Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  “Oh.” She makes her mouth draw out the oh.

  “Were you worried about me, Brealyn?” I smirk.

  “You’re a workaholic like me. I couldn’t imagine being gone three weeks consecutively. Is everything okay?”

  “I want to fuck you, Brealyn. In a way that I’ve never wanted another woman before.” I admit.

  Leaving out the part where I want to dive into her thoughts and understand her like a well-read literature test that I want to ace. I’m not one much for beating around the bush or entertaining fake conversations. This situation with her, or whatever the hell this is, won’t be any different. Other than the side fact that I think I’m losing my damn mind. Her eyes go wide and she visually gulps while crossing her arms around herself.

  “Wow… Uhmmm… Thanks, I guess.” She says. I chuckle under my breath. “Straight from no kissing declarations to sex affirmations. How romantic, Mr. Creed.”

  “I can pretend to wine and dine you but that’s exactly what it’ll be, Brealyn, an act. I don’t do relationships. But I do sexual satisfaction very fucking well. Your body wants me and we both know it and my presence here should be evidence enough that I want you too.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. You’re my boss, Brogan.” She whispers. I lean into her face and watch as her eyes fill with panic. I can fix her problem easily.

  “You’re fired then,” I growl. This magical fucking spell she has on me is on another level of mystical mayhem. It’s like she’s a god damn mythical unicorn stabbing me in the ass with her horn.

  “What? Wait… No, no, no. Wait. What?” She swats at my arm trying to play my words off. “Stop it.”

  If she knew how serious I was she’d probably aim that slap straight at my face, then follow it up with a knee to the dick. I remember the fire that I saw in her eyes two years ago. That shit doesn’t die, it’s on a slow simmer waiting to erupt. I want that.

  Her shaking hand threads through her wet locks and I feel a twinge of remorse for about two seconds. My need to take her is more prevalent than any other emotion I possess, even common sense. Which incidentally explains why I’m here.

  “We’re both consenting adults. I know you want to fuck me too, Brea.” She quirks her eyebrow at me. “B.O.D. language doesn’t lie.” She wants to smile but controls it. “If the job’s the problem then you don’t have one anymore.” I wink at her.

  “Uhmmm. Wait a darn second, Brogan Creed. I’m very much in love with my job. I hold a crucifix to the evil notion of inner office relations like it’s the devil itself because of the bad situations that I’ve seen it land many of my friends in. I’m attracted to you but…” She holds up her hands and uses both of her index fingers attempting to make a cross and ward off my evil desires.

  “That’ll do you no good, Miss. Winters. I’m nothing close to a blood-sucking vamp.” I chuckle low and shake my head slowly. I’m much worse. I’m done with this shit.

  Leaning in I wrap my hand around her neck and I take what I’ve wanted since that night at The Plaza. Who am I kidding? Since the first day, I saw her at Crossover Financial and overheard her country censored mouth in full effect tearing into my seasoned attorneys. When my thick lips touch hers, I lightly scrape her lower pouty placemat with my teeth then lick around the rim. Only then do I claim her mouth swallowing the tiny moan that escapes her chest.

  Much like her mouth, I devour her moans. Taking those too. That sound alone has my dick tenting my dress pants. It feels like a thousand needles are poking at my skin. Her flesh has a burning sensation flowing through me from mere contact. Damn, this woman might be my own personal brand of anthrax.

  Stroking her mouth out thoroughly leaves my body throbbing with anticipation, high alert. It’s like I’ve been injected with steroid desires that are only going to be fulfilled after I fuck this woman, repeatedly. When did I start planning to fuck someone again even before I’ve fucked them the first time?

  This reaction is completely foreign to me. Son-of-a-bitch. When I break back, I let my forehead rest against hers while our chests rise and fall. What the fuck’s going on here?

  “I’m well versed and a firm enforcer of no workplace ties. But if something so simple as a kiss feels like that then everything else is worth exploring, Brealyn.” I rumble the words out.

  She wiggles out from around my hold and stumbles away from the couch abruptly. I expected that reaction from her but I didn’t expect to feel angered over losing her closeness. Her hand covers her lips as if she doesn’t quite understand the thrill she’s experiencing. You’re not alone, baby. I watch her round perky ass as she walks to the connecting kitchen. She opens the frig and takes out a water with shaky hands.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Her voice quivers. I suppress the need to chuckle at her reaction to me.

  “I’m fine but thank you all the same.” All I want is to fuck you Southern Comfort style, you sweet peach.

  “Brogan, you’re successful, charming, and gorgeous but what you want is something unemotional, no strings. I’m not that girl.” She turns the water up clearing half the bottle before turning back to me.

  “I’m far from charming. That successful part though… I’d have to agree with you. I’ve never had a problem with ladies, and they seem to like how I look but that’s all subjective through different sets of eyes. I’m not concerned about anyone other than you right now. So, tell me, have you ever just had a sexual relationship with someone, Brea?” I tilt my head and examine her expression. She visibly swallows hard and shakes her head no.

  “Have you ever just had a real emotional connection with someone that didn’t involve sex, Brogan?” She counters.

  Before I can help it, my head falls back and I laugh out loud. Brea doesn’t laugh, not even a lip tip. She props her free hand on her curvy little waist while staring at me with hostile vibes coming out of those beautiful eyes. Standing from the couch, I make my way over to her. She’s cute when flustered.

  “First, I’d like to say that you have a beautiful laugh. Now, answer the question.” She snaps and tosses her hand out at me.

  “No, I haven’t,” I say.

  “Ever?” She asks.

  “Never,” I confirm while shaking my head no with a playful smirk.

  Her jaw tightens up and she looks off to the side contemplating. Mulling over my words. I want to know what she’s thinking, but I won’t take her thoughts from her right now.

  “Is that what you want? A meaningful relationship, Brea?” I ask.

  “Uhm, I really think that’s what you need Brogan less the pretending part.” She points at me. “And to smile and laugh like you just did a second ago every day. That’s just a bonus. But to answer your question, with the right person eventually, yes, I do. I want to find my special place with my someone.” She smiles victoriously.

  She promised to make me smile every time she got the opportunity. This woman in front of me is so very different. I guess entertaining her wouldn’t be that hard of a task. Damn, if you think about it, I orchestrate multimillion-dollar mergers and financial deals every day. How hard can this shit be, right?

  “I still want to fuck you,” I growl. Her eyes flutter from my lips to my see-through gaze.

  “And even though you’re a vulgar, tactless, blunt butthole, I still want to go out with you.” She pokes her little index finger into my chest and my lip quirks. Fucking cute she is. “You don’t take medication for a mental health disorder, do you?” I chuckle while shaking my head no and she rolls her eyes at the lie Carson fed her. “Well, uhm, it makes me slightly depressed to think that you’ve never had a real connection with the opposite gender outside of screwing around.”

  “It was never a disposition for me. If you took a poll, you’d be surprised at my overall success rate.” I shrug. She scrunches her button nose up at that. “I’ve never wanted more, Brea. So, don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t care for people. Their predictable and most of the time, pieces of shit.” I state as a
matter of fact. Everyone but this foreign imported glass of Southern Comfort.

  She shakes her head and her lips thin out as if she can’t believe what I’m saying. I stalk forward and she walks backward until her ass hits the cabinets in her kitchen, drawing her to a stop. I slip my arms around her waist and mold my large body to hers. Those sapphires shine up at me, searching. My impressive dick is digging into her stomach. His wants are evident. Brea’s wants are too.

  “What makes me different?” She rasps out.

  “I’m trying to figure that out.” Everything.

  “Brogan…” Her voice turns serious. “I like my job.”

  “Nothing will happen to your job, Brea. I’m not involved in the real estate division.” I lie. She quirks her eyebrow at me. It’s her way of saying bullshit without voicing a curse word. I’m well versed on everything that takes place at The House of Creed. Always.

  “Admittedly, I own the company. But my dealings are limited to certain sectors. Real estate is all Carson. Mergers and acquisitions are mine. A department all my own. Anyway, he’d kill me if I messed with his marketing director.” I smile wide.

  She reaches out and brushes her fingers lightly across my dimple that she’s seen more than any other. Fucking phenomenon that it is. I don’t smile for anyone except her.

  “Okay.” She whispers while staring at my lips.

  If I knew she wouldn’t go for my golden globes of paternal glory downstairs, I’d offer to set her up. Which incidentally is another first for me. What the fuck is this woman doing to me?

  “This shit’s new for me, Miss. Winters.” It’s the truth. I don’t date. Socializing at a few events is the closest I’ve come and that was solo missions. She nods her head in understanding. It’s like she knows I’m crippled when it comes to tolerating people.

  Resting my hand into the counter, I lean down into her personal space so she’s eye level with me. I thread my fingers in her damp hair and jerk her head to an angle that accommodates my liking. She gasps and I’m certain that this sound out of her is one of my favorites, shocked seduction. She has no damn idea but soon.

  I dwell deeper into the lining of her mouth for round two. She tastes of spearmint and toothpaste. Her tiny hands glides through my hair and I feel the tingles sweep down my spine. When I pull away, I bite down on her bottom lip then lick the outline of their plump design. Jesus Christ.

  “We’ll figure it out.” Her voice is barely audible. My eyes bounce between hers. She points toward her mounted TV screen. “I love this Christmas movie. It’s a classic.” My gaze moves over to see Chevy Chase unlatch his new Christmas tree in his living room breaking all the windows out. Brea lets out a giggle that has me following right behind her.

  “Tomorrow night at eight, be ready.” I look back to her and the smile that appears on her face is fucking beautiful. She inches up and kisses my lips lightly. I growl in protest when she draws back.

  “See you then, Mr. Creed.”

  “Lock the door behind me, Southern Comfort.” I step away and grab my coat then head for the door with her on my heels.

  Leaving is the last thing I want but if I don’t, I’ll try to negotiate my way between her legs. Right now, she’s hesitant to that idea of me and I want her full consent. That’s a merger worth pursuing and something tells me that the benefit’s package is to die for.

  chapter 13

  brealyn

  My grandma always told me that a man’s basic instinct is to hunt his prey then capture it, taking what they want. She said this would be prominent, engrained into their DNA and being as with any true alpha male. He’d applied this in every walk of his life. Those primitive instincts are alive in their chromosomes. Demonstrated in business objectives, aspirations, and most importantly when seeking out a soulmate.

  She said if I ever found myself questioning a man’s intentions in any capacity then I needed to walk away. Anything less than a strong and assured man with a solid grasp for what he wants with a firm foundation under his feet would never stand the test of time, or that of the trials, and tribulations that this world would surely throw our way. I’ve held onto her advice. All I could think about last night when Brogan showed up at my door was her words. That man is the true definition of a white-eyed alpha warrior, period.

  Brogan is harsh, cut-throat, abrasive, but deliberate in his approach. His eyes are focused on the ultimate endgame, always. He maps everything out fresh from the starting gates down to the final steps leading across the finish line. His emphasis is clear. Nothing he does is spur of the moment or by chance. He knows what he wants and wastes no time doing what he must in order to attain and concur.

  Several times today, I’ve found myself wondering if he saw me coming all along or if I simply fell into his oncoming path, war wrath. Knowing Brogan, he probably calculated the risks versus reward out in his head. Taking in all the facts then adjustments were made accordingly. He wanted me more than he cared about the consequences.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s used to getting exactly what he wants. Women have lost his interest though. They fall at his feet, begging for attention, and they never understand why they couldn’t hold his fascination longer than the time that it takes for his bedsheets to get cold. It’s fairly simple, everything around him looks as though he comes by it easy. In many cases this is true but when it comes to a pairing up of partners, easy is not his style. It’s not what he truly wants.

  I’m not just referring to giving your body over to this man, no. Don’t get me wrong, sleeping with that walking promise of adult entertainment would be no chore at all. Quite the opposite. You can take one look at him and know he’s fully capable of toe-curling orgasms. His body is a sinfully hot and naughty contract agreement. His mouth is the negotiator. His hands seal the deal. And his massive bulge in the center of his body is the pen that signs on the dotted line, guaranteed deal closer. That much I know.

  Brogan doesn’t strike me as the type of man that wants someone to agree with him just because they hear his commanding tone. You must have a voice and one that holds clout. Using your brain to stay in the game is key with him. The man is not interested in arm candy. He’s already beautiful. An added fixture is not needed.

  He text me earlier with the restaurant details and my wardrobe selection is sparse, but my little black dress fits the bill. When my Christmas Grinch made off with my tree last year, he took my fancy wardrobe too. I wasn’t kidding when I said the career criminal took his job seriously. Next week I plan on going shopping to replenish my closet. Now that I have a salary that allows spare change after the bills are paid, I’ve been replacing a little at a time.

  The halter top, backless number flows beautifully right above the knee line with tiny little sparkling diamonds that ignite throughout the dress. It’s like little tiny camera flashes when I pivot just right in the light. My red seven-inch stilettos bring the outfit to life. I finished my look off with my matching red overcoat. It’s the added sass needed.

  When a knock sounds out, I jolt in place then take off for my floor length mirror and glance at the reflection staring back at me one more time. My hair is down tonight in long flowing ringlets and my make-up is soft with the exception of the dramatic smokey eyes. The effect of which makes the color seem like a royal indigo. My nude lip gloss is perfect, and the diamond earrings I choose are understated but noticeable.

  My heart rate is erratic and I can hear it pounding out of my ears. I wrap my red coat around my shoulders and grab my black clutch then make my way to the door. Taking a deep breath, I open on exhale. I wasn’t prepared for the reality of the Wallstreet God standing on the other side, before me. That’s exactly what he is in every aspect, Godlike.

  His ice-white blue lasers work my body over before finding a resting place on my face. His black suit is flawless but unlike every other day he ditched the white dress shirt and in its place is a midnight ash gray color. His tie is black but with a thin zig-zag pinstripe that matches the
grey shirt. The black scarf around his full-length coat and leather gloves manage to make this man look just like a trained hitman.

  His dusky dark slicked-back hair gleams with that signature blonde streak on highlight. But then he smiles baring a set of white straight teeth. Jesus Christ, my heart bumps around in its box uncontrollably. This man should know that his smile is much more intimidating than that of his boardroom scrutiny scowl. Or at least that’s the effect it has on me. My legs wobble from the sight of him and I tuck the hair behind my ear nervously.

  “Hey, you…” I smile back at him. “Mr. Creed, you look dashing.” I giggle. I can’t help it. I’m nervous.

  Brogan catches me off guard when he steps forward and his leathered covered hands slide on either side of my neck. He looks down at me and those high beams bounce between mine for several moments. He’s the beautiful beast of boardroom business that people fear but long to be in the presence of. It’s like that terrifying emotion that you get from knowing the Boogeyman is near, but mixed with the euphoria you feel once he passes you by while you stay hidden in a covert side closet, silenced. All the while, covering your mouth’s leaking sobs for dear life.

  “I’m going to warn you now, Southern Comfort… Sharing my time with you outside these walls with the general public is pissing me off already and we’ve yet to leave.” His voice is a low raspy controlled tone.

  “We can stay and watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It comes back on again tonight.” He holds his head back and laughs out loud but I was totally serious. When he gets his laughter under control, he looks back at me.

  “Not for this first date arrangement. Even my amateur ass knows this is important to you. But I’ve made a mental note to work on finding you a new favorite movie later.”

  “It only shows during the Christmas holidays and I love Chevy Chase,” I say in mild protest and protection of my most favorite holiday movie. His head descends and he kisses my lips lightly while being conscious of my lip gloss.