by Wyatt, Dani
The conveniently drunk driver, the damsel in distress, the offer for a home-baked slice of cake. A cake that is my mother’s specialty. She won ribbons in the county fair, the women’s club…easy info to dig up if the right people were on it.
She hit me in my weak spot. A spot I thought I’d kept hidden. Someone close to me has betrayed me, the only other person who could know…
Fuck. Alice?
No, it can’t be. My housekeeper has been like a second mother to me. She wouldn’t. We’re more than just employer and employee, we’re friends. I trust her. And she betrayed that trust. It adds up. I hate that it does, but it does. She’s the only one that’s had access to my bedroom, to my computer. Sure, there are locks, but I’m sure she knows where to find the keys. There are passwords, but they can be cracked.
Clearly, she’s seen my journals, found my things and she’s sold me out to the highest bidder, all so that this whole thing could be set up. Or maybe she’s as innocent as Chastity, forced to betray me under threats against her or her family. The thought just makes me angrier. What kind of monster uses two innocent women in this kind of sick scheme?
And why wouldn’t Alice come to me for help? How could I have made it clearer that I would always protect her?
It doesn’t matter. In the end, the plan worked.
Chastity gave me everything I wanted so I’d fuck her, so I’d give her a glimpse into the world I keep secret and have some damn juicy evidence against me. And who can blame her? She doesn’t know me, and no doubt whatever danger she’s in from whoever is after me is a more pressing concern in her life.
I don’t know whether to go in there and spank her, go in there and fuck her, or just get the fuck out.
At my age, I finally know what it means to have my heart broken. In a matter of a few hours, I’ve let my guard down and look what happened.
Never again.
My hand tightens around the doorknob and I pull the door open when she appears in her bedroom doorway. She steps forward, looking like the perfect sin.
She's playing me.
Wearing a pink and lavender little nightgown deal that brushes the tops of her lush thighs, she’s the most heart-rending sight. Her breasts fill the top, her nipples poking the translucent fabric, making my mouth water.
Her face falls as she sees me at the front door.
“You’re leaving?” Her voice nearly cracks, her eyes wide.
Such a perfect actress—one I’ve just kissed and stroked and imagined walking next to me the rest of my goddamned life. Her flavor still burning through me. But, still, I don’t want to destroy her. She can’t be the mastermind behind all of this. She’s just a pawn in the game.
“I need to deal with an emergency. I’m so sorry.”
She tilts her head to the left and her brows furrow over her luminous-green eyes.
“It’s the middle of the night. You were just going to leave without saying anything? That’s sort of a dick move.” She wraps her arms around her center, jutting out a hip and I hate myself right now.
I look away.
I want to hate her. But I can’t.
Even if she's a liar.
“You’re right. I’m a dick. I’m sorry. I’m doing you a favor. Take care, Chastity.”
I shut the door behind me with a click, and steel myself against the stabbing pain in my heart.
Chapter 9
Jackson
It’s been two fucking days, and I’m sitting here with a hard-on as I watch her moving around her desk.
My office at the Westwood building leads in through the back with a private elevator. The wall of screens in my office shows nothing but Chastity right now. Every possible angle is covered. I had my private security team install cameras around her desk and more along her regular routes through the building.
But that’s the least of it.
I’ve had my PI following her and digging up anything he can. Then there are the half dozen camera angles that look directly onto the front and back entrance of her apartment building, both ends of the corridor outside her apartment, the stairwell… and one installed in the building across from her apartment window, looking directly inside.
She may have been the honeytrap that could have broken me, but my obsession has not lessened. The thing is, she’s not been seen with anyone since I left her the other night, at least not outside of here with co-workers. She’s been totally alone. If she was a set-up, I’d think she would have met with someone by now.
I’m waiting for the call from Isabella that we have a new sexual harassment claim by Chastity Nash, but it’s yet to come. Maybe she didn’t get enough evidence. She could try again. As much as my heart wishes it wasn’t true, logic tells me it is.
I am sick and tired of working toward nothing, building new homes all over the world to be lonely in. Tired of not trusting anyone, but my lack of trust seems to be more necessary now than ever before.
Still, I need to know where she is at all times, I need to know no man lays his hands on her body.
I am prepared to fight and set the world on fire if it means keeping her safe.
Forget about her. You’re lucky you figured it out before it went too far. Before she got evidence. My attorney’s words echo inside my head but I can’t shake what I feel. The things she doesn’t know about me. The things I said to Chastity…
I walk to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and look out at the Manhattan skyline. It fails to give the usual excitement of ownership as I watch over the scattering of my buildings across the city.
So far, the bullshit harassment claims haven’t brought my darkest secrets to light.
But, if there were cameras, recording equipment, even the short back and forth I shared with Chastity would be enough. My tendencies would be splashed across newspapers for the world to see. They’d call me a predator. A pervert.
News like that would destroy me.
I shake my head. There’s no point in worrying about it now. If I catch her in time, I might be able to buy her silence at a higher price than whoever is trying to destroy me. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I unzip my fly and free my thick hard-on.
I can’t fight it. I haven’t been able to fight it since I met her in the bar.
I’ve never jerked off in any of my offices before I met her. Now, it’s multiple times a day and still I get no relief.
I stare out the wall of windows into Manhattan. I don’t even care if someone can see me. All I see is Chastity. I brace myself on one locked arm, the cool glass against my palm as my other hand squeezes and runs up and down my shaft.
Gritting my teeth, I try with all my willpower to drag my thoughts away from her. I have to move on, I have to forget how much I want to make her scream my name.
A surge of desire runs from my balls to the head of my cock, and I quicken my pace.
Good girl. Make Daddy feel good, baby. That’s your job…
Spread your legs. Wider. Let me in…I’m sorry it hurts…
I imagine how tight she is. Her little cries as she takes my huge cock for the first time. Nails raking down my back as pleasure takes her, and a moment later it takes me, my hot seed finding its home inside her. Marking her. Teaching her. Controlling her. Breeding her.
“Fuck.”
And just like that, I’m back in reality. It’s the sharp pain of a leg cramp that does it, dissipating the hazy pleasure of my orgasm like a cloud of smoke. I’ve been tensing every muscle in my body, so lost in the fantasy of fucking her every five minutes.
My dick and balls still ache. I’m not even close to satisfied. Nothing I can do with my hand could come close to the real thing. Furious at myself, I shove my still-hard dick in my pants and grab a few tissues from the dispenser on my desk to wipe off the window.
She has me pushing hard up against insanity and what I did last night is just more evidence that I’m losing it.
When the Westwood offices emptied yesterday evening, I w
ent to her desk. I sat in her chair. I touched everything there that she’d touched. I wanted to jerk off, leave her a gift, but I know only too well the security cameras recording everything, and I’m already in a pot of hot water bigger than this building so I did my best to rein it in.
Sort of.
I looked in her desk drawers, finding a teacup that matched the plates we ate our cake from the other night.
Then, I saw a little pink zipped-up purple make-up case. I put the teacup back, retrieving the case, unzipping the top. Inside, there was a tampon and a pad as well as a tube of Chapstick and a bottle of Advil.
My mind spun. My temples pounding.
My manic obsession took over. I grabbed the case and headed back to my office. I tried to be logical. Civilized. I tried to control the madness. I failed.
First, I threw away the tampon. I don’t even want a feminine product inside her. The only thing I want inside her sweet cunt is my tongue, my fingers or my cock.
Next, I released erection and grabbed the pad setting in on the desk in front of me.
I wanted to cum on it, imagining it against her pussy but a huge, dried gob of my cum would surely be noticed. So, I went for plan B. I spit into my hand then jerked off, letting myself go into the palm of my hand.
What I did next was wrong. But I didn’t care.
I slipped two fingers through the white cream and rubbed it onto the center of the pad. Just enough so she wouldn’t notice, but I would know.
I’m a sick fuck.
After, I walked back to her desk, put the little case in its place, then picked up the teacup and licked the rim, stopping for a moment on the spot where her pink lipstick stained the white china, then put it back in place and closed her desk drawer.
I’m still lost in the memory of my madness when I glance at the screens from across the room.
Chastity leans across her desk, the concealed camera on her computer monitor mere inches from her left breast. My throat tightens and my still-hard dick thickens again.
I button up my pants and walk closer, watching her move across the different camera angles in front of me, heading for her supervisor’s desk. I don’t know the names of all the employees, but I’ve made it my business to know everyone she comes into contact with.
His is William Round. He started at Westwood Inc. five years ago, coming highly recommended by his previous employer. He has a wife and two kids, goes to the little deli across the street for lunch every day and orders the same pastrami sandwich.
Like I said, I’ve made it my business to know.
The man’s elbow is too fucking close to Chastity’s thigh. I'm tempted to go down there right now and tear his arm off, then punch him in the nuts with his own fist.
Chastity is my first obsession. My first foray into romantic mania.
I smirk at the screen, where the cameras follow the dark-haired girl with bangs over her brows. She walks with a natural sway to her full hips beneath the pink tiered skirt she’s sporting. Just how did whoever choose her to trap me manage to choose so perfectly? She’s everything I could possibly want, but nothing that anyone would expect.
The knock at the office door makes me jump, and I press a button, immediately feeling cold as one of the screens cuts away from Chastity to show the view of the corridor outside.
“Come on in,” I say when I see who’s there, pushing the buzzer on the top of my desk to allow entry.
George Claude, a robust fifty-year-old man, enters with manila envelopes in his hand. “Good morning, Mr. Carter,” he says in his thick Glaswegian accent, nodding with the slight half-smile of a man who’s utterly confident in his own abilities.
As well he should be.
He’s my personal private investigator. And when I say personal, I mean he works exclusively for me. He’s been on my payroll for the last decade. I pay him enough to keep him off the open market.
I trust this man with my life.
“Morning, George. I was expecting you. How are the kids?”
He nods. “They’re well, thank you, Mr. Carter. I have a good portion of the information you requested.”
I know that’s the end of the conversation when it comes to his personal life. With George, it’s all business during business hours. He doesn’t appreciate small talk. Which is just as well.
With a nod, he hands over the envelopes.
“We finished our final sweep of her apartment today after she left for work. There was nothing indicating any recording equipment, video or audio. In my professional opinion, it’s a complete coincidence that you came upon Chastity Nash. As well, the Uber driver was booked for driving under the influence and he is an official Uber driver. Well, he was until they let him go. I do not believe that someone would take on that sort of criminal charge, even if they were being paid to help set you up. With Chastity, it doesn’t make sense. She appears to just be an intern, here for the summer on the marketing program. Nothing shows her taking a payoff from anyone. Her cell phone records show very few calls. Most traceable to a father in West Virginia. Some to a few co-workers. And it was her co-workers that chose that bar. Not Miss Nash.” He pauses clearing his throat. “Sir, about your birth parents.”
I nod. He has been working for the last year to locate my birth parents. It’s no easy task, considering I knew nothing but my mother’s first name, the date I was dropped off at the Catholic mission, the clothes I was wearing and of course, my DNA sample.
I never much cared about finding out about them until last year. After I got deep into starting my charity, the micro loans and the mentorships…I don’t know, I just wondered about them. I started to think differently, and I wanted to know my story. Their story.
Apart from locating my parents, George has also been tasked with digging up info on the other women who are bringing charges of sexual harassment. Until now, we’ve found no common thread between them, and precious little on my birth parents either.
“What is it?”
“Well, sir, it’s not much. This has to stay strictly off the record, you have to understand, but I had a friend at the justice department run your DNA through the system.”
“The justice department?”
He nods. “He turned up something that could narrow down the search area at least. He can’t give me much more as it would raise too many questions as to why the search was being run, and we also can’t be sure if the records will be sealed and therefore inaccessible, but it’s a start.”
“It is,” I agree. “Thank you, George. Where do we take that from here?” I question, but my mind is on Chastity.
“Well, it means I can start pulling court records, criminal records, newspaper reports and the like, anything that’s in the public domain. I’ll start scanning through for anything that could be a potential link, and we can start making inquiries. It won’t be cheap, there’ll be a lot of hours of work, but—” I wave a hand, the money not even an issue, and he nods. “That’s what I thought.”
So, someone close to me, my birth mother or birth father I would assume, has probably been on the wrong side of the law. Interesting. I know George will let me know if he finds anything else.
I open the file on Chastity that he’s prepared over the last couple of days—not enough time for a full comprehensive report, but enough for George to have a pretty clear picture of who we’re dealing with—and lean back in my chair.
I rub my jaw and fail to stifle the smile as I read.
There’s a short article in the Morgantown Review showing Chastity winning a baking contest in her high school. That means she wasn’t lying about her cake decoration adventures. She doesn’t drink and always orders the club soda just like mine when she does go out with her co-workers. How George comes up with all the info he does I’m not sure, but I trust it to be fact and relief is beginning to soothe the painful tension I’ve had since I left her apartment that night.
She has shown a knack here at Westwood for marketing and packaging products, as well as br
anding to appeal to the younger audiences.
She's trying hard to fit in and no one has anything but positive things to say about her.
I spread my fingers over the photos in the second manila envelope. Chastity’s outfit choices, stylish for the most part, but with a girly innocence woven throughout, just like when I met her at the club.
George also provided proof that Chastity is the creative lead behind some of the latest ideas Westwood has presented to clients assigned to her team.
Only, there’s no official record that she’s received credit for any of them. Her day consists of working on insignificant tasks, while her team takes official credit.
That’s fucking bullshit.
By the time I’ve finished flipping through the report it’s obvious that my fucking distrust of people has gotten the best of me when it comes to her.
I truly am a dick.
There is no sign she’s on anyone’s payroll. She wouldn’t be able to hide it from George. It’s illegal, but he accessed her bank records as well. Her computer at work and her laptop at home. He found nothing that would resemble a payoff or instructions on how to find me, where I would be that night...my likes and dislikes. Nothing. I realize with a sickening feeling that my own paranoia was the culprit fueled by all the betrayals I’ve been dealing with in the rest of my life. My pulse quickens with the sudden rush of guilt and anger at myself.
My girl deserves better. Better than me, and certainly better than this fucking job. I use the term job loosely, because I know interns don’t get a paycheck per say. A small per diem, not enough to pay for one lunch in this city.
Protectiveness surges through me. I want to go down there and personally throw every single member of her team out of my damned building.
My girl deserves to shine.
George might not have had enough time to come up with a full detailed history of her entire background yet, but he’s been thorough about his findings so far. Attached is a photo of the culprit behind all of Chastity’s ideas getting stolen: Sasha May. Senior account executive in charge of several of Westwood’s top clients.
