One Shade of Gray Page 4

  I pulled her into my body and wrapped my hands around her waist. Her skin was so soft and warm, the faint scent of peaches let loose by her clothing. As naked skin met naked skin I stopped thinking again, my mind going blank to everything but the sensation.

  I was about to drop to my knees in front of her, but she beat me to it, and pulled my cock from my black boxer briefs before I could utter a word to stop her.

  “Why, Mr. Gray, you were holding out on me,” she joked before situating herself to take the length of me into her mouth. Watching it was an out of body experience. I could see the way her tongue lapped at the underside of my sensitive flesh while at the same time feeling the heat and pleasure that accompanied the action as if from far away.

  Then I slammed back to my body and the sensations were brighter, harder, and stronger than before. Her mouth with its oh-so-wet heat gripped me, tight and demanding. She used her hand to cup the wet flesh as it left her mouth to continue the pleasure.

  The carnality of her fucking me with her face broke a control inside me I didn’t think I’d be able to mend. I reached out and gripped the soft bit of hair I could fist in my hands at the nape of her neck. She gave me a moan of approval and it was all the permission I would seek. I held her head tight and took the pleasure she had been offering for myself.

  She wrapped her hands around my hips and held onto me. The tips of her sharp little nails dug in. I watched the scene still so far in the moment I couldn’t force my brain to take over and release her.

  I fucked her face hard, fast, brutally, and there wasn’t a bit of me that could stop it, even as hot wet tears sprang from the corners of her eyes, spreading her mascara in a black swath down her cheeks.

  Seconds, minutes, hours, days. I didn’t know how much time passed. It was only me and her and the pleasure of her mouth gripping me. My climax surged forward like the last firecracker in a barrel. It sparked and I broke free from her, pulling away to milk my seed into my own hand. I shuddered and shook and shattered from the force of it. Now clear of my body’s demands, I straightened again, and my brain went into overdrive as I faced her, expecting censure.

  She stood against the wall in her black lace boy shorts, mascara and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair stood up in little spikes and whirls all over her head, and lipstick ran down her chin and smeared up to her nose. Every part of her pale skin had a pink flush I wanted to trace with my teeth.

  She’d been on her knees for me seconds ago and now she stood like she owned the world and me with it.

  I grabbed the T-shirt and wiped my hands of the mess I’d made. She watched me, never moving to wipe the marks of me from her skin. My mind warred. Did I sink down and return the favor, or grovel and apologize for using her so carelessly?

  I was in the middle of the second option when she stepped across discarded clothing and gripped the back of my neck to pull me down. It was a clear sign as to what she wanted, and enough to entice worship from a man like me.

  It wasn’t smooth or graceful or perfect as I’d trained myself to be for over 150 years. I yanked at her panties and they stuck at her knees. She had to help me pull them from her feet. Then I tried to taste her standing, and I couldn’t get enough of her wet heat in my mouth.

  I stood, picked her up, and tossed her onto the chaise end of my black leather sectional.

  “Comfy,” she commented before spreading her legs wide. I dragged her by the hips to the edge and got my first good look at everything I hungered for.

  “Oh, Sibyl,” I whispered before leaning in for my first true taste.

  Izzy’s hand caught me by the forehead, her flat palm pushing me away. The error I’d made hit me with the force of a brick wall, squeezing the air from my lungs and pressing my heart into the tight closure of my throat. Shit. Fuck. Damn and hellfire.

  She closed her legs and tucked them around me to stand. I reached out and caught nothing but air. “Izzy,” I whispered.

  I didn’t have experience with this. How did a man fix such a wrong?

  She dressed with impressive speed and pulled flat shoes from the depths of her purse. I didn’t speak as she removed a tissue and cleaned her face. I watched, fearing a rebel tear might spring forth. In sadness or humiliation, it didn’t matter.

  She closed her bag forcefully and I pushed myself off the sofa to stand. “Please don’t go.”

  When she finally met my eyes I could see the anger simmering there, waiting for a lash to wield. It turned out she didn’t need one.

  “A little advice for you, Gray. Don’t say another woman’s name during sex. Just a little tip from one fuck buddy to another.”

  6

  Izzy

  I stepped out onto the street and the first thought that filtered through was: that didn’t go as planned.

  My attempts at sex rarely did. I should have known this would be the same. It was my fault for thinking differently. And it was his fault for being all charming and smooth and convincing me that he might be worth the hassle.

  Angry and humiliated didn’t begin to cover my emotional spectrum. At least the storm of emotions replaced the simmering under my skin that his body caused.

  A tiny part of me was pissed for leaving. He’d have likely made up for his mistake several times with his body. There could have been amazing shower sex. I love good shower sex.

  I shook my head and raised my chin, about to try to find a taxi. Before I could hit the send button on my phone, a black limo pulled up and the same driver from earlier stepped out.

  I hoped I’d done a decent job of cleaning my face. “Uh, hello again.”

  “Hello, Miss.”

  I looked him up and down, from the polished high shine of his oxfords to the crisp jacket over a smooth ironed white shirt. “I hope he pays you well.”

  He smiled and opened the back door. “He pays me very well, Miss.”

  I climbed in, but hunkered near the door as we took off. Sitting too close to the middle reminded me of earlier and that threatened to amp up the arousal and the fury.

  I pressed my forehead to the side of the glass and huffed a cloud out to fog it. I’d only gotten through a few puffs before we stopped again.

  The driver returned to open my door, but I beat him to it, already waving a goodbye before he reached the handle.

  Once I’d made it into my apartment, I stripped my clothing and padded straight to the shower. Nothing washed away regret like scalding hot water.

  I sat down on the slowly heating tile and leaned my head back, considering my situation. I needed to take stock of the facts. My boss was hot as hell; we’d almost had sex before he addressed my vagina by another woman’s name. I’d run out after an angry—and deserved—word of reproach.

  Yup. That covered it.

  I wanted to figure out how I felt about everything but right now all I felt was turned on and unfulfilled. I’d been better and I’d been worse.

  I washed my hair sitting cross legged in the bottom of the shower. When it was time to get the shampoo out, my legs and hips ached from sitting on the hard surface so long. The water was already starting to run cold.

  I dressed in the oldest, most worn T-shirt I owned. My brother Jake’s Navy SEAL tee—the one he brought back after his acceptance to the program.

  With my brother’s comforting arms wrapped around me, I climbed under the duvet and snuggled into the down comforter. Gray could wait until tomorrow.

  Bang Bang Bang.

  I blinked my eyes open to the dark room. Dots of light littered the wall from buildings, cars, and lamps outside. I blinked again, thinking maybe I’d heard the noise from the neighbors. I settled back in, and the banging restarted.

  BANG BANG BANG.

  I let out a groan disguised as a whine and shifted the warm covers back.

  BANG BANG BANG.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said. Then louder, “Hold on, I’m coming.”

  I shuffled across the heated hardwood to the door and jerked it open to the too-b
right hallway light. Dorian Gray in the flesh.

  “We are not talking about this right now Gray, go away.”

  I moved to shut the door but he blocked it with his hand at the center, halting its progress.

  “I’m not here to talk about that, but we will, I assure you. I’m here because of the theater.”

  Adrenaline shot through my body, bringing me fully awake. “What about the theater?”

  “You have to come in with me.”

  I groaned and turned to the bedroom to put on pants. My boobs were barely big enough to warrant a bra so I just left my brother’s sleep shirt on and threw on a pair of worn black leggings with wool flat boots.

  He stared around my entrance as I grabbed my keys and walked out the door without a word, not even bothering to hold it for him. It took a few minutes for him to fumble with it and follow me out.

  Maybe this retribution thing would be more fun than I thought. I wondered how far I could push it before he called me on it.

  I took the stairs in a sharp right and he skidded past the door toward the elevator only to turn around and head back.

  When we got downstairs his faithful driver stood with the door open. If it weren’t an emergency I would have walked to the theater rather than ride with him. Even if the sun had barely begun to wash away the darkness.

  “You haven’t been to bed have you, Jeeves?”

  His brows drew together and his lips pursed in thought. “My name’s not Jeeves.”

  “Well,” I climbed into the car and leaned out to a huff from Gray. “You didn’t tell me your name so...”

  Gray answered and shooed the driver to the front. “His name’s Michael.”

  He settled into the back opposite me on another seat, thankfully.

  “Nice to meet you, Michael.” I shouted. I got a little jolt of pleasure to watch Gray close his eyes in quiet annoyance.

  “So what’s going on?”

  Gray opened his eyes and focused on me again. The image of his head thrown back in pleasure flashed through my mind. I shook it off and gave him my best professional disinterested face. He matched it with his playboy mask. “I had some renovations going on the west wing. They have to work at night due to city ordinances.”

  “Okay…?”

  “Well, they were in there working tonight and found more than expected, mold everywhere. The entire cast dressing quarters are now cut off from us.”

  I swore loud and viciously. When I looked up Gray’s eyes were a little wide.

  “Never mind that. You know how damn picky those actors are.”

  He nodded. “Yes, very particular.”

  Which meant we would lose our starring cast if we didn’t play this right.

  “What can we do?” I shook my hands and leaned forward. Between missing my morning coffee and the events of last night my brain wasn’t firing the right way.

  Gray shrugged. “You’re the producer. I figured you would be able to think of a solution. I don’t handle the actors. That is by design.”

  I snorted. “Coward.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty.”

  To be fair, our actors were some of the best in Paris and they were divas accordingly. “Ok. Do you have a budget for a solution?”

  He narrowed his eyes and for the first time I noticed he wasn’t wearing a suit. He had on blue plaid pajama pants and a black Ramones T-shirt. I found it oddly sexy before I girded myself with memories of the previous night. No way in hell was I making that mistake again.

  “Within reason.”

  I could fix anything with a large enough budget. And emotional actors could always be persuaded with enough space, free food, and easy access for complaint. “Okay, then I think I can spin it.”

  I held my hand out. “I need your phone.”

  He didn’t hesitate, simply pulled it from his pocket and slapped it into my open grasp.

  I dialed the only number I knew that could help in this situation.

  “Pierre,” A pause. “Yes, I know what time it is. Don’t worry, it will be worth your while. I need you at the theater as soon as possible.”

  He mumbled something in French that I wasn’t good enough to catch. “Juuuust get there.”

  I hung up and handed the phone back.

  “Friend of yours?”

  I shrugged and sat back into the leather with a sigh. We stopped outside the theater with a jerk and I got out as Michael reached the door again. “Too slow Mikey. Gotta keep up.”

  He laughed and said something I didn’t catch as I raced inside and up to my office. Gray followed, close on my heels.

  “Stop flirting with my driver.”

  I threw myself into the chair behind my desk and shuffled papers around for the list of the cast members’ contact information. “What, are you jealous, Gray?”

  He sat on the edge of the worn brown leather club chair across from the desk and surveyed the organized chaos before answering. “Yes, actually.”

  I snorted and gave him a look. It said “really?”

  He looked sheepish for a moment, his eyes saying, “I know I screwed it up.”

  We didn’t have the conversation but I knew it was coming if I didn’t do something to stop it.

  I tossed the paper across the desk and it floated down to graze his knee before sinking to the floor. He picked it up. “What do you want me to do with this?”

  “Start making calls. Those actors will respond more nicely to you than to me changing up the rehearsal schedule.”

  To his credit he flipped his phone over in his hand and was about to dial. “Wait, what do I tell them?”

  I took a deep breath and sat back, blowing the air out my nose in one long exhale. “Tell them the renovations are running long and you don’t want their creative genius influenced by the chaos of the theater. We are moving rehearsals to studio space for the time being.”

  “And what if we don’t get it fixed in time for the performance?”

  “I have a plan for that too.”

  He shook his head and dialed the first number. I checked the clock. 5 AM. I needed coffee like I needed oxygen.

  Instead of hunting down my assistant this early, I gathered myself up and headed toward the door, absolutely not looking at Gray as I passed.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, covering the bottom of the phone with his hand.

  I opened the door and stepped out. “Coffee.” Then closed it before he could respond.

  Being near him now messed with my head. Both the memory of the smooth charming operator and the awed lover took up space in my brain, and I couldn’t place him in one single category that would satisfy me. Employer. Boss. Man who pays my salary. Those were good solid categories I should stick with. The memory of his dick in my mouth made it hard to keep him contained in that tiny very economical box, though.

  I walked to my favorite corner cafe, and ordered an espresso. The lady handed it over and when I tried to pay, she shook her head and answered my quizzical look in broken English. “Was paid for. You have a tab.”

  I clutched the coffee cup tight and held it protectively against my chest. I'd never had a preemptive tab before. I wondered if this was how rich people lived. As I headed back to the theater I also wondered when he’d had time to set me up a tab at my favorite coffee shop and why.

  When I got back to my office, I found him sitting, his hair sticking up in the front from his hand raking the strands as he talked on the phone. It was a sexy look for him.

  No. Boss. Not sexy.

  I took my seat as he hung up. “Almost done,” he said, his eyes a little wide and panicky.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. He gave me a not-helping plea with his eyes but I wasn’t going to show pity.

  “So when did you find time to set up a tab across the street?”

  He looked up from dialing and stopped. “I did it yesterday after we ate lunch. I realized if you and the staff went there often it made sense to start a running tab with them.
They offered a discount. It keeps up morale.”

  So the tab wasn’t for me specifically but for the staff...hmmm. “Anyway, any problems?” I asked nodding toward the phone.

  “I can’t reach our Juliet, but it might be too early for her.”

  I nodded. “Josephine is definitely not a morning person. It’s why we don’t start rehearsal until 11.”

  I sipped some more from the cup until the tension grew and began to choke the air in the room. I let out a long sigh and sat up, squaring my shoulders. “Fine. I’ll let you explain about last night. But I reserve the right to forget all of this ever happened and go back to addressing you as Mr. Gray, the hot theater manager I notice from very far away.”

  He blinked a few times and his face changed again, another not-mask, as he sat the phone and list carefully on the edge of the desk.

  “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

  7

  Dorian

  I rubbed my sweaty palms down the flannel of my pajama pants. “There really is no easy way to say this.”

  She swiveled her chair left to right left to right as she watched me. Her face told me she couldn’t care less, but the intensity of her eyes gave her away. “Just say it.”

  There were very few people who knew my condition. I wasn’t ready to let her in on all my secrets, but giving her the truth seemed like the only way to explain last night and keep her in my life. Maybe. If she believed me. Which was never assured when it came to revealing the truth.

  The chair began to creak with her movements and I glanced back up to her face. She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wished I were brave enough to meet her eyes as I spoke but instead I focused on the unruly stack of paper at the corner of the desk, printed in various shades of white and gray. “I was born in 1867.”

  The words hung there in the room, heavy and pregnant, waiting for someone to offer them a chair.

  I glanced over to look at her, one quick flick of my eyes in case I caught too much. It was the same indifferent expression she’d worn before, so I stayed there, our gazes locked now. “The book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was written as revenge for a rejection of the author.”