The Wicked Collection

by Vivian Wood

  Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair tied in a topknot, Sam fell onto her bed and let out a moan. It wasn’t even noon yet, and the morning light streamed through her gauzy curtains. I wonder what Connor’s doing?

  She let her fingers move to the edge of the towel and inch up her thighs. Gently, she circled her clit. The thin strip of hair she let remain below was still wet from the bath. Sam bit her lip and thought of how Connor had looked that night at the underground club. How he’d tasted. How wet he’d made her with just a kiss, and of course before he’d been a total ass to her.

  Sam unwrapped the towel and let the sun wash over her naked body. With her knees pointed toward the ceiling, she slid a finger into her mouth and took it back to herself. As she flicked across her clit, her nipples hardened. She kneaded her breasts with her other hand.

  She slid her finger into her folds, surprised by how wet she was already. But when she thought about Connor’s body, about that hardness she’d felt pressed against her that night in the club, she couldn’t help herself. Sam let out a moan, coated her finger in her own juices, and circled her clit harder, wildly. “Connor,” she gasped out. She pinched her nipples harder, and her back arched.

  She was close, deliciously so. Eyes closed and legs spread wide, she imagined him on top of her. His scruff would rake across her cheek as his lips moved from hers to her neck. She imagined his length sliding slow and controlled into her, his muscled stomach pushing hard against her clit with every thrust. When his mouth reached her breasts, it would take her right to the edge.

  The doorbell rang. Goddammit, Ellie. She worked herself faster, turned on by the thought of having a time limit. “Fuck me faster,” she’d tell Connor. “Someone’s coming.”

  It rang again, insistently. “Sam, I know you’re in there! Your car’s in the drive.”

  She froze. Fuck, it was Connor. She was so close to coming it hurt, but there was no way she could finish with him just a few feet away.

  “I know it’s your day off, but I need to talk to you,” he called. “Why’s your phone turned off?”

  Frustrated, she let out a mewl and grabbed her short, red robe from the back of the chair. “Coming!” she called, and nearly laughed at how appropriate that response was.

  Sam hustled to the door, her damp hair hung in long ropes down her back.

  “What?” she asked as she answered the door. Damn, he was good looking. If she wasn’t already about to orgasm anyway, she would have been as soon as she’d opened the door. She bit her lip and looked at his jersey shirt pressed against his chest with sweat.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were in the shower,” he said. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes because of the sunglasses. “I was just on a run, and was in your neighborhood, so…”

  “So?” she asked, flustered.

  He strolled inside without her offering.

  “Come on in,” she said with an eye roll.

  “You look red,” he said, and removed his sunglasses. “You know, it’s actually not good to take showers too hot. Cold showers are actually best.”

  She blushed an even deeper red. If he only knew how much I could use a cold shower right now. “Thanks for the tip,” she said.

  “So,” he said, and sprawled on her couch. “What are you up to on your day off? Any hard and fast plans?”

  She could have sworn he gave her a wink, but she wasn’t absolutely certain. Was he teasing? Was that supposed to be a double entendre? She couldn’t ever find her footing with him.

  “Not really,” she said, and sat on the chair opposite him. His eyes roved to her cleavage, and she pulled the robe tighter together.

  “You know,” he said, as he looked around, “I’ve never really looked around your place much. I’m usually in and out, you know.”

  Oh, God, I wish.

  “It’s cute,” he said, and nodded his head. “It’s you. I like these old buildings. All the wooden trim, the coffered ceilings.” He got up and explored her picture frames. “This you?” he asked, and held up her senior group cheerleading photo.

  “Yeah,” she said, suddenly feeling like the awkward teen she’d been in that photo.

  “Hot,” he said. “I never hooked up with a cheerleader. Believe it or not, I wasn’t such a ladies’ man in high school. You still have the uniform?”

  She turned scarlet. “Probably. Somewhere,” she said.

  “Huh.” He continued to poke through her bookshelves. “Toni Morrison, J.D. Salinger, Sylvia Plath… Stephen King? That’s an odd choice,” he said.

  “Don’t knock it,” she said, defensive of her books. “Regardless of genre, he’s an amazing writer.”

  “I’m not knocking it,” Connor said. “In fact, that would be my choice given your otherwise snobbish shelves.”

  “Snobbish? I don’t go into your place and—”

  “Calm down, pussycat, I’m just playing with you,” he said. “But if you’re trying to distract me from criticizing your books with a peepshow, you need to show just a little more skin.” He nodded toward her thighs, and when she looked down, she saw that the robe had risen to almost entirely expose her lower half.

  Hurriedly, Sam pulled the material together. “Is there something I can help you with? Besides random entertainment on your running break?”

  He made his way back to her couch and sprawled out, feet kicked up on the coffee table. “Tell me what you think about the upcoming schedule,” he said. “Any concerns? Requests? Specific restaurants or bars you want to go to? I can always ask James to move around the logistics. Hell, you might as well make the most of the gig.”

  She looked at him oddly. Did he really run all the way over here to ask her if she had any changes to the schedule? And speaking of running, he’d have to have run a half marathon by now to get to her place! “Hold on,” she said. “Where exactly did you run from?”

  He looked at his fitness watch and raised his brows. “What’s it to you? I’m just trying to be nice, make sure you’re happy with the schedule.”

  “Right, sorry,” she said. “I’m fine with it, really. No complaints.”

  “And what about my father?” he asked. “I don’t foresee any massive family gatherings coming up, but if you’re uncomfortable around him—”

  “I can handle him,” she assured him.

  “Handle him,” he repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, do you have any water? Diet soda?”

  She groaned, but got up and headed for the kitchen. “LaCroix okay?” she called to him. “It’s that or tap.”

  “God, you women and your overpriced French water crap. Yeah, that’s fine. Do you have the blackberry cucumber flavor?”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled one out of the box. “Yeah, women are the target demographic of LaCroix alright. And yes, I have it.”

  “Great. With a wedge of lime? In a glass?”

  She brought them both a glass of the fizzy water, and held her hand over her chest to keep her cleavage discreet while she sat down. “I hope I’m getting a bonus for adding ‘waitress’ to my job description.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Connor said, and sat erect. “How much do you think—”

  “I’m kidding,” she said with a laugh. “Calm down. Not everything has to do with money. But, you know, just for future reference, that’s not how a polite guest acts.”

  “I didn’t know I was a guest,” he said as he took a long swallow from the glass.

  “What else would I call you?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. A friend, I guess. That’s how I talk to Chase and Jay and everyone when I’m at their places. Actually, with them, I know where everything is so I just take it.”

  “Oh,” she said, and looked at her lap. His friend? She didn’t know if that was better or worse than his employee.

  “You know,” he said, taking another sip. “The marketing behind this company really is genius. It’s incredible they got so many people to slap down big
bucks for what’s basically carbonated water…”

  She tuned out his words and just watched his body. Sam loved the way his incredibly long eyelashes contrasted with the rest of his body—everything else was so masculine, and yet there was that tiny touch of softness.

  His jawline was incredible, looked like it was carved out of granite. With the shirt still sticking to him, she could recall exactly what his torso looked like naked, every swell and etching. Big as a horse, the girl had said. Was it true? She looked to his crotch and tried to visualize what was underneath. What would be the harm in…

  “Sam?” he asked, and tore her out of her fantasy.

  “Yeah, what? Sorry,” she said. “I’m, uh, distracted today.”

  “I can see that,” he said, knowingly. “But I’ll let it slide this time. I can’t expect you to always be on your A game. Especially when, you know, you’re practically falling out of a robe.”

  She looked down again and saw her breasts were dangerously close to making a debut. “Shit,” she said, and grabbed at the material.

  “It’s okay, I’m enjoying the show,” he said with a smile. “But I should probably be going. I have a long run back.”

  As she stood up to walk him to the door, she realized he’d made her so sweaty that a droplet inched its way from her center down her inner thigh. When he turned to say goodbye to her at the door, it took all her willpower not to jump him.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, and took off.

  A sadness washed over her as she watched him leave. But at the same time, she couldn’t wait to get back to herself.

  She didn’t even make it to her bedroom. Instead she sat on the couch, still warm from his presence, and finished herself off. The loudness of her cries surprised even herself, the wetness spreading across the leather.

  As she reclined back on the cushions, she huffed. She’d hoped getting herself off would ease her horniness. But it just made her want him even more.

  15

  Connor

  Be there in ten. His phone lit up with Sam’s text, and he shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

  “So, where’s the wife-to-be?” one of the investors asked him pointedly, yet with a smile. Connor gave the older man with perfectly slicked-back hair his best charming grin.

  “Almost here,” he said. “She helped her mother with something this morning.”

  After all these years, he could still impress himself with how easily lies rolled off his lips. Especially when inside he was screaming at Sam. Doesn’t she know how many people would kill to be in the owner’s box at a Redskins game?

  Why are you in an Uber? he texted her as he took a glass of ale from the waitress assigned just to them.

  Car wouldn’t start, don’t know what’s wrong with it, she replied.

  He rolled his eyes. Connor had wondered if it would be okay if she drove herself. What would be the harm? It’s not like the investors would see that they arrived separately—and so what if they did? They weren’t married yet.

  “I think it’s sweet,” the latest wife of one of the investors said. “You know, that you two aren’t living together until after the wedding.”

  “I think it’s stupid,” her husband said. He was a man in his fifties, but Connor had to admit that he did a great job keeping fit. Marathons and cross-state cycling events gave him at least the suggestion that he deserved his wife, who was younger than his children.

  “Hi.” He didn’t even have time to turn around before he felt Sam’s hand on his arm. “My apologies. I was—”

  “I told them you were helping your mother,” he said, and pulled her close.

  “Oh! Thank you, babe,” she said. The waitress was already at her side, a sweating pint on her tray.

  “Connor, I have to meet this pretty little thing.” The oldest investor in the box ambled toward them, his hunched back somehow more grotesque given the twenty-two-year-old that was squeezed beside him.

  He smiled. “Sam, this is Mr. Edmondson, one of the company’s most revered supporters.”

  “He means holder of the company’s deepest pockets,” the old man said. He grinned lustfully at Sam. His eyes lingered at the tiny sliver of skin that was displayed between the tight designer jeans and Redskins jersey knotted above her navel. “You’re lovelier than Connor—and his father—mentioned,” he said. His girlfriend squinted at Sam as she gauged the competition.

  Sam smiled graciously and didn’t flinch when he pulled her in for a cheek kiss instead of simply shaking her hand. “This how they make ‘em these days, Connor?” he asked, though his gaze was directed at Sam’s chest in the shiny tight jersey.

  “It seems you already know that,” Connor said as he deflected the attention back to Edmondson’s girlfriend.

  The old man looked up quizzically, glanced to the tight little blonde at his side and laughed. A full set of brand new, porcelain dental implants shone in the sun. “Right you are,” he said.

  Connor pulled Sam against him as he herded her around the box. As they made rounds, his hand slipped naturally to her tiny little waist, and his fingers brushed against the skin of her midriff. He was grateful for the excuse to wear jeans. They did a better job hiding his erection than suit trousers.

  “Oh, honey, I hope you don’t have babies too quickly,” one of the wives said. She was one of the few well matched in age and pedigree to her husband. “Look at that figure. I used to have one like that. Remember, honey?” Her husband grunted, but stole what he must have thought were covert looks at Sam.

  And she wowed them all. It wasn’t just the feel of her body against him, or how the swell of her hips were the perfect perch for his hand. It was all of her. It also didn’t help that she no longer stiffened up or paused like she used to during his play at advances. She rolled with it easily.

  As the afternoon and game wore on, conversations about future investments at the company gave way to a more casual atmosphere. “Is there anything here that doesn’t look like it was prepared by Gordon Ramsey?” she whispered to him after she’d turned down the last tiny gourmet appetizer.

  “I think you need a Hoffmann’s dog,” he told her.

  “What’s that?”

  “A hot dog with three additional types of pig on it. Bacon, sausage, and pulled pork.”

  She looked at him curiously. “I’d try that.”

  “Seriously? I can have the waitstaff—”

  “No, after the game, can we go get one from out there?” she asked, and gestured to the exit.

  “You mean where the commoners gather?” he teased her. “Let’s go now, it’ll just take a minute.” He took her hand and looked around. “Would anyone else like a Hoffmann’s dog?” he asked. The waitress immediately looked frazzled, and he held up his hand to her. “It’s alright, we’d like to go.”

  All of the investors signed up for one, while the wives and girlfriends wrinkled their noses in a show of disgust. All except the solid older woman who no longer gave a damn what anyone thought of her. “Let them binge eat in secret after this,” she whispered to Sam with a knowing smile.

  As he led her out of the crisp, air conditioned suite, they took a shortcut through the stands. Suddenly, Sam pulled at his hand. When he turned around, she pointed to the field. They were hundreds of feet tall on the Jumbotron as the old-fashioned kiss cam graphics danced around them. Fans around them started to demand and chant that they kiss.

  He leaned into her without even considering that she wouldn’t oblige. When their lips met, the crowd thundered around them. One step behind and above him, she was at his height. He snaked his hands around her back and squeezed her ass, which he’d fantasized about mercilessly since that night at the underground fight. She filled his hands perfectly, and her eyes popped open in surprise.

  “That should give the investors a show,” he told her with a wink.

  “This smells amazing,” she said as they carried the signature dogs back to the owner’s box. They’d stopped and picked up the red
velvet chicken ‘n’ waffles for a touch of sweetness en route. “It almost makes up for my having to wear arguably the most racist shirt imaginable.”

  “Don’t say that in the suite,” he teased her. “You’re making nice with some very rich people with some very strong opinions on why ‘redskins’ is still a perfectly acceptable slur.”

  The investors descended on the stadium food with gusto. The waitstaff scurried to refill pints while the wives and girlfriends picked gingerly at the food.

  “You two look good together,” the older wife told both of them. “We saw you on the big screen.”

  He watched Sam blush and put his hand on her leg. “I’ve been told I make some pretty solid decisions,” he told the woman.

  “Yes, well, my husband is quite taken,” she said. “It’s refreshing to see some youth and vigor revitalize the company. I imagine that will be reflected in a gesture of his soon.”

  Sam smiled at him as the woman moved on to compliment one of the young girls on her dress that looked painfully tight. Although it was just the two of them for a moment, he didn’t move his hand from her thigh. She didn’t seem to mind. He could feel the heat of her body, even through the denim, and wondered what she would do if he started to inch his hand up higher. Nothing? Uncross her legs? Give him permission with her eyes?

  “Connor,” one of the investors said. It snapped him instantly out of his daydream. “What do you think of their first-down running average? Obviously it’s improved since the 2015 season, but I think…”

  He squeezed Sam’s leg, got up and moved to the investor to talk ball. But he felt her eyes follow him.

  When the game was over and all the hugs and kisses were exchanged around the suite, Connor left last. He held the door open for Sam and indulged in a show of her hips swinging in those tight jeans. The ball cap that topped her ponytail and flawless old-school Adidas in custom burgundy and gold stripes were an impressive touch by James.

  “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.

  She turned and looked up from her phone. “I was just ordering an Uber—”