Authors: Bebe Wilde
“A fiesta,” I said and took it off, feeling even sillier.
“It’s tacky, don’t you think?”
I just stared at him and felt embarrassment slowly creep up my body until it stained my cheeks a bright red. “It’s
Cinco
de Mayo,” I told him.
“This won’t work,” he said.
“It did work,” I said and tossed the sombrero onto the couch. “It’s a broker’s open. It’s what we do to get other agents to come in and see if they might have a client for the house. We have a little food, a little fun. It’s like a party but with the idea of getting a house sold.”
He shrugged.
“If you say so.”
His nonchalance, combined with his biting words, was really, really getting on my nerves. I bit my lip to keep from saying something very unprofessional.
“Well, do they have any interested clients?” he asked.
I shook my head, refusing to lie to him. “No.”
“So this was just a complete waste of time?”
And money, too, I wanted to add, but didn’t. I shrugged.
“You aren’t thinking right about selling this house,” he said. “It will take special circumstances to sell it. Joe Asshole off the street isn’t going to be interested. You have to understand that.”
“I do understand that!” I hissed. “Listen, I know how to sell houses and I’ve sold a lot of them. Just let me do my work.”
He sighed and shook his head slightly. “Sombreros and tacos won’t sell this place.”
“We didn’t have tacos,” I said. “We had fajitas. And empanadas.”
He just stared at me.
“You don’t get how this works,” I said, this short of getting exasperated.
“I think I do.”
“I’m doing the best I can!”
“Well, it’s not good enough,” he said.
I was flabbergasted at his words.
Seriously?
“I’ve worked really hard on this, okay?” I said, feeling my eyes well up with tears.
“Not hard enough,” he said. “I hired you because I thought you’d get the job done. Now I’m not so sure.”
“I
will
sell this house,” I told him.
“When?”
“Soon,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But I am worried,
Teagan
,” he said. “I have to sell this house. It has to be done.”
“Why? Do you need the money that badly or something?” Once the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.
He didn’t even blink. “I do not. It’s not that. It’s something else.”
“What is it then?” I asked, really wanting to know. He had to understand selling this house could take a while.
“None of your concern,” he said, waving his hand. “But sell it. And don’t do this again.”
I wanted to slap him. But I didn’t. That wouldn’t have been very professional, would it? “Listen, Roman, or Mr. Juniper or whatever you want me to call you, this is the way it works. You wine and dine and show other agents a good time. They come, they see what you have for sell and they leave with a good feeling. And once they get back to their offices, they look over their client list and ascertain who might be interested in the property. Together, you make a sale.”
He stood back and surmised me then said, “You’re very uptight.”
“I’m not uptight!” But I was. Even though I hated to admit it, I was wound up tighter than Dick’s hat band.
“No, you are, very much so,” he said. “But I am glad to see you are wearing the dress. The designer would be proud. It fits you like a glove and shows off your curves.”
He was just too much, wasn’t he?
“Continue wearing that,” he said. “I have other dresses, too, if you need them.”
Should I even try to say something back to him? What good would it have done? It had been a long day and I was tired. I pushed my anger back down and said, “No, I don’t think so. I have enough dresses.”
“Not like that you don’t,”
he said.
“I don’t want your fucking dresses,” I said, trying hard not to grit my teeth. “I don’t even want this one.”
“But you should,” he replied without even blinking. “They show you off in a very good way.”
That was it. He was just too fucking much and I had had enough. Besides, I had to let him know what was bothering me so much about wearing it. “You’re making me look like an extra in that Robert Palmer video!” I yelled, hating the sound of my voice but being unable to control myself. “The short one they had just in case they needed a backup!”
“You’re right. You are quite short,” he said.
“Fuck you,” I replied, almost snarling at him. No, this wasn’t how it was going to go down.
No.
I unzipped the dress and began taking it off. “Take your fucking dress,” I said and slipped it off and threw it at him. He caught it. Then I took off the shoes. “And take your fucking shoes!” I threw them at him. He caught those as well. “And take your fucking house and your fucking listing and shove it up your ass!”
He stared at me and bit his bottom lip as if trying to hold back his laughter but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to, that was for sure, but he wouldn’t. He wanted to see how far over the edge he could send me. Well, it was a long way there but I was making good time.
“So, fuck off!” I yelled and turned on my heel, ready to leave the house. Wait a minute. Those were my shoes. He had pissed me off so much I had forgotten I hadn’t worn the ones he had given me. I walked over to him and snatched them out of his hands. “I forgot. Those are mine,” I hissed.
He nodded and tried to contain his smile.
I didn’t even bother to look at myself or surmise the ridiculous situation I was in. The frustration had come to a head, that’s all. I was so frustrated with him and with my inability to get anyone interested in the
house,
I had reached the end of my rope. So, I stood there barefoot in black panties and bra, and fumed at him. I was down to next to nothing but so what? It was Hollywood and stranger things had happened. Believe me. I’d heard the stories.
“Is that all?” he asked and nodded at my bra.
I glared at him. “You want this too?” I asked.
He almost smiled, but stopped himself just in time.
I shook my head. “The underwear is mine,” I said. “So go fuck yourself.” I fumed, looking around for my bag and spotted it on the kitchen counter. It sat there waiting for me, the one I’d bought a few years earlier and had paid thousands of dollars for, even had to get on a waiting list for the damned thing. Idiot! Stupid! Never again would I be so wasteful and take money for granted. Because I’d done that, I now
had
to put up with assholes like Roman-whatever-his-real-last-name-was!
“Temper, temper,” he muttered, staring at me from the corner of his eyes,
then
patting his head.
“Hot temper.
It must be the red hair.”
I glared at him. “It’s strawberry blonde, thank you. Not red.”
“Oh, it’s red,
Teagan
,” he said. “You know it and I know it.”
I wanted to smack him. Yes it was red
with
blonde.
Strawberry blonde.
So what if I got highlights?
“But I wonder,” he said, tossing the dress aside and walking towards me. “Does the hair
there
match what’s on your head?”
How dare he? Well, if that’s how he wanted to play it, fine. I quipped, “No, it’s waxed.”
He raised an eyebrow. I could tell that he liked that.
A lot.
He couldn’t help himself. He threw his head back and laughed a deep, good sounding, manly laugh.
With no other alternative, I slapped him. And then everything swiftly changed. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to him. It was a quick, rough transition from feeling a little out of control to a lot out of control. Now he had it, he had the control. And I didn’t.
“Don’t you ever hit me again,” he hissed.
I didn’t know what to say. Kier had once said the same thing to me. But for some reason, this time was different. Roman was not Kier. Roman was Roman and he was, let’s just say, a little bit rougher than Kier could ever think to be.
“You know what you need?” he asked, then answered his own question, “A good spanking.”
Excuse me?
A good spanking?
He was beyond crazy. I pushed at him trying to free my arm. “And I suppose you’re just the man to give it me, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he said, holding me tight, not letting me go. “I think that’s exactly what you need. Or, perhaps, you need the flogger? You showed interest in it the other day. Want me to get it out and teach you a lesson?”
“Why don’t you find some bimbo at some club off Sunset who would do that for you?” I hissed. “I’m sure she’d love to do whatever you want for the right price.”
He almost smiled but he was still angry with me. But I was angry with him, too. We were just so angry with each other. And then, a little push came to a little shove. He pushed at me. I shoved back. “Or maybe you would like it,
oui
? I think that’s what you really would like.”
“Don’t lie to
yourself
,” I hissed. “That is the worst thing you can do.”
“No,” he replied. “The worst thing you can do is lie to yourself and believe it.”
He always had to top me, didn’t he? Even so, I was done with all of this. I just wanted to leave but something in me wanted to stay, to see how far this would go. He didn’t move. I didn’t move. My other arm was free and I wanted away from him, so I hit at him again, trying to free myself. He pulled me in tight and walked me backwards to a chair then sat down and, in one swift motion, he had me pulled to him, turned around and bent over. I was across his knee, my ass in the air, right in front of him. What now? Now he did what he wanted. And he spanked me, several times.
The palm of his hand coming down hard and with determination to my ass and smacking it just enough to sting.
What?
The fuck?
Was that?
I was beside myself with anger. How fucking dare he? Once the spanking was over and, apparently, my lesson was learned, he was ready to be done with it. I burned with humiliation and rage.
“That’s all,” he said. “You can go now.”
He gave me a little push off his lap. I almost fell to the floor. I was stunned. Is this how he thought he’d put me in my place? Well, I’d show him. I stood and turned to him, shaking my head. “You’re an asshole.”
“Am I now?” he asked.
“You are,” I hissed. “I quit!”
I turned on my heel and left the room, storming out, not caring or knowing where I was going. If I had to work at the carwash, I would. If I had to move back in with my mother—
Hold up
, I thought as that thought sunk in.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Maybe I wouldn’t go
that
far. But I was done with that bastard and all men in general for that matter. They were all assholes. Fucking Roman! Fucking Kier! I hated them both right then so very much.
But what a bastard! Who did he think he was? But what I wouldn’t admit was that he had surprised me by acting like that. In fact, he’d excited me. He had sparked something in me, a deep longing, a deep felt need that, while denied, was still hard to ignore. Kier would never take it over the edge. But maybe Roman would.
I was at the front door when I remembered I had left my bag on the kitchen counter. I had to go back and get it. “Fuck!” I hissed under my breath, shaking with anger. I went back in and he was there, standing at the counter, sipping a glass of water. He watched me pick up my bag. Before I left, though, I paused and stared at him. He stared back. Again, I felt that spark stir inside of me. Something was there, something deep and emotional and just a little bit primitive.
“You want it,” he said and put the glass down.
“I want what?” I asked.
“You know what,” he said. “You’ve wanted it since you met me. I can give it to you.”
“Give me what?”
“You know what,” he said.
And I did. I did know what he was taking about and I did want it, what he could give me.
“Just say the word,” he said. “And I’ll give it to you.”
I just stared at him. Could I? Should I? I hadn’t had sex with anyone besides Kier in a very long time and it was almost like a part of me had almost pledged allegiance to him, to just Kier, but this other part, this bigger part of myself I’d ignored for too long was telling me to take a chance, to see where this handsome, rugged man might take me. Where would he take me? And, more importantly, how would it feel?
“Tell me you want it,” he said.
He was testing me then. But would I pass his test? I would. He’d see what I was made of. So, without hesitation, I said, “I want it.”
In a few long, quick steps, he was over to me. He was there, standing in front of me, looking down into my eyes. He wanted me. I could tell it. I could see it in his eyes.
My bag fell out of my hand and onto the floor. I tiptoed to meet his lips which came down on mine. As soon as we made contact, I felt a jolt of electricity, of passion, course through my body. I literally lit up with it. It was that hot, that intense,
that
good. His lips were soft and inviting, my tongue in his mouth, being sucked on, eliciting ecstasy, telling me that this was going to be the best sex ever.
We kissed for minutes, him pulling me in close, tight, surrounding me with his arms, refusing to let me go. I pressed against him, loving the feeling of my near-nakedness against his fully clothed body. I felt weak, vulnerable but strong. I was going to take this experience and make it mine.
His lips were devouring me, as well as his hands, which were all over me, touching me, squeezing a breast, pinching lightly at a nipple, going down my back to grab my buttocks and squeeze. It was hot, it was intense. I wanted more.
He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom, laid me down on the big platform bed and began, once again, to devour me with his hands and lips, slipping off my bra and panties with expertise. My whole body was lit up with passion. I grabbed at him, pulling him close to me,
then
began to tug at his clothes, wanting him to be naked and fully on top. Soon, his clothes were off and his muscular and sexy body was on top of mine, grinding me into the bed, holding me down so he could take me. I took a moment to stare at his sublime body, ripped and in shape, perfect. He shoulders were wide and the muscles in his arms strong looking, flexing sexily with his movements.
And his dick…
Wow. It was large and had girth.