Misconduct

by Penelope Douglas

  He rose from the chair and walked toward me. “You’re young and naive.”

  I breathed hard, pinching my eyebrows together and scowling.

  “You ask the dumbest questions, and you’re having the tantrum of a child,” he charged. “It bores me.”

  I growled low, ready to leave, but he took my face in his hands and spoke hard, his voice and the heat of his breath taking me over.

  “Yeah, I’ve had women,” he admitted, baring his teeth. “Lots of women. I’m thirty-five fucking years old, for Christ’s sake.” He shook my head slightly. “Tessa McAuliffe is a beautiful woman, and we’ve enjoyed each other many times.”

  I rammed my palm into his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Many times?” I raged.

  He nodded, getting in my face. “Yeah, many times.”

  But as I felt my eyes pool with tears, he came closer and grazed my lips with his. “All before you,” he whispered, making my breath stop. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

  I stayed still, needing to pull away but wanting to stay.

  “That’s why you’re stupid.” He grabbed the backs of my thighs and lifted me onto the pool table. “Why the hell would I want her or anyone else when I’ve got this?”

  And he pulled up my dress, pulled my panties to the side, exposing my pussy, and dove down, capturing my clit in his mouth.

  My eyes rolled and my head fell back as his hand pushed the top half of my body down to the table.

  “Tyler,” I cried out. “You have to stop.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tornado low in my belly from building further, but he was going too damn hard.

  His lips covered my clit, sucking it in between his teeth and warming me with his hot breath against my entrance. He was sucking so hard.

  And then he began dragging his tongue up and down my length, switching between that and more sucking as I slowly fell backward on the table. Reaching behind my knees, he pushed them up to where they nearly touched my shoulders, opening me completely for him.

  My thighs instantly tensed, wanting to close, because I felt so exposed, but he started kissing and biting and do everything that drove me mad.

  “The door’s not locked,” I pleaded.

  But then he plunged his tongue inside me, and I cried out.

  “Oh, God,” I gasped, my pussy pulsing so hard I could barely think of anything except the need to fill it.

  “Tyler, the lock,” I gasped, whimpering. “Please.”

  I felt his mouth leave my skin, and I looked down to see his eyebrow cocked.

  “I thought you liked standing in the middle of burning rooms,” he challenged.

  Asshole.

  He smirked and walked over, turning the lock on the door. Striding back to me in long steps, he slid his arms under my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the table. He then hooked his fingers in my panties and slid them down my legs, my heels having long since fallen off.

  He dipped back down, lapping at my clit and swirling his tongue around the nub as he worked to unfasten his belt.

  “When Tessa’s happy, she smiles,” he commented against my skin. “When she’s angry, she smiles.”

  I threaded my fingers through his hair, listening.

  He rose and pulled me up, reaching behind me and unzipping my dress. “You’re the complete opposite,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You say what you think and you refuse to indulge people you can’t stand. You’re like a ball of fire I can never hold for too long.”

  He pulled down the top of my dress, bra straps with it, and pushed me back down to palm my breasts and rub his thumbs over my nipples.

  I groaned, letting my eyes fall closed.

  “You belong in my bed every night, and I fucking hate that I can’t have you there,” he gritted out, his hands working between our bodies. “I want to buy you shit just to have you throw it back in my face, and I want to fly you to Fiji just so I can rip a bikini off of you.” I felt the hot tip of his cock at my entrance, and I could feel the wetness between my legs.

  “I said my dick was yours, and I meant it,” he breathed out, grabbing hold of my hips as he slammed his dick inside of me.

  I cried out, feeling the sweet ache of him stretching me. He clamped a hand over my mouth, pounding into me harder and harder. I loved the feel of him, how he fit me so perfectly. I loved the smell and taste of him, both of which excited and calmed me.

  But what I loved most was his eyes watching me as he stood above me.

  “You’ve been a bit of a brat today,” he scolded.

  I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “You were jealous, weren’t you?” he asked.

  I bit my bottom lip, groaning as he took his hand away from my mouth and began to rub circles on my clit.

  “Yes,” I breathed out.

  “Why?”

  I swallowed, my mouth like a desert from the exertion. “She talked to me about you,” I started, my breasts bouncing back and forth with his thrusts. “She talks about you as if she knows more about you. She gets to touch you in public and call you ‘Tyler.’ ”

  He came down, never once breaking pace as his face hovered over mine.

  “She’s not getting any of this, baby,” he whispered. “She’s not the one I can’t stop watching or thinking about.”

  I gave a weak smile, and his knuckles grazed my cheek.

  My pussy began to tighten and clench, and he rose up, thrusting harder and faster.

  “Oh, God,” I panted.

  “Now are you going to be good?” he challenged, holding my hip in one hand and my breast in another.

  I arched my neck back, taking everything he was giving me and closing my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.

  But as the orgasm exploded between my legs and floated up to my belly, I smiled, knowing I could never keep that promise. And he didn’t want me to, either.

  EIGHTEEN

  TYLER

  L

  ife never follows your plan.

  The truth was you could spend countless hours planning and preparing, and the only thing you could count on once you’d got your plan set was that it would be the one way things won’t happen.

  This year was supposed to be about Christian – creating a relationship with him – and my future in the Senate.

  But all it takes is for one woman to look up at you, her eyes saying everything that she doesn’t want to admit out loud, and all of a sudden she’s all you’re thinking about.

  Easton was jealous last weekend, not only of Tessa McAuliffe, but also of having to hide our relationship. She would never admit it, because she was too damn stubborn, but she wanted more.

  The relief in her eyes and the weak little smile she gave me when I admitted how much I wanted her was tearing me up, because what I’d told her was the truth, and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  I was thirty-five and had never been married, so why shouldn’t I want something permanent? She was young, beautiful, smart, and well educated, and while her temper was a pain in the ass, she was also a force to be reckoned with. I liked the idea of having her at my side in life.

  Patrick opened the door, and I stepped out of the car, buttoning my black pin-striped suit coat as I headed over the grass to the sidelines of the soccer field.

  I’d missed the reminder for his soccer game on my calendar and had zoned out when the secretary had reminded me during a meeting, because I was trying to multitask too much at once, so now I was late.

  As usual.

  My father had always attended my games, on time, ready to cheer for me. He was also a busy man – and still was – but he’d managed to show up anyway.

  He would tell me that I just didn’t know how to prioritize, and that came from selfishness. I wanted what I wanted, and I didn’t want to give up one thing in order to have another.

  He never went easy on me and still regularly called me out as if I were twenty-two again and not a grown man who had built a worldwi
de corporation without any of his money giving me a head start.

  I had big shoes to fill, and I wasn’t measuring up.

  Never measuring up.

  “Tyler!”

  I heard a stern voice cut through the cheers and whistles, and I turned, immediately inhaling a ragged breath.

  Speak of the devil…

  Tipping up my chin, thankful that my undoubtedly annoyed expression was covered by my sunglasses, I walked down the sidelines to a group of parents who had set up a couple of tents with a small buffet spread out and cushioned lawn chairs. Aluminum trays were heated by candles underneath, and an array of salads and other sides adorned the tables. Balloons and tablecloths in the black and forest-green school colors blew in the light wind, and women toasted with their mimosas, trying not spill anything on their designer scarves.

  I strode up and scanned the field for Christian, seeing him stop the ball with his chest and then begin to kick it in the opposite direction before passing it off. He wore black and green face paint like a mask over his eyes, and I smiled, seeing that he was the only one daring to be different.

  I wondered what had made him do that.

  “So how are you doing, old man?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. Matthew Marek was thirty years my senior, and yet he’d called me “old man” since the first day I’d stepped into his classroom fourteen years ago.

  As my professor, my father didn’t treat me with any gentler a hand at school than he had at home. He’d said I must be ancient to have such a cynical world view, and I’d absolutely hated having him as my teacher.

  Until, of course, nearly the last week of the course, when his advice had changed my life forever.

  I understood then that, despite the old money and Marek family expectations, my father had been right to follow his calling to academics. He knew a thing or two.

  I pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose. “I’ll let you know once this day is over.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, they all start melting together eventually,” he agreed. “And judging by that gray” – he ruffled my hair – “I’d say time is moving faster than you.”

  “Bite me,” I grumbled, smoothing my hair back down. “My hair is as black as yours was thirty years ago.”

  He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and I did the same, both of us watching Christian run back and forth on the field.

  I quickly scanned the rest of the area, finally spotting Easton at the small concession stand, filling containers of popcorn.

  I lingered on her, and the temptation of her bright smile as she exchanged snacks for cash was absolutely brutal. I bit the corner of my mouth to stifle the desire running hot in my veins.

  She looked gorgeous. Her tan pants were tight, not inappropriate but definitely becoming, and showed off her form very well. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned up to the neck, and her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  I loved her teacher clothes. They gave a false impression of innocence and purity, like her lips weren’t wrapped around my cock two nights ago when I’d called her at midnight, telling her to open her front door for me.

  “I checked out your recent developments with Marek Industries,” my father said. “Hiring local workers in the East with the same pay they would’ve made in the United States. That’s positive change, Tyler.”

  I continued watching Christian as I spoke. “And in the meantime, my competitors are paying slave wages in those third-world countries and spending three times less.”

  “How much money does a man need?” he shot back.

  I glanced over at Easton, her hands on her hips, chatting and smiling with Ms. Meyer.

  “There’s always more world to conquer,” I said in a low voice. “Always things I want. There’s never enough money.”

  “And that pursuit will take you away from everything that truly matters,” he retorted.

  He was always the teacher and never just my father. I faced the field again, barely seeing Christian as I braced myself.

  “You still fight that battle,” he went on. “Your conscience knows what’s right, Tyler, but your ego keeps telling you to advance. It’s not about speed. It’s about direction. Clarify your goals.”

  “I want everything.” I turned back, shooting him a cocky grin. “Those are my goals.”

  “But it’s not about getting what you want.” He shook his head. “It’s about wanting what you get. In the end, is it going to make you happier? Was it worth it?” he asked. “You’ve got a thriving corporation that employs thousands of people worldwide. You’ve got a healthy son, but for some reason you’re not content.”

  I gritted my teeth, seeing Christian score a goal, but it didn’t even register, and I didn’t clap.

  Why did everyone want to fuck with me?

  I managed real estate and relationships, dealt with banks and thousands of workers around the world, and I did a damn good job.

  And I had noble intentions for the Senate. It wasn’t some scheme to further my business interests.

  I did my best. I managed everything to the best of my ability.

  I just wanted more. I didn’t want to have to live up to anyone else’s expectations but my own.

  “I just…” I searched for the words. “After all these years, I still feel like… like I haven’t proven anything. I still feel like I’m twenty-two.”

  My father loved me, and I always knew that. But I guess, growing up, I resented the teacher in him. The one who couldn’t say “Good job” or “That’s okay; you did your best.” No, the teacher always expected better, and after years of giving up and giving in to mediocrity, because I was afraid to fail him, he’d finally told me off in front of the whole class when I was forced to have him as a professor during my last year in college.

  He’d handed me my ass and told me that success is earned and not given. A winner fights for it, and I’d been a loser.

  “I know I can do better,” I said, my voice turning thick.

  I felt his eyes on me and then his hand on my shoulder. “Which is exactly why you have my vote if you ever get there,” he added.

  He turned and walked back to his friends, who’d probably invited him, knowing his grandson was playing today, but then I heard his voice again.

  “Tyler, try to remember one thing,” he insisted, and I kept my back to him but listened.

  “You can do a couple things and succeed,” he pointed out, “or you can try to do fifteen things and fail at all of them. Clarify your goals. What are you doing? And why are you doing it?”

  And then I heard him walk away, leaving me with his rhetorical questions.

  He was right. Every ounce of me knew that something had to give, and I’d end up having to let go of something I very much wanted just so everything else in my life didn’t suffer. I was one person with limited hours in a day and too much desire to fill it.

  And too many people with their own expectations.

  I wanted Marek Industries to grow, because it was something I had built from scratch. I was proud of the work we did, and I could see its effect around the globe in the structures it had built and the people it employed.

  I wanted to sit in a Senate seat in Washington, D.C., because I’d read too much and seen too much to trust anyone other than myself. I couldn’t watch the news or read a paper without thinking about what I would’ve done differently.

  I wanted my son to smile at me and joke around with me. I wanted to tell him stories about me as a kid, for us to watch football games together, and I wanted to teach him things. I had loved him since the first time I saw him, and I was desperate for him to know that my decisions weren’t his fault. They were mine, and I regretted them.

  And I wanted Easton.

  I wanted to see her in a beautiful dress across a crowded room, knowing those clothes would be on my bedroom floor later that night.

  I wanted some of these things more than others, but I di
dn’t want to give up any of them.

  “Ms. Bradbury!” someone behind me called. “Please have a seat.”

  I glanced to my side, my arms still crossed over my chest, and spotted Easton handing a rack of water bottles to one of the coach’s assistants.

  She twisted back around, sparing me a quick glance before turning to the small party where my father sat.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” she replied to Principal Shaw. “I’m just making the rounds. Helping out…”

  She stood not five feet away, but it felt like much closer. I could feel her heat, and my whole body buzzed with awareness of her.

  She looked at me again, nodding politely. “Mr. Marek,” she greeted.

  I nodded to her, seeing Shaw rise from his chair out of the corner of my eye.

  “Ms. Bradbury has been doing wonderful things in her class,” he told everyone. “We were all very hesitant at first, but it’s working phenomenally. Mr. Marek,” he called from behind, “Christian seems to be doing well. You must be pleased.”

  I twisted my head, eyeing Easton through my sunglasses but speaking to Shaw. “Yes, I’m very happy with her.” I tried to keep the smirk off my face. “She has a very hands-on approach.”

  Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and she glanced at Shaw, looking half nervous and half enraged.

  I snorted and focused back on the soccer match, letting my lips curl into a smile. But before I could enjoy that one too much, she retaliated, getting me back.

  “And Mr. Marek has graciously accepted an invitation to speak on Career Day,” she announced, sounding unusually cheerful. “I may have dangled a nice lunch to sweeten the deal,” she told Shaw.

  What the fuck?

  “Well” – he laughed – “we beg, borrow, and bribe around here. Easton’s catching on quickly.”

  Yeah, no shit. Career Day?

  “Ms. Bradbury,” I cut in, “may I speak to you about Christian’s project, please?”

  She nodded, her small smile saying she knew she’d gotten me, and I walked down the sideline with her following behind me.

  Stopping just far enough that we were clear of listening ears, I faced the soccer match and spoke to her at my side.