Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  Without another word, I quickly roll us over so she’s on top. Brea sits up and giggles out loud then smiles down at me, her hair falling on both sides of her flushed face. Instinctively, I grind up into her heat and she places her palms against my chest moving her hips in a circular motion.

  “I want to watch you, Brea. Now, you can take your shirt off.” I rasp out.

  Her hands grip the sides of her shirt slowly slinking it up and over her head until nothing, but her powder perfect skin comes into view along with a royal blue lacey bra. Her silky blonde strands fall over her shoulders coming to rest as she reaches around and unsnaps the delicate garment removing it from obscuring my view.

  Ever since I was hit with her unspoken virginal confession in my office the other week, that information alone denoted a carnal appetite that’s been insatiable. That southside beast wants to invade deep, carving her out in every way as mine. I’m chalking that up as a part of my need to concur. But Brealyn is no boardroom boss challenge. I see her for the boss queen she truly is, my boss queen.

  I’m not even going to lie. The thought of being the only man inside of her sets off a different kind of internal predator within. I’ll own a memory unlike any other. No one will ever take my place. A monumental remembrance that will solidify me as her first forever. A point of reference she’ll think about sporadically for the rest of her life.

  “Fuck… You’re gorgeous.” I grip her hips and use my groin grinding into her. These jeans need to go, fuck.

  “Jesus…” She moans and her head falls back. I can feel her long locks brushing across my knees.

  This allows me the opportunity to slide the palms of my hands over her flat stomach and up until I’m cupping her tits. She fits perfectly in my hands. I lightly let my fingers trail over her pleasingly pink nipples.

  Jerking up to a sitting position, I drape one arm around her back and gently grip one of her breasts smoothing my tongue in a circular pattern over her puckered nipple. When I close my hot mouth over her, teasingly biting into her flesh, she arches her back into my touch.

  “Oh, Brogan…” She hisses.

  Her fingernails trail through my hair cupping the back of my neck keeping me firmly in place. I turn my head and give her other tit the same attention. I can taste the vanilla lotion that coats her skin as I drag my teeth back and forth.

  Lightly biting her nipples has her seeking friction against my cock. I’m hyper-aware of her every move. I’m finding that I want to learn what she likes more than I care about my dick’s endgame.

  Fisting a hand full of her hair, I bring her mouth back to mine slowing the pace down to a gentle fucking of our tongues, sensual. I seek depths within her mouth while rolling her over onto her back again. When I break away, I hover over her brushing my thumb over her cheek.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  My eyes bounce between hers and she nods. When the fuck did, I start asking for confirmation? Any other time if I got to this bedroom all communication stopped at the door. It’s her, period. All I know is that it’s important she wants this, that she wants this with ME.

  Slowly, I release the button on her pants and slide them down her legs dispelling those out into the room. My ice whites find a royal blue lacy pair of sexy ass underwear that sends a throbbing sensation straight to the head of my dick. I trace the material with my fingertips along her hip bone continuing down the core of her center and she whimpers. The heat radiating off her pussy jacks my heart rate up that much more.

  Hooking my thumbs under the sides, she lifts her hips allowing me to remove the demonic lace out of my way revealing the prettiest waxed pussy I’ve ever seen. Believe me, when I say, I’ve seen a lot over my time but Brealyn is the first I’ve ever laid eyes on that I considered to be beautiful. My mouth is watering from the urge to tongue her out thoroughly.

  “Uhm, there’s something I need to tell you.” She says. My eyes roam back up and over this beautiful boss huntress until they land on those blue pools.

  “What is it, Southern Comfort?” My voice sounds like I drink a glass of nails then washed it down with scrap metal.

  “Well, this will be my first time. I’ve never had sex before.” She starts to wring her hands together. I climb back over her body and enclosed her in with my arms on both sides of her face.

  “I’m not even sure how that’s possible to go through life being beautiful inside and out and no one claiming you for themselves. But I’m far from heartbroken over it. As a matter of fact, I’m a selfish bastard and that southside billionaire fucker downstairs is gleefully overjoyed. He’s throwing a tantrum to climb inside of you and knowing I’m the only one that gets to have you, intensifies that desire.” Playing dumb with added compliments and honesty is my only card here.

  Brea covers her mouth and laughs out loud. Her carefree ways compel me to join in too. When she looks back at me, she slides her hands through both sides of my hair and whispers, “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’m scared but I know you’re worth it. I want this with you.”

  “Fuck baby. Can I tell you something?” She nods her head. “You’re not going to believe me.” I shake my head no and a crease forms between her eyes. I lightly rub it with my thumb then continue, “I’ve waited longer for you than you have me, Brea.” Those words are the God’s honest truth because I have. Not just her body. Her mind. Her heart. I want it all.

  Not giving her time to respond, I take her mouth again slowly and cup both sides of her head in my hands then with zero control over the events taking place the flood gates open freezing me into place. I try to control my reaction and lean back looking down at her.

  There are no voices, no-not this time. Her thoughts come through as visuals like a surge from electrical wiring against wet skin. Voltage deadly. Without control, I get graphics and raw images. Fucking fright night style. It’s a first for me and I’m taken back with pure disbelief for a second. I’ve never experienced this before with anyone else. But it’s what I see in a panoramic view that’s like a revelation into the future. A glimpse of what’s to come.

  Every single window is shattered out in this penthouse and the place is pitch black with the exception of the God-given moonlight crossing over the shadows. A freak house of fuckery seems to have crawled over the sadistic space turning the décor wickedly sinister.

  Channing and I are at opposite ends of the penthouse of purgatory, growling at each other with exorcist mentality. It looks like a warzone of epic proportions wreaked havoc throughout every square inch of this well-built sturdy structure of steel. My ice whites scan over the battlefield and my heart bottoms out when I focus in on Brea’s lifeless body laid out in the middle of the floor covered in blood. Fuck, there’s so much blood, her blood. Jesus Christ.

  The metallic smell coats my nostrils souring my stomach instantly. There’s no doubt in my mind that these are her dreams but after experiencing this through her eyes, I can understand her panic from earlier now. It’s lifelike, period. What the fuck?

  Channing’s eyes are deep dark black holes with his signature red flames flaring out on display. He’s prepared to incinerate me. The hallway walls are engulfed in flames. The winds surrounding us are topping out at category five levels and the storms surrounding us are volatile in nature. I peer down at my hands and there covered in a thick, sticky, red coating, and the water whiplashing around me does nothing to cleanse them off.

  I hear him laughing out. It’s a hauntingly sinister sound that erupts the evil within me. As if what I’m seeing isn’t bad enough, another scene takes over replacing the Lone Walker warlord battle between brothers.

  A vivid black and white movie on the big screen commences. I see a little blonde headed boy playfully laughing, smiling, and running through The House of Creed’s lobby. I’m following close behind him, but he keeps putting distance between us only to turn around waving me along with him. His happiness is felt and fills my soul with warmth. It’s familiar; he’s familiar.

&
nbsp; Like a snap of my fingers, things suddenly switch over to a cold bone-chilling silence as he runs ahead of me disappearing into my office. I’m trying to scream for the little boy to come back to me, but no sound is heard. My voice is contained and locked away, fucking frustrating hell. A nightmare slaughterhouse chill rushes through my being right before I enter my office where the little boy disappeared. The image is manic as I push through my door.

  His lifeless little frame is laid out in the middle of the cold tile floor. His position on the ground almost mirrors that of Brea’s in the penthouse except his eyes are wide open and they hold a familiar faint red fire, but it fades away. Leaving nothing but pitch-dark black holes staring back at me. His blonde little curls look eerily just like Brea’s too.

  When my head snaps up, I see Channing standing at the far end of my office with his back to me, arms crossed behind him, while he peers out at my darkened J.P. Morgan view. His head turns to the side and he smiles a deadly smirk my way. My legs are cemented to the ground. I can’t move. I can’t get to him. I can’t help the little boy. I NEED to save the little boy. FUCK! Everything goes black but I hear Channing’s chilling voice whisper out in my ear.

  “I tried to warn you. It’s not my fault and it damn sure isn’t going to be hers as to how things will turn out. It’s your doings, remember that.”

  My eyes regain focus and I jerk back suddenly breaking my connection with her demonic dream memories. What the actual fuck? I crawl from the bed like hellfire has set my existence to burn a thousand deaths. I rake my fingers through my hair manically while pacing the room. Son-of-a-bitch…

  “Brogan… Are you okay?” I hear her voice and I stop suddenly in my tracks cutting my eyes over to her. My chest furiously rising and falling in the aftermath of that crazed scene. The sheer panic on her face is understandable. I’ve freaked out on her. I saw what she has seen. Fuck, those are her dreams. “Did I do something wrong?” She pulls at the covers on the bed trying to conceal herself and I move for my pants then shrug them on.

  I have so many other questions. How frequently do those nightmares plague her? Exactly how long have they been taking up residence in her mind? Does she know the familiar little boy in them? But the only way I can ask those questions is by telling her things that I’m not so sure she can handle right now.

  People aren’t tolerant or openminded to shit they can’t breakdown and put a label on. They don’t have an understanding of things that they can’t rationalize or make sense out of. I’ll be perceived as incomprehensible. A freak of nature.

  This woman would probably run out of here and take the first flight back home to her southern roots in Georgia. I’m a selfish bastard where she’s concerned and that’s not happening. Until I have this sorted out, I must do the only thing I can to keep her safe, and that’s to get her far away from me but within reaching distance. I know that makes no sense but in mind the scheme is already taking shape.

  Moving around the bed, I find her clothing that was tossed about in our pre-fuck fantasies. Picking them up off the floor, I go to her side of the bed where she’s staring at me like the freak of the week, she must believe me to be right now.

  “No, it’s nothing like that… You’ve done nothing wrong. Please put your clothes back on. I forgot to take care of something at work and it’s urgent. I have to go to The House of Creed.” I shove her clothes at her and stalk toward my closet to get another shirt.

  When I move back into the room, she’s fully dressed curled up in one of my high leathered back chairs that I normally use for reading. Her head lifts off her knee and she stand’s when she sees me. She starts to fidget with that hole in the leg of her pants. I feel like a fucking dick, but I know I’m doing the right thing here. It’s a first much like everything else where she’s concerned.

  “Brogan, please talk to me. I’m not sure what’s taking place right now, but something is off, bad. I can feel it. I can sense it. Uhm…” She whispers as I approach her. Her eyes are bouncing between mine and damn it, I want to tell her but for now it’s best that I don’t. “Was it because I’m… Well, you know, inexperienced?”

  “Swear to Christ, Brea… NO!” I growl and she flinches taking a step back with the motion. I want to grab her up and pull her into me but distance is key to my sanity right now. “Southern Comfort, please believe me when I tell you that I’ve got to handle something, it’s urgent. Lincoln will take you home, yeah?” She nods her head and lets out a long sigh. I know she doesn’t understand but I’ll fix this and make it up to her later when I get a grasp on the situation.

  “Okay… Sure… I’ll just wait downstairs then. Uhm, I really had the best time with you. Uhm, thank you for tonight.” She mumbles as she disappears out of my room. Jesus, she thinks this is her fault. I don’t need to read her mind for that knowledge.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I connect the call and put it to my ear. As soon as I get Brea taken care of and safely at home, I’ve got a bastard brother to confront for setting his demented little evils free inside of her head. I know he’s responsible for torturing her midnight mind. Channing is a dead man.

  chapter 23

  brealyn

  Swinging my legs off the fire escape, I sit in the silence of the night sifting through my embarrassing lifetime of moments knowing nothing will top tonight, like ever. Tonight, was the single worst and best night of my life. If that’s even possible for anyone to understand but it’s truth.

  The highlight started at Rockefeller, which mind you that Christmas tree was premium grade presentation this year, then it carried over when Brogan and I shared hotdogs while laughing about everything and anything. It was the easiest companionship and conversation of my life to date. Things only took a turn for freaky Friday avenue when I stepped through his elevator doors.

  That’s when everything flooded in weighting down on me, tsunami style. It felt like a thousand-pound dumbbell was place against my throat. I had cornered off those dreams to a cold filing cabinet in the corner of my brain. Essentially writing the deadly encounters off until I stepped foot in the place that I’ve continuously died at every night. In BC Towers. Brogan’s penthouse. My death house of dream horrors.

  The man probably thinks I’m a lunatic. Between the virginal confession and freaking out like a mental patient, he’s probably feeling relieved by cutting his losses with me. Checking me off as a near-miss with a fatal foolish lay. But I swear his place was identical to my dreams presented. It was freakishly terrifying.

  Letting my ET hooded head fall back, I look up at the stars above twinkling out like little beacon signs and sigh. All I know is that Brogan couldn’t get me out of his skyscraper quick enough and the thing about it is, I felt relief when I walked out of that place. Not because of Brogan but because of the nightmarish death that takes place whenever I close my eyes each night. My nightmare fatalities are real.

  “Well, well. There you are sunshine…”

  When a voice shouts out from below, I startle and jump in place grabbing hold of my fire escape in my panic. Gripping my blanket, I pull it tighter at the neckline while focusing on the hulking body below. Channing is standing in the alleyway with two huge bags in his hands.

  “What the actual crap are you doing down there? You scared the ever-loving BS outta me, Channing.” If I were on solid ground, I’d stomp my foot at him. I hate getting scared like that. It’s like it steals away precious seconds off your life. And in light of certain events, I want to keep all of my dang seconds, especially the conscious ones.

  “Okay, big country. Your non-profanity is etching up a notch on the curse-scale. I’m going to have to keep my ears out for the day that you finally manage to squeak out a shit-damn-ass, or God willing, drop an F-bomb.” He chuckles.

  I roll my eyes and move to stand then say, “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s a calzone craving that pulled me to this side of town. Mr. Maggio’s can’t be beaten. I had him whip up your favorite
s too. With Christmas right around the corner, I figured your southern hospitality and country girl raising couldn’t turn me away. What do you say? Let me feed you, sunshine.” He shakes the bags and smiles wide. He has a carefree kinda smile that works for him and probably every other woman in New York.

  “Uhm, sure. Come on up.” I turn to climb back through my window and inwardly cringe.

  He’s right, I don’t want to be mean to him. This is so bad though. Brogan warned me about Channing and now here I am entertaining him after everything I learned tonight. Heck, I was mere seconds away from sleeping with Brogan and now I’m welcoming Channing in. Bright side is Tamera would be so proud.

  It’s the weirdest feeling that I get when this Creed is near me though. Once you push past the unease, he feels like a missing piece of a puzzle. It sorta reminds me of that one time when I was fourteen and tried pot for the first and last time. Like a laid-back sense, relaxed, and completely in a Zen-like trance. But the downside to all that is, I feel blitzed to the outside real world around me.

  Everything gets muffled and I can’t seem to see the forest for the trees. It’s freeing but frustrating. Just like with that pot I smoked; I feel paranoid and scared though. Controlling rational thought and decision making becomes difficult with the substance that is Channing Creed.

  “Oh, Lord…” I groan as I shut the window behind me and toss my blanket on the bed in passing.

  Unlatching my various deadbolts, I swing the door open. Channing is standing there smirking at me like he knows I’m fighting an internal struggle between right and wrong, but Mr. Maggio’s calzone wins out. I’m weak for the food. I offer to grab a bag but he shakes his head no.

  “I got it.” He stalks past me as I point in the general direction of the kitchen area like it’s in disguise, but the open floor plan is obvious. He checks my place out in his pursuit. “I like the warmth in this place and the tree is beautiful. You did a great job on it.” He says while setting down the food.