Page 3 of Mr. On Your Knees
JaredFuckin’Desdune!
Of all the men in the city of Miami; of all the hotel managers looking for a designer to bring his event the opulent look of Black excellence; of all the days she had to face the man she’d once loved with every ounce of her being.
On. Your. Knees.
She’d just slammed her apartment door and now leaned against it with her eyes closed, breathing hitched. Memories that had been slamming into her since she’d sucked in a breath and greeted him during that interview, were on full blast now. She wasn’t going to be able to push them aside as she’d managed during the meeting and struggled to do during the drive to her apartment. It was only by God’s grace that she hadn’t crashed her car, she’d been so distracted behind the wheel. But now, in the safety of her home, she could breathe a much-needed sigh of relief and let the memories flow. Only, that didn’t seem like such a good idea either.
The feel of his big hand at the small of her back applying pressure as he pushed her until she was face down on the bed, the lower half of her body propped on her knees, her voluptuous ass up just the way he liked it. He slapped her left cheek, the sound, a loud crackle through the air and she groaned. He slapped the right one, never wanting to show a preference to either. Jared had worshiped her ass like an addict with his drug of choice. He would spank her when he deemed that she’d been naughty, then kiss the heated flesh until she whimpered and came. Theirs wasn’t a dominant/submissive type of relationship guided by rules or agreements, but only pleasure. Only the things that made them both feel good and that—as she later learned—could only be found when they were together.
He had both hands on her ass, shaking until her healthy cheeks jiggled. His groans of appreciation were loud, the sound of his hitched breathing followed. Then he was spreading her cheeks, sighing with appreciation. Her thighs shook as anticipation rippled through her core. She wanted him inside her ASAP but knew he would take his time. He always took his time and, in the end, when pleasure exploded throughout her body, she was extremely grateful for his process.
“I love seeing you like this, baby.” He moaned before bending to drag his tongue down the crack of her ass. “I fuckin’ love it.”
And she did too. She’d loved every second of his tantalizing nastiness during sex and she missed it. Damn her, she missed it desperately.
Closing her eyes to the memory and squeezing her thighs tight, Desi let out the smallest gasp because shit, she had loved everything Jared used to do to her sexually. Every word he murmured in her ear, or shouted into the air as his release claimed him. She’d loved those long slow and seductive kisses he liked to give her, the way he sucked her breasts and her clit, the way he bathed her in the shower, or fussed over her putting too many bubbles in the tub.
She’d just loved him.
Until she couldn’t any longer.
Popping her eyes open, she pushed away from the door and walked further into her living room. She dropped her keys on the coffee table and tossed her purse onto the couch before falling back on the cushions with a heavy sigh.
“I should’ve just stayed my ass home,” she muttered. Just like she should’ve gone straight to her office after the interview. Instead, she’d come home to lick her wounds in private.
At ten-thirty yesterday morning she’d received the email from Mari Walters requesting an interview. At ten-fifty-seven—because she hadn’t wanted to seem overeager—she’d responded with a very cheerful, “I’d love to come in for an interview. What times do you have available?”
The next email had a time set for two-thirty in the afternoon and announced that she would be meeting with Mari and the hotel manager. Scanning down to the signature block she’d gasped at two simple words: The Carrington.
With shaking fingers she’d typed them into the search bar and waited. Among the first results to pop up was an article featuring one of the region’s youngest—he’d been just thirty-one at the time—luxury hotel managers—Jared. He’d been an assistant manager at the hotel for a few years when they were dating. A job he’d coveted because of the exemplary reputation of Jason Carrington’s resorts and hotels across the world.
His face looked just a little slimmer, but only enough that someone who’d stared into that face before she’d fallen asleep at night and the first thing in the morning for just about three months would notice that. His deep umber complexion was still as smooth and rich as she recalled. The lower half of his face was covered with a full beard. The sides of his hair were cut low, the top that had been in deep waves when they were together three years ago, was now about three inches long and worn in the cruddy style. It looked good on him, adding a touch of ruggedness to the slick dressing, smooth-talking salutatorian of his college class. Her breath had caught at how mouth wateringly fine this man was.
She’d told herself she could do this interview. Hell, she knew she could do the job, wanted it like she had never wanted anything in her life before. Despite the fact that he was the one who would have to give it to her.
“I need this job,” she admitted quietly and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
The Carrington was a five-star resort under the umbrella of dozens of luxury resorts and hotels that boasted the Carrington name and gold insignia. That name and sign alone spoke of money, prestige, privilege. Among her roster of clients, it meant credibility and would undoubtedly open doors to more clients of the same ilk. She would finally graduate from the local businesses she’d been steadily building a rapport with, to an upper level of events, corporate, international, dynamic, huge budgets, big names. It was where she wanted to be, where she needed to be to be able to make enough to live comfortably and to also create the mentoring program she wanted to curate.
So, she’d gone on the interview and she’d done her absolute best not to jump over that table and straddle Jared’s fine, smug, arrogant ass. But that had come at a cost. The memories, the longing she still harbored after all these years and the helplessness it all made her feel, were irritating as hell.
“Dammit!” She stood and walked straight back to her bedroom. Her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse and she removed it. Then her shoes and shirt. She was in the bathroom switching on the water for the shower when she heard the faint sound of her phone ringing.
Mari had said they were looking to finalize their vendor list by early next week so she could be calling her at any time. Desi fast-walked out to the living room and grabbed her purse to find the phone before it stopped ringing.
“Hello?” she asked slightly out of breath. But she’d already glanced at the screen so she knew it wasn’t Mari, but her bestie, Lauren, instead.
“Hey. How’d it go?”
Lauren Westover was straight and to the point, all day every day. She was a high school guidance counselor who’d grown up in a house full of men—her great uncle, two male cousins and two brothers—so she had a low tolerance for bullshit and a tendency to act first, think later. Desi loved her above all others because whenever she needed to hear the truth, no matter how painful it might be, Lauren was there to deliver it. And when she needed a shoulder to cry on or a partner to ride or die with, Lauren was also the one. Considering this, it made sense that she’d called Lauren immediately after seeing Jared’s face in that online article.
“It went,” Desi replied with a huff. “It was shorter than I thought it would be.” She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and headed back to the bathroom to turn off her shower water.
“Really? Was he there? Or was it just the HR lady?”
“Mari’s the Director of Events,” she told her and put the lid down on the toilet before taking a seat. “She seemed pretty nice. Had great questions and was overall excited about my portfolio.”
“But?” Lauren prompted. “Was he there?”
