His Nasty Little Pussy

TESS

I cried out as goosebumps rippled across my skin, the orgasm ripping my soul from my body, an ethereal separation, like I was floating above my

body. My muscles clenched, and my toes curled inside my heels. Sweat slid down my back, gluing me to the wall of the dressing room.

I twisted my fingers into his hair, and as he removed his head from beneath my dress, I panted, shaking my head.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Brady Wyler?”

I had NOT expected to ever see my mile-high fuck again. And I definitely hadn’t planned to receive an award from him. I had heard of Brady Wyler-rather, I knew of his asshole reputation-but I had never put a face to the name.

He grinned, his lips glistening with my juices. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, tasting myself. His tongue slid into my mouth, and he moaned, the vibration stirring a new desire in my chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the Tess Perkins?” he asked.

“How was I supposed to know you would know who I was? I’m not famous like you. Why didn’t you say you were the Brady Wyler?

“I did,” he smirked. “But you were drunk.” Fuck. Well, he had me there. I’d been too drunk to even remember his name. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

One minute, I was reeling from the recognition that my plane hookup was billionaire CEO Brady Wyler, and the next second, his tongue was consuming all of me.

He slid his hands down the length of my dress, his hands resting on my hips. “Oh, you mean you don’t normally fuck presenters who give you awards?”

I shrugged, glancing down at the award I’d dropped on a chair while our lips were locked together. “Well, this is my first award, so I can’t say much to that.”

He leaned down, suckling the skin on my neck. “For what it’s worth, I don’t normally do this either.”

“What?” I asked, running my hands down his neck. “Fuck the recipients of the awards you hand out?”

“No, I’ve done that plenty of times,” he chuckled. “I meant I don’t normally go for seconds after a random fuck, especially those whose name I never got.” He tightened his grip around my waist and licked my neck, reaching my earlobe and softly slurping on it. “But now I know your name, Tess Perkins,” he whispered.

A ripple of disgust coursed through me, and I shoved my hands against his chest, pushing him off me.

His brows furrowed. “What? What did I say?”

I blinked, shocked by the question. “What did you not say? Jesus Christ.

I’m such an idiot. This might be normal for you, Mr. Wyler-”

“Mr. Wyler? You can call me Br-”

There was a knock on the dressing room door. “Brady? You in there? This hot piece of ass out here said you were.”

“Hold on, Rich,” Brady called out. “Please, just wait, Tess,” he whispered.

I reached down, yanking my lacy thong from around my ankles, pulling them up my thighs.

“Forget it,” I whispered, grabbing my award off the chair.

I yanked open the door.

A drunken man stumbled past me, his loud voice slurring as he looked for Brady. “Bro, the chick in the red dress wants to fuck you…Oh, well, hello there.” His beady eyes landed on me. “You are beautiful, did you know that?”

I rolled my eyes, not wanting to be here another second. I was halfway down the hall when Brady caught up to me.

“Tess, wait,” Brady said.

“Forget this happened,” I said.

His eyes darkened. “You’re just going to leave like this?”

I met his gaze. “Well, that’s what you did on the airplane, so yeah, it’s my turn. This was a mistake, and I don’t ever want to see you again.”

I shoved past him and stormed out of the hall, out of the entire event, determined to never set eyes on Brady Wyler again.

Three weeks later, I woke up in the guest room of my dad’s house with a screaming migraine and a stiff neck.

“Tess, breakfast!” my dad called from downstairs.

I sat up in the twin bed, ripping the pink comforter off. I rubbed my eyes, staring around my childhood bedroom. I’d been out of the house for years, but my dad hadn’t changed a single thing, insisting I’d always have a place to call home. I never thought I’d have to take him up on the offer, but here I was, six weeks after running away from my own wedding, with no place to live. Scott owned the apartment we’d lived in midtown, and there was no way I was stepping foot in there again.

I rolled over in bed, staring at the photo from my elementary school graduation. My mom’s arms were wrapped around me, a proud, glowing smile on her face, despite the pain I knew she was going through that day. She’s insisted on leaving the hospital to see me graduate. Her hair was shaved from the Chemo, and although I couldn’t remember much of those last days, I remembered being so happy she’d come to see me.

It was one of the last memories we shared.

In moments like this, I yearned for my mother’s presence in my life, her advice, her love. What would she say?

Finances were struggling, and everything depended on the success of Perkins Formula taking off. I was sure winning the Fresh Face award would help launch the product into the stratosphere, but no such thing had happened.

Despite how successful the cream was in turning back the clock, the marketing campaign had fallen flat in the numbers department. If something didn’t happen quickly, I was afraid my investors would drop us, and with my student and business debt, I was drowning, suffocating before I’d even found the success I’d hoped for.

“Tess!” my dad called up the stairs.

“I’m coming!” I shouted back, collapsing backward into the bed. It was barely eight a. m. on a Saturday, my one day to sleep in, and I couldn’t even do that.

I loved my dad to pieces, yet I desperately valued my own space. But, of course, without the success of my new product, my current income wouldn’t help me qualify for a place on my own.

The doorbell rang as I was halfway down the stairs. I paused, staring at the blurred silhouette through the foggy pane of glass. My dad darted out of the kitchen wearing a flowery apron that had once belonged to my mother.

Her name, Rachel, was embroidered on the front.

“I got it, I got it,” he said, waving a spatula at me.

He opened the door, his body blocking the stranger outside. “Can I help you?” my dad asked.Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Hi, Mr. Perkins, is Tess home?”

I froze at the sound of the deep, husky voice.

My father chuckled. “Are you the suiter taking her to prom?”

“Ugh…excuse me?”

“I’m just kiddin’!” my dad said. He twisted around to look at me. “Tess, there’s a fine young man here to see you.”

My hand froze on the stair railing. Brady Wyler was standing on my dad’s front steps wearing a suit and tie. Meanwhile, I was braless in a tank top and pajama pants.

I shuffled down the steps, my eyes as wide as saucers. My dad hovered beside me, his eyes churning with excitement. His gaze darted between Brady and me, a smirk appearing on his face.

I gripped the door and glanced at my dad. “This will just be a minute. I’ll meet you in the kitchen, dad.”

He threw up his hands, the spatula almost hitting Brady in the face.

“Ah, yes, yes. Very nice to meet you, Mr-”

Brady’s hand jutted out. “Wyler, sir. Brady Wyler.”

I watched the wheels turn behind my dad’s eyes. “Wyler? As in Wyler Marketing? The Brady Wyler?”

“Yes, sir.”

My dad let out a whistle between his teeth. “Well, then.” “Dad,” I hissed.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” he grinned, walking backward through the kitchen door, holding both of his thumbs up.

“Your dad seems nice.”

I pressed my hand against Brady’s chest and pushed him back on the steps as I followed him outside, closing the door behind us. “Yeah, nice and nosy. What the fuck are you doing here? It’s like eight a. m. And how did you even know where I lived?”

“Surprisingly, it’s not that difficult to find someone these days, especially when you add some money to the mix.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah! Good to know.” His eyes drifted to my breasts, and I crossed my arms over my hard nipples. “Eyes up here, Brady.” He grinned. “Oh, now I’m Brady? Not Mr. Wyler?” “What do you want?” I snapped.

He slipped his hands into his pocket. “I have a proposal, and I hope you’ll hear me out.”

“About what?”

“I know your company, Perkins Formula, isn’t doing well.”

“Oh, really? You came all the way to tell me that my business is borderline collapsing? Thanks.” His brows furrowed. “Is it that bad?” “Brady, do you have a point?” I hissed.

“Let me help you,” he said.

I stepped back. “What?”

“This is what I do, Tess. I own a marketing company, and there’s a reason every client I take on finds success. I’m damn good at what I do.”

I cocked my head. “Is this your way of trying to fuck me again?”

He glanced around as if I’d slapped him. “No, quite the opposite. In fact, if you agree to work with me, sex should actually be off the table. From prior experience, personal relationships and business don’t mix.”

I leaned in, dropping my arms. “Hold on…What do you mean work with you?”

“Well, it would be a partnership,” he said.

He took a breath, licked his lips, and continued. “Can you stop being so defensive for one minute and listen to me, Tess?”

I pressed my lips together. “Fine, but please get to the point because I’m fucking starving.”

He sighed. “We would work together to launch Perkins Formula together. No upfront fees or costs. We split royalties fifty-fifty. It would be a ten-year contract, and we’d sign on together as partners.”

“You expect me to give you fifty percent of my royalties for a product I invented?”

“You just said that your company is collapsing.” I grunted, annoyed that I’d given that away.

“Tess, there is a reason why I’m a billionaire. Trust me, I’m good at what I do. Even at fifty percent profit, your profits would soar well into seven figures.”

I coughed. “Excuse me?”

“A year,” he added. “Minimum.”

I blinked, confused, glancing up and down the street.

He followed my gaze. “What are you looking for?”

“Cameras,” I said. “Because this is a joke, right? Am I on a reality TV show or something? You’re trying to make a fool out of me.”

Brady snorted. “No, Tess. My offer is honest and genuine. And I mean what I said. We wouldn’t be fucking either.”

I shot him a harsh glare. “Brady, I know you think you’re a God’s gift to women, but believe it or not, not every woman wants to fuck you-even the ones you already have.”

His head bounced from side to side. “That’s debatable.”

“Well, anyone who does clearly never listened to you speaking for five minutes. So trust me, I don’t want to fuck you.” “But you want to work with me?” he asked.

I chewed my lip. “Why me? You could save literally any company in New York. Or Chicago. Or San Francisco. Why Perkins?”

His gaze softened. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Tess. I’ve never seen a winner of the Fresh Face award receive a standing ovation for their product. Perkins Formula isn’t the issue. People love your product. It’s the marketing that is the problem.”

I knew he was right. Mainly because I literally didn’t have a marketing department or a strategy in place, and my pathetic attempts at advertising on social media were draining every little and last penny I had.

He continued. “And I’ve bought your product.”

“You have?” I asked, realizing he was one of the ten people who’d purchased it.

“I have,” he said. “And I know it works. Shaved about five years off my mom’s face overnight. She won’t stop talking about it. So part of this is selfish motivation. If I don’t take this on, Perkins Formula might be removed from the shelves, and my mom will not let me live that down,” he chuckled.

I tried to hold in my laughter, but it was impossible. “Fifty-fifty, huh?”

He studied me. “Fifty-fifty, and I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll pay off your student loan and business debt, and I’ll pay your lease for an apartment downtown for one year.”

My heart dropped. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because I want to show you how much I believe in your product,” he said. “And I know you believe in it too. Plus, I’ve seen your work ethic, Tess. You’re intelligent, passionate, and highly motivated. So, Tess, take this leap with me, and I won’t disappoint you, I promise.

I crossed my arms. “I could never afford an apartment downtown after the year is up.”

“You can’t now,” he said. “But, Tess, if you let me take Perkins Formula and guide it in the direction I know it can go, you’ll be more than financially secure in a year. And if you’re not…then I’ll buy the apartment for you and put it in your name.”

“And my dad’s townhouse,” I said without thinking.

“What?”

“If I’m not a millionaire in a year, you buy my apartment downtown and my dad’s townhouse, both in our names.”

“Negotiator. I like it,” he whispered. “I think we got a deal. I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork, and we’ll schedule a meeting this week.”

I could barely believe my ears. He offered his hand, and I took it, shaking it. “No sex!” I said, pointing my index finger at him.

“No sex,” he smiled. “Talk to you soon, Tess.”

I watched him trot down the stairs and could barely contain myself. I slipped back inside, my shock and disbelief turning into ecstatic joy. I leaped into the air, muffling my scream in my hands.

“Breakfast!” my dad said.

The smell of bacon wafted in from the kitchen. I wondered idly if we had chocolate croissants, a craving I only indulged in when I was drunk. Just then, a wave of nausea slammed into me. I darted into my bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time.

I fell back against the wall. I hadn’t drank in weeks, so definitely not a hangover. Weeks…I hastily grabbed my phone out of my pocket, searching my calendar for the last day of my period.

My heart skipped, and I was pretty sure I had stopped breathing.

I grabbed the toilet and vomited again.

I’d finished my period seven weeks ago-a week before I fucked a charming stranger named Brady Wyler in an airplane bathroom. Shit, fuck, shit! Am I pregnant?