Every good news story has a who, what, when, where, why, and how. That’s what Jessica reminded herself as she walked along Westwood Boulevard towards the newspaper office. Pyramid format means an editor can cut from the bottom. That was another tidbit she’d learned in her journalism class. Put the important facts first to capture the reader’s attention. What else? Newspaper stories always begin with lead statements that tell the main concept of the article.
Busy mentally prepping herself for the appointment, she found herself filled with the type of bubbly anticipation she tended to get before riding a rollercoaster, or climaxing on the tip of Kelly’s tongue. Even so, there was no reason for her to feel insecure. Her achievements, even at the tender age of nineteen, were worth bragging about. She’d been a top writer on her award-winning private-school newspaper before spending two years in Paris working on an underground ’zine devoted to the nightlife of the city of lights. This was a job she’d spent years dreaming about.
But as she stood in the doorway of the Zebra office looking in, all she saw was disarray. Alexander Harris, the managing editor, had told her over the phone that Friday afternoon would be a quiet time to interview. The staff put the weekly paper to bed by 4 a.m. every Friday, and only a few people hung around the rest of the day. People like Alex and Josh Charles, the lead ad man, who had to be there, and people like Pete and Todd, lonely staff members who had nowhere better to go, according to Alexander Harris. Jessica watched through the open door, listening intently to the dialogue these guys were throwing at each other as two of the men in the room squared off.
‘Come on, Alex,’ Josh whined. ‘What are you? Scared?’
‘You’re on some weird testosterone kick,’ Alex told him, sounding tired.
‘Get it over with and shut up, the both of you,’ Todd muttered, sleeking his greasy, fifties-style haircut back in place with one well-practised gesture. ‘I’m sick to death of this. Some stupid macho contest every single Friday –’
To quieten Todd, Alex stood back to back with Josh and put his palm flat on top of Josh’s sunstreaked blond hair. ‘You’re at least two inches shorter,’ Alex informed him.
‘You’ve got lifts in your loafers,’ Josh shot back.
‘Pete?’ Alex asked, summoning assistance from the mountainous figure seated nearby. Without looking up from his laptop, Pete said, ‘When you’re horizontal with your lady, it won’t matter. So why the fuck should you care?’
‘He’s taller,’ Jessica said.
‘Told you,’ Josh sneered, not concerned with who was speaking, only with the fact that he was right.
‘Not you. Him.’
Alex looked over as she pointed his way. There she stood in the doorway, staring at the two men, then glancing past both to take in the sprawling, L-shaped office. Alex and Josh were instantly mesmerised. Jessica had on a cornflower-blue micro-skirt, her favourite white-fringed cowboy boots and a pink angora sweater the colour and softness of freshly spun cotton candy. Her long hair, up in a ponytail, revealed a slender neck encircled by a deep blue velvet choker.
Without moving away from Josh, Alex turned to take in the office from Jessica’s perspective. Pete sat on one of the chewed-up black leather sofas, surfing for porn on his laptop. Todd lay comfortably on the other sofa, talking vigorously into his miniature cellphone. On Alex’s desk was a large, empty pizza box. Crumpled balls of paper and dirty napkins littered the floor. Copies of Zebra magazine were everywhere. A dartboard hung on one wall, a photograph of Josh’s face tacked to the centre. Alex swivelled his head back towards the young girl in the doorway. As she walked in, she said, ‘Now, tell me which one of you has got the bigger cock.’
Josh stepped away from Alex. ‘I have to get back to work upstairs,’ he told nobody in particular. On his way out of the room, he ripped his photo off the dartboard. There was another stapled directly beneath it, but he didn’t bother tearing that down. He simply stalked out the doorway, muttering about lack of respect. In the courtyard, he turned around and checked Jessica out with interest from behind.
‘Can I help you?’ Alex finally asked.
‘My name’s Jessica Taylor,’ she said. ‘I called.’ Her voice was soft, semi-husky and shy all at the same time. ‘I talked to Alex,’ she added, staring pointedly at the tall, striking man with the sleepy-looking hazel eyes.
‘I’m Alex.’ He seemed to slowly realise that he’d arranged for someone to come in. Jessica could tell from his expression that he hadn’t expected someone like her. ‘You’re right on time,’ he said. Rapidly, as if afraid she might flee, he launched into his spiel. ‘Zebra is a small, entertainment weekly paper. This is a hands-on job. Working here would be a great opportunity for a person who wants to learn everything there is to know about journalism.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she said, and her blue eyes glowed.
‘There’s plenty of potential for promotion, and the hours are flexible. We can definitely work around your college classes,’ he assured her. ‘What year are you?’
‘Freshman,’ she said, and Pete choked from the depths of the sofa. ‘I took two years off after high school to work in Europe,’ she explained. ‘I’m a late bloomer.’
‘Come by at seven-thirty on Monday night,’ he told her. ‘We’re having our weekly staff meeting. You can get acquainted with the whole cast of characters. Then, if we haven’t frightened you off, next Friday is the big staff Halloween party. More than just the staff, actually. All of our advertisers, neighbours, friends –’
‘Ex-lovers,’ Todd added, winning an instant scowl from Alex.
‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ she said honestly, then waited for the questions. Certainly, he’d want to read through her clips, which she had carefully arranged in a new violet portfolio. But Alex didn’t seem to care about any of that. With finality, he shook her hand and told her he looked forward to her coming along.
‘I’m sure you’ll fit in perfectly,’ he added.
As he held her hand, she felt a flush creep along her jaw. What was going on? This man with the circles under his eyes and the rumpled, mismatched outfit had obviously gotten no sleep in the past 24 hours. Yet he had an oddly disarming air about him. Writers, she thought, always turned her on. Especially ones who had actual ink on their hands from holding freshly printed papers. In the extended silence, she was suddenly aware that there were two other men in the room. She also realised that Alex might think it odd that she’d been holding on to his hand for several long beats. ‘It’s a costume party, right?’ she asked, as if that’s where her mind had been.
He nodded, and she extracted her hand and said she’d see him on Monday. She left, quickly, before she could embarrass herself further.
* * *
Thoughtfully, Alex watched her walk out the door, through the courtyard, and on to Westwood Boulevard. Once she was out of sight and hearing range, Pete said, ‘You’ll ruin her.’
‘If Dashiell doesn’t get her first.’
The intercom buzzed, and Alex went over to his desk. ‘Yeah?’
‘She still there, Harris?’ Josh asked, his voice all innocence.
‘You know she’s not,’ Alex said patiently. ‘You’ve got a clear view of the courtyard from your window.’
‘So who was she? Some stripper hired for your birthday?’
‘She was here about a job.’
‘I know those kinds of jobs,’ Josh said. ‘Off comes the sweater, down comes the hair, the skirt’s on the sofa and she’s squirming in your lap and calling you “Daddy”.’ He sounded nostalgic.
‘She’s our new intern, Josh, a journalism major.’
‘I bet she was sent by Exotic Escorts. They just placed a monster ad with us. Back page. Four-colour. No money problems this week, man. We are set.’
‘She came from UCLA. She’s a freshman.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ Josh sighed, his voice hoarse. ‘I remember freshmen.’
Alex released the intercom button and moved away from the desk. If Josh was going to take a perverted trip down memory lane, Alex knew better than to ride in the tour car with him.
* * *
Dashiell Cooper was taking his own perverted trip in a luxurious private cabin on a transatlantic flight. Reclining on his stomach, he was being attended to in one of his all-time favourite ways: a full-body massage with plenty of sweet-scented almond oil. And nobody knew how to please him like Gizelle. Her graceful fingertips, dripping with the oil, stroked gently along the back of his neck, slid along the powerful muscles of his back, then trailed down on either side of his spine. For nearly forty, Dashiell was in fine shape. Best shape of his life, he thought. His well-muscled body was hard and lean, and he worked out daily to keep it that way. Although right now, he wasn’t thinking much of his own build. He was concentrating on Gizelle’s.
She straddled him easily, poised on the seat created by his ass, her willowy form adding just the right amount of weight. He thought of how it would feel when he rolled over, her body in the same position as he slid into her beneath the crisp sheets.
Nothing beat fucking on an airplane. And he should know. He’d had a chance to try just about every different sexual fantasy. Money could get you where you wanted to go. He’d received a blow job in the elevator on the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Easier than one would think. You only had to arrive early in the morning, before the regular tourists showed up, and pay off three people for the chance of taking a frisky private ride. Years before in his misguided youth he’d done it on a gondola, nearly tipping the boat into the filthy waters of the Venice canals with his exuberance. What else? Screwed one of the Crazy Horse girls up on the stage after hours. But sex in the air, in his opinion, was the best. It was the closest thing there was to fucking in space.
They could look out the window at the sky in a near permanent sunset as the plane headed west, the golden glow creating a halo in Gizelle’s metallic-brown hair. Her face still carried a gingery warmth from spending the past week on the yacht. Sunbathing nude, her glorious small breasts, just enough for a mouthful, had been on constant display. The girl possessed one fuck of an amazing body, and she didn’t mind showing it. There were no hang-ups about nudity, about being exposed, though that might have been because she was a catwalk model. At 24, she’d already had years of experience being on display. Nothing could be more natural than the way she moved around, naked except for an emerald and diamond necklace he’d given her and the platinum hoop piercing her perfect navel.
Suddenly, wanting to see her azure blue eyes, to kiss her full lips, he rolled over. She helped him by lifting up on her streamlined thighs just long enough to get situated before slipping back down on him. Now his cock was beneath her, shielded by the crisp white sheet and nothing else. She rubbed herself languidly against him, and he thought about how he wanted to fuck her.
This might be their last time for a while. As soon as they landed, she’d have to board a plane to Italy for a photo shoot. The girl was hot and in demand. Not only by the top designers, but by all of those other model-worshippers who flocked to the shows. Dashiell wanted her to remember him in the best possible way, so that the next time he called, she’d slip away again; cancel her appointments and be at his beck and call for the length of his visit, as she had done for the six years that they’d known each other.
It didn’t take him long to decide how he was going to stay in the forefront of her memory. He’d fuck her clit. That was his favourite method of leaving a woman – a way to leave her wanting more.
‘Put it in me, Dash,’ she whispered, sliding the sheet back and exposing the rock-hard erection towering up towards her. ‘Fuck me, baby.’ Her British accent was delicious to him, the way her tongue seemed to caress every word, especially the dirty ones, bestowing them with a little added sexy charge. Still, he wouldn’t give her what she asked for. To her obvious dismay, he shook his head.
‘Spread your lips,’ he commanded, and she reached down automatically at his instruction and parted herself for him. He placed his cock between them so that she could feel the length of it pressing against her clit. Using only her personal wetness for lubrication, he began to fuck against her body, sliding his hard cock back and forth between her juicy soft lips but not entering her, despite the fact that she was primed and ready. Gizelle sighed and leaned her head back, her long, straight hair nearly brushing the mattress behind her.
‘I’m going to fuck you until you come,’ he promised, giving her the exact pressure that she craved, his cock rubbing along the seam of her body. ‘And then I’m going to fuck you until I come.’
‘Please –’ she said. Just that one word. He understood that it didn’t have any meaning at this point. She didn’t want him to do anything other than what he was doing, but she had to say something. Had to arch her back and moan, looking like a magazine advertisement come to life. Each time she shifted her body, she reminded him of a different photograph he’d seen: Gizelle selling perfume, Gizelle selling suntan lotion, Gizelle selling anything.
The pleasure on her face was sublime, and it made Dashiell’s cock even harder as he watched the beautiful woman grow closer to climax. The heady, uncontrolled picture of ecstasy that radiated from her was priceless. But Dashiell owned this look; this moment. It was all his, for his own pleasure. And, for Dashiell Cooper, life was all about pleasure. Giving it. Taking it. Flooding the senses with it. Some people didn’t understand that, but Gizelle most definitely did. As she came, breathing fiercely through her open mouth and sliding her body against his in a rapid rhythm, he finally entered her, letting her contractions swallow him up.
The warm rays from the never-ending sunset bathed their bodies in a golden sheen, and Dashiell closed his eyes and let the light wash over him.
* * *
When Jessica got home, her thoughts remained focused on Zebra’s managing editor, on his greenish-brown eyes and sharply defined cheekbones. As always, she played her private game of mentally casting a new acquaintance as a movie star. But this time she failed. He was unique; didn’t remind her of anyone she’d ever seen. Categorising his features, she remembered his hair was as dark as hers, worn nearly down to his shoulders as if he couldn’t be bothered to get a cut. Jessica had always liked the rock-star style of long hair on men, and she wondered what his hair would feel like beneath her fingertips…
A full moment passed before she realised that Kelly was sitting on the concrete front steps of her apartment, waiting for her. When she saw him, her cheeks grew pink with guilt at the fact that she’d been so consumed by thoughts of another man. But that was silly. She and Kelly were little more than a summertime fling that had amazingly survived through autumn. They’d made no promises to each other.
‘You walked to the paper?’ he asked.
She nodded. She lived only several blocks from Zebra’s offices, in a pale-blue building on a jacaranda-lined street. Although October, the trees were in full flower, their heady petals falling down from the sky like purple confetti. Kelly held several of the blossoms in a makeshift bouquet.
‘For me?’ Jessica asked coyly, still trying to recover from her visions of Alex. Thinking back, she could hardly believe that she’d asked the ‘who’s got the bigger cock’ question. But a room filled with testosterone, like the Zebra office, tended to bring out the rebel in her. She wouldn’t tell Kelly about that part of the interview.
Kelly had his tortoiseshell Wayfarer sunglasses on, and he tilted them down to look at her as she walked towards him. Her hips swivelled seductively, making the short skirt look as if it had been painted on to her body.
‘So did you land it?’ he asked as she reached the step.
She nodded.
‘Want to celebrate?’
Now Jessica grinned at him, waiting. No man had ever managed to surprise her as much as Kelly. Not her boyfriend in high school, not her lover in Paris. Even though he was young, Kelly had a wealth of experience to borrow from.
‘Champagne,’ he said innocently, pulling a bottle from behind his back.
‘Sounds good.’
‘Oh, it’s not for you, little girl,’ he told her, standing and waiting for her to open the front door to her building, then following her up the stairs. ‘It’s for me,’ he continued when they reached the top landing and she unlocked the door to her apartment.
‘Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be celebrating?’
‘You get to be my glass,’ he said. ‘That’s celebration enough.’ Jessica giggled as he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the apartment and into her bedroom. This was going to get wet, messy and potentially loud, she could tell, but she didn’t care. Her roommate, Sasha, was at the beach working on a movie shoot, and wouldn’t be back for hours.
On the centre of her floor, Kelly spread out a fluffy white bath towel. Then he waited for her to undress. She moved slowly, tossing him her mini-skirt, her petal-pink sweater, the lilac garters and matching G-string she had on underneath.
‘Put those white-trash boots back on,’ he said. ‘I like the way they look.’
She slipped on the fringed cowboy boots, cocked her hip like a cowgirl, and waited for her next instruction. Kelly didn’t give her one. For a moment, he was silent, admiring. Jessica had a dreamy body. Unlike most women in southern California, she didn’t believe in tanning. The contrasting quality of her pale skin with the rest of her features made her hair seem even darker, her eyes shine a more brilliant blue. Kelly looked her up and down, taking in the way she kept her chestnut-brown curls well manicured in a thin little drag strip of fur over her pussy. She didn’t mind him staring, and stayed in her confident position until he moved from the bed.
Instead of speaking, he silently spread her out on the towel. Then he popped open the champagne and let the first bubbly sip pour into the basin of her concave belly. Jessica shivered at the sensation. The bubbles burst against her naked skin, and she could both hear them and feel them pinging against her.
Kelly bent to drink from her, using his tongue to lap at the liquid as if he were a cat drinking from the saucer of her body. Jessica squirmed, loving the way it felt. They might not have too much in common – he was a bartender with fantasies of becoming a famous actor, while she hoped to be an investigative journalist – but they definitely lit up the bedroom together. Lit it up like the vibrant neon lights along Sunset Boulevard.
‘You’re delicious,’ he said.
‘It’s the bubbly.’
‘No,’ he disagreed. ‘The way your skin tastes. Like some tropical fruit.’
He reached for the bottle again, refilling the indent of her body with the smallest amount of liquid. She wondered what it would feel like if Kelly poured the champagne between her legs. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long to find out.
‘Where do you want this?’
He asked the question in a teasing manner, and she guessed that if she named what she most craved he would make her wait. That was one thing she’d learned in her summer with him. Opening her eyes wide, she waited silently to see what he would do.
‘Let me guess –’ he said, and slowly he let a light waterfall of the champagne rain over her small, firm breasts. Carefully, he licked away every drop. Her nipples instantly responded by growing as hard as tiny, sea-worn pebbles. Kelly playfully licked one, then the other, and then he brought the champagne bottle up again, pouring a sparkling river between Jessica’s breasts. He drank heartily, and she squirmed and shuddered at his touch. The feeling was magical.
‘You like that,’ he said. It wasn’t a question, and Jessica didn’t respond. She simply watched as he made sure to drink every drop of the champagne from her naked skin. Even though it felt transcendent, her mind was already lost in the future, imagining what it would feel like when he finally gave her what she wanted.
Now, Kelly rewarded her for her good behaviour, letting the bubbly liquid pour in a waterfall over her pussy. It was like nothing else she’d ever felt. Yes, they’d played in the shower at his apartment before, with the hand-held nozzle that sent vibrating streams of pressurised water pounding against her clit. And they’d made love early one summer morning on the lawn while the sprinklers had covered them with a spray shot through with rainbows. But this was different. As the champagne poured between her legs, it sparked against her skin. The tiny bubbles burst as they met her pussy, and Jessica thought she might come from that feeling alone.
Again, Kelly bent to lick her clean, lapping to taste the mix of the liquor and her own fragrant juices. His tongue, flat against her, added to the pleasure of the popping bubbles. ‘Intoxicating,’ he announced, as if he were speaking at a wine-tasting party. She laughed, liking the vision of Kelly getting drunk off her. ‘A subtle bouquet, with a fruity afternote,’ he said, sitting back on his heels before adding, ‘I think I’d like another swallow.’
This time, he let the bottle tip and a larger wave of liquid splashed over her. Jessica shivered at the cool sensation, then closed her eyes as Kelly resumed his activities between her thighs. His tongue was well versed in this behaviour. He knew how to make all the different designs that she liked best: figure eights that traced over her clit and had her straining; loopy circles that worked gradually inward; and then a different rhythm – a tap-tapping like a drum beat in an oval all around the pulsing gem between her thighs. He played tricks with her, slipping his tongue deep inside her body, then using it to draw invisible pictures on the inner walls of her pussy.
But just when she thought she’d reached her limits, she needed something else. Kelly was a step ahead of her, adding a new trick to the festivities. He moved her on to her hands and knees, and he gently spread her bottom cheeks slightly apart. Then he tilted the bottle again, pouring the remaining champagne in a sparkling flood between the cheeks of her heart-shaped ass. While Jessica held her breath at the rush of pleasure, Kelly brought his mouth back again, this time tickling her hole with his tongue. This move made her arch her back, pressing against him, but he stopped what he was doing and told her to behave herself.
‘Trust me.’ This was Kelly’s favourite phrase. ‘Let me set the pace.’
He was going to take her there. But he was going to take his time doing it.
Jessica focused on keeping herself still. When she obeyed him, he would always reward her, as he did now, getting her into a proper position so that he could enter her from behind. The feeling of his warm, hard cock between her lips made Jessica moan out loud. She wondered how Kelly would react. Sometimes he liked her to let go. Other times he preferred her to stay contained.
‘Be loud,’ he said now, as if reading the thoughts as they entered her mind. ‘Let me hear how excited you are.’
She sighed with relief, and then, as he started to fuck her harder, she found it inside herself to make noise. Her moans grew in volume, becoming more intense.
‘That’s my baby,’ Kelly said, urging her on. ‘You let it all out.’
Jessica’s head was down, her eyes still closed, her arms locked into place. She shuddered as he fucked her, and then she said his name. That was the way to please him. ‘Kelly,’ she murmured, ‘I love your hard cock inside me.’
She was taking back a bit of the power, because this was his secret weakness. Kelly adored it when a girl called out his name as she came. It transformed him inside, and now he worked Jessica even harder, slamming into her with each thrust.
They were going to come together. Jessica sensed it.
‘Fuck me, Kelly,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, fuck me good.’
He did exactly what she wanted, and then he took her one step higher, slapping her pretty ass in rhythm to the motion of his cock. He left handprints on her silky skin, prints that quickly turned a purplish hue rivalling the jacaranda blossoms outdoors. With his other hand he reached beneath her waist to stroke her throbbing pussy. His fingers slipped between her lips as he played them lightly over her clit. Just a back and forth motion, a pattern that seemed to match the pounding of her heart beat in her ears. Then his fingertips made sloppy circles, sometimes touching her clit, sometimes intentionally missing it, making her want to feel his fingers there even more. Finally he pinched her slippery clit between his thumb and forefinger, touching her more firmly as he sensed she was about to reach climax.
‘Oh, God, yes,’ she sighed, and she opened her eyes, staring at the pink-painted wall of her bedroom as she reached the final goal. Seeing, but not seeing: the open window, the lacy white curtains shifting slightly in the late-afternoon breeze. Pleasure emanated throughout her body, but just as the orgasm surged through her, she felt a nagging ball of unease rocking in the base of her stomach.
Why had she pictured Alex’s handsome face in her mind when she’d come?