by Roxy Sloane
I imagine ripping them off her creamy thighs and burying my cock deep inside of her. She looks all good and proper, but it’s the good girls who have the kinkiest side. Yeah, she’ll be screaming blue murder by the time I’m done spanking her.
“What’s your business?” Keely asks. She looks sternly down at her notebook, all business, but I can hear the tremble in her breath. “There are several routes to incorporation we could take, but they would depend on your specific needs.”
“My needs?” I lounge back in my seat, enjoying the way her chest rises and falls under her silk blouse. It’s buttoned up high to her throat, but all the covering in the world can’t disguise those lush curves. “Well, right now I need to feel how wet your pussy is.”
Keely’s cheeks blaze red. “You have to stop saying things like that.” She glares at me. “You’re just trying to shock me. It’s not working.”
“No,” I laugh. “If I wanted to shock you, I’d tell you that I’m picturing you tied to my bed, with my cock shoved down your throat and my tongue lapping up your cunt.”
She inhales sharply. Damn, this is fun. I watch her, amused. Other women would have made a show of storming out by now.
But this girl? Her jaw is set defiantly, like she’s willing herself to stay cool. Well, we’ll just see about that.
“What do you do for a living?” she asks, determined to get her job done.
“Hmmm.” I ponder my response. “I guess you can say I’m in the entertainment industry.”
Her gaze flips up. “I should have guessed,” she murmurs.
“What do you mean?”
Her cheeks flush. “I just meant that you’re so arrogant. You think everything is one big show.”
Whoa. Feisty. I like it. “Not my scene. But, I always thought about going into porn.”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I hide a laugh. I’m just fucking with her. Porn is way below my pay-grade. Those guys are just pieces of meat, fucking anyone shoved in front of the camera. It’s nothing like what I do: no artistry, no challenge.
No chase.
But Keely’s looking at me with that deer-in-the-headlights stare, so I lie. “Sure.” I grin, teasing. “Everybody’s got a gift, and mine’s making a woman come screaming in sixty seconds flat.”
Instead of looking stunned again, she relaxes. Her lips twitch with amusement. “I hate to break it to you, but nobody comes that fast.”
“Oh yeah? Sure doesn’t seem that way to me.”
Keely gives me a knowing look. “Women fake it, you know.”
I growl in annoyance. “You can’t fake a pussy clenching round my dick like a fucking earthquake,” I tell her. “Or have you never come so hard you passed out?”
She rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t happen.”
I smirk. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Keely looks flustered. She glances back at her notepad. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this. It’s not appropriate.”
“You started it,” I reply.
She frowns. “I did not.”
I lean closer, dropping my voice. “You started it the minute you looked at me like that.”
“How?” she demands.
“Like you’re imagining me balls-deep in your delicious pussy.” I hold her gaze, watching her eyeballs dilate with shock and desire.
She likes it when I talk dirty, huh? Little Miss Innocent’s got a kinky side after all.
Hmmm, I assess her again, wondering if she’d like getting tied up. Blind-folded and fucked senseless with her body strapped across my bed. Or maybe she’d like to try a threesome. I could have Lola come by, and teach her how to lick pussy while I pound her from behind...
I feel myself getting hard, so I stop that particular fantasy dead in its tracks.
Besides, I remind myself, it doesn’t matter how she likes it. I don’t even care if she comes. I only need to fuck her -- and get the proof.
“Can we please talk about business?” Keely looks as if she’s about to bolt for the door.
“Anything you like.”
“Good.” She nods, about to go back to her notes, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Keely?” The girl from reception pokes her head around. “There’s a call for Carter. It’s June, and she sounds urgent. Can you talk to her?”
Keely looks up. “Yes, put her through.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, when the girl leaves. “Another client, I need to see what’s going on.”
“Be my guest.”
She goes to the desk and when the phone flashes a moment later, she picks up. “June? Mr. Abrams is not here right now. What’s going on?” She pauses, then looks alarmed. “The hospital? Is he OK?” Keely nods. “Of course, I’ll have the will messengered over. They have a notary public on staff. Mr. Ashcroft will be able to sign right away.”
Mr. Ashcroft.
The name sends a chill like ice through my body. It can’t be.
Dark memories flood my mind, but I order myself to stay cool, lounging back in my seat until she hangs up.
It’s a coincidence, it has to be.
“A client?” I ask when she puts the phone down. I keep my voice casual, like every muscle in my body isn’t screaming out with tension.
She sighs. “Yes, I’m drafting his will, and just in time. He’s had three strokes already. His nurse didn’t sound confident.”
“Huh.” I wonder if there’s a way to dig some more without looking suspicious. “Well, good luck to him.”
She gives me a distracted smile. “Look, would you mind rescheduling? I need to get these files sent straight over.”
“Of course.” I’m glad to get away to regroup. Hearing that name has sent me off-balance, and I need to get my shit together.
Keely moves to the door, and watching that body in motion, I remember just what brought me here today. Fuck the ghosts of my past, I’ve got a mission right here.
I step to block her path, looming above her. I reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. Yeah, this one will be easy. “How about dinner, tonight, my place?”
Keely’s mouth drops open. Fuck, her lips are juicy. “I meant, reschedule the meeting. With Mr. Abrams,” she says, blinking.
“But your boss won’t look half as good naked on my living room floor,” I reply. “I’m going to fuck you there first.” She trembles against me, her body so ripe and ready I could screw her right here. “I won’t wait to get to the bedroom,” I promise her. “I’m just going to shove that skirt up around your waist and fuck you, hard and dirty how you like it.”
I wait for her to moan, to sink against me like every other panting, wet woman. But instead, she lurches away from me, breathing fast.
“I want no such thing,” Keely insists, scooting over to the door. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it won’t work.” She glares at me, furious. “I’m not that kind of girl. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real clients to attend to. Ones who aren’t a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”
I watch, dumb-struck as she stalks away.
What the fuck?
I can’t believe it. She turned me down. Nobody turns me down. Especially not some blushing librarian who’s been panting like a bitch in heat since the moment she laid eyes on me.
I narrow my eyes. This started out just a regular job, but after what I’ve learned today, there’s no way I’m letting this girl fuck up my perfect score. I’m going to find out just what’s going on with Ashcroft, and finish the job too. Two birds, one cock.
Miss Keely Fawes is going to be on her knees, begging for my dick by the time I’m through with her.
Game on.
SEVEN
KEELY
“Have you never come so hard you passed out?”
I can’t get Vaughn’s wicked words out of my mind. All day long, I hear his filthy talk in the back of my mind, making my stomach flip over and
my thighs clench. He has to be teasing me, I decide. Saying anything to get a rise. But when I sneak a look at Google that afternoon, I see he’s not even kidding.
Some women really do orgasm so intensely they faint.
I catch my breath. When I manage to come at all, it’s a gentle ripple of pleasure, warm and sweet, but gone in an instant. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to feel a rush so huge that my body literally couldn’t handle it.
Holy shit.
“What are you looking at?” Justine asks, swinging by my cubicle with a couple of salads for lunch.
“Nothing!” I yelp, slamming my laptop shut. Luckily, she doesn’t notice.
“The Tiny Texan is calling me again,” she sighs, collapsing in a seat to gossip. “Like I’d fuck him again last time.”
“I thought size doesn’t matter.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that’s just what they tell you. I mean, sure, a guy can make up for it if he tries hard enough in other areas.” She winks. “But the Texan was a bust on all fronts.”
I pause, feeling embarrassed. My experience with guys is pretty limited. I had one steady boyfriend in college who I lost my virginity to, but aside from a few bad first dates, I haven’t seen anyone seriously since graduating.
“Can I ask you something?” I drop my voice, checking around so nobody can hear. But it’s lunch break, and the paralegal pool is almost empty.
“Ooh, did you meet someone?” Justine demands, chewing a mouthful of lettuce. “Is he hot? Is he hung?”
“No,” I protest. “I mean, I haven’t met anyone. Not really. I was just wondering... When you... you know. What’s it like?”
“When I what?” Justine asks.
I blush. “When you...” I drop my voice even more, whispering. “Come. Is it good?”
Justine shrugs. “Depends on the kind.”
“There are different kinds?”
“Sure.” She gives me a strange look. “I mean, there’s the kind I get from a vibrator, that’s more about pressure, you know, intense, but like, localized around my clit. Then there are the orgasms when a guy goes down on me. Those are slower, but crazy good. Like, waves through my whole body. And then there are the best kind.”
“Uh huh?” I’m embarrassed to be asking her, but I want more details.
“Mmm.” Justine grins. “Penetrative orgasms. When his dick works me up just right, the friction, you know? Sliding in and out, until I can’t take it anymore and my whole body just, shatters. And if he works my clit too?” She whistles. “Huh. Maybe I should give the one of my guys a call. That got me in the mood.” She glances at the time. “Damn, I have to get to court. See you later!”
She leaves me stunned at my cubicle. Clearly, I’m no better than a virgin. Twenty-three years old and I don’t even know what a real orgasm feels like.
But I bet Vaughn could teach you.
I picture that ravenous look in his eyes and feel a shiver. He’s made it clear, he wants me. But I barely know the guy.
You’d get to know him pretty well if you took him up on his invitation.
No.
I shove the thought of him to the back of my mind, and focus on work instead. I’m a serious woman. I have goals and ambition. I shouldn’t be wasting my time drooling over some dirty-talking stranger -- no matter how much my body wants—no, needs—his touch.
But I can’t help wondering, if he would make good on his promises. If he’d show me the pleasure I’ve never felt before.
What would happen if I just said yes?
* * *
I go stop by the hospital after work to visit Mr. Ashcroft. He’s in his own suite on the VIP floor, wheezing through the tubes he’s got hooked up from his nose and throat. He’s so weak, he can barely speak, but he gestures me closer to the bed.
“I just wanted to check how you were doing.” I take in his pale skin and all the machines -- he doesn’t look good. “Did you get the paperwork signed OK?”
“Signed and sealed,” Ashcroft says weakly.
“Do you need anything?” I hate seeing him like this. The hospital, the wires and tubes, it brings back too many painful memories of my parents after the crash. The doctors did everything they could, but it wasn’t enough.
“No, thank you, sweetheart.” He grips my hand. “My kids are round here somewhere. They flew in as soon as they heard. Waiting around for me to die.” He coughs again, an ugly hacking sound.
“Just relax,” I tell him, but he grips my hand tight, pulling me closer.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, between the coughs.
His voice is faint. I lean in.
“I should have told you... You need to know--”
“Who the hell are you?” We’re interrupted by an angry voice. A man comes striding in the room. He’s in his late twenties, maybe, with dark hair and an expensive suit.
“I’m Keely Fawes, from Mr. Ashcroft’s law firm,” I reply. “And you are?”
“Brent Ashcroft. His son.” Brent doesn’t hold out a hand to shake, so I turn back to Ashcroft. “What is it?” I ask gently. “What did you need to tell me?”
But he just blinks at me, his eyes watery and confused. “I don’t remember.”
“He’s tired. He should be resting.” The man sounds more pissed than concerned. “This area is for family only.”
“I was just leaving. Call me if you need anything at all,” I tell him.
“We’ve got it covered,” Brent interrupts. “Thanks.” He pulls out his phone to send a text, clearly ignoring me, so I give Ashcroft another smile and then leave.
Outside, I find his nurse, June, getting coffee from the vending machine. Her dyed red hair is frizzing in the heat, and her blue smocked outfit clings to her heavy frame.
“He’s not doing so great, is he?” I ask, with a pang of premonition.
“No, sweetie.” She pauses. “Did he talk to you at all?”
“A little. He was kind of confused,” I explain. “He said he needed to tell me something, but then... We were interrupted. Do you know what it was about? He shouldn’t worry about the legal stuff. We can deal with his business managers from now on.”
June gives me a strange look. She glances around quickly, and moves closer. “It’s not about that. He’s worried about his kids.”
“You mean, that they’ll find out he disinherited them?” I ask quietly. She shakes her head, her eyes wide with something that looks like fear.
“No. Not that.”
“What then?”
“You should come back tomorrow,” she says. “Promise me.”
“Brent says it’s family only.” I’m beginning to get weirded out by all of this. I shouldn’t have come by in the first place; it’s not exactly professional to get so involved with clients, but Ashcroft has always been sweet to me -- if a little strange.
“Call me, I’ll let you up,” she insists urgently. “He needs to talk to you.”
I nod. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” I say, reaching into my purse. “Ashcroft left this in the office.” I hold out the jewelry box with the diamond bracelet.
June’s eyes widen. “But that’s for you,” she says.
“And I told him I can’t take it.” I press it into her hands.
“June!” Brent’s voice cuts through the hallway. June whirls around, hiding the bracelet behind her back. “I thought I asked you for coffee.”
“Yes sir,” June mutters. “I was just on my way.”
His gaze slides back to me. “Do we have a problem?”
There’s silence. “No, sir.” June says quickly, then she turns and scurries away.
I hit the button for the elevator. Brent comes closer.
“Did you need something?” I ask politely.
He looks me over, his eyes sweeping from head to toe in a way that makes my skin crawl. “My father talks a lot about you,” he says slowly.
“He’s a great guy,” I reply. Actually he is a true gentleman. A dying breed. One in a millio
n.
“Huh.” Brent doesn’t say anything else. He just looks at me all creepy, so when the elevator finally arrives, I’m relieved to step inside.
“I have to go.” I try to stay polite.
“Right.” Brent gives me a smarmy smile. “I’m sure you have plenty of other clients that need the... personal touch.”
I shiver. I thought Ashcroft was exaggerating about his kids, but seeing Brent up close, now I’m not so sure. That guy is all kinds of creepy.
EIGHT
VAUGHN
After Keely turns me down, I spent the rest of the day in a temper, trying like hell to figure out what the fuck just went wrong. I know she doesn’t have a boyfriend. And even if she did, that’s never made a difference to a chick before -- the ones with a man back at home spread their legs just as fast as anyone else.
I can’t get her out of my head. Every line I gave her, she shot right back at me. She’s quick, edgy—but also demure. Only her blush betrayed her desire.
And then there’s the Ashcroft question. I tell myself it’s a coincidence, plenty of guys around with the same name, but something haunts me, telling me that there’s more to this than I know. I knew my secrets would catch up to me. I just didn’t think it would happen like this.
And I fucking hate being in the dark, just about as much as I hate chasing pussy that won’t give it up and fuck.
I get a text from an unknown number that evening.
Your target is leaving Cedars Sinai hospital. Don’t delay.
There’s no name, but I know right away it’s about Keely. Who the hell is the guy who hired me? Why would anyone want to fuck with her? She’s not the kind of girl to make enemies. What could she have done?
I pull over by the hospital parking lot just in time to see her pull out of the garage in her boring-ass Civic. I slip into the lane behind her. It’s easy to keep track since LA traffic is bumper to bumper, and when she makes a turn and parks on a side-street, I’m right there behind her.
Where are you going, gorgeous?
I watch her head across the street to the wide-open entrance of the LA County Museum of Art.
Seriously? It’s a Friday night, and this girl wants to wander around looking at squiggles and piles of rock?
