Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3)

by Christina Saunders

  I tried to shake out of the song’s spell. “Let’s get down to business. What did you find out?”

  His piercing eyes shone through his mask, glittering in the low light of the ballroom. We were so close, our breaths mingled and I tried to ignore the butterflies floating around in my stomach. They had to have been from the alcohol, not the nearness of Kennedy. Had to be.

  “Greenwood just got several plum Department of Defense contracts—”

  “Pfft, I got the same thing.” I tried to ignore his index finger caressing my bare skin, raising goose bumps along my back.

  “Did you get that Rhone was set to get the contracts until Greenwood came out with some new technology in the last few days?”

  “No.” I chewed on my lip. “The stolen data. It has to be.”

  “Look who graduated top of her class from Princeton.”

  I pulled back and considered him. “You’ve been checking up on me?”

  “Sometimes I Google. Or I make my secretary, Faye, do it and print it all for me.”

  “Look who graduated dead last in his class from Loyola.”

  He nuzzled into my hair and ran his hand down my back to the top of my ass. “You know what they say. Get A’s in law school, be a professor. Get B’s, be a judge. Get C’s, be a millionaire.”

  “You aren’t a millionaire just yet.” I tilted my head to the side, giving him more access to my neck. He took it, his warm breath tickling along my jugular as we kept the slow, sensual rhythm.

  “I’m not?” He laughed and his lips brushed my throat, sending a tingle straight to my clit.

  My knees tried to turn to jelly, but he held me tighter.

  “I’ve seen your office, remember?” I tried to concentrate on anything other than his lips, his hard body pressed against mine, the scent of his aftershave. I couldn’t.

  “Looks can be deceiving. Like how you always wear clothes that don’t fit to hide this perfect body. How you wear your hair like a librarian but I can tell you’re a tiger in the sack.” He moved a hand down to my thigh, the high slit giving him easy access to my ass. “How, despite your prim and proper manners, you aren’t wearing any panties.” Sliding his hand up, he kneaded my bare skin to make his point.

  “Kennedy.”

  “Scarlett.” His voice was a low growl. “If you say my name like that one more time, I’m going to drag you to the coat closet and fuck you against the furs.”

  A whip of heat shot up my thighs. “Y-you wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” He moved his hand to cup my ass, his fingers seeking lower and farther. A few more inches and he’d know how wet his threat made me.

  My heart thumped against my ribs and his touch seemed to take my breath away.

  “I think we should report back to Mr. Rhone and Mr. Porter.” I slowed, trying to break his hold on me.

  He eased up and gave me a hint of space, but not much. “Can’t it wait? One more song?”

  “No . . .”

  He bent down, his lips so close to mine.

  I had to stop him. Stop this. “Kennedy.”

  He grinned. “What did I just say?”

  Before I could protest, he’d gripped my wrist and was pulling me past the dancers, heading straight toward the front doors and the coat closet.

  Excitement and fear mixed in my blood. “Let go of me.” I tried to yank my hand back.

  “Not a chance.” He said over his shoulder and kept barreling forward.

  Up the two steps to the entrance and then at the coat check. An attendant was there. I said a silent thank-you that the coatroom was off-limits, thanks to the teenage worker in the maudlin mask.

  Without releasing my hand, Kennedy dug into his front coat pocket, pulled out a twenty, handed it to the kid, and yanked me through the open doorway.

  “You just bribed the—”

  The coat closet was deep, dim, and packed to the brim. The kid closed the door behind us as Kennedy bulldozed down one of the tight rows, his front hand outstretched, touching the materials.

  I tried one more time to wrench my wrist free, but he wouldn’t release me.

  “This one.” He turned and gripped my waist before pressing me face-first into a luxurious fur coat.

  “Stop.” I couldn’t do this. Not here. What if Guy or Frank had seen us?

  He gripped my hair close to my scalp and pulled my head to the side. When his lips met the juncture of my neck and my shoulder, I clutched the dark fur and my pussy tingled.

  “Please,” I breathed.

  He reached around and gripped one of my breasts, squeezing the nipple between his thumb and index finger. Little sparks of pleasure raced across my skin as he bit, and he sucked on my neck. His mouth was at the perfect spot below my ear and above my shoulder, the spot that erased all reason and turned me into a slave to my sensations. I arched my back, my ass pressing into the hard length in his pants.

  He gave my breast another squeeze before running his hand down my trembling stomach and to the slit along my thigh. Hiking up my dress, he pressed two fingers to my clit. My hips jerked back to him and he grunted and answered with a small thrust.

  “So fucking wet.” He pulled even harder on my hair as his fingers delved lower, teasing my wet folds until he plunged inside me. I moaned and rubbed my ass against his cock as he worked his fingers in and out.

  He pulled away, releasing my hair and leaving me reeling. I started to turn around, but he put his palm flat on my back and pushed me forward. He’d freed his cock, the smooth head rubbing against my ass. I reached around to grip him, but he stole my wrist and pinned it against my lower back.

  “Kennedy.” I was desperate to touch him.

  “You know what that does to me, Scarlett.” He shoved his cock between my thighs and pumped his hips so his slick head caressed my clit. Maintaining his grip on my wrist, he wrapped his other hand around my neck, giving gentle pressure.

  I was utterly snared—the soft fur caressing my front while Kennedy mastered my back. I pressed my thighs together to get every delicious lick of friction as he thrust against my pussy.

  “I need to feel you. All of you.” His voice was a gravelly rumble as he pulled back and positioned his tip at my entrance.

  “Oh God.” The sound was swallowed by the fur as he began to ease inside me, my entire body on fire and desperate for him.

  “Scarlett?” A man’s voice called.

  I froze and whipped my head around to the door. A slight amount of light was slipping through into the dim closet. Someone was standing in the doorway.

  “Are you all right?” He called again, uncertainty coating his words.

  “Fuck. Coat check’s closed, asshole,” Kennedy barked.

  “It’s Eric. I was just checking on Scarlett.” His voice sounded stronger. Was he coming closer?

  I had to get out of there. I shoved back against Kennedy, which pushed him inside me a bit farther. I gasped at the sudden pleasure and he groaned.

  “Do that again.” He laughed, the sound low and throaty.

  “I’m fine, Eric,” I called.

  “Are you sure?” He’d moved deeper inside the closet, only a few steps from discovering what we were doing, though he’d likely already guessed. “Frank and Guy were asking about you.”

  I wrenched my hand from Kennedy’s grasp and scooted forward, the feeling of his dick sliding out like a bucket of cold water being dumped over me. It shocked me back to reality. What are you doing? I was about to let him fuck me bareback in a coat closet at a Mardi Gras ball.

  “I’ll be out in a minute, Eric. Just wait for me, okay?” I spun, our bodies still pressed tightly together, and stared up into Kennedy’s eyes. “You have to stop this,” I hissed.

  “Stop what?” He smirked down at me, his face half hidden by his mask.

  “You know what.” I pulled my dress down.

  He took my hand and placed it against his erection. His hot skin was smooth and soft in my grip. I let out a breath as he kept his hand on t
op of mine and stroked down his length and back up.

  I bit my lip, trying and failing to fight the desire for him that overtook my mind, my body.

  “You sure you want me to stop? Seems like every time you say that, you only want more.” He leaned in and grazed his lips across mine, still moving my hand up and down his shaft.

  “Scarlett?” Eric asked again.

  “I’m coming.” The words came out harsher than I’d intended.

  “Not yet.” Kennedy whispered against my lips.

  I pulled my hand away, silently cursing him for putting me into this situation, and also cursing myself for loving every second of it.

  “Zip up, asshole.” I hated the breathlessness in my voice.

  I shimmied past Kennedy and pushed through the coats to Eric. He peered down at me, his mouth drawn into a frown.

  “Come on.” I hurried past him and out of the closet. The open air of the foyer attacked my overheated skin, making goose bumps erupt all over my arms and legs. “Where are they?”

  Eric took my elbow and led me back to the ballroom. “Oh, Guy and Frank have already left for the night. I just said that to rescue you.”

  I ground my teeth. I didn’t need rescuing, and certainly not by Eric.

  “So, about that dance?” He gestured to the mass of partiers, their movements getting sloppier as the night progressed and the alcohol kept flowing.

  “Maybe next time.” I patted his arm. “I need to get home. I’ll be working all weekend. Have to stay frosty for our case.”

  “Well, can I drive you home?”

  His persistence should have been adorable. Instead, I was irritated. On edge. Desperate to feel some sort of release. What was it they called it in my lit classes? Catharsis. I needed clit catharsis.

  “I’ll get a cab, but you enjoy your night. I’ll call you next week.” I turned on my heel, leaving Eric in my wake as I retrieved my coat. The coast was clear, no sign of Kennedy.

  At least the coat check boy didn’t seem to recognize me from just a few moments before, likely thanks to my disguise. Masks—everyone in New Orleans wore them, but they were obvious about it only during Mardi Gras.

  I slipped into a waiting cab and closed the door. Pulling the mask off, I tossed it next to me and settled back into the seat. I glanced up the stairs to the front doors of the ballroom. Kennedy darted out, still a lady killer in his tux and mask.

  “Go,” I told the driver.

  Kennedy scanned the cab as it started moving. I gave him a too-sweet smile, and the slight quirk of his lip told me he’d seen it.

  He may have won the round at the restaurant, but this one belonged to me.

  Chapter Eight

  Kennedy

  I hadn’t worked on a Saturday in several years. But the 8 a.m. email from Scarlett—which I read at 10 a.m. when I woke up—had me out of bed and in the shower in record time.

  Did I have to jerk off to her last night instead of getting the real thing? Yes. Would I get the real thing sooner rather than later? Yes. And something told me finally getting all of Scarlett Carmichael would be the hottest thing I’d ever experienced.

  I got ready, paying a little extra attention to my shave, though I didn’t bother with my hair. It did whatever it wanted no matter how I tried to style it.

  I drove to the office, the streets relatively tame, as the partiers were still asleep or just waking up from the previous night’s fun. The business district was relatively quiet, though beads littered every street, even those nowhere near a parade route.

  The Stone & Porter building was eerily silent, and I rode the elevator alone. Entering the foyer, I hoped I’d find her at the office alone. The things I could do to her—maybe even on Guy Porter’s desk—made my cock unruly in my pants.

  “Down, boy,” I muttered under my breath as I spotted Carey and someone else who wasn’t Scarlett in the conference room.

  I pushed through the door. “Where’s Scarlett?”

  I recognized the other man, Graham, Scarlett’s paralegal. Shaking hands, I said, “She got you working on the weekends?”

  He smiled, the friendly wrinkles around his eyes making him seem almost fatherly. “I like to keep an eye on her whenever I can. See if I can help.” He shrugged. “But this time, I don’t think I can offer much. I like to think she relies on me. But Carey here has a way with the computers, and that’s what she needs.”

  “That and something to remove the stick from her ass.” I laughed.

  Graham didn’t seem quite so amused by my little joke. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her like that around me.”

  Carey whistled and made a bomb exploding noise, complete with hand motions showing me detonating on the conference table.

  My cheeks heated as Graham’s friendly smile turned into a stone-faced look of contempt.

  That escalated quickly. Backpedal time. “I didn’t mean . . . I was just—”

  “You have any idea what it’s like to be the only woman in a firm dominated by men?” He pulled to his full height, eye to eye with me. “Any idea what sort of character it takes to walk through those doors every morning and not only do a decent job, but do an excellent job? All the while knowing that the partners you work for still think you should be getting them coffee and taking dictation?”

  “I—”

  He shook his head. “Of course you don’t. But you might want to think about that before you shoot your mouth off about Ms. Carmichael.”

  Graham clapped Carey on the shoulder, though he kept his eyes on me. “Keep up the good work and keep an eye on this one, Carey. Tell me if he gets out of line with our girl.”

  “Yes, sir.” Carey nodded.

  “Good man.” Graham gave me one more withering look before striding out and heading toward the elevators.

  My heart pounded like I’d been running laps around the conference room.

  “That was, um, intense.” Carey let out a deep breath once the door clicked shut.

  “Shit. I was just kidding.” I turned Graham’s words over in my mind like a coin. Had I misjudged Scarlett so terribly? “But I guess he might have a point.”

  “You think?” Carey snorted. “In any case, I’d steer clear of him for a while.”

  “No shit. So, where’s Scarlett?”

  Carey twirled a pen between his fingers while staring at his computer screen. “You just missed her. She had to go to some lunch thing at Lynch Lane, I think she said? Something with a charity or something.”

  “Lynch Lane? Posh.” The Lynches were some of the richest people in the city. Of course Scarlett Carmichael would hobnob with them on the regular. Faye’s warning about Scarlett being “out of my league” echoed through my thoughts. While that may have been true on a blue-blood level, I’d been able to mingle with the upper crust off and on, and fucked my fair share of New Orleans socialites. All the same, I’d never been invited to Lynch Lane, not even to shovel shit or cut the grass.

  “Charity thing.” I tapped my index finger on my chin. Scarlett had run away to somewhere she no doubt thought I couldn’t follow. Distance made her comfortable. I wasn’t going to let up, not even if it meant crashing a philanthropy meeting. “What was she wearing?”

  He stopped twirling the pen and gave me a quizzical look. “Did you hear what Graham just said? All that about treating Scarlett with respect?”

  “Yes, I heard. I’m not trying to be inappropriate about Ms. Carmichael.” I shrugged. “I mean, I really need to talk to her about the case. I might just drop in over at Lynch Lane.”

  “Right.” He shook his head and grinned. He looked younger whenever he smiled big, especially given he was wearing a Star Wars Tshirt and what looked like skinny jeans. “Some sort of flowy skirt and a white top that showed a decent amount of the goods. A lot better than what she wears to work.”

  I could only imagine how good she’d look in that outfit. “I see. I think I’ll just head on over and give her a rundown of what I was working on overnight
.”

  “Oh, and her hair was down.”

  “Like all the way? Like total girl hotness?”

  “It wasn’t all tight up in that . . .” He motioned to the crown of his head.

  “The bun thing?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to touch it.” He nodded and smiled, mischief written all over his youthful face.

  “Don’t.” I hadn’t meant for my tone to be so clipped, but the thought of his hands on Scarlett sent a prickly sensation down my spine. I batted it aside. I didn’t get jealous over women. Never had, never would. Even so, I didn’t want him to think he could touch her hair or anything else.

  “Calm down. I didn’t jump her. Besides, you heard Graham. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, not the other way around. You’re the one who disrespects Scarlett right in front of her pseudo-dad, not me.”

  I laughed off his comments, as if I didn’t care. I didn’t, did I?

  “Look, do you what gotta do. Scarlett’s a smart woman, she’ll curb you soon enough.”

  I popped him on the back of the head, the same way I’d do to one of my brothers. “Any news on breaking the encryption?”

  He rubbed the spot where I’d tapped him. “Dick. Nope. But like I said, could be any minute, could be days. It’s a crapshoot. An intensely rigorous and multilayered crapshoot.”

  “All right. I’ll be back later.” I went to the door.

  “Good luck. I’ll be here to comfort her once she’s had it with you,” he said, almost too quietly for me to hear.

  “What?” I shot over my shoulder.

  “Nothing, man. Later.” He gave me a two-finger wave.

  I laughed and hustled back to the elevator. He may have been a mastermind superhacker, but Carey was quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

  Lynch Lane was a sprawling estate in the heart of the Garden District. I had a slim chance of making it past the gates, but I’d be damned if I’d let Scarlett get away. Not today, not after how she left me last night. I intended to invade her space on every possible level. Full-court press.

  As I drove through the streets, the parties starting anew, it occurred to me I’d never had to chase a woman before. I could sit at a bar, flirt a little, then have the prettiest one in the room flat on her back within an hour. But Scarlett, she evaded me. Even when I’d been close in that coat closet, she’d still had me by the balls—and not in the fun and frisky way.