Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (21 page)

Wiska

I didn’t remember falling asleep; my last cognitive memory was of Bradley lying beside me on the sofa bed laughing as I inspected his feet. What could I say? I was a feet girl, and ugly feet would be a deal breaker for me. Luckily for him, his feet had been just as damn perfect as the rest of his body. The memory of which returned with a vengeance at the realization there was a long, hard, warm body currently pressed to my back. Bradley had given me pleasantly explicit details of the painting he intended to do once he got me home, but one beef burger and a warm shower later, I had tumbled into a gooey mess of placated, sleepy female. Bradley had curled up beside me, and we had talked for a long while before I began to study his feet, then apparently passed out. The paint date had been one of the single most romantic moments in my life.

As a girl who grew up on her mother’s tales of Cinderella and Snow White, I could attest to the driving need of a female who yearned for romance. Most men I had dated in the past saw their supremely half-assed efforts of opening a door and paying for dinner as a romantic gesture. I knew there had to be men out there who broke the mold, but they were obviously few and far between.

Decker Steele was one of those few and far between men. He was constantly thinking of new and exciting ways to sweep Andi off her feet. Apparently, Bradley had learned a few tricks from him, or maybe it was Decker who had learned a few tricks from Bradley. I couldn’t understand what Leah
hadn’t
seen in Bradley. She appeared almost relieved when they parted ways, and having come to know the man as intimately as I did now, I was grateful for her disinterest. One woman’s trash was another woman’s treasure.

The nuzzling of warm lips and hot breath at the back of my neck drew a smile to my sleepy face, and I stretched like a lazy kitten as Bradley slowly roused from sleep. He was wearing what I assumed were long pajama pants, and I was slightly disappointed it wasn’t naked skin nestled firmly between my thighs. When I dared to open one eye, I was greeted with the unexpected, knowing smile of Casey as he peered over the back of the sofa.

“Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

“Are you some kind of creepy voyeur?” Bradley asked in a voice husky from sleep.

“Oh no, if either one of you starts getting frisky, I’m out of here, but you both look so adorable curled up together, I just had to stop and take a picture for Lionel.”

“You took a picture?” I demanded, only slightly outraged.

“Of course. I promised Lionel I would document your fall into L-O-V-E.” Casey smiled at Bradley. “This looks about an O, Mr Emerson.”

“Shut it,” Bradley said, though there was no anger in his tone.

We continued to lay there while Casey stared at us.

“Maybe we need to start getting frisky.” I wondered out loud.

Before Bradley’s hands had a chance to move to more interesting territory, the ringing of his phone broke the awkward moment, and he carefully disentangled himself, repositioned the semi-erect Vlad that had been pressing against my backside, and grabbed his cell phone.

“So, you have that sated look that only Thor has been able to put on your face lately. Come to think of it, I don’t think even Thor could make you glow like this.”

I wanted to be mad at Casey’s callous disregard for privacy, but honestly, the man was far too sweet and kind for anger. Also, we were sleeping in the living room. If we wanted privacy, we should have fallen asleep in Bradley’s big-ass bed. I offered Casey a lazy smile.

“Thor’s got nothing on Vlad,” I murmured.

“Vlad?” Casey wondered out loud. “Oh, my god, the Impaler! That’s a good one.”

“I have to go into the office for a few hours,” Bradley said as he stood beside the sofa bed, his cell phone clutched in one hand.

“Not a problem. Casey and I might hit the shops.”

Casey’s eyes lit up, and he nodded with enthusiasm.

“If you can get yourselves ready in twenty minutes, I can drop you off somewhere.”

Casey twirled before disappearing down the hallway. Bradley stood still, casting a vacant look across the room. It was almost as if he was slipping Broody Bradley back into place, all playfulness wiped away. I didn’t like it one little bit.

“What’s got that look on your face?” I wondered. “Should I offer you a quick paint job to get you smiling again?” That did it, Bradley’s eyes twinkled with laughter as his gaze lowered to mine.

“I had hoped to spend your last two weeks completely at your mercy. Work is a distraction.”

“Maybe I’m the distraction?”

“Pussycat, you are a distraction men would kill to have.” He reached out a hand and pulled me from the bed. “You take the first shower, but be quick. I really have to get into the office.”

“If we shower together, it would go faster.”

“Now that is a downright lie,” he said with a grin. “But tonight we can shower together and time ourselves, just to be sure.”

When Bradley dropped us off in front of Westfield Shopping Mall half an hour later, I cast Casey a look that I hoped expressed the mischief I was feeling. I wanted to do something special for Bradley when he got home from work. I wanted to show him the wicked spontaneous fun he had shown me.

“What’s that look?” Casey asked, taking a cautious step away.

“I’ve got about five hundred dollars left in my bank account, and I want to spend it on a gift for Bradley.”

“What kind of gift?”

“The naughty kind.”

Casey smiled and tapped a finger against his chin. “My favorite kind.” He took my hand and dragged me into the shopping mall. “And I know just what you can get him, and it won’t cost five hundred dollars.”

*

My heart was thumping hard and fast. I wiped a sweaty palm down my thigh and readjusted my ponytail. Sitting on the end of Bradley’s bed, I began swiping through the UK vacation photos I’d begun accumulating on my cell phone. I paused at a selfie of Bradley and me that I had taken the night of our paint date; it made me smile and a little of the nerves receded. He was so damn handsome. I could honestly admit I had never dated a guy who looked quite so freaking hot before. It bolstered my confidence that such an attractive man wanted me. He was mine—all that yumminess was mine. I wanted to high-five someone, but since I was alone, I settled for a quick pat on my back.

“Well done, Wiska, you made a good choice this time.”

Placing the phone on the armoire, I stretched out my arms and tried to shake away my nervous tension, before bending forward to touch my ankles. Standing, I rolled my shoulders and reached for the two items I had laid out on the end of the bed.

“Well, good evening, Mr. Emerson. You look as tense as a weight lifter with a bad case of diarrhea,” Casey practically yelled from the living room.

He promised me he would make sure I knew when Bradley was home. Tucked away in his bedroom with the door shut, I hadn’t even heard the front door open and close. I was grateful for his loud, obnoxious voice.

“Where are you going?” I heard Bradley’s muffled voice.

I could picture the scowl on his face, the abrupt and growly words confirming he was in a mood. I was used to his moods now, though. They didn’t bother me like they had when we first met, but I did want to find what button to press to make that surly look disappear. Tonight was an experiment in seduction and bad mood banishment.

“I’m joining Floyd and his wife, Elizabeth, for dinner.”

“Floyd is married? He asked you over for dinner?” I heard Bradley ask, his voice rising with disbelief.

“Sixty-two years and counting, and yes, we exchanged phone numbers a few weeks ago. Toodles.”

“Where’s Wiska?” Bradley called out.

When there was no answer, only silence, I assumed Casey had left. Game on, Wiska. I glanced around the room to make sure everything was in place. I had a breakfast tray resting on the bed with all the kitchen necessities sitting atop it, ready to go. Three candles were lit, throwing a dancing light over the shadowed walls, and I was dressed to kill . . . well, at least seduce.

When the door to the bedroom flew open, Bradley took one step forward and froze. His surprised eyes fastened firmly on me, as they should have. I was wearing my most expensive black and red satin bra and panty set, with a garter belt and thigh high stockings that I had purchased earlier today. I was also wearing the high, spiked heel ankle boots that Bradley had barely been able to take his eyes off when we went to the Lovely Lounge. In my hands, I held two of his leather belts loosely at my sides.

“Fuck. Me,” he finally managed to say.

“We’ll get to that,” I purred.

This vixen that scratched beneath my skin was not normal, but I had always had a healthy and curious sex life. Although I didn’t readily or easily sleep around, I liked to explore with my lovers. This was a new exploration, but from the heavy lidded look in Bradley’s eyes, and the quickly growing bulge in his pants, it was well worth exploring.

“Strip,” I commanded, just as he had done with me on our paint date.

He stepped further into the room and kicked the door closed. Slowly, he began loosening his tie while his eyes devoured me from head to toe.

“What have you been up to today?” he asked, the slight tremor in his voice almost bringing a smile to my lips and destroying the dominant look on my face.

“No talking, strip, and lie on your back on the bed, your hands at the headboard.”

Bradley cocked a defiant brow before removing his jacket.

“Okay, pussycat, we’ll play it your way for a bit, but just remember, turnabout is fair play.”

I think my effort to swallow was audible as he removed his suit. Unlike last night when he had ditched his clothes like a speed demon, tonight he went slow. It was meant to tease, and it freaking worked. Not familiar with playing the dominant role, I chose to ignore it and enjoyed the body that was revealed to me, one layer at a time. Once naked, he obediently stepped to the bed and went to move the towels that I had carefully laid out aside.

“Leave them. Lay on top of them,” I ordered.

With a smile, he rolled to his back, raising his hands above his head to hold the slatted headboard, and just stared at me, a grin on his face that dared me to keep going. I stepped onto the stool that I had found in his walk-in closet and climbed onto the bed. Crawling over his prone body, I enjoyed the way his gaze became almost hypnotized as he watched my breasts sway. I straddled his chest and used one of the belts to secure a wrist to the headboard, all the while my breasts were poised directly before his lips. He leaned forward to try and capture one in his mouth, but I rested back on my hunches before leaning forward to secure the other hand. This time he did lick the top of my breast, just above the cup of my bra, but I quickly pulled away, leaving an adorable pout on his face.

“Completely at my mercy,” I sighed.

“And what are you going to do with me now?”

I moved the tray I had prepared earlier to my side and shifted down his legs until his proud, hard cock was between my knees. Taking a cube of ice, I slipped it between my lips and let it sit in my mouth a moment, twirling it around my tongue before slipping it back out and placing it on the dish. Then I leaned forward, took his cock in my hand, and slipped my mouth over the head of him.

“Holymotherfuckinghellthatisfuckingfantastic . . .” he said, all garbled into an unintelligible mess.

I bobbed and sucked like my life depended on it, and when he would have begun to buck and thrust into my mouth, I pulled back. The panicked look in his eyes as I moved away filled my veins with heady power.

This time I reached for the chocolate sauce, which had been heated and was now lukewarm. I scooped some into a spoon and held his cock while drizzling the chocolate across the head and shaft.

“Damn,” Bradley sighed.

When my hands were free again, I dipped low and began to lick and suck every drop of chocolate off him. Soon enough, he was moving beneath me once more, and I allowed his dick to slip from my lips as I sat back and reached for the next apparatus in this blow job extravaganza.

I had already sliced the grapefruit and hollowed it out to an approximation of Bradley’s girth. I had seen the grapefruit blow job performed on the Internet, and I had several expectations for how this might go. Citric acid slipping into the eye of his dick and causing some kind of weird food infection was high and foremost on that list. Casey assured me he had researched this thoroughly and even performed it on Lionel. He was very insistent that I used no less than three towels beneath Bradley, as the mess was somewhat mood evaporating. Then he promised me the results would be more likely my gag reflex tripping as Bradley tried to bury himself in my throat. While the thought of gagging halfway through my careful seduction didn’t appeal to me, the thought of Bradley losing control under my hands was erotic as hell. With one hand still wrapped around his dick, moving in a slow leisurely pace, the other hand brought the carved grapefruit up high so Bradley could see what I was doing.

“I’m going to put this on Vlad,” I explained.

“Ummmm, okay,” Bradley managed, albeit nervously.