CHAPTER TWELVE
Tucker
I sauntered into the office, whistling quietly, coolly confident as always.
My cousin turned to look at me, swiveling on his stool.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Hunter asked.
I just ignored him, throwing my shit down on my desk before sprawling in a chair. Man, I was sore like I’d been working out for hours, but it wasn’t from the gym. Oh no, I was wrung out from being buried in my best girl’s pussy, that cunt so tight, so small, that it sucked every last sperm out of me, draining me to the last drop. Fuck and it felt so good, I couldn’t wait to see Laurie again for more.
Hunter strode by my desk, dropping a sheaf of papers.
“Orders are up by fifty percent,” he said, “We gotta hire more staff.”
I leaned back in my chair, hands behind my head, stretching, twisting my neck. Fuck, that girl had me bent out of shape, I’d probably pulled a muscle from the sex games alone.
“Sure,” I grunted. “We can afford it, easy.”
Hunter just looked at me, shaking his head.
“Seriously man, as CEO of this place you’d think you’d want to run the numbers first or at least ask someone to run the numbers for you before making a decision. I mean aren’t you afraid that you’re wrong, that you’re dragging us into some black hole?”
But I shrugged my shoulders. I was on top of the numbers every day, I knew exactly where NYC Concierge stood in terms of staffing and expenses, our revenues versus our profits. Even if it didn’t look like I was paying attention, I was on the dashboard constantly, scrutinizing our figures like a hawk. Besides as our COO, it was Hunter’s fucking job to bring me the numbers, help me make informed decisions.
“These the spreadsheets?” I asked, eyeing the sheaf of paper.
My cousin nodded.
“Yeah, this is it. Let me know if you have any questions,” he said rolling his eyes before turning and walking away.
I fingered the papers unenthusiastically, staring at his disappearing back. Because my cousin and I founded NYC Concierge together a year ago, it was my idea and Hunter agreed to come on-board to bring it to life. During business school I’d noticed a gap in the market and strove to take advantage of the opportunity. It’s always been an asset of mine, this ability to spot openings and manipulate them before anyone else got there, getting a first-mover’s advantage.
Because sure, there are tons of door-to-door delivery services in the city, heck even Fresh Direct was getting into the game, going beyond mere groceries and expanding into personal care products and beauty items. But I wanted NYC Concierge to go beyond that. I was intent on creating a personalized elite delivery service, one where you could order absolutely anything and have it arrive on your doorstep within the hour if possible, no questions asked.
And what set us apart was our technology. Like Uber and Lyft, we were app-driven, you ordered using your cell and we’d provide a countdown ticker to estimate wait time. That way, customers could leave the house, take their dog for a walk and run errands, all without worrying about missing the delivery guy.
And of course, you can request a specific delivery person as well. That’s part of the charm, part of the “elite” aspect. A lot of rich people only want to work with people they already know, and this way we could gain their trust, build bridges before mining the one percenters for more.
But of course, in our beta stage, NYC Concierge was open to everyone, we needed to test this shit, get everything going like clockwork before we restricted our service to the elites. And that’s how the lovely Laurie came to find us, ordering her bottle of shampoo and soaps. NYC Concierge had been doing some select promotions where people of any net worth could use our services, but the program was destined to be short lived at best. It’s not that we didn’t want to deliver shampoo and laundry detergent, that hardly mattered. It was the prices we planned on charging. That’s right, we’re working on a tiered payment system and for our bronze members, the cheapest category, monthly membership would be a flat ten thousand dollars fee. So yeah, this wasn’t going to be a service for just anyone, more like folks who flew in helicopters or had their own private jets.
And in the meantime, fuck but this promotion was the best idea I’d ever had because it’d led me to the juicy virgin, her firm, fine form so succulent and tasty. I leaned back in my chair again, lost in my thoughts. Laurie was fucking amazing and my cock stirred a little just at the mental image of her. A virgin? How often did that happen in NYC? Girls these days lost their v-cards so early, in junior high practically. So to find an adult woman, shy and unassuming, with her hymen intact had been an incredible turn-on, and I was on it in a flash.
And fuck, de-virginizing her had been amazing because the brunette was a slut, hands down. Letting me push my tongue into her ass? Coming hard that way, without any stimulation to her pussy? She was so sensitive, so attuned to my big body that that was all it took, I’d thrust into those sweet folds, feeling her barrier break, her shocked cry and indrawn breath all the proof that I needed that she was truly untouched, a nubile, creaming girl.
And fuck, but I wanted more. Laurie was coming over tomorrow night and I wanted to make it special for her. Of course I was going to devour her again, help myself to a huge heap of tasty twat and ass, but I wanted her to be comfortable, to relax, to reveal the full sweetness of her nature. Every time I looked at her, those big brown eyes danced, her pink pout slightly open, begging me to kiss her. And I was going to, after I inhaled her form, savoring every sweet curve, every sassy jiggle of her plump body. Fuck yeah, I was going to treat this woman well, stop at no lengths to romance her like she deserved.
But my thoughts of tomorrow night were rudely interrupted because Hunter had come striding back, his gaze suspicious.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked, waving another sheaf of papers under my nose. “What the fuck? Why did it take you half an hour at this one chick’s place?”
Goddamnit. The technology that was our strength was also a pain in the ass at the moment because of course my cousin knew exactly where I’d been, how long I’d lingered at each stop, how long each delivery took. I growled at him, my hackles rising, but then forced myself to calm the fuck down. No need to let the cat out of the bag, might as well be professional, this was a business after all.
“An old lady asked me to help move some furniture around, so I said yes,” I shrugged casually. “Didn’t look like she had many options.”
Hunter frowned again.
“Wasn’t there a doorman or a super or something? Why you?” he whined. “Tuck, you have shit to do, you know the clock’s always running in this business.”
I just shrugged again.
“Maybe cause she lives five floors up,” I said helpfully. “And there’s no doorman, it’s a pretty run-down place on the Upper East Side.”
Hunter just frowned again. But my cousin is a good guy, he wasn’t going to ream me out for helping little old ladies with no options. So he just huffed again and turned away.
“Well, if this Evelyn Holmes person requests you again, we’re going to say you’re unavailable,” he said tightly. “Time is money in this business and we gotta move fast, roll with the ball.”
I just shrugged again. Hunter could spout whatever shit he wanted but I was still the boss and I was coming and going when and where I wanted, complaints be damned. After all I had even more invested in this business than him. Not only had I poured a fortune into the company as start-up capital, but I was also working as a lowly delivery man to better understand our business, running up and down flights of stairs, humping heavy packages, my baseball cap pulled low the entire time, anonymously delivering shit. After all, it’s critical to explore every niche of our business, know exactly what’s going on and there was no better way to do it than as a stealth boss. To understand what kept our employees up at night, I’d decided to take on the job myself, schlepping up and down all of Manhattan as a nondes
cript messenger. Only then would NYC Concierge be able to optimize on all fronts, truly push the boundaries of this developing sector, otherwise we’d be manipulating something that management, at its core, did not fundamentally understand. And I’d be damned if I was the boss straight out of Dilbert, giving wedgies with his head in the clouds. So yeah, delivery was our business, and I was the delivery man sometimes.
I shrugged again. Shit had to get done, and Hunter was right in some respects, I’d been spending a lot of time with my special customer. There were reports to read, client data to scrutinize, investors to chat up, endless lists of to-dos that always got pushed to the back. I shook my head, getting serious, flipping on my laptop while turning to focus on my work. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, I couldn’t wait to taste, to sample Laurie again, but for the rest of today, NYC Concierge was my baby.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Laurie
Hesitantly, I knocked on the big door. To say I was out of place was putting it mildly. I stood in a swanky building in Tribeca, a neighborhood so expensive that the most I could afford was maybe a pastry at a bakery, and not even a fancy bakery. Oh no, not the ones with the twee decorations and pyramids of macarons stacked in pastel colors, that was too expensive. I was talking about a pastry from Dunkin’ Donuts, I’d wandered into one on the way here, treating myself to a snack before arriving at Tucker’s building.
And looking up, I almost gasped. The grey edifice was classic Tribeca with the huge, cast-iron windows and a grey and green striped awning over the front door. Even the doorman was fancy, a burly man in a snazzy bellhop outfit, jaunty cap perched on his head.
“Can I help you?” he said, businesslike. Guess the jaunty cap was just a prop, there was nothing friendly about him. In fact, he was kind of like a bulldog brought in to shoo away randoms, his expression suspicious and impassive at once.
And I mumbled before lifting my chin and looking him straight in the eye. No need to act awkward, be the timid little girl. After all, Tucker was a delivery guy and there had to be some explanation for these majestic digs. No way he could afford this on a delivery man’s salary even with generous tips.
So I piped up confidently, “Tucker McGrath please,” and the doorman nodded. With a sweep of his hand, he pointed me towards the elevators.
“I’ll let Mr. McGrath know you’re here,” his voice trailed as the door closed. I took a deep breath. Okay, I was going to see Tucker again, and the big man was about to show me his home, show me where he lived. My cheeks colored, my breath going fast in anticipation. It was exciting to be seeing a man ever since the disaster of my divorce, maybe even a little early, but who knows? It’s better to get back in the saddle right away, not lie on the ground and cry when you could be having a ball with a gorgeous male.
And finally I was at Tucker’s floor. I stepped up to the big, mahogany door and pressed the doorbell, a melodic chime ringing out before the massive slab opened. Tucker was there and god, he was so gorgeous that I lost my breath immediately, his massive shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe, those sculpted arms, the thick thighs.
Before I could even say hello, he’d pulled me into the foyer for a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue between my lips as the door slammed shut behind us. I was lost in his arms already, mewling, writhing, pressing my breasts against that hard chest before we finally came up for air.
“Hey baby girl,” he murmured against me, lips soft on my mouth. “You look nice.”
And I flushed because I’d taken special pains for our dinner together. He’d said it was going to be pizza and beer but I still wanted to look attractive, make it special. So I’d rummaged through my stuff before reappearing with a pair of designer jeans, the denim flattering as it lifted and shaped my butt, the pockets on the ass highlighting my juicy curves. And I’d paired it with a white cashmere sweater, the cable so fine and soft that it was like rubbing your cheek against velvet.
Except the cashmere was doing me no favors right now. My nips poked out through the wool like rocks, totally apparent, pointing straight at the big man like heat-guided missiles seeking their destination.
“Is that for me?” he growled, eyebrows raised. “Or are you just happy to see me?” he said lasciviously, eyeing my hard nips.
And I giggled then, slapping a small hand against a hard bicep.
“Oh you!” I flirted. “That’s for the girl to say, not the guy.” And in this case it was true because there was a tent at Tucker’s crotch already, I could make out the curve of his penis, the bulge enormous and appetizing.
But Tucker was a modern man.
“Hey, we don’t have to have defined gender roles,” he rumbled with a wink. “No need to hold back baby girl, if you want to be the aggressor I’m all for it.”
And I looked at him through my lashes.
“Really?” I purred, thrusting my chest out further. “Is that what you want?”
And Tucker’s eyes lit up, his hand tracing the shape of my breasts, weighing them in his palms, savoring their heft, their firm shape.
“It’s not that I want it, baby girl,” he rumbled, “It’s if you want it, then I’m all game.”
Biting my lip, I flushed again. I was an untested virgin and yet there was so much that I wanted to do, so many dirty fantasies to act out and oh fuck, but playing with Tucker, experimenting with our bodies was at the top of the list. But as I eyed his big form hungrily, my stomach rumbled, audience be damned. It was loud enough that you could practically hear it across the room, the “grrah!” of stomach juices churning.
And the big man just laughed.
“Fuck little girl, I gotta feed you, don’t I?” he growled low in his throat. “Fuck I love that about you, how those curves need sustenance to keep going, need food to maintain their bounce. By the way, did you eat something on the way over, honey? I tasted something on your lips, something sweet.”
And I licked my lips self-consciously, my pink tongue flickering, causing the big man to stare, mesmerized.
“Yeah, I had a maple-glazed donut from Dunkin’ Donuts,” I admitted. “When I walked past, the smell was so appetizing, wafting out onto the sidewalk that I couldn’t resist. I swear, they must purposefully blow food smells onto the sidewalk because it was like I was in a tractor beam, my feet just started walking and the door opened like magic in front of me.”
And the big man laughed harder.
“Fuck baby, I love it. Your verve for life, your appetite for food, everything bountiful and delicious. In fact, if you put on some weight, you’d be even more beautiful,” he growled, eyeing my frame up and down, causing my nipples to tingle, hardening even further, a warmth lighting up deep within my cunt. “Yeah, about twenty pounds would do it.”
Fuck, twenty pounds? That’d make my body go from curvy to Jessica Rabbit proportions, I’d be poking out here, there, everywhere.
And that’s exactly what the big man wanted, judging from the way he was eyeing my bod while nodding to himself, licking his lips as if anticipating the extra acreage, the extra mileage he’d get if I had a couple pounds more.
“Fuck yeah,” he confirmed. “Twenty more pounds,” he rumbled.
And I just shook my head, rolling my eyes.
“Tucker, with twenty extra I’d be busting out of all my clothes. If you think I’m busting out now, just wait and see with another twenty.”
But the big man just laughed. “Do it for me baby,” he whispered into my ear. “Put on that extra poundage for me and I promise I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe, whatever you want, clothes, shoes, everything.”
I just rolled my eyes again because there was no way Tucker could afford it on his salary. He was a delivery man and there was no way NYC Concierge could be paying him enough to outfit me with a whole new set of clothes.
But I let it go because my stomach had growled again and I was really, really hungry. While we were talking, he’d led me to the dining room and the décor took my breath away. Oh fuck, there was an exquis
ite dining set, all gleaming mahogany, set with silverware that sparkled and shone, dishware so fine it was like looking through an eggshell.
But the food itself was even more appetizing. Because Tucker had ordered pizza, sure, but this wasn’t Domino’s or Round Table. Three steaming pies were laid out on the table, three artisanal pizzas with fancy toppings like arugula and Iberico ham interspersed with blobs of the finest hand-thrown mozzarella.
“Oh my god, what is this?” I asked dumbfounded. Again, I’m a girl who usually eats Little Caesars, so this was about ten steps up. “Where’d you get this?” I asked, my mouth watering already, the savory tomato scent tickling my nostrils.
And the big man just grinned.
“Baby, I said beer and pizza but I wasn’t going to order fast food or any shit like that. Hell no, I want you to eat your fill, how else to put on twenty pounds?” he added wickedly, throwing a sly glance my way. “This stuff is from an artisanal pizza place down the street that also brews their own beer, here take a sip,” he offered.
And I licked my lips as he filled a stein with the amber liquid, the glass immediately beading with sweat. Fuck, it looked good and I couldn’t wait to feel the beer trickling down my throat, I was hardly the hoity-toity type who only drinks wine from France. I mean, I love wine and wouldn’t turn down a glass but I like beer too, I’m happy with a Bud or a Coors Light on occasion, it’s a throwback to my roots. So I nodded happily as Tucker topped off the stein, careful blowing on the foam before handing it over to me.
“Mmm,” I moaned as I took a gulp of the good stuff. “Mmm,” I moaned again. It was frothy with a deep earthy scent, exactly as beer should be. And my eyes flipped open to find the big man staring at me.
“Fuck,” he rasped harshly. “It was like seeing you drink my sperm, how much you love it, how you eat it up.”
And I smiled wickedly at him.
“I do love it,” I cooed. “I love tasting it, wanna give me a sip, now before dinner?”
Double Dare: A Fake Fiancee MMF Romance Page 43
