The O Intention by Skyla Madi
The O Intention
By: Skyla Madi
The O Intention
Copyright © 2014 by Skyla Madi. All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: September 2014
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1502483645
ISBN-10: 1502483645
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
Alix
I blow air out of my cheeks. It’s just another day at work, a typical, quiet Monday night with nothing to do. I inch up my black skirt and adjust my thigh-highs. Had I known they were going to roll down my legs all night, I would have worn full pantyhose. It’s not all bad, working at the lavish Tempt Hotel in California, but on Monday nights, it sucks. I glance at the clock and I’m unable to help the wide grin that spreads over my lips. Eleven p.m.
Knock off time!
“I’m outta here!” I shout to the new girl who’s working behind the bar.
I don’t know her name, which is really slack on my part. I’ve been at work with her since three p.m. and not once have I asked for her name. It’s just one of those days. You know, the ones where you don’t care quite enough to do anything other than what you normally do, even if that means getting to know the new employee?
Yep. One of those.
I bend low and pull my hand bag out from underneath the bar. We’re not allowed handbags by the bar or register, but when I get really bored, I like to play games on my phone. I turn to the new girl who watches me with that ‘we’re not allowed to do that’ look and I press my index finger to my lips. I hope she doesn’t tell my boss—then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Mr. O’Ryan is never around. Ever. I’ve worked here for two years and only once have I caught a glimpse of him—or more accurately—the back of his bald head.
As fast as my fingers will let me, I undo the buttons of my black and red blouse and stuff my work shirt into my handbag. The air-conditioning blows across the skin my tank top exposes, leaving goosebumps in its wake. With a shiver, I drag out my small, white coat and pull it on over my shoulders.
“See you,” the new girl mutters, twirling her blonde ponytail around her index finger.
I give her a quick wave and then stop in my tracks as the urge for a nice cold, strong beverage tickles my tongue. I’m catching a taxi home so I’m sure it won’t hurt to have a quick drink before I leave. Maybe it’ll help me sleep when I get home to my empty apartment. It wasn’t always empty. A month ago, I lived with my boyfriend. A month ago, I’d go home to a cooked meal, a good book and awesome orgasms. A month ago, my boyfriend told me to quit my job so we could settle down and get married and have children. A month ago… I broke up with him and kicked him out because he wanted all of the things I didn’t—all of the things I couldn’t give him. I’m not the settle down type. I never have been and I doubt I ever will be. I like my job. I like working late and drinking when my day is over. I like not having to worry about my weight just so that I can fit into a dress I’m only going to wear once. And I like not having to worry about stretching my vagina or baby proofing my house. It’s not who I am.
I turn back to the bar. “Can I get a vodka on ice?”
She blinks her big blue eyes and glances over her shoulder. “Straight?”
“Is there any other way?” I smile and lean lazily against the bar surface made of Agarwood.
I’m ashamed I know that. A few weeks back, I had sex with a guy who spent the evening telling me about the expensive timber. He claimed ‘wood was his thing’ and that was enough foreplay for me. In my defense, he had really nice eyes, but he was a really lousy lay. I think I’ve had sneezes longer than the one night in hell with that guy.
With a tight, judgy smile, she turns and prepares my drink. While I wait, I tap my fingers against the surface and glance around the room. Maybe I don’t want to go straight after my drink, either. There’s nothing for me there, so I might as well have a little fun here before I go. The alcohol is needed because no fun adventure starts off with me being sober.
Ever.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can stumble home not believing that, a month ago, I made a horrible mistake.
The girl comes back with my drink and slides it across the bar. “That’ll be—”
“On the house,” I tell her with a wink. I don’t think I’ve ever paid for a drink here. Not in the last month anyway.
She glances around the bar again. “Are you sure?”
I remember when I had the ‘new employee’ fear. I shrug and draw the glass to my mouth. “No, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I turn away from the new girl and head for the lounge bar. They have TV’s in there—with cable too—and at this time of night on a weekday, only young, young girls and rich, lonely men hang out in the lounge. Oh, and me, I suppose. A twenty nine year old bartender with no college qualifications, no husband, no kids and nothing better to do on a Monday night after her shift. With a heavy sigh, I drop into a soft, low seat by a small round table and begin people watching. Almost immediately, I can tell who is here to relax and who is on the prowl.
Am I on the prowl? I frown. I don’t know… am I? Not going home alone is always nice. I glance around the room once again, but no one in here peaks my interest—except the pretty blonde sitting at the end of the bar, but I’m not into women.
Then I see him.
He walks through the door, raking his long, thick hands through his dark hair, as his black two button suit tightens around the arms. My stare sticks to him like superglue and trying to separate them is physically painful. Of its own accord, my spine straightens and I inch forward in my seat. He walks in my direction, his long purposeful legs stretching out in front of him, each step seeming more powerful than the last. My throat dries so I take an anxious sip of my vodka to quench it, but it only sets my throat on fire, matching the temperature between my legs. I see men in suits come in and out of this place all day, every day, but none that look like him. I’ve never really been into taut business men in expensive, fitted suits. I’ve always wondered if they were actually rich or if they’re just trying to jump on the Christian Grey express straight into naïve pussy town. This man, however, has no false bravado in his steps. He is rich, he is hot, and he probably has no idea who the fuck Christian Grey is. I inhale another mouthful of vodka and swallow hard before gritting my teeth. Maybe I read too many fucking novels. I snort. As if there’s such a thing.
As he rests against the lounge bar, the bar I work in on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I push out of my seat. I’m not beneath going after what I want, and what I want at this very moment is this man’s face between my legs. As I approach, I shrug out of my coat and toss it over the stool next to him. Up close, his shoulders are broad and thick—perfect.
“Do you mind if I sit
I wonder how I look. After an eight hour shift, it can’t be too pretty.
He angles his head in my direction and my god, is he handsome. Flawless tan skin, dark eyes lined with darker eyelashes, and a strong jaw tinted by stubble. His beautiful irises scan over every inch of my body—appraising and appreciative—I like that.
“Not at all.” His voice is smooth, but rough around the edges—like chocolate speckled with coconut.
I slip onto the stool, cross my legs and lift a finger to the bartender. The bartender looks at me and he’s no one I’ve ever seen before. Another new face. I’m beginning to wonder if this place is becoming incredibly over-staffed.
“What do you drink?” The handsome man asks, staring at the side of my face. I try not to look at him but, holy shit, it’s hard. I’m mesmerized by his face. I want to take in every line and feature, but I don’t. Those aren’t the rules in the game of playing hard to get.
“Vodka, mostly,” I say, doing my best to sound indifferent. I glance at him and his dark eyes flare. “What do you drink?”
He shrugs. “Something that’s worth paying money for, and tastes less like a liquid you’d use to run your car.” I note a hint of an accent—Australian maybe? He’s covered it up really well with American, but the way he said ‘car’ gave it away. The ‘r’ disappeared and sounded like it’d been replaced by an ‘h’. Cah… Caaah… As I play it over and over in my head, it sounds more like a bird call than a word. Either way, it’s kind of sexy.
He signals to the bartender and immediately, he brings a bottle of wine in a chilled bucket with two very, very deep glasses.
Well… I guess he comes here often. The stranger pushes a glass in my direction. “Since you were unfortunate enough to choose the seat next to mine, you have to drink this with me.”
I smile. For a man who looks so unobtainable, he sure is making this really easy for me.
“Okay, Your Highness,” I say, pinching the stem of my glass. “I’ll drink your wine, but only if you tell me where you’ve come from and why you look like you want to shoot yourself in the face.”
And just like that, I’ve slipped myself into a conversation with this sexy, sexy man. The rest is almost guaranteed. He chuckles and it vibrates every part of me.
“I’ve come from a terrible meeting and I’m hiding down here until everyone is gone so I can be alone in my room.” He pulls the bottle from the bucket and pours me a glass. It’s a small amount and a perfect example of what I hate most about wine drinkers. They have such a big glass, but barely use a quarter of it at a time. We all know they’re going to drink the bottle anyway, might as well fill the cup to the brim. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as he pours himself the tiniest amount too.
“What about you?” He asks me, lifting his glass.
“What about me?” I counter, feeling playful. I take a quick sip of the wine and, holy shit, it’s the nicest wine I’ve ever had. It tastes more like grapes than the grapes themselves.
“Where have you come from?”
“Work,” I state simply and he smiles. It’s a gorgeous smile, one that exposes his perfect white teeth and sends my heart beating in all kinds of stupid directions.
“I see. You want to keep this on a strict ‘need to know’ basis.”
“It’d be awfully silly of me to tell a stranger everything about me—including where I work. Besides, after tonight, do you really think we’ll run into each other again?”
He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. At least tell me your name so I know who I’m sharing my wine with.”
A simple question, really. “Alix—with an ‘I’ not an ‘E’.”
“Interesting.” He extends his large hand to me. “I’m Jesse.”
I pinch my thighs together. Of course his name is Jesse! Suddenly my hopes are extremely high. They wouldn’t be if I’d never read the This Man trilogy. As if this Jesse could ever fill those shoes. I slip my hand into his and the grip he holds me with almost sucks the air from my lungs. Naturally, I imagine the same grip on other parts of my body, maybe in my hair—or on my ass. His hand is rough and big, so big it almost swallows mine and with that, I’m sick of being down here at the bar. I’m ready to be upstairs or anywhere he can take me and show me exactly how to handle a woman. I can barely contain my excitement. I’m practically bursting at the seams. If this were a romance novel, he’d say something freakishly sexy right about now and I’d blush.
“It’s getting late.”
I nod. Wait for it. “Yep.”
I wait a few seconds more. Nothing. Oh, fuck it. I don’t have the patience to wait for someone else to do the work.
“What do you say we take this wine somewhere else, somewhere… private.”
His lips curl into a mischievous smirk and it sets fire to my blood. “You won’t tell me where you work, but you want to be alone with me? That’s not very safe.”
I lean closer and reach out for his hand. I let the very tips of my fingers dance along the back of his hand. Electric pulses flow from his skin and vibrate up my arm. My lips part as energy surges through me and I slowly pull his hand to my lap.
“With your skin on mine, being safe is the last thing on my mind.” I uncross my legs and slide his hand further up my thigh, until it brushes past my incomplete pantyhose and on to the bare skin on my thigh. Jesse’s chocolate brown irises flare dangerously close to mine, his breath heating my face as he searches for an explanation to my sudden forwardness. Little does he know, I’ve wanted to jump him from the second he entered the room and, as I said, I’m not beneath going for what I want.
As if someone doused Jesse in cold water, his eyes widen and he yanks his hand back before glancing awkwardly around the room.
This asshole.
“Let me guess, you’re married?” I ask, scooping up my glass and slamming back the wine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve flirted with someone who’s supposed to be taken.
“No.”
I peer at him and watch as he straightens his charcoal tie.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
Then what’s his problem? I’m offering sex and it’s not like he has to pay for it. Most men find my body appealing. While I’m not skinny, I’m not full figured either. My body is the perfect combination of soft, firm and perky. Honestly, I feel as good as I did when I was twenty-one so why did he pull his hand away like he felt a monster dick between my legs?
“Discretion is very important to me.” he says, clearing his throat. “Public displays aren’t something I’m into.”
I find myself smirking at him and he frowns, confused that I don’t share the same point of view. I lean in close again until the smell of his expensive cologne engulfs me once more.
“There are people watching… and it doesn’t excite you?”
“Should it?”
I shrug, letting my finger trail along his firm, strong thigh. Underneath my fingertip, his muscles tighten and I imagine the same reaction when I finally get to run my tongue over every inch of his long, thick body. “To some it’s thrilling.” To me it’s thrilling. “The thought of touching something everyone else in the room wants…”
I glance over his shoulder at the tiny blonde in the corner of the room who’s glaring in our direction. To spite her, I angle my head and plant a small, soft kiss against his jaw line. I bite my lip against a shudder as his slight stubble scratches my sensitive skin. I need to feel it between my thighs. “Do you have a room?”
This is what I want. He is what I want. I’m not normally the one to instigate a sexual encounter, but Mr. Jesse here seems to be a tiny bit reserved. It’s kind of cute, actually. I just hope when we get upstairs and we’re alone, the cute disappears and the sexy makes an unforgettable appearance. Not wanting to grope in public is a perfectly rational reservation and I can respect that… if I have to. I pull back enough for Jesse to survey my face.
“I’m not sure that’s a good i
“I think it’s a great idea.”
His dark irises flick over my face and linger on my lips for a second too long. Hook, line and sinker. My lips quirk at the corners as he reaches for his wine glass and tips the red liquid down his throat.
“Meet me by the elevator and I’ll get a room.”
Inside me, my organs coil and clench as excitement tears through me. I slip off of the stool, grab my coat, and pick my bag up off the floor. I’m unable to keep the smug grin from my face as I saunter towards the elevator at the back of the lounge. As irrational as it sounds, I hope he doesn’t want to do it with my tall, black heels on, because my feet are killing me.
I lean against the elevator, waiting for Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome to return from reception.
Five minutes pass and as I sigh and toy with the ends of my long, brown hair, he finally strides up to me. Without hesitation, I hit the button on the elevator and we slip inside. When the doors close, his scent envelops me, teasing me beyond belief without even trying.
I lean against the wall and flick my tongue around my closed mouth. Jesse seems uncomfortable. His shoulders are rigid, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks and as I open my mouth to torment him, he clears his throat and lifts his dark, sinful eyes to mine.
“I, uh, I don’t normally do this.”
“What?” I ask, gesturing to the silver box we stand in. “Ride elevators?”
He scowls at me, his amazing eyebrows furrowing. “I’m clearly not talking about the elevator, Alix.”
I click my fingers. “Oh, you mean sex. You don’t fuck strangers often?”
A subtle hint of pink flickers over his features, and it thrills me no end.
“Please, don’t censor yourself on my account.” He adjusts his jacket. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Like a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind? Of course.”