desk. She picked it up.

"It's Kelly Minton."

"Ok, put her through."

There was a click and then her friend's voice shouted down the line at her, "Where the hell have you been? I heard through the grapevine that your apartment was evacuated last night in the storm. Why didn't you come over here?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me?"

"You might have been busy."

"Yeah, right. Like I have anyone to get busy with." Kelly's fiancé was killed in a car accident six months ago and she'd rarely left her apartment since the funeral. Everyone kept trying to get her out again, but Kelly was the sort of person who didn't want to be forced into recovery or "cheered up". Bryony understood that and never pushed her. It was one of the reasons why they were still friends when most people had given up on Kelly's moods. "So where did you go last night? You were late to work so it must have been good."

Oh, shit. "I stayed with someone."

"I hope it wasn't a man."

Bryony was looking at the package in her lap, thinking about him spanking her ass with those lovely hands of his. He said he wanted a mistress, a disposable woman. At least he was honest about it, she mused. Honest about the limitations of his affections. As she'd told him, he was born in the wrong era. "What?" she murmured. "What man?"

"Any man. I've told you before. Men are bastards."

That was Kelly's latest mantra, her most recent reason for not going out to meet anyone. "I know. Trust me, I know," Bryony answered with a sigh.

"So, who was it then?"

She bit her lip. "A man."

"I knew it!" Kelly laughed.

"It was harmless." She had it all under control. Got it out of her system. It was one night only. Tonight he'd probably take out the woman who called him Benny and left her hair iron in his guest bathroom.

"Men are never harmless, Bry."

"It's not the men. It's what we do with them, how we handle them. They're only bastards if we let them be." It was like pastries, she thought, sliding a finger under the tape at one end of the package. They were only bad if a person got carried away with them. Everything was ok in moderation. A little nibble now and then.

"What were you on last night?" Kelly demanded. "Sounds like you're still high."

"I had one margarita."

"You never could hold your liquor."

"Not like you maybe." She smiled, tucking the receiver under her chin and tearing the brown paper off the package.

"Want to meet for lunch? I'll tidy the apartment if you bring sandwiches."

"Ah. I would, but I have to work through lunch. Important client coming in this afternoon and I've been warned to prepare. How about tomorrow?"

"It's Saturday. I have to meet my father for lunch. The once a month lecture about getting a real job and packing up the writing."

"Ok. Monday?"

"Sure. See you then, drunken slut."

She chuckled. "See you, frigid bitch."

They both hung up laughing. Bryony realized she was feeling remarkably light headed. Maybe she really was still suffering from that margarita. The paper fell from her lap and revealed a shoe box. She lifted the lid. Scarlet Manolo Blahniks. Right size. And unmistakably not faux.

If it was anyone but Numbnuts, she thought wryly, it might be love.

* * * *

He strode into the conference room, vaguely aware of the eyes trailing him through the main office, some shy, some bold, some very pretty. But there was only one pair of eyes he wanted to see that afternoon. One look should tell him if their night together had affected her as much as it did him.