Turbulence Read online

“Never stolen?” He walked over to my side of the counter, stepping right in front of me.

  “It’s true. I’ve never stolen anything from you.”

  “Then you must have a very distorted definition of what that word means. You’re stealing a space you didn’t pay for, a very expensive space that belongs to someone else and is supposed to be private. Is that not what stealing is? Taking something that doesn’t belong to you?”

  I stood completely still and silent, pinned to the spot by his hard gaze.

  “I take it that the blue bag that is currently hidden underneath my sink belongs to you?”

  I nodded.

  “And the strawberry shampoo that you just fucking buried behind the glass bottles in my shower is yours as well?”

  “Yes.” My cheeks were on fire.

  “Exactly,” he said, clenching his jaw. “So, as surprising and gratifying as it is to finally come face to face with my unwanted and thieving-ass roommate, I would appreciate it if you got the hell out of my apartment and stayed out of it for the rest of your unfortunate employment here. He snatched the keycard from beneath my purse and pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out. Now.”

  I stood there, staring at him, watching him clench his jaw even harder.

  “Do I need to call security?” he asked. “Do you not understand what ‘Get the fuck out of my condo’ means?”

  “I know exactly what it means.” I snapped, feeling heated and upset about the way he was talking to me, about how he’d so quickly flipped the switch. “And I will definitely leave, Jake—after you thank me.”

  “What the fuck?” He crossed his arms. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, I will leave, Jake.” I spoke slowly, hissing right back at him. “After you thank me.”

  “You want me to thank you for playing fucking Goldilocks in my apartment?”

  “No, I—”

  “You want me to thank you for breaking and entering?” He stepped closer and closer to me, backing me onto the edge of the other kitchen counter. “For drinking my best wine and bringing strangers home to fuck you? Or should I be thanking you for using my shower and leaving your goddamn scent all over my sheets?” His face was red. “Please enlighten me about what part of this fucked up situation you think I should be thanking you for right now.”

  “I want you to thank me for watering your goddamn plants every day. Every. Day.” I fired back. “I even make time to do it on the days I’m not assigned to your room since you bought fifty fucking perennials and you clearly don’t know how to take care of them at all. If you think they’ve managed to survive all this time because of your charm, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Gillian...” A vein in his neck swelled.

  “I’m not finished talking, Jake,” I said, beyond pissed and unable to stop. “I want you to thank me for closing the windows whenever it rains since you have a terrible habit of always leaving them open, for arranging all the books in your library by color so the sunlight won’t damage the spines, and for collecting all of your mail and organizing it by date. I bring it up from the mailroom and leave it on your counter to make it ten times easier for you. You can’t possibly think it’s the mailman who goes through all that trouble.”

  “Also,” I said, crossing my arms. “I want you to thank me—again and again, for refilling your Coke can supply whenever it gets low. You haven’t had to buy any Coke in months. Months. And you only buy specialty cans for some reason. They’re very hard to find in this city.”

  He stared at me, not saying a single word.

  “You could also thank me for filling out some of your unfinished crossword puzzles, but if you want to leave that particular ‘thank you’ out, I can deal with that.”

  He was still staring at me, his eyes narrowed.

  “And since we’re speaking of crosswords, and you’re clearly having trouble with this concept,” I said, “a two-word phrase. Eight letters. Popular saying that expresses gratitude.”

  He uncrossed his arms, and his expression slowly softened as a slight smile tugged at his lips.

  “With all due respect, Jake...” I swallowed, glancing at the door. “Your ‘thank you’ needs to be verbal. Otherwise, I’ll be standing here until I get it.”

  He let out a low laugh and picked up the corkscrew, slowly uncorking the wine. He poured one glass and handed it to me. As he poured a glass for himself, he kept his eyes on me, his sexy smile unwavering.

  I downed my drink in one nervous gulp and he poured me another. Then another.

  “Just so you know...” I said, feeling bolder after drinking a third refill. “A few glasses of wine are not equivalent to a thank you.”

  “Trust me.” He tipped his glass back. “We’re going to get to that...” He took my glass from me and placed it into the sink. Then he clasped my hand and pulled me after him.

  “For the record,” he said, gesturing toward the white frames on the walls. “That’s Dubai, The Philippines, Moscow, and...Ironically, the bottom right one is Tokyo.” He rolled his eyes and pulled me across the room, into the private library.

  Letting my hand go, he looked at the bookshelves, then back at me. “Thank you for your attempt at trying to be thoughtful while stealing shit from me.” He picked up a crossword booklet from a chair and tossed it into the trash. “And for filling out my fucking crossword puzzles without me having to ask. I’m not sure how I’ve ever survived this long without you.”

  “Thank yous aren’t typically delivered with venom.”

  “They’re not typically delivered with fucking either.” He pressed me back against the bookshelf and stamped his mouth over mine, making me forget whatever else I’d planned to say.

  His tongue slid between my lips, demanding full control of this kiss, and everything around me suddenly became a blur. His teeth tugged at my bottom lip as his eyes met mine.

  “You’re a goddamn thief and a liar, Gillian...” he whispered against my mouth as he slid his hand between my thighs and tore off my soaked panties. “A goddamn thief and a liar.”

  I started to respond to him, but I couldn’t. He pushed me back against the bookshelf again, forcing hardcovers and paperbacks to topple onto the floor, and he repeated his words again.

  “Have you brought anyone else to my fucking condo?” He pushed my dress up to my breasts, pausing to unhook my bra.

  “No...” I stared at him as he pulled my dress over my head, as he tossed it across the room.

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “It’s true... I haven’t brought anyone else here.” I moaned as his mouth met mine again, as he kissed me harder, not letting me go until I was nearly breathless.

  He stepped back, looking me up and down, and then he unzipped his pants. “Turn around and grab the shelf.”

  I didn’t move. I was too captivated by the sight of him unzipping his pants—the sight of him pulling out his cock. Holding back a gasp as I saw how huge it really was, I watched as he pulled a condom out of his pocket and put it on.

  “Gillian...” His eyes met mine and he moved close again, gripping my waist and spinning me around. “Grab the shelf,” he whispered harshly into my ear. “Now.”

  My hands gripped the shelving and he pressed his mouth against the back of my neck, keeping his hands against my hips as he spread my legs wider.

  Slapping my ass cheek, he pressed his cock against my soaked slit, and without warning, he slid all the way into me—stretching me and making me scream.

  I gripped the shelves even harder, crying out as instant pleasure rushed through my veins. I tried to move, to adjust to the length of him, but he held my hips hostage and began pounding into me.

  I’d never been fucked like this, never even thought it could feel this fucking good.

  “Oh...Oh god...” I shut my eyes and moaned as one of his hands skimmed up my stomach and to my breasts—harshly pinching my nipples.

  “You’re so tight...” he breathed against my skin. “So fucking tight
...” His cock continued sliding in and out of me, hitting spots I never knew existed, and as I moaned again, he slowly released my left hand.

  “Touch your clit.” He bit my ear, grabbing my wrist once more and moving my hand to my pussy.

  I pressed my finger against my clit, feeling how sensitive and swollen it was, but I froze. As if he was upset that I wasn’t following instructions, he pressed his own finger against it—torturing me, as he sensuously rubbed it in circles.

  My breath caught in my throat as my legs began to go weak, as the strokes from his cock became too much to handle. I was screaming, on the verge of coming, and he suddenly pulled out of me and pulled me down to the floor.

  My bare back burned as my body slid against the carpet, as he entered me again and wrapped my legs around his waist. The feeling of him in this position was too intense, too much.

  “Jake...” I begged as his eyes locked onto mine. “Jake...”

  “Yes?”

  “I...I’m about to...”

  A cocky smile came to his lips, but his fingers dug into my skin and he sped up his rhythm. His mouth covered my hardened nipple, and he sucked it into his mouth—pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

  My hands fisted handfuls of his hair and I couldn’t resist any longer. My legs convulsed and I screamed, coming harder than I ever had in my life.

  Jake pumped into me a few more times, cursing as he found his own release.

  I lay back on the carpet—his cock still deep inside of me, his mouth inches away from my lips. I struggled to catch my breath, as he rubbed his hands against my chest.

  He whispered something I couldn’t understand, and then he slowly pulled out of me and stood up to throw away the condom.

  I tried to stand, but the muscles in my legs were too weak.

  Sighing, I shut my eyes and felt him wiping a warm cloth between my legs minutes later. I murmured, “Thank you,” and tried to get up again, but he placed him hand against my stomach—pinning me still.

  Then he buried his head between my legs and sucked my clit into his mouth. Without saying another word, he slipped two fingers inside of me and ran his tongue up and down my pussy. Toying with my pleasure, he brought me close to a second orgasm repeatedly—his warm mouth pulling away each time I got close, his fingers pushing deeper each time I cried out.

  I writhed beneath his dominant touch, begged for him to slow down, but he only went faster. As he sucked my clit between his lips again, my hips jerked against the floor and I screamed louder than ever, coming even harder the second time.

  He caressed my legs as I came down from my high, but he continued to blow torturous, wet kisses between my thighs. Then I lost count. One mind-shattering orgasm blended with the next, and I lost my voice. My muscles wouldn't still, my entire body convulsed again and again.

  “Gillian?” he asked when I’d finally stopped shaking.

  “Yes?” I didn’t even attempt to stand up. I simply looked up at the clock above the bookcase, gasping when I saw what time it was. Four in the morning.

  He fucked me for three hours?

  “Are you okay?”

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. I was still recovering from bliss. By the time I finally came to, I looked up and found him staring at me.

  “Thank you,” he said, a smile in his eyes.

  “For fucking you?”

  “No.” He slipped his arm behind my back and helped me to my feet. “For the windows and the mail. The latter was actually quite convenient.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He led me back into the living room where he’d placed my blue overnight bag and strawberry shampoo onto the coffee table.

  “Is there anything else you have hidden here?”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you sure?” He tilted my chin up with his fingertips. “Because I’ll be making sure you’re never able to get inside of here again.”

  “I’m sure.”

  His fingers left my skin and I felt disconnected.

  “Where do you actually live?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, grabbing my things. “I’ll have my roommate pick me up.”

  “That’s not why I was asking.” He prevented me from walking to the front door and led me down a hall and to what appeared to be a closet.

  Taking a key out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and I realized it was a small elevator.

  “I had this installed years before your housekeeping company was contracted to work here,” he said, pulling me inside.

  “So, why don’t you ever leave this open so you won’t have to use the public elevator?”

  “It’s only operable from the inside.” He hit the only button on the pad. “And since my unit isn’t rented like the others, I didn’t want strangers being able to access my apartment from below. Although, it seems like I encountered that problem anyway.”

  I blushed and the doors glided shut. He stared at me as the car descended down, making me yearn for his touch all over again.

  “I have a question,” I said. “How did you know I wasn’t really a pilot?”

  “Simple.” He smiled. “Any real pilot would’ve jumped at the chance to talk about flying. I wouldn’t have had to ask you anything beyond commercial or private. You would’ve waxed poetic for at least five minutes.”

  Very true... “I take it you’ve met a few pilots in your life?”

  “You could say that.”

  The elevator stopped at the ground level and he walked me to the curb where a driver and a black SUV were waiting. The lettering underneath the door handle read, New York’s #1 Private Driver Service.

  “They’ll take you home and charge the fee to me,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I climbed inside and set my things on the seat.

  He looked at me as if he wanted to say something more, as if he wanted to taste me one last time. Instead, he pushed the strap of my dress back onto my shoulder and let his fingers linger against my skin for a few seconds before shutting the door.

  “Where to, Miss?” The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.

  “Brooklyn,” I said. “16 Hampton Street.”

  He gave me a slightly confused look, but he sped off toward the borough.

  I turned my head toward the window, noticing Jake was no longer there.

  As the car rolled over the city’s potholes, my bare ass slid across the seat—reminding me that he’d never returned my panties. Leaning back against the headrest, I shut my eyes as my nipples hardened, as I thought about the way he’d both harshly and gently bit them in turn. I knew it’d be a very long time before I met another man who could ever have such an effect on me, a long time before someone else could ever live up to that level of sex.

  I caught the time on the car’s dashboard and realized I never told Meredith that I was leaving the party. I pulled out my phone and saw she’d called me four times, sent two “Where the hell are you?” texts, and left a voicemail, so I sent her a response.

  Gillian: You owe me a hundred dollars.

  Gillian: 7 stars.

  GATE A5

  JAKE

  New York (JFK)—> Dubai (DXB)

  “You sure you want to completely cancel your housekeeping services, Mr. Weston?” The manager sounded confused. “Even after we’ve both concluded that nothing strange has been happening?”

  “Absolutely.” I hung up and poured myself a shot of bourbon, the fourth one I’d had since escorting Gillian out of the building. Tossing it back, I gritted my teeth as the liquor burned its way down my throat.

  I was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened tonight—how the hell a simple one-night stand had turned into an encounter with a modern day Goldilocks. The second she left, I’d walked through every room of my apartment again, trying to see how the hell I’d missed all the signs. How the hell I’d blamed everything on a team of people instead of one.

  The first time I saw my Coke tins overturned
months ago, I assumed it was me who’d done it in a rare bout of fidgeting. But when I returned from an international flight a week later, I noticed that the tins had been arranged into the shapes of small pyramids, something I would never have the patience to do.

  I even installed a small-interior system right after that—a series of motion sensors that were supposed to send notices to my phone if someone ever entered when I was away, but all I ever saw was a quiet, still apartment. It wasn’t until hours ago that I realized that the “intruder” had managed to rig my system to run on a loop.

  Just this morning, I’d found white cotton slippers tucked under my sink, a black and lace thong entangled on the rung of my dryer, and a pink coffee mug hidden at the rear of my cabinet. The second I’d spotted that terribly hidden bottle of shampoo in my bathroom, I vowed to bring the manager up next week to see this shit for himself.

  Until tonight, that is.

  After seeing Gillian, fucking her and grabbing fistfuls of her hair while I held her against my bookcase, that strawberry scent that often pervaded my space made perfect sense.

  It was the one and only thing that lingered, no matter how well the staff attempted to clean. Airy and intoxicating, it clung to all of my pillows and sheets, so deeply ingrained in the fabric that I smelled hints of it for weeks.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the intruder wasn’t an annoying neighbor who preferred my views of the city over her own, or pissed that it was a sexy-ass employee who thought she was doing something worthy of my gratitude.

  I couldn’t help but picture her perfect, pink lips pressed into an angry line for a “Thank you,” couldn’t help but see the way her deep, green eyes gazed into mine when we damn near fucked inside the rooftop party’s elevator.

  The way she screamed when I had her pinned against the floor...

  Before I could call the housekeeping manager and tell him that I wanted to change my mind about canceling, my automated voicemail system made a loud beeping sound.

  “Welcome home,” it said. “You have three new messages. Please say the password.”

  “No.”

  “Please repeat the password.”