Series: Nice and Dirty #3
Cover Design: Maialen Alonso
Release Date: February 25, 2019
When her boss fires her for spilling the drink, I offer her a job at my firm. I find out that not only is she hot, she’s also smart and funny. I want her so damn bad; it hurts. But she’s skittish and shies away from me. I thought she was staying away because I’m her Boss, but its more than that; she’s a virgin.
Now that I know, I have plans for Aria and I will make sure that I claim not only her body but also her heart and soul. She says she’s single because men are hard to deal with. But I’ll show her that a hard man is exactly what she needs.
I fit in because I force myself to, but my suit itches and irritates me. I’d be so much more comfortable in jeans and a tool belt, but as the owner of Colton Blackwell Industries, I find myself in a suit way more often than I’d like.
I smile politely and nod as a woman dripping in diamonds and wearing a little too much of over-expensive foreign scent tells me her issues with the current political system for the fourth time. I’m trying to figure out how the fuck I can get away from her without being outright rude, when I see her. A vision. An actual fucking angel.
I can only see her from the back, but the way her black cocktail dress hugs her hips makes her ass captivate me. I feel my cock stiffening as I look her over. She’s tall, but she’s not one of those girls who try to shrink themselves. She has her shoulders back, her head held high. She balances the tray of champagne on her hand with ease, moving through the crowd with a quiet grace. The electric-blue streak in her jet-black hair makes her look exotic, like she knows how to kick back and some fun.
I have no idea what the woman talking to me is saying. From the second my eyes set on that waitress, there’s been no room in my head for anything else. I see myself walking up behind her, taking the tray from her, and throwing it to one side. I stand behind her, push her dress up, and rip away her panties. I bend her over the table and fuck her senseless.
“Mr. Blackwell? Are you all right?”
Hearing my name pulls me out of the fantasy and I turn back to the conversation. I fake a smile.
“Yes. Sorry, I felt a little dizzy for a moment there,” I say. “Would you excuse me? I think I need a bit of air.”
I walk away before she has a chance to reply, and I’m sure I offended her, but it would surely offend her more if she happened to glance down and see I had a hard-on. I slip into the bathroom and lock the door, leaning back against it, waiting it out until my cock goes down. I want to jerk off, to let my fantasies run wild as I picture the waitress. If the front of her is even half as pleasing on my eye as the back, then fuck me am I in trouble if I see her again.
I am shocked at the reaction she caused in me. I haven’t so much as glanced at a woman in almost two years. There’s no deep reason for it, no skeleton in my closet. I just got sick of being part of the dating scene. It’s a mess of gold diggers, social climbers, and women with whom I just had nothing in common and no chemistry.
But her? She awoke a side of me I thought was gone for good. The side of me that wants to make her scream my name through her raw throat as she comes for the third and fourth time. The side that makes me want to taste her pussy, claim it as mine and fuck her all day, every day.
Thinking this way is doing nothing to get my hard-on to go away, and I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to jerk off in the governor’s bathroom. Not something I ever saw myself doing. But then, I didn’t know that such a rare beauty existed, that such fire could course through my body and make me lose complete control.
I take care of my business and clean my cock with some toilet paper. I flush it away and wash my hands. I walk back out into the room. I stand on the edges, scanning the room, but I don’t see her. Instead I see an ocean of wealthy, glamorous, small-minded, fake people—the in crowd.
I can fake the smiles and feign interest in things I don’t give a rat’s ass about, but I’ll never be one of them. Not really. I don’t want to be. I want Colton Blackwell Industries to flourish, and I like the fact I’m only twenty-nine and already a millionaire, but it hasn’t changed who I am. And who I am is not one of these people. I’m just a normal guy who turned his passion into a business. I was shocked when the governor called me and asked me to complete a large extension on one of his properties. I was even more surprised when he personally oversaw the job. And the last thing I expected was an invite to his ball. I mean, come on. Like, what the actual fuck?
It’s been a whole lot of surprises, and the most surprising part of it all is my reaction to the waitress. Part of me wants to stay right here until I see her again, but part of me wants to turn around, leave, and try to forget her. That won’t be easy, but I swore off women and I have no intention of that changing. Just because she looks so damn good in a dress doesn’t mean she’ll be different than the rest, and I have no intention of getting involved with her or anyone else.
I decide to give it another half an hour and then slip away. To leave too early would be seen as a snub on the governor, and I’m not an idiot. I know that, as much as I hate this fake shit, to land big projects, you have to know the right people. I decide to go out on the balcony and get some fresh air like I said I was.
I start to cross the room, nodding hello at the few faces I recognize as I go. I am halfway across when my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and look down at the screen. Before I even register who it is, I feel someone collide with me.
A loud clatter fills the air, and I feel champagne soaking into my expensive suit. I stand there, frozen in time. Not because of the champagne, but because I find myself face to face with my girl.
Her face is a mask of horror, but she is still beautiful. She has big brown doe eyes that stare back at me with the same intensity I am staring at her. Her lips are full, red and sensuous, and I can’t help imagining how they would feel wrapped around my cock. She looks every bit as good from the front as she did from the back. Her breasts aren’t big, but they are perky, and I want to caress them, to pull them into my mouth. I feel my cock starting to rise again.
I remind myself that I’m done with dating, but something tells me this waitress will break that resolve without trying. There’s something special about her. Something that scares me. Because when I look at her, I don’t see a quick fuck and a goodbye. I see a lifetime.
The most annoying thing about waitressing is that even though I hate it, I’m pretty good at it. I look good enough in a tight black dress, I can be unobtrusive, and I have decent skills when it comes to balancing overloaded drinks trays on my hands. It’s not my passion, though. My passion is business, but I want to learn the ropes before I dive in. I’m only twenty-one; I have plenty of time to do this the right way.
I walk around the room with my tray of drinks, smiling politely, subtly collecting up empty glasses, and generally wishing I was anywhere but here.
“Excuse me, miss,” someone behind me calls.
I turn my head and realize they are talking to one of the other waitresses. I turn back the way I’m walking, but it’s too late. I collide with a man. The tray flies from my hand, hundreds of dollars’ worth of glassware crashes to the ground, and the champagne from all those glasses soaks him.
I freeze, looking at the mess I made. And then my eyes meet his. His eyes are dark brown, almost black. They are stormy and dangerous and utterly addictive. I feel a rush of wetness between my legs as his piercing gaze locks on to mine. Great. I’m practically coming in my panties and he’s going to yell at me. The more I look at him, the wetter and more flustered I get.
I wish I spotted him sooner, like before I’d doused him in expensive champagne. Not that it matters. Someone like him wouldn’t waste their time with a waitress. And besides, I have a boyfriend and I’m not the kind of girl who cheats. I’m generally not the kind of girl who gets wet looking at strangers, either.
I manage to pull my gaze from his long enough to take in the expensive suit I ruined and the taut muscles beneath it. I feel myself tingling as I take him in.
I realize that the crashing sound of the tray falling to the floor has caused everyone in the room to fall silent. I feel heat start to flush my cheeks. I wait for him to make a scene. I am so fired. I don’t know what to do. Should I run for a towel? Clean up the glass? I should at least apologize.
“I … I’m so sorry,” I stammer.
My words break the spell, and the tantrum never comes. The man gives me a half shrug and smiles, a smile that lights up his eyes and sends another shiver running through me. He crouches down and begins to pick up the pieces of broken glass. I see the governor rushing toward us. He nods subtly to another waiter, who takes the hint: get the mess cleaned up. The conversation in the room starts up again as the other guests realize they’re staring.
The governor reaches us. “Colton, I’m so sorry about this.”
He doesn’t give Colton a chance to respond before he turns to me.
“What’s your name?” he demands.
“Aria. Aria Stevens, sir,” I whisper.
“Well, Aria Stevens, it’s time for you pack your things and get out of here. And I’ll make sure you never work in this town again. You’re a disgrace.”
I feel tears flood my eyes. I need this job.
“I …” I start.
I stop, knowing I won’t be able to say any more without crying. Colton glares at the governor and then turns to me. He smiles and holds out his hand.
“Hi. I’m Colton Blackwell,” he says. “And I’d love to have you.”