HONEY GIRL
Part One
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by Juliette Jones
Copyright
© 2014 Juliette Jones
All
rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or
scanned in any electronic or printed form without permission.
HONEY
GIRL (Part One) is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in
this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Cover
art photo used under license from Shutterstock.com
First
Edition: June 2014
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CHAPTER
ONE
Lila
He
lay next to me, still asleep. His black hair was all askew, framing his face
in artful, silky disarray. The cinnamon skin of his brawny shoulders looked
dark, as always, next to my pale curves. He lay on his stomach, his face
turned towards me, his muscular arm curled around a pillow. His full lips were
barely parted, his face peaceful. He looked young in his sleep. Relaxed.
That visceral, male aggression that clung to him softened when he slept, but
the innate arrogance was somehow still there. In the curve of his mouth. In
his strong features and the dark stripes of his eyebrows. I watched him sleep
for a few minutes, fascinated by his mesmerizing flawlessness. He was astoundingly
beautiful.
He
had the build of an athlete. Tall and toned with graceful bones. Powerful,
with the kind of strength that draws your eye and makes you aware of it. Of
how easily it would be for him to use it. On you. Of how brutal he could
be when he drove his immense, thick, hard-as-stone cock deep into you, forcing
wave after wave of raw, lustrous pleasure.
I
could have touched him, with feather-light strokes across his shoulders. Down
his back. I could have rubbed myself against him and kissed his perfect lips,
licking him, tasting the minted, drugging flavor of him. I knew he’d be
instantly ready for me.
Alexander
was always ready.
But
today was the day I was starting my new job. As Alexander’s assistant.
Not
as his assistant , I reminded myself. As his
business partner.
This
whirlwind romance had not only landed me a gorgeous sex-god of a fiancé, it had
also placed me at the right hand of one of the most powerful CEOs in New York
City: founder, owner and mastermind of Wolfe Enterprises. Alexander was the
executive of the esteemed and hugely successful magazine Skyscraper . He
also owned two major book publishers and ran several investment companies,
hedge funds, and a number of cashcow Internet businesses.
He
was a type-A genius with a dark side and a voracious carnal appetite. Which he
took out on me whenever he got the opportunity. Which was, it had to be said …
often.
It
was Monday morning. Early. Earlier than we usually woke. We’d become night
owls, the two of us. Darkness was our erotic haven, where we could exist only
for each other.
I
didn’t regret a single decision. Of course I didn’t. But sometimes when I
stopped to think about things, like now, in the quiet of a purple-skied dawn, I
almost felt a sense of vertigo from the gargantuan shift my life had taken over
the course of exactly one month.
One
month.
One
month ago, I’d been a capable yet fumbling, unemployed, broke, virginal recent-graduate
who dressed in baggy clothes, wore unfashionable glasses, had a bad haircut and
who preferred to keep all members of the opposite sex at arm’s length. And
now? Well, times had most definitely changed. At least when it came to one
particular member of the opposite sex.
I
lay in the semi-darkness and took in my surroundings. The heavy, decorative
drapes that framed Alexander’s – our – bedroom windows were never
drawn. We were too high up to be visible to the mortals down below. Our view
overlooked the distant streets, the treetops of Central Park, the gritty,
graceful skyline of some of New York’s
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