Page 61 of Brassy Bigwig

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHLOE

He snatches me up as I run like hell to get away from him. The fire in his eyes makes me nervous, but his touch calms me. Spinning me around, he bends me over and thrusts into me. The pleasure he’s delivering is like nothing I’ve ever felt before…

My eyes open slowly as I’m pulled from my current, delicious sex dream starring Dimitrios Andino. It’s still dark in the room where he fucked me earlier. After he came, we both collapsed onto the bed and passed out. I really need to buy D some clocks. I hate not knowing what time it is.

I hear ringing echoing through the hallway outside of the bedroom. That must have been what woke me.D’s heavy arm is holding me close to him and keeping me from being able to scoot off of the bed with ease. Carefully, I lift it and place it onto the mattress before I slowly roll away from him.

I’m still naked, and it makes me a little uncomfortable. But I tell myself there is no one else here and not to worry about it. I think this is something I will need to get used to if I’m going to be spending more time with D. I walk out into the hallway, and I realize the ringing is coming from my purse which is still sitting on the table in the entryway of the penthouse.

Shit. What time is it?

I grab my purse and walk quickly to the great room so I don’t wake up D. The ringing stops as I spot our now cold dinner still sitting on the blanket on the floor. I rifle through my bag, finally latching onto my phone, and my stomach drops when I look at the screen.

Shit.It’s nearly midnight, and I have eight missed calls from Shelby. How did I miss her calling me eight times?

Uhh… the running through the penthouse? The feral way in which D wrung every drop of moisture from your body and hung you out to dry?

Yeah, that’ll do it.

She’s going to kill me. I told her I’d be home in time for dinner tonight. I don’t think she’ll care that I missed it, but she will be livid for making her worry. I can’t talk to her yet, I’m too nervous. I know she’s going to give me an earful. I don’t want to listen to her messages either, but at least that way I’ll get an idea of her mood before I call her back.

Pulling up my voicemail, I see she’s only left three messages. I pull the throw off of the back of D’s sofa and wrap myself in it, then I take a seat. Clicking on the earliest message, from six o’clock this evening, I hold the phone up to my ear and prepare for Shelby’s wrath.

“Hey, biatch. It’s about six o’clock, and you aren’t home yet. I tried calling your office, but you didn’t answer there, either. Maybe you left late and took the subway, for some god-awful reason, and you don’t have service. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were still going to be here for dinner tonight? Reed is making his specialty: tossed salad.”

“Don’t tell her that!”

I hear Reed yell from the background. Shelby laughs just before the recording cuts out.

There are two more missed calls between six-thirty and eight o’clock. The first of which must have come through when we were in the shower. Then, another message at eight-fifteen which was well after we were into our surprisingly arousing game of cat and mouse.

“Umm, okay, so I’m trying not to freak out. Reed said you probably went out for happy hour with your office people. Which is great, I hope that’s where you are. It’s just really unlike you not to call or text if you’re going to be late. Please, when you get this, just let me know you’re safe. I love you, poophead.”

I smile at the nickname Shelby uses because it’s one I haven’t heard since we were in eighth grade. We had gotten into a tiff about something I can’t even remember—Shelby would know, though. One afternoon, she came to my house, and when I opened the door, she was standing there with cookies and a container of strawberry Quik.

“I’m sorry, and I love you, poophead,” was all she had to say, and we made up then and there. I remember it like it was yesterday.

The last message from her was just before this most recent missed call. She’s pissed, and I can’t say I blame her. Usually, the tables are turned, and I’m the one freaking out when she goes missing.

“You’d better be dead when I find you. If not, I’m going to kill you myself.”

Another message came through as I was listening to the last one. I’m scared to listen to it, but I do it anyway.

“Chloe, I’m sorry, I really hope you’re not dead. Please, please, please call me, and let me know you’re okay.”

She’s bawling her eyes out, and I feel like the worst person in the entire world. I get out of my messages and pull up my missed calls. Clicking on Shelby’s name, the phone barely rings before she answers.

“Chloe?” she screams into the receiver.

“Hey,” I speak quietly, not wanting to wake D up.

“Are you okay? Why are you whispering?”

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I’ve been… occupied.”

The line goes silent.

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