Typist #1 - Working for the Billionaire Novelist (Erotic Romance) (4 page)

Bright, neon lights shone overhead. He pulled into a fast food drive-thru and told her to order anything she wanted, his treat.

He smiled at her, and she felt special again.

She felt …

I stopped typing. There were no more words.

Smith was absolutely quiet. I turned to find him sitting on a chair just behind me, his chin in his hand.

My voice shaking, I said, “Break time?”

“I think that's enough for today.”

“Are you sure?”

He got up from his chair and helped me to my feet. My legs were trembling, my knees unstable.

“Low blood sugar,” I said with a laugh. “I may need a pre-dinner snack so I can make it into town for the real dinner.”

He rubbed his forehead and stared down at the carpet. “We don't have to go if you're not up for it.”

“Of course I'm up for it!” I started walking out of the room and down the stairs, my legs getting stronger with each step.

A hike seemed like the perfect end to a day of writing—some physical exertion to clear the mind and restore the soul.

We didn't hike down on the same trail I'd come in on—the one with the murderous moose—but in another direction. That trail was longer, but would take us right into town, as opposed to the shorter trail plus a hike along the highway.

The dappled sun felt wonderful on my face. I'd put on sunscreen, as I always do when venturing outdoors with my fair skin, and it was just enough sun to feel good without threatening to burn.

Smith reached into my pockets and helped himself to one of the granola bars I'd brought.

“Glorified cookie,” he said as he unwrapped the foil.

“I'd rather have real cookies.”

He slipped his hand into my back pocket and squeezed my buttock as we walked.

“What's this?” I said, removing his hand. “Are we
that
familiar with each other?”

He grinned and raised his eyebrows. “This ass is mine for two weeks.”

“Excuse me? That sounds like something your womanizing detective would say.”

“And what would Sheri say?”

“She'd tell you to solve the damn case.” I stopped and stood in front of him, blocking his passage. I looked up and down his body, stopping on the crotch of his khaki trousers, then I reached down and grabbed him by the balls as I stepped in close. “She'd say, 'I hired
you
, Dunham. Your ass is
mine
.'”

Within seconds, he was firming up in my hand. I squeezed and played with his package, allowing that thick sausage of his to plump with excitement. I stroked along the shaft slowly, taking my time.

He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned on my heel and ran down the trail. I heard a twig snap and realized he was chasing me, not allowing me to put distance between us.

Adrenaline surged through my body and I ran faster. I didn't want him to catch me—not so easily, so I ran as hard as I could, jumping across the occasional puddle or fallen branch. I could hear his running shoes pounding against the ground, not far behind me. He was gaining on me.

I dodged to the right, off the trail, ducking between trees and under branches. I was panting now, running for my life, an irrational panic in my throat. I landed awkwardly after leaping over a stump, and went sprawling, my hands breaking my fall on the dried leaves and pine needles.

I struggled to my feet, aware of him closing in on me, his breath audible. I took two steps and he had me, his arms as strong as tree trunks, restraining me.

Crying out, I struggled to wriggle free. Even as I fought, he gripped me tighter, making escape impossible. I whimpered as he lowered me to the ground.

He was on top of me, his erection pressing into my hip bone. He sought my lips with his mouth, both of us breathing heavily. My hands were free, so I slapped him across the cheek.

His eyes widened, and he grabbed my arms, pinning them to the ground.

I whimpered as he kissed me again, and I went along, sucking on his lips and tongue, but then I twisted my head and bit him on the jaw.

He cried out in surprise and pulled away.

“Sheri, I'm trying to help you,” he said, still breathing heavily. “Someone was after you, but I scared him off.”

“Detective Dunham. I thought … I thought you were someone else. I was so scared.”

“You're safe now.”

“I'm not so safe with you,” I said, tilting my hips suggestively underneath him.

Still pinning my hands to the ground, he crushed his lips down on mine, smothering my moans as I writhed underneath him. I had leaves and dirt in my hair, branches underneath me, and I didn't care.

I wrapped my legs around him, squeezing him hard, my thighs like a vice grip. He let go of my arms to pry my legs apart. I fought him, squeezing his waist even harder, until he grabbed the flesh of my thighs between his fingers and squeezed hard.

I cried out in surprise and relaxed my legs. Now my hands were free, so I slapped him again, but playfully, not hard.

He thrust his hard bulge against the crotch of my shorts.

He growled, “Slap me again.”

I slapped the other cheek, harder.

He pinched my thigh again, but I bit my lip to stifle my response. I wouldn't cry out.

He unfastened the button on my shorts, and then he was pulling them off, yanking my panties off at the same time. We were on the dirty forest floor, still within sight of the trail.

He paused for a moment, staring down at my pussy with a smile on his face, and then his head was between my legs. He rushed, licking hard and fast, his tongue urgent and probing. He found my clit and pressed down hard with his tongue, bobbing his whole head up and down between my legs to apply pressure. His stubble prickled on my inner thighs, but his tongue was perfect. The sensation was so sudden and intense, all I could do was whimper as I melted back into the leaves and dirt. The trees and sky above me were beautiful, and then I had to close my eyes as he took me swiftly over the edge.

I cried out in ecstasy and grasped at the leaves around me like they were rough bedsheets.

He unzipped his pants, adjusted, and nudged the head of his cock against my opening. He stroked his warm, thick flesh up and down my slippery crease, past my opening and over my still-sensitive clit, then all the way down to my back door. My pussy was so wet, and combined with the slickness coming from him, everything moved smoothly.

He his body moved up, on top of me. Looking me in the eyes, he rocked his hips, teasing me with just the tip, sliding in and out of my pussy.

I put both hands on his ass and pinched, hard. He bit me on my jaw and hung on, his teeth sharp on my skin. Around my flesh, he said, “Kitty play nice?”

I relaxed my hands and stroked them softly up and down his back, over and under his shirt, which was damp with perspiration.

He stopped biting my jaw and kissed me on the lips, nicely.

I moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, relaxing. Still, he kept rocking his hips, just that tip of his popping in and out of me like a lollipop.

His voice low and growling, he said, “What do you want, Sheri?”

“I want you to fuck me, Detective Dunham. Fuck me so hard. I want to have trouble walking tomorrow.”

“Say my name.”

“Dunham.”

He bit my eyebrow ridge, just a nibble. “My other name.”

“Smith.”

The head of his cock moved in, beyond the opening, massaging me deeper, where I wanted him.

“Smith,” I repeated.

Breathing heavily, he drove into me, all the way. He filled me up and thrust against me, his balls slapping against my soaking-wet butt.

I moaned and squirmed, wanting more, more, more.

He pulled out and pinched my leg until I rolled over, my butt up in the air.

Again, he took a moment to slide the head of his cock up and down my crevice, sliding between my lips and then over them, brushing over my clit and then all the way back to my butt.

Finally, he slid into my pussy, his cock as hard as steel. In this position, he had more leverage, and he really pounded into me, our sweating bodies slapping together.

He said something, but I wasn't expecting talking, and asked him to repeat himself.

Panting hard, he said, “I'm going to come all over your pretty shirt, all over your pretty hair.”

“What?”

“I'm going to come in your hair.” He grabbed a lank of my hair and twisted it around one hand, pulling at my scalp.

“No, Smith, not the hair, you sick fuck. You work for me,” I said.

He groaned.

His other hand was between my legs, on my clit, and I was coming again. I cried out, a howl like a wounded animal, and I came with him grunting into me from behind. The orgasm started in my pussy and blasted out like a shock wave, until I felt it in my scalp, felt that ecstasy in my hair, down the back of my head.

He grunted again, and my pussy was hot, his liquid spurting inside me.

He yanked again on my hair and I cried out, my moan mingling with his.

When he stopped shuddering, he pulled out and wiped his cock against the backs of my legs.

I turned to look back at him, saying, “What the hell?”

He slapped my ass, sending a loud crack through the quiet forest.

“Just giving you your money's worth,” he said, already standing and pulling his khaki pants up.

I cursed him out and looked around for some not-too-crunchy leaves to wipe myself off with. He stood there, staring at me curiously, until I swore at him and told him to turn around and give a girl some privacy.

He reached into his pocket, withdrew a cloth handkerchief, and handed it over.

“M'lady,” he said.

I snatched it from his hand.

Still chuckling, he turned around and walked away.

I was still picking twigs out of my hair when we arrived in town about an hour later.

To my disappointment, the only places that were of interest to me, a couple of cute clothing boutiques, were just closing up for the day.

Smith approached the gray-haired woman pulling in a rolling rack of clothes.

“Are you the owner?” he asked.

Her eyes narrow with suspicion, she said, “Maybe.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and plucked out some bills. “How'd you like to triple your day's sales?”

She laughed and told him to put the money away. “I can stay a bit longer. Just pay for whatever ya like, hun.”

“This is my niece,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders as we followed the woman into the boutique.

I reached out to shake the woman's hand just as Smith said, “My niece doesn't speak English. Not a word.”

I smiled and nodded.

The woman spoke loudly, enunciating every word, “NICE TO MEET you sweetheart!”

“She takes naps in the woods,” Smith said, twirling one finger around his ear. “Cuckoo.”

I turned my back to them so she wouldn't see me smirking.

“She doesn't have any grown-up clothes,” he said. “I want to take her out for dinner, but she's a disaster, as you can see.”

“We'll fix her up,” the woman said.

I was already doing fine on my own, but she buzzed around the small shop, pulling out fabulous things I would never have noticed if she hadn't held them up.

I tried on an armload of outfits, each thing more appealing than the last. How long had it been since I bought new clothes? My most recent acquisitions had been from the Lost-n-Found box at the laundromat. Paying off student loan debt was a higher priority than pretty things … though pretty things certainly had their appeal. Had my legs always looked so curvy in a skirt?

Smith looked at each outfit and then he chose which pile to put the items in. He said he was paying, so who was I to argue? Besides, apparently, I didn't speak a word of English.

The woman took away the dirtied-up clothes I'd come in wearing, and I settled on a black denim mini-skirt and a cornflower-blue blouse with ruffles to wear out of there. The outfit was dressy, but just casual enough it didn't seem crazy paired with my sneakers.

Instead of us having to haul a big bag of clothes back up to the cabin, Smith made arrangements for my clothes to get delivered the next day, along with our groceries. Ah, so that explained how the food got there. Apparently, the delivery boy had a motorcycle—a dirt bike—that he rode the trails with.