Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance Page 3

“That’s what he gets for stealing things that aren’t his,” she turned to Alex with a satisfied smile, “like seats…and kisses.”

  “Is someone going to clue me in here?” he finally asked.

  “Yo, man,” Tyrone said, the laugher breaking through. “I can let you in despite them clothes, but that Marilyn Manson shit? It gots to go.” He pointed to Alex’s lips as though that clarified things.

  Alex reached a fingertip up to his lips. As he pulled it away he saw the purplish black lipstick, a remnant of Brooklyn’s own personal choice of lip color.

  Holy fuck!

  He gave her an accusatory glare. She just smirked in response.

  “You let me sit through the whole second half like this?” he asked incredulously, as he furiously wiped the lipstick off his lips. No wonder she didn’t want him going to the bathroom during the game.

  “Serves you right,” she retorted. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about kissing someone without permission.”

  As he continued to wipe the make up from his lips he couldn’t help but laugh inwardly.

  Point one, Brooklyn.

  Chapter Five

  The music hit Brooklyn hard as soon as they walked in. She immediately realized there was no way she was getting information out of Alex; at least not any information that she could hear. She was tempted to turn around and walk right out, but she was curious about the hottest new club in town. Truth be told, she was a bit curious about this guy as well.

  The pulse of the beat reverberated through her body as she followed Alex further in. She looked out onto the packed dance floor, where people who were far more dressed to impress than she was grinded up against one another. She looked down at her own outfit which, if the tiny spandex dresses surrounding her were any indication, showed far too little skin. Alex was ahead of her wearing the uniform of your average hipster in his fitted jeans, well-worn t-shirt, and black Chuck Taylors.

  Lest she get the idea that their inappropriate attire might make them unwelcome, they were both stopped by a rather stunning young blonde holding a tray of drinks. Brooklyn looked down at the uniform that highlighted the best parts of her—which was every part. It was a black corset top with rhinestone covered cups and matching, black booty-shorts. Other than the black shoes, that was pretty much it.

  “Alex!” she squealed. Brooklyn felt a brief flash of jealousy run through her as the girl stretched up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. Apparently, Alex knew more than just the bouncer.

  “Head on up,” the girl yelled over the music. “I’ll get you a few shots, on the house of course.” She smiled and winked as she walked away to deliver the drinks already in her hand.

  As they wandered through the crowd of people, Alex reached back to grab her hand and lead her through the crush of bodies. She kind of liked the feel of it, being led around by this handsome stranger through a club where everyone who worked there seemed to know and like him.

  As if to drive the point home, they were stopped by another gorgeous waitress, this one a brunette, who also smiled prettily up at him. Brooklyn couldn’t hear what the woman leaned in to whisper into Alex’s ear, but she did see the waitress nod her head over toward a set of stairs blocked off by a velvet rope, and no-nonsense looking man in a black suit.

  Brooklyn followed the stairs up with her eyes, and saw the seating area above with what were no-doubt, spectacular views of the throng of dancers below them. Already some of the booths were filled with a few A-listers she recognized.

  The granite-like statue guarding the area didn’t break character by offering the two of them a smile. He did nod deferentially and, without a word, unhook the rope for them to enter the VIP area.

  Alex held on tight to her hand and she used the moment to watch his back muscles work underneath his t-shirt. It was just snug enough to show that he worked out. Her eyes wandered down to the back of his jeans, which also provided an informative glimpse of his impressive anatomy.

  As he led her past the VIP patrons, she noted a few players from the game they had just come from, one well-known rapper, and a group of Wall Street types already getting rowdy. Alex came to a stop at one booth and the darkly handsome man in a slick suit popped up out of the nest of bombshells he was nestled in to reach out and give him a bro hug.

  Who are you, Alex Smith?

  As the two men stood there exchanging greetings, which Brooklyn only caught bits and pieces of, she felt the group of girls in the booth scrutinizing her. Sizing her up. Comparing. Critiquing. Condemning. She turned her attention to the dance floor below. The strobe lighting and dancing bodies were almost mesmerizing.

  She felt the tug of his hand as he led her to the last booth.

  “Who was that guy?” she shouted.

  “Owner,” Alex shot back at her.

  As soon as they had settled in, the blonde waitress from downstairs was in front of them placing two shot glasses on the table with a glowing smile. Brooklyn couldn’t tell what was in them, with the blue and pink lights flashing around them, but it looked light and creamy and there was a dollop of whipped cream on top.

  “What are these?” she shouted, looking at them suspiciously.

  He moved in closer to her to avoid shouting. It crossed her mind that this had been his plan all along. He leaned in toward her ear. “Happy Endings. House specialty.”

  He picked them up and handed one to her. She watched him shoot his down, his tongue running over his mouth to collect the remnant of whipped cream. The move stirred something in her, and for the second time tonight she clamped her thighs together.

  She shrugged and shot hers down. No stranger to clubbing, or doing shots, she instantly recognized the familiar taste of Baileys Irish Cream, Kahlúa, and Amaretto. “This is a Blow Job!” she shot back at him.

  He grinned and shrugged. “Same difference,” he said with a wink.

  Brooklyn laughed as she licked the whipped cream off her upper lip.

  An hour—and five “Happy Endings”—later they were knee to knee, head to head, talking to one another as much as the music would allow, which wasn’t much.

  The shots had gone down a bit too easy and now they were on to their second round of beers. Alex was rapidly replacing Michael in Brooklyn’s mental priority of men. In a certain light he even resembled the man. They were both tall, well over 6 feet. Both had thick, wavy black hair and that noteworthy chin. That’s where the similarities ended. Michael was sophisticated, always in a well-tailored suit, with an air of firm, but pleasant, authority. This guy? Well, for starters, he was an obvious player. Why else would every waitress in this club be falling all over themselves for him? She wondered how many of them he had gone to bed with and was surprised to feel another, much stronger, ripple of jealousy shoot through her.

  Based on the way he was focused on her, she should have had nothing to worry about. It was a bit flattering, especially considering the caché this guy seemed to have in this place.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Just call me Mr. Wrong,” he leaned in closer to her ear, “I’ll make you forget all about Mr. Wright.”

  She laughed at the pun, but it made her think of Michael. Was it cheating being here with this Alex guy, knowing full well what his intentions were?

  Technically, she wasn’t really with Michael. Technically, he hadn’t ever said more than a few sentences to her. Technically, she had probably already gone back to being nonexistent as far as he was concerned.

  She shook her head to clear it a bit. Was she trying to convince herself to go home with this guy?

  She had just turned twenty-three after all. Like Alex had suggested earlier, she should be having fun. She deserved to sow a few wild oats before settling down with Mr. Wright. She giggled at her own pun and saw Alex’s face light up.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she shook her head, still smiling. How many drinks had they had tonight?

  “How about we go so
mewhere we can…talk?” he suggested.

  It sounded like a fine idea to Brooklyn. Right about now, anything this guy suggested would have sounded like a fine idea.

  Chapter Six

  He had her.

  It had been almost too easy.

  Take that, Michael.

  If Alex had been thinking without the influence of one too many Happy Endings, he would have known that his interest in Brooklyn was mostly due to the fact that her interest was in his older brother. Heck, even without being under the influence he could tell himself that.

  Not that she wasn’t incredibly easy on the eyes. No amount of alcohol could dampen the bulge that had been growing in his jeans all night at the thought of getting her jeans off of her.

  Now they were in a cab headed to the apartment he used when he was in New York, having no permanent address here. Despite his avoidance of anything associated with the public side of the Wright Empire, he wasn’t above taking advantage of the fact that his father owned a significant portion of some of the best real estate in the city. This one had a rather spectacular view of the East River.

  “So really, what do you do?” she asked him, resting her head back against the seat.

  “I guess you could call me a fixer,” he said.

  She gave a tipsy laugh. “That sounds fake and/or illegal.”

  He laughed in response. “No, really, I go around to various clubs, restaurants, et cetera and tell them how to improve things. Take Jealous, for example. Did you know it’s actually 5 years old?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Really?” she asked with interest.

  “Yeah, it’s only in the last few weeks that it actually became popular.”

  “You did that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s usually a simple combination of making the employees happy, a ridiculous amount of hype, and getting the owner to pull his or her head out of their own ass.”

  “There’s got to be more to it than that,” she said cynically.

  “Well yeah, but you’d be surprised how effective a few A-list celebrities involved in a few scandals to make the paper is. You remember the incident with a certain football player?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “That was staged?”

  Alex just laughed. “Finally, there’s employee profit sharing, which usually seals the deal, even though many owners are too stupid to take my advice where that’s concerned.”

  “So that’s why the waitresses were falling all over themselves for you,” she said, nodding to herself.

  “When the club is popular, they make money. I helped make that happen.”

  She continued to nod, taking that in. “So how does someone get into something like that?”

  If Alex was honest he would have told her his father’s name helped him along, before people realized he actually had a head on his shoulders. So he told her the other half of it, “A wild and wicked past of misspent youth, doing nothing but partying every night and clubbing every weekend. I know what people like that are into, more importantly, I know what makes them spend money.”

  She gave him a doubtful look, but they were at his place before the conversation could move forward. He paid the taxi driver and took her hand to lead her up.

  Once inside the large loft apartment, he watched her expression as he led her to the floor to ceiling windows. He left the lights in the apartment off to present the view at its best. Even he was in awe looking at the completely unobstructed picture of the dark East River and Brooklyn, the city, on the other side.

  He slid up behind her and pressed his body into hers. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

  She turned her head up to him in surprise, but made no move to distance herself from the obvious bulge digging into her back.

  “Imagine how hot it would be getting fucked up against this window in full view of the river,” he whispered in her ear.

  She twisted around to face him with a kittenish smile on her lips. “You’re so sure you’re going to fuck me tonight? I thought we were supposed to ‘talk,’” she tossed back at him.

  “Please tell me you aren’t still stuck on that loser,” he groaned. “Not when you’ve got all this” he opened his arms wide—“to completely erase him from your mind.”

  She laughed. “You think you’re that good, huh?”

  He came in closer to her. “There’s only one way to find out,” he murmured.

  “Okay, let’s see,” she countered, crossing her arms.

  “Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. “Tonight, I take charge.”

  He leaned in so close that her head was pressed back against the window. “Trust me, when I’m finished with you, you won’t even remember your own name, let alone his.”

  She blinked in surprise.

  “Take off your shirt,” he said.

  She hesitated.

  “Do it,” he urged, raising one eyebrow.

  She bit her lip and hesitated only a moment longer before following his command.

  “Now this one,” he said looking down at the tank top that had been underneath.

  She turned her head to look out the window

  “No one can see us,” he assured her. “Now, do it.”

  She grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head, shaking out the curls of her head.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra and he looked at her naked breasts greedily. They were small, perfect champagne glasses, with dark, quarter-sized nipples. Beautiful.

  Despite towering over her by a good eight inches he bent down as far as possible to take one in his mouth, his hand covering the other one. She sighed as his mouth circled the already hardened nipple. She lifted her hands over her head, pressing the backs against the cool, hard glass, arching her back up towards him.

  He bent lower and lower, his lips kissing their way down her stomach. He stopped to dart a tongue into her bellybutton, making her laugh. Eventually, he was on his knees, working at pulling off her boots. She brought one hand down to his hair, running her fingers through the thick lushness of it.

  “You have a really nice head of hair,” she mused.

  He looked and gave her a wry smile. “You can thank my father for that. One of the few ways he hasn’t managed to embarrass me in life.” He removed her first boot, and flung it behind him, pulling off the sock, then going to work on the second one.

  “Hmm, seems like someone has daddy issues,” she teased.

  He looked up with a smirk, “Says the girl going after a man who isn’t quite 45.”

  She frowned and tried kicking the boot-covered shoe out of his grip. He held on tightly.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  “I do not have daddy issues,” she insisted.

  He just shrugged, pulling off the boot and sock then stood up in front of her. He placed both hands on either side of her and leaned in close, forcing her bare back against the window. She flinched as the skin hit the cool, hard glass. Then she brought her arms across her breasts.

  He smiled down at them then looked back up at her. “I don’t care if you have daddy issues. I don’t care if you’re in love, or just have a crush on this Michael guy. I want you for tonight. Monday you can go back to your Mr. Perfect.” He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. “But I promise you, when I’m done, you won’t even know who your own daddy is.”

  Brooklyn stared up at those startlingly bright, blue eyes. She had a fleeting moment of sobriety as she realized she didn’t really know who this guy was, and here she was topless and barefoot in his apartment as he towered over her five-foot-six frame, back pressed against the window.

  It was…dangerously erotic. Something in the way his eyes twinkled let her know she was safe, despite all his dominant advances. And didn’t she want him just as badly? She examined the handsome face, muscular shoulders, lean torso, and well-developed arms trapping her against the window. What woman wouldn’t want to get fucked by a man like this?

  He brought his hands up and wrapped them around her wrists, brin
ging her arms away from her breasts. He took a moment to admire them with a wicked lick of the lips. That look alone caused the nipples to harden again and she knew any resistance on the part of her common sense was futile.

  “Take off your jeans,” he ordered.

  She stared at him as she went to work unbuttoning her jeans. As she leaned forward to pull them down her legs, he stayed put, leaning his hands against the glass around her. She was forced against his firm chest as she wriggled them down her legs. The smell of him infiltrated her nostrils and she found herself wanting to fall into him, breathing in every part. The second leg proved to be harder to wriggle out of and she fell, awkwardly against him. He immediately brought his arms around to catch her. Her heart rate accelerated so rapidly she thought she might faint.

  He held onto her with one strong arm as the other reached down to pull the jeans off her leg. She was far too focused on the feel of him holding her to take note of the fact that she was now in nothing but a pair of thong underwear…in front of an open window…and he had yet to take off a single stitch of clothing.

  He brought her back to the window, facing him. There was the initial shock of cold as her back and bare ass cheeks hit the glass. She placed her palms against the window on either side of her, waiting, breathing heavily as his eyes wandered over her nearly naked body.

  The lights were still off in the apartment. The streetlights and the surprisingly bright moon were enough for her to see everything going on around her. She wondered how many people on the river or even all the way over in Brooklyn could see her. Brooklyn looking at Brooklyn…she had just enough Happy Endings in her to giggle.

  “What?” he asked, smiling.

  She shook her head and changed the topic. “When is it your turn?” she asked, nodding at his clothes.

  “I like it this way,” he said. “Besides, I’m a gentleman.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  Instead of explaining himself he got back down on his knees and hooked his fingers into the sides of her thong underwear, sliding them down her hips. She lifted her ass off the glass to help him along.