by Dakota Gray
But even though most of them were sure the publishing industry had finally made me crack, they cheered me on.
First and foremost was Amie Stuart. She read the prologue and first chapter. In all caps she told me to keep writing.
The unofficial Romance Divas chat were next—Chatzy, thank you for clutching pearls as I shared all the dirty bits and laughing when Nate was being a funny asshole.
Katie, oh, how you fall on the sword. I swear one of these days you're going to get a book that is actually readable.
Incy, you gave me a nice kick in the ass when I was doubtful about this book.
Crystal, my fellow hard ass, IDGAF what anyone else says. You liked it.
Dayna, thank you so much for being a part of this experience.
Last but never least, thank you to every reader who was more than ready to jump on board when I unleashed this name. I could not do this writing thing without your support.
Much love,
Dakota
HARDCORE
COMING SOON
PROLOGUE
Before we get into this shitshow that is my life right now, I should offer up some important background details.
Liquor is the root of all evil in my life.
That one show that's been on since Moses split the Red Sea? The hospital one where everyone is fucking in elevators? Yeah. Law firms can be like that too. All one needs are consenting overworked adults who spend too much time around their co-workers.
Fucking a hot redhead on your desk can lead to all sorts of problems.
Those are the facts laid out in an unbiased view.
So let me set the scene. It's three years ago. I'm a wide-eyed junior associate. Or as wide-eyed as I can be. I was just plucked from the sea of shoulder high-cubicles and given my own office on the first floor near the bathrooms. I'm moving up in the world.
The halls of Lance and Chase are decked with cheap plastic boughs of holly. I'm on my third shot of tequila at the office party and have decided spending Christmas Eve's Eve at the office might make me too much like my fuckwit of a father. On principle I have plans to head to my friend Nate's house. His mother believes his condo needs a woman's touch and a feel of home. For a Southern belle that means peach cobbler, lemon pound cake, various meats and other carbs that I'm going to eat until I slip into a food coma.
The problem?
A hot redhead has followed me down to my office as I pick up my briefcase.
The trouble?
My gaze keeps trailing down to her ass. I'm pretty sure God handcrafted it himself. Or Satan. It's supernaturally curved and the jeans plastered to both cheeks, her hips and everything else she put in them should be grateful for existing.
I'm three tequilas in in case anyone could forget so that means it takes me a while to get to her tits, much less her face. I do by the time I reach under my desk to grab my briefcase.
The distinctive sound of a lock sliding home draws my gaze up to her. Her honey-brown gaze is fixed on me while her teeth promises to leave imprints on her bottom lip. It's that look. The one that can raise a man from the dead. It's that kind of mouth. The one that can make a man want to sell his soul for just a kiss on the tip of his cock.
Now I'm not the guy who will clutch pearls when a woman gets an intent gleam in her eye, but this woman...
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
She leans against the door and tries to hold back her mischievous smile. “I thought we were having a private moment. Didn't want anyone to barge in.”
“Private moment?” I know what she means. I want her to spell it out.
“We were having such a good talk in the conference room, but it was too loud with too many people. You're about to head home...”
She's so full of shit. It's partly why I like her. “Right.”
I brace my hands on my desk and do my best to put on my stone cold heartless face. It's tough because I didn't eat anything at the potluck. Most of the shit spread out looked suspect after five hours of sitting out in the main conference room. This is hour ten at work. I'm running on booze and bagel fumes.
It's doubly hard because of...this woman.
“Kennedy,” I say, trying sound like the voice of reason but I've reached her tits and face.
She has the kind of rack you titty fuck because if you don't, you're simply less of a man. Did I mention she's a redhead? She'll have pussy pink nipples that turn crimson when aroused. I shake my head surprised at my mind's fast slide into the gutter.
“Duke Alexander,” she murmurs back at me and her normally husky voice is just a seductive rasp. “You look scared.”
“You might be confusing me with someone else. I'm never scared.”
I'm worried if she comes any closer I'll eat her alive and she's thank me for it with huskier moans. That won't be good. We have a decent work relationship. She calendars for the firm and has never fucked up a filing deadline. We've talked enough I know she wants to branch out with her own business. It'll cater to the other firms in the area mostly doing grunt work they aren't willing to pay a full-time employee to do.
She's smart, hungry and maybe I've flirted with her most of the night. Okay. For the past month because we have the same coffee schedule.
The tequila has me thinking too much. I try again. “Kennedy, you don't want to fuck me.”
She smiles. Fuck me. No. Fuck her, hard.
“Duke, Duke, Duke.” She's wearing tennis shoes but I would put her walk up against a runway model in stilettos. I can't look anywhere but at her hips.
She adds, “Why do you think I came to your office? Your office is a shithole. A nice shithole, but I'm not here for the view.”
“I don't have one.” I know. That's the dumbest fucking thing anyone can say in this situation, but my stare has moved to the apex between her thighs. Is it me or is her pussy whispering my name?
Touch me, Duke.
Caress me, Duke.
Lick me, Duke.
No. No. I work with her. This is my first year as a junior associate. Getting the rep for fucking around is not what I want. This is a long game with a clear goal in my mind—senior partner. Half the female staff can't know what my dick looks like when I'm one of the bosses.
Do I really want to shoot my load with Kennedy?
She runs her tongue over her top lip. They are not quite pussy pink, but close enough I literally hear a whoosh in my brain as all my blood drains to my cock.
Pause.
If it's not clear, this moment—This One—is where things go fucking sideways for me. Before the flash of her tongue I like to think I could have shaken off the haze of booze. I'm not drunk, but I won't get behind the wheel of a car. I didn't watch how many drinks she downed, but her walk is steady and straight as she holds my stare. There's a flush to her cheeks, but the promise of sex can create the same reaction.
Again, this isn't about worrying at June Cleaver's pearls. I'm trying to do the right thing here, which for me happens about once every decade. I live and breathe in the gray area. Her, she's all black and white.
“Kennedy, come here.”
She picks up her pace. I do my best to not jump her when she slides between me and the desk. I ignore everything, everything, that's soft and warm about her as she sidles up to me. I cup her face and lower my head until the only place she can look is at me.
I say, “It's clear we like each other.”
“You make me laugh. That's hard to do. Though I worry about you.”
My brows go up. “What?”
“Sometimes you go cold.”
It's something my friends accuse me of, and usually they drag me out of the office to get a taste of life. What amazes me is that she sees it. Again we chat over coffee in the morning. Or in the hallway. Or at the courthouse if she's running a rare errand outside of the office.
It's just the past month that it seems like I can't turn around without seeing her, but that could be I'm looking for her. A glimpse of her red hair, her q
uick smile and my insides tighten. She's a break from the nose to the grindstone life I've been living since...I have always had end goals.
Right now that's not the point. “Sometimes I'm cold because that's the man I am. Do you get that?”
She swallows. “Yes.”
Her answer is quick, but there seems to be a note of hesitation. How can I pick up on that? Kennedy, so far, hasn't spoken a word she doesn't wholeheartedly believe in. It's hard to confuse conviction with anything else once you hear it.
I press my thumbs into her cheeks. “Don't just say it.”
“I'm not,” she murmurs. “I can see it.”
She drops her gaze to my chest before she presses her hands to my pecs.
That should be the end of our exchange. She's not sure. She's being shy when all Kennedy has been is unbidden and outspoken. Yet after a deep breath she reaches up to the top button on my dress shirt. She tugs that first one free then another and another. She's close enough I can feel her every exhale against the bared skin.
When she speaks again there's no hint of doubt in her tenor. “I want you to fuck me. Right here. On your desk.”
Do I need to spell out why I don't say no and send her on her way?
“Goddammit.”
She laughs. There's a knowing to it—she's got me. Womanly wiles is all about confidence, not deception like some numb nuts believe. Any smart man will bow to it and my knees ache to do just that whenever she's in breathing distance.
“Is that a yes?” she asks. “I need a clear yes. You're a little tipsy. I don't want to take advantage of you.”
That right there is another reason why I like her and why I'm going to ignore common sense and fuck her on my desk. No one is headed to my office. Hell, half the people left at the firm are trashed out of their minds and likely doing questionable shit too.
“Yes. I'm going to fuck you. Here. Now. How much have you...”
She licks her lip again and I lose track of the question I wanted to ask. I'm listening to my dick, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do my best to fuck her until she walks sideways.
“Put your hands on the desk.”
Her brows go up. “Like that?”
Did she think she'd get special treatment for being cute? No. Fucked. Sideways. “The desk, Kennedy.”
The blush is back, but I ignore that and grip the edge of her shirt to yank it up to her belly button. She doesn't have flat abs. There's cushion for my fingers to sink into and I fucking want to. My head is spinning now. I'm not sure if that's the liquor or her. And let's be honest, my entire focus is on her jean's button.
“You're beautiful.” That's the liquor talking, and it seems to be a fucking vortex for my rationale.
Focus, dammit.
I make sure that my knuckles brush against her stomach as I unzip her jeans. It truly is the little things. Her tits jostle beneath the cotton tee as her breathing shifts deeper, faster. I'll get to that. Hopefully. Her tits are a gift that should be unwrapped slowly, not when I'm slightly off my game.
“Kick off your shoes.”
She doesn't hesitate.
“Lift,” is the next direction as I drag both her jeans and her underwear down.
She's down to her socks, bra and shirt, and I have never seen a sexier woman half-naked. Shapely legs, thick hips—all fucking woman and then I skim my gaze over her bare pussy.
That's when I know for a fact I should have skipped two of those drinks I had earlier. I do no foreplay handshake. There's no teasing her slit with my fingers, whispering dirty words in her ear. Fuck, not even a kiss. I bury my face between her legs and eat her. One of her legs remains on the desk and the other I absently throw over my shoulder.
This is sloppy and would be embarrassing, but her hips lift up to my mouth as a moan spills from hers. The urgency beating inside my chest calms. This isn't about an end goal. This is about pleasure. Hers. I push her leg up to give myself better access.
That simple move makes her clit sit up for me. She's not swollen enough for quick tongue flicks to send her over so I suck her into my mouth—softly, slowly. She's sweet, tangy and perfect. I can spend the rest of the night eating her, not once getting tired of the way she flavors my tastebuds.
If nothing else, I'm going to do this right. I place a hand over her slit and tug the skin back until her clit peeks from under its hood. Since there's no point in doing anything halfway, I close my mouth over her from clit to entrance and suck softly.
The way she gasps, the way she gets that much wetter turns my dick into steel. She's ready for tongue and I give it to her. I'm relentless. There's no part of her pussy that doesn't get lapped up.
The tremble starts in her legs and works its way up to a full body shudder.
“Duke. Your mouth. I love it.”
The way she says it the words are mashed together in a sexy groan. She deserves to soak my chin. She tenses. Her flavor deepens in its intensity. I don't stop licking her into oblivion, because my name has never sounded so damn good. Her cries are sharp but low. There won't be any screaming and that has nothing to do with the way I've made a meal out of her.
But I can't think about where we are. Her scent buried in my nose is all that matters. The insistent throb in my cock is second. After she tenses a second time, she grips my hair and tugs me back.
Fuck. The picture she makes. While I was busy Kennedy has tugged her shirt up over her breasts so that one is partially exposed. From the erect position of her nipple, I can only assume she'd been playing with it.
I tut. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”
She moans at the question instead of answering. I drag a finger between her folds, teasing her still.
Because not even during sex do I give into weakness, I straighten and ask, “Did I, Kennedy?”
She shakes her head.
“Say it,” I demand.
“You didn't give me permission.”
“Any other time I'd teach you a lesson. When you're in my bed, you're mine.” I grasp her thighs and tug her to the edge of my desk. “Depending on my mood, I'd give your clit a spanking. Or tell you to close that pretty mouth of yours around my cock.”
She tilts her head back as she flushes from head to toe. She's turned on by the picture I'm painting. Why did I have those two extra drinks? Why the fuck didn't I take her home so I can do this right?
“But since you're halfway there,” I say, “pull your bra up. Let me see you.”
I take note she scraps her fingernails over her nipples as she tugs the material down. The lace pulls tight at the sides of her breasts burning an image in my mind I will and can forever jack off to.
“You're perfect, Kennedy. So fucking unbelievably sexy.” I can't wait anymore.
My movements are swift and precise as I free my cock, slide on a condom then position the tip at her entrance.
“Pull back your knees.”
“Hard. I want it hard.”
The pulse in my head pounds as I try to hold onto my control. I rub my cock in her wetness, teasing us both as I glide the tip over and around her clit. Her pink darkens for me, at what I'm doing.
Hard is the only thing I can give her at this point.
But I enter her slow. Her breath hitches. I stop and meet her gaze. She's watching my dick. Her eyelids are low in that sex drunk way. I edge back. Her pussy is beautiful around me. The tip of the condom glistens from her arousal. I see if she can take more this time. Again. Again. Until I'm pounding into her. Her titties bounce as I slam home.
I grit my teeth because I can't come until she does. But fuck it's going to kill me first to hold back. Her pussy feels made for me. When all of me slides home—I'm home. Soft. Tight. Wet. The back of my fucking head is throbbing from how good she feels.
I lean forward and nip her lobe. I need her to come and now. “Is this hard enough? Want more?”
“Yes. More.”
She's never sounded sexier to me. “Don't ask for what you can't take.�
�
She moans. “More.”
I pull out of her. Her gaze tracks down to my dick. “Duke,” she whispers.
My dick twitches. “On your stomach. On my desk.”
She bites her lip then smiles. I help her down and then she splays her hands over the wood. That move is followed with her arching her ass up. The smile is wide when she glances back at me and says, “Like this?”
I laugh. There's no point to reply. She's going to learn in the rough way to not tease me. I wait until she's relaxed before I push deep inside her. Slow, easy, delicious strokes. She moans for more cock. I push deeper, reaching forward for her hair. Because I'm nothing if not thoughtful, I'm gentle as I wrap the red strands around my fist. I pull until her head is tilted back.
Then I fuck her. Hard.
Nothing like having a point to prove to keep from coming prematurely. I also have to close my eyes. Her ass slapping against me is too fucking much. Women work out to have every inch toned. Nothing to jiggle when they move. Nothing is more beautiful than fucking a woman from behind and her ass responds to every thrust. It's hypnotic.
And I can't, not if I want her to come twice before I succumb.
But this fucking woman.
Her pussy spasms around me and I'm going to die from my own orgasm.
She purrs in the husky voice of hers. “So big. So deep. I want you to suck you so bad.”
I lose my punishing rhythm. Her words have bypassed my focus and shot straight to my nuts. “Fucking, Kennedy.”
My short spurt of anger is drowned out with the pleasure squeezing me tight.
“You'd taste so good in my mouth.”
I want to hate her but my toes have curled in my loafers. Yes. Let that image linger. My shirt is unbuttoned. My pants hang around my ankles and my underwear are damn near cutting the circulation as it rests across my upper thighs.
Some people would call this passion and I'd normally cringe at the definition.
But the tip of my cock feels every heartbeat. It's a good hurt. My hips yearn to jerk forward as I come. I'm holding back. I want that picture she's painted as I've fucked her.
