As the Nights With You

By Justine Soria

Would you like to spend wild evenings and breathless games in a millionaire's mansion? Unrestrained love and cute little lies?

Reporter Helen Harrington is one of them. She is required to pen an insightful personal essay about the alluring wealthy heir Lukas Graf. She quickly discovers that Lukas has preconceived notions about him based on this report. He awakens a dangerous passion in her when they first encounter using computation? A game starts.

On the other hand, a fantasy appears to be coming true for the elegant young actress Julie Clark. She gets a part in the TV drama "Hot Hearts" thanks to an agency. This is her opportunity to win over a mass public. However, the path is rough because the man expects superficial consideration. Should Julie give in to his demands?
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gonzales Garcia
• Release date: May 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223070856

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Table of Contents

Breathless nights with you

Hot hearts

The bathroom

As the Nights With You  

Author: Justine Soria

Breathless nights with you

Thanks for the super-fast delivery! Helen Harrington beamed at the man on her doorstep as she handed him back the pen and signature pad in exchange for the package.

Beneath his moustache, his weather-beaten face wore a grin so white it blinded Helen. He waggled his bushy brows. Laughing, Helen closed the door.

It was always the same courier who brought their deliveries. He always tried to flirt with her. Hassan—his name was on a tag on his blue tunic—didn't seem to mind that they amused his efforts. He looked as if he were supporting a wife and half a dozen children with this job - she certainly wouldn't object to that, although she was quite susceptible to his charms.

Once he had called her his most beautiful customer , gently stroking her light blonde hair, which she had worn loose that morning.

Helen knew her hair was an eye-catcher, but other than that she thought of herself as your average type of woman. The courier seemed to see things differently – and hopefully Michael too.

Helen hurried into the living room, which was dominated by the brown leather couch and the XXL television.

Even though Helen had been living with Michael for six months longer than five subway stops away in her own apartment, the apartment still exuded bachelor chic. Helen had tried to create a more homely atmosphere with a few pillows, blankets, books and decorations, but she feared that an overhaul would be needed to turn this cabin into a presentable home. Well, they were going to move once they were married anyway. In any case, they needed more space than these 70 square meters, divided into two rooms, kitchen, hallway, bathroom.

Helen needed an office of her own, that was for sure. As a reporter, she worked several hours a week in the home office. The laptop on the kitchen table and the wine case with books and folders underneath were only a makeshift solution.

Helen smoothed the skirt under her bum before settling down on the cool leather of the couch. She spread out the package, wrapped in gray foil, that had arrived by express delivery. She took a few deep breaths before ripping off the tape.

Moments later, the blossom-soft, aubergine-colored laundry lay in her hands. The thong was adorned with a cheeky bow on the back, and it consisted of a transparent piece of tulle on the front. Even the bra in cup size C would not hide anything with the sheer lace, but it perfectly highlighted the best parts of her body with the silk straps and the filigree fastener.

Helen stroked the shimmering fabric, sniffed it and held the tip to her cheek. A dream in silk.

She got up, slipped off her skirt, shirt, sports bra and cotton bikini panties.

The new lingerie was made for her. The thong fit great, the bra nestled around her breasts, lifting them slightly and letting the breast tips shine through the tiny holes. Helen felt her nipples harden as they touched the fabric. She stroked it, running her hand down her waist to the triangle of fabric between her legs. A tingling spread through her body, sending hot waves from the center of her body between her legs.

She sucked in a shuddering breath. Wait a minute , she reminded herself. Nothing beats the anticipation.

In the hallway of the apartment there were boxes with Helen's shoes. She hadn't brought all of them here from her own apartment, but the best pieces were there. And of course a pair of high heels. The matte silver of the high-heeled pumps would harmonize perfectly with the aubergine of the lingerie.

Pulling out the box from the bottom of the stack, she pulled on her shoes, fastened the dainty hooks, and strutted gracefully like a model into the bedroom to look herself up and down in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

Her figure was flawless. Lingerie and shoes showed off her curves to perfection. She tousled her hair and tried a lascivious facial expression, but she didn't quite succeed. She had to grin at herself and already knew that she wasn't allowed to approach Michael like that. They had known each other for three years. He would probably have a fit of laughter if she acted like wicked bitch.

She had to prevent that.

After all, she had decided to give her sex life a new lease of life that day.

She had tried that again and again in the past few weeks. She had snuggled up to Michael in bed and let her hands wander; had kissed his neck tenderly when they sat together in front of the TV; had wanted to lure him into bed with a long longing kiss when he returned home from the clinic.

Each time he'd blocked, pushed her hands aside, pursed his lips at the end of the kiss, or brought up a topic that made anything else come to mind but heated sex.

Helen had begun to doubt herself and her powers of seduction.

She had to try harder, put everything on one card, give him no choice at all. In the end, he'd be grateful to her for making bed fun again.

She couldn't ambush him, had to give him time to get used to the idea that today they wouldn't be sitting arm in arm in front of the television, but would be having the hottest sex of the year. She wouldn't receive him half naked, no, she would pull a large, inconspicuous, cuddly sweater over her lingerie, but also her high heels, which should immediately catch his eye.

Would they even come to dinner together when he discovered what she was wearing under the cozy jumper?

Helen felt herself getting wet at the thought of him reaching greedily between her legs. How he would suck on her breast and she would massage his hard cock before he thrust into her. She missed the sex so much! He had to feel it - it had to turn him on, even if he was doing a tough job in the clinic.

Yes, she was still keen on Michael, had apparently just forgotten that in the past few weeks as she had to find her way in her new job at Brillant magazine . Everything had been more important than her intimate life, but that had to end.

Helen felt like a thorn in her flesh that she and Michael were growing apart. She was determined to do something about it.

She glanced at the clock. Half an hour, then Michael's shift at the clinic ended.

Just like her, Michael tried to find a secure footing professionally. The position as an assistant doctor in the Klinik am Wald was his first after studying medicine. Michael pushed hard, taking on shifts from colleagues, working until he dropped, and constantly trying to network to climb the corporate ladder.

Helen supported him in his endeavors, comforted him when things went wrong, rejoiced with him when he was successful. However, she sometimes wondered if he wasn't being too dogged. Michael originally became a doctor to help people. In those days, it sometimes seemed like he was less interested in healing than making money and reaping fame.

She too wanted to pursue a career as a journalist, without a doubt. But writing, interviewing and researching was the best thing Helen could wish for in her professional life. She was a reporter through and through.

She lifted her head as the smell of sizzling meat filled her nostrils. The basmati rice in the cooker also gave off a delicious aroma. The dining table was already set with candles and a bouquet of daisies, sparkling glasses and fine crockery for two. She had chosen the white and yellow flowers because a bouquet of roses would somehow have weighed too much. The lightness of daisies suited what she was planning with Michael that evening.

Last Friday they were together for exactly three years to the day.

Michael had worked the late shift that day and only returned home at night.

Helen had spent the evening with her friends Janine and Emilia in Milan's bistro, as she had done almost every Friday for the past eight years .

The day of jubilation had passed like any other day in these weeks.

Both Michael and Helen had forgotten they had reason to celebrate.

Helen noticed it over the weekend when she took a look at her private calendar. She collected her professional appointments on her smartphone, but she still wrote down private birthdays, appointments and anniversaries in a calendar book, in which she kept tickets, restaurant bills and pretty postcards like in a diary. She now had a collection of almost a dozen such calendar books. Everything was in there: How she met Janine and Emilia, what plan she had used to study for her high school exams almost ten years ago, her fears of the entrance exam for journalism school, her private experiences during the two years in Washington as a reporter for the local Radio stations, the various relationships she'd started and ended before Michael.

She found what she was looking for in the calendar from three years ago, after realizing with a shock that she and Michael no longer took their relationship seriously enough. In mid-August three years ago, she and Michael had met at a gym and had made love for the first time six days later. Wow, if that wasn't just as much reason to celebrate! Three years ago today they had sex for the very first time and that's exactly what Helen wanted to celebrate with Michael tonight. Appropriate.

She stumbled into the bathroom, her heels clicking on the tile, and touched up her makeup—a bit of sunpowder, black eyeliner, aubergine lipstick advertised to last all night. She rubbed her upper and lower lips together and looked at herself in the mirror. The hair still. She shook them all forward, pumped spray over them, and threw them back on their necks. Like fresh out of bed. And forbidden sexy. She grinned at herself.

Now only for camouflage the fluffy sweater, and then Michael could show up. She was already looking forward to hearing the key in the lock and how amazed he would look at her.

She hurried into the kitchen because the smell of meat was now more intensely roasted and pulled the roasting bag out of the oven. Ah, that looked perfect!

She lifted the lid of the rice cooker and waved her fingers at the scent. Steam rose in the small kitchen.

She had already washed the lamb's lettuce, and the ready-mixed vinaigrette shimmered in the glass bowl. Now she mixed everything together, trying a little bit carefully so as not to ruin her lipstick.

If everything went as she imagined, she and Michael would be doing it right on the couch or in the hallway. Helen had taken that into account – the roast beef tasted lukewarm too, the rice stayed hot.

Then she heard the door slam. A quick glance at the oven clock - oops, ten minutes early.

Helen was ready.

She tugged at the sweater one last time, shook her hair, and then swayed her hips into the hallway to offer her lover a warm welcome.

***

You're getting some, Helen.

Michael returned her promising welcome kiss with a smack. Now he slapped her bottom. He cleared his fist like he wasn't comfortable with it.

I'm not cold. On the contrary. I haven't felt this hot in a long time, Helen purred, although his warning that she was going to catch a cold dampened her own excitement by quite a bit.

Michael slipped off his sports shoes and put the leather bag under the wardrobe. He looked damn sexy in his jeans that sagged on his hips and his fitted white polo shirt. His dark blond hair fell over his forehead, his chin was clean-shaven, and his gray eyes showed the exhaustion after the long day shift. But those lowered lids had a special sex appeal.

Helen approached him. With her high heels, she was almost as tall as he was. She put her arms around his neck.

You're not actually ready for hot flashes, he joked weakly, giving her a sniff before untying her hands and walking past her to the dining table. His posture was tense. Had there been trouble in the clinic?

Uh-oh, bad timing.

Helen stayed behind, arms hanging, taking a deep breath. The anticipation disappeared with every sentence, every gesture from him. Do not give up! , she admonished herself. Of course he was hungry after work. At first that seemed to be the most important thing.

Together they carried rice, salad and roast beef to the dining table. Helen uncorked the chilled bottle of white wine she had put in the fridge that morning.

It wasn't until they were seated that Michael seemed to arrive at his home. He stared at the ceremonially set table, then below where Helen's high heels caressed his knee.

Tell me, did I miss an appointment? he asked, wiping his mouth. His eyes flickered. Is there something to celebrate?

She poured the glasses, which were misting from the coolness of the wine, and clinked them together. Cheers, darling, Helen said. We both missed an appointment. That mustn't happen to us anymore. Last week we celebrated our third anniversary.

Michael's shoulders slumped forward. At the same time he bit his lower lip and looked at her from under his forehead.

Helen reached across the table and touched his forearm. She had painted her nails very carefully in the French style in the morning. Now don't worry. We've both forgotten it, it won't happen again, and besides...

He pulled his arm away from under her fingers. Helen, let's stop fooling ourselves, he said.

That one sentence gave Helen an ice shower. She froze in place, examining her boyfriend's masked face, and suddenly knew something was going damn wrong.

She wanted to stop him, wanted to ask him to stop talking, but it was no use. Just as she had planned to work on their relationship that evening, so had Michael. Apparently in the opposite direction, as she realized with every word he spoke.

We've lived side by side for a long time and, I mean, we're under no obligation. We are financially independent of each other, we have no children, you have your own apartment. Why don't we make an end to terror instead of a terror without end? Let's part on good terms, everyone makes their own new beginnings and we'll stay friends.

Helen's mouth dropped open as she listened to him, gradually filtering into her mind what he was proposing.

The separation?

At 27, Helen didn't feel like a woman who happily danced from one partner to the next and wanted to enjoy a single life. Michael had been the man she wanted to marry. They were a perfect fit for each other.

Did they really?

Wasn't Michael's reaction much more sensible? To separate before breaking china?

That your heart might be broken - well, she wouldn't be the first and wouldn't be the last to do that.

But how did it really feel inside?

Helen listened to herself. Wasn't the split a step in the right direction? It just felt so damn hard in their current situation. She needed security in her life, especially now that she was hoping to pass her probationary period at Brillant . How was she supposed to deal with all the uncertainties in her life when her relationship was falling apart?

And in return, wasn't she also Michael's great support during his nerve-wracking residency?

Then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. Before she could think about it, she realized, There's another woman in your life.

Say no, say no , she begged inwardly, but she knew the answer before he even spoke.

He pressed his lips together.

A numbness spread through Helen that felt like she couldn't move a muscle. She watched him take the fork and use the tips to draw a pattern on the linen placemat.

Who is she?

Now, I ...

How long have you been going?

Helen, you...

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Spare me the trappings. Say what's up. Finally tell the truth and stop making excuses. You owe me this.

Sara and I... It was like this from the start that...

Helen froze. Sarah? Sara Medinger? Her blood roared in her ears. You're telling me you're shagging the clinic director's daughter?

Aside from the unfortunate 29-year-old Sara with a face scarred from previous puberty acne and an ass like a brewery horse, the most uncomfortable thing was her laugh, which made anyone who heard it think of a bleating goat. She might have a heart of gold, Helen couldn't tell, but she would have sworn in any court in the world that she didn't fit into Michael's prey scheme. Unless .

We get along great - he really said great - we are a good team, we have the same goals. She's the woman of my life, Helen, he concluded, attempting a dachshund look to ward off the impending thunderstorm. Helen felt nausea rising in her.

Did you have sex?

He lowered his chin to his chest and that was answer enough for Helen. A jet of anger and disgust rose up in her at the same time. He had eaten up Sara's giant butt while he was leaving her to starve at home by his outstretched arm. He was probably only doing it from behind - her face didn't tend to increase sexual arousal, which in other circumstances Helen would have found pitiful. But hello? Sara was the woman who won the fight for Michael before Helen even had any idea there was a fight!

Helen's eyes narrowed as they nearly exploded in disgust and anger. What a lousy number, Michael. You catch your boss' baby daughter to climb up the corporate ladder as soon as possible! You sacrifice everything that makes you a man and a person to your professional ambition. I despise you for it and I'm glad you finally put the cards on the table. Yes, I agree with you: a breakup suits me very well. I can't take you around anymore – you disgust me and I regret every single day I wasted with you and every hour I spent hoping we could save our relationship. She got up and stalked unhurriedly into the bedroom, where she threw her Samsonite onto the bed to pack.

She would not stay an hour longer in this apartment, in which she had never felt comfortable. With good reason, as it turned out. The man she wanted to spend her life with was not who she thought he was, but a ruthless careerist who would fly his flag and walk over corpses as long as it got him ahead.

Any love that Helen had felt for Michael dwindled to a pitiful heap of ash inside her. She knew she wouldn't suffer long, wouldn't grieve for this man. But she also knew that it would not be easy to rearrange one's own life if everything had been geared towards togetherness.

She slipped into her jeans and her sneakers and closed the suitcase.

Helen, I... Michael stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, staring at her for help.

She stomped past him into the hallway and pulled his apartment key from her jingling waistband.

We can remain friends, he said.

Anyone who has a friend like you doesn't need an enemy, she replied, gave him the key and slammed the front door behind her with a bang.

***

In her Ford Focus, Helen put the key in the ignition after stowing her suitcase. She leaned forward in the seat, let her hair fall like a curtain over her face, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment.

The madness.

Here she was in her car on the way to her single apartment. An hour ago she had imagined her and Michael doing it in every corner of his apartment. Can't believe she'd had a fever of anticipation recently while now she felt burnt out.

It's best not to let any guy near me again, she thought. But then she shook her head at herself. Shit, she liked being a woman too much, too happy to feel desirable, to want to keep all men out of her life.

But never again like Michael. That was for sure.

She needed someone to talk to now. Should she ask Janine and Emilia if, for once, they already had time for their meeting today? Thursday evening. No, Janine, who ran an online shop for home accessories, always did her bookkeeping, and Emilia went to the yoga class, which she sorely needed in the stressful everyday life with a three-year-old toddler.

Helen pulled her smartphone out of the bag she had thrown on the passenger seat. Three messages. Helen's mother asked which weekend she could finally expect to see her again. Helen sighed. Nothing drew her to Hanover, but she felt an obligation to her single mother. She would get in touch with her in the next few days. Helen did not know her biological father and her stepfather had passed away a few years ago. Since then, Helen has been the only person in the world her mother felt a connection to. Some days Helen found that an unbearable burden. Her mother would be upset when she found out that Helen had split from her fiancé. Secretly, she had already counted on a colorful group of grandchildren, perhaps with a little house that also had room for them. Helen sighed heavily. No, she had to put off visiting her mother until she had reorganized her life herself.

The second message was a photo of Janine dressed up as if for a modeling competition in a skintight cocktail dress. Guess what I'm up to today? was the message. Accounting, Helen thought. It seems that Janine met one of her online dating partners today. Despite severe setbacks, Janine did not give up hope of meeting Mr. Perfect. But maybe she just enjoyed the rapid change of her sexual partners. She could have done it, and Helen was the last person to blame her for it. Good sex was the best panacea for everything - high blood pressure, burnout or bronchitis.

If it came to that, Helen was in for a bad time.

The last of the three messages did nothing to lighten her spirits. It was a cool, businesslike announcement from the editor-in-chief. "Hi Helen, this is Eve Lauder. Please prepare for a planned home story. Research Lukas Graf. You know his father, old Konstantin Graf, is boss of the pan-European fitness chain Muscles & More . It is said that Lukas Graf is flirting with a new image. His reputation as a no-nonsense playboy is well known beyond Berlin's borders, as you probably know. Find out what there is to know about him. Our secretary will make an appointment for Monday morning at his home. See you tomorrow. I expect you to provide me with initial results of your research. End."

Helen tossed the cell phone beside her and slumped in the driver's seat. That was exactly what she had been missing. A horror job with a piece of puke. She did not know Lukas Graf personally, but what one read and heard about him was not designed to arouse interest. It was said that he laid the women in droves and gave a damn about the reputation of his millionaire family. The fitness chain was the most successful in Europe, the halls shot up like mushrooms in all major cities, and if Helen was properly informed, Lukas Graf had little part in it. He squandered his father's money and adorned himself with the most beautiful women, only to exchange them for new ones a few days later.

And someone like that wanted a new image through them?

Helen didn't know to what extent Brillant was indebted to the