The Diary of Brad De Luca
Page 2

He ignored her question, tilting his head in the direction of the exit, guessing at the answer to his question before he finished speaking. “Who is he?”
“Bob. He is a—”
“I know who he is. I meant who is he to you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “He is nothing to me.”
“Are you dating?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“It is if he’s visiting you at work.”
She threw up her hands, turning to her desk. “Oh, please! Don’t even pull that card.”
He repeated the question, intent on finding the answer. “Are you dating?”
“No.”
Her conviction and attitude satisfied him, and he leaned against the doorway, letting his eyes roam, traveling from perfect feet upward, past long legs, a navy dress that hugged the firm outline of her body, before settling on devourable lips, perfect features, flushed cheeks, and eyes that challenged him to make an inappropriate comment. He had the sudden desire to push her back on her desk and claim her body right now. His mouth moved without provocation, words coming out before he could harness them. “Come to Vegas with me this weekend.”
“What?” She looked at him like he had three heads. He wanted to ask himself the same question. This was a horrible idea, one that would certainly bite him in the ass.
He rephrased the question, cursing his psyche with every word flowing smoothly off of his traitorous lips. “I’m going to Vegas this weekend. Why don’t you come?” He tried for a welcoming tone, but the words came off more as an order.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” And suddenly he was, the desire to rip off that dress and have her na**d in his hands too tempting to resist.
She smiled demurely. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”
He smiled. “Think it over. I’ll have you back safe and sound by Monday.”
Those damn arms crossed again, the motion pressing her br**sts together and offering them up to him. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at her, noting the steel in her gaze, the challenge only making her more appealing. “No boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Think it over.” He flashed a smile at her, the smile that normally weakened women’s resolve and had them ready and willing to do whatever he proposed. He turned on one heel, his brain begging for one final look at her, and left, heading back to his domain.
She would come. Now that his brash mouth had issued the invitation, there was no alternative but to make sure she came. Brad De Luca didn’t get rejected. Especially not by a twenty-something intern who had probably never been properly f**ked in her life.
It was a horrible idea, flying an intern to Vegas. Kent Broward’s intern especially. If this came to light, when this came to light, there would be hell to pay. But that woman back there, her feisty attitude and tight body … one night with her could very well be worth the downfall.
The aftermath, when she would turn needy and want more than sex … the constant calls, persistent emails, those would not be worth it. That would be a headache that his schedule wouldn’t have time for. He swallowed, pushing open the double doors to the East Wing, regretting the invitation with every step he took away from her.
the city of sin
52 hours later: Vegas
2:45 AM. Too damn late. He collected a stack of chips and let them fall through his hand, watching them bounce and drop on the green felt.
“Your luck has turned,” the heavyset man before him said, gathering the cards. “You should stop for the night.”
Brad looked up, shaking his head and sliding a single black chip forward. “Another hand.”
He reached for the glass, downing the remaining bit of bitter liquor. It was out of his norm—continuing to play when his luck had turned. But he needed to be down here and out of the suite. In the suite was she … and he didn’t know how to handle her.
A waitress materialized at his side, setting another cold glass before him. He nodded, passing her a tip, and tapped on the table, asking for another card. He stared at his hand, trying for the hundredth time to rid his mind of her image.
They had checked in late, heading up to the room first, the bellman putting away their bags. He had expected them to go out, for dinner or drinks, when she had come to pieces, standing in the middle of the suite, her eyes welling with tears, her mouth basically accusing him of bringing her here for sex. It was like she expected him to bend her over the sofa as soon as the door closed behind the bellman.
He swallowed another mouthful of whisky. Her concerns were well-founded. He had assumed they would fuck, but he was in no rush. It wasn’t something that needed to happen on this trip. This trip had been intended more for … hell … he didn’t know why he had brought her here. The whole damn thing didn’t make any sense. All he knew was that look in her eyes—that fragile, terrified expression—told him he needed to be careful. Keep his distance, keep her clothed, untouched. She was not one of the women who lay on his desk and begged for a f**king. She was, apparently, fairly inexperienced. And she would take the sex as more than it was.
Stay away. Keep his distance. An easy decision to make when he sat thirty-two floors below her, alcohol and hours of distraction between them. It might be a different story when he was in her presence again.
He pushed the remaining chips towards the line. “All in. Last hand.”
“Good luck,” the dealer said with a somber look.
“Thanks. I need it.”
His new resolution lasted long enough for him to stumble upstairs, his pockets heavy with winnings, and collapse on the bed in the extra bedroom. He woke five hours later with a headache and sheet imprints on his face. He rolled over, rubbing his face, and sat up, wincing at bright light that poured through the windows.
Jacking off helped, his hand stroking his c**k under the hot spray of the shower. He directed his thoughts to Bethany, his latest fuck, thinking about her soft br**sts against his body, the slap of them when she rode him to completion. He avoided any thought of the brunette one room over, gritting his teeth as he came, the evidence of his satisfaction washed down the stone walls with the spray of water.
He was proud of himself, of his control, his resolution fully in tact. He walked in the bedroom, wearing boxer briefs, and headed to his suitcase. He stopped, just inside the door, his eyes on her, his feet moving and carrying him to the side of the bed, his hand gently lifting the covers slightly until her face was revealed.
Dark hair cradled a sweet face, impossibly perfect in its features, relaxed and angelic in sleep. No hint of her feisty personality shown. In sleep she looked innocent and untouched. He glanced at the clock, his desire to join her in the bed tempting.
He shouldn’t. He should dress and leave her, putting a door or two in between them until she was awake and dressed. But he had never done what he should, the appeal of danger much more interesting. He pulled the sheet back, settling his body over hers, one knee on either side of her body, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the open skin of her neck. He promised himself that if she stiffened, if she resisted, he would roll off. Stand up. Walk out of this suite and away from this woman.
A moan. The woman moaned, and it was the most carnal sound he had every heard. Her body shifted beneath him, her pelvis lifting up slightly, and he lowered his body to meet it. He moved his lips to her ear, wanting to reassure her. “This isn’t about sex, I promise.”
She giggled, her hands startling him when they touched his thighs, sliding up until they reached the cotton of his underwear and she squeezed, his muscles jumping under her touch. He lifted slightly off of her, taking her touch as permission, and ran a gentle hand down her body, trailing the lines of her bra, her skin soft and smooth beneath his fingers, her breath catching as he slid his hand lower, down the slope of her stomach, before marginally sneaking under the lace hem of her panties.
He should stop. He should slide off of her and curl his body around hers. Turn this situation into a sweet, innocent one. But he couldn’t. For the same reason that he was lying on top of her right now. He. Couldn’t. Stay. Away.
“If this isn’t about sex, what are you doing?” she asked softly, making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
He moved, shifting his body, feeling the heat of hers as their skin brushed. “It’s about proving you wrong … and pleasing you.” Three nights earlier, at the office, over pizza and sodas, she had confessed to never having experienced an orgasm. That she couldn’t. A ridiculous statement, and one that he intended to disprove.
His fingers continued their sweep, traveling over the tiny material of her panties, running up and down her mound. She moaned and responded immediately, pulling her smooth legs free and wrapping them around his waist. She arched back, pressing her br**sts into him, and he took advantage of the movement, moving his free hand underneath, firmly grabbing her delicious ass, squeezing it hard, and loving the feel of it in his hands. He had been wanting, dreaming, of this ass, of having it in his hands, bent over before him. She gasped, pushing against him, and he released her, sliding his hand up and gripping her long hair, pulling it until her eyes were staring into his.
They caught the morning light, brown embers burning playfully, her mouth curved into a smile, her eyes dancing over his, a challenge in them. She was so different, so full of fire and fun, a combination of the two, and he couldn’t wait to see what happened when those eyes turned carnal.
She thrust up, catching him off guard, and kissed him, her lips confident, pushing past any resistance with one playful swipe of her tongue. He groaned, letting go of all control he’d struggled to maintain, dominating with his mouth until she was flat on the bed beneath him, his arm moving from under her, his body settling atop hers, held up enough by his elbows so as not to crush her.
The kiss was a battle, an initial testing between two warriors, their kiss matching in dips and tastes, until he swept the pieces off the map and claimed her as his own.
He ground against her without thinking, the desire to have her overwhelming his body, his c**k anxious for more, wanting the silky feel of her skin, awaiting a release, greedy for more. She froze against his mouth, and he lifted his head, their eyes locking, and he brushed against her one last time.
Her eyes changed when his arousal made contact, taking the journey from shock to vixen, and she pushed, trying to roll him over. He shook his head, and lowered his head and his hips, reclaiming her with his mouth, his body once against tight against hers.
She squirmed, her hands moving, sliding along the ridges of his stomach. Reaching down, feeling for him, her hands almost there when he captured them. Holding them still, he slid off of her, moving to lie beside her, one of his big hands pinning both of hers above her head.
His eyes took a greedy and unapologetic tour of her body, his free hand leading the way. He pulled down the top of her bra, allowing her br**sts to be free and exposed, pink ni**les erect in the morning air. He ran his hand down and over the top of her panties, letting out a measured breath when he felt the wet silk between her legs. His grin grew, and he teased the area through the panties, running his hand back and forth, applying slight pressure on the fabric, and watching the change in her eyes. Then he slipped a finger past the fabric and inside of her.
He had touched hundreds of women, the inside of a woman’s body as familiar as his own cock. But the feeling of her, the heat inside, wet and tight, gripping his finger with a sucking pull was unlike any else. He could feel his control ebbing, and it was everything he could do not to roll above her and pull out his cock. The feel of her on his finger … it would be heaven to be inside of her.
“Oh my God, Julia,” he breathed. “What am I going to do with you?” It wasn’t a hypothetical question. This was bad; this was worse than the other intern, worse than Kent Broward’s wife. This girl was a poison that could ruin him. She was innocent, inexperienced, yet burned with fire, curiosity, and challenge. His body was ready for the task, pushing against the starting gate, wanting to f**k her senseless and brand her forever as his own. His mind was backing away with hands up, fear and panic gripping his chest.
The vixen beneath him moved, catching him off guard, distracted by his inner turmoil. She ripped her hands free, her eyes flashing with a combination of lust, anger, and hunger. She tried to move, to climb on top of him, but he easily held her off, pressing down on her shoulders and straddling her with his body.
“I want to suck your dick,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire.
He shook his head at me. “This is about you. I want to please you.”
“Having your dick in my mouth is what will please me!” she shot back.
He tried to relax his breathing, tried to sound reasonable and in control. “You said you couldn’t come.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously, let’s just drop it. I’ve accepted it. You need to do the same.”
“Do I look like a man who gives in easily?” As his mind screamed obscenities, he forced her back on the bed and moved, skimming down that delicious body until his face was at her stomach.
“Waaa ... stop!” Her voice came out shrill and panicked, causing him to pause and look up.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
An excellent question. He should be packing his bags and getting the hell out of here. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“I … err … don’t do that.” She sounded nervous, almost anxious.
He ran a finger under the line of her panties, begging for a chance to feel her again, his mouth wanting the taste of her on his tongue. “Don’t do that, or haven’t done that?”