by Kendall Ryan
By
Kendall Ryan
Screwed
Copyright © 2015 Kendall Ryan
Edited and Formatted by
Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
Cover design by
Sara Eirew
Photography by
People Images
Digital Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
About the Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Join My Mailing List
Coming Soon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Kendall Ryan
About the Book
I have one rule: Don’t shit where you eat.
Several of the women in the condo complex I own would love some one-on-one playtime, and why wouldn’t they? I’m young, fit, attractive, and loaded. Not to mention I’m packing a sizable bulge below the belt. It’s a combination that drops panties on a regular basis. Yay, me, right?
But my cock, troublemaker that he is, has been confined to my trousers by my business partner. A concession I agreed to, and one that’s never been hard to enforce until Emery moves in across the hall. She’s smart, young, determined, and sexy as hell. I want a taste. I won’t stop until I’m buried deep inside the succulent new-in-town brunette.
After being warned about my past, she does her best to steer clear, but I’m about to show her that underneath it all, I’m a guy with a heart of gold and a cock of steel.
My name is Hayden Oliver, and this is my story.
Chapter One
Hayden
Goddamn. This is going to be harder than I thought.
My eyes swing over to admire the most perfect pear-shaped ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on while my business partner, Hudson, continues lecturing me. I think it’s about something important, but there’s nothing more urgent than my body’s reaction to this shapely brunette. Jesus. Those tits are definitely real.
“I mean it. Your cock is cut off this time,” Hudson says, his tone biting.
Tearing my gaze away from the succulent new brunette moving into unit 4B, I face him. “Not literally cut off. I’m sort of attached to him. You realize that, right?”
“Well, it’s on lockdown then. No more of this bullshit. I had three calls this week alone from hysterical women—our tenants who you, how do I put this delicately? You fucked and then left before their pussies were even dry.”
I smirk at him, but I can’t deny the accusation. The condo building that Hudson and I own—and I live in—is like a real-life Melrose Place. With sexy young twenty-somethings all living in close proximity, there’s bound to be a little drama now and again. Together, Hudson and I own thirty buildings in the greater Los Angeles area. And some of our buildings have very fuckable tenants. Up until this point, I’ve considered that a nice bonus, a bonus that I accepted numerous times; it was certainly the best perk of the job. Hudson has apparently viewed it differently.
“Who’s that?” I ask, tipping my head toward the bombshell who’s responsible for all the blood rushing to my groin. Fuck. I should have a word with her about that; that’s not cool. But the thought of going up to her and having a word about my current predicament and seeing her blush causes my groin to ache even harder. Fuck.
Hudson’s eyes swing to the left to see what, or rather, who has captured my attention. And who’s given me this semi-chub, which I hope he hasn’t noticed. We’re close, but we’re not that close.
“Get control of your cock,” Hudson says, narrowing his eyes at me.
Damn it. He noticed.
“The only one I want in control of my cock is that beautiful creature right there.” I’m blatantly staring at her, and I don’t even care.
“No, no, no. Don’t get any ideas. You’re not tagging that.”
She’s not close enough to overhear us, but I shoot him a scowl anyway. “Show some class, man. Tagging is such a juvenile word. I’d take my time, get her hot and ready first, until she was begging for me to fill her tight little cunt.”
“I’m fucking serious. You’re not to even think about her tight cunt.” He puffs his chest out, clearly ready for battle.
“So you acknowledge she’s got a tight cunt?” I smile, proud of myself.
He wipes sweat from his brow, looking worried. “Hayden, I’m serious this time.” His voice has taken on a somber tone, and for once, I try to be serious and focus.
When I see the way the vein throbs in his neck, my smile fades. We’re standing outside one of our nicest buildings just outside of downtown, and the mid-afternoon sun is beating down on us. Suddenly I want to get away from him, away from this entire conversation and into the cool air-conditioning inside. Shit has gotten a little too real for me.
“You know me.” I grin at him, trying to lighten the mood. “I just wanted to have some casual fun.” And if that means sleeping my way through the LA singles scene, so be it.
I’m not looking for something deeper. I have a luxury condo in the heart of the Hollywood Hills, drive a new BMW, and possess a nine-inch cock. Translation: Life is good. Or it was, until Hudson decided to get a bug up his ass and lay down the law today.
“Did you hear a word I just said? One of your latest conquests threatened to report our company to the Better Business Bureau for unethical business practices. This isn’t just about you. This affects me too. And I’ll be damned if I watch everything we’ve built go down in flames because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
“Point taken.”
Hudson is pretty much the best friend and best business partner you could ask for. He’s smart as hell and dedicated, works like a dog day and night. And not to mention when we began our real-estate investment company five years ago, he singlehandedly fronted all the startup capital from his own savings and trust fund. It took me years to pay him back as the profits rolled in, and he never once made me feel lesser, or like I was in debt to him. Not to mention, he’s funny, well-off, and good-looking. He’s an excellent wingman. Plus he knows how to find the best tacos. And I’m not talking about the kind served with salsa. The dude is a magnet for pussy.
Unable to help myself, I allow my eyes to drift over to her again. The woman moving into 4B fills out a pair of yoga pants in ways that I doubt are even legal in some countries. I need to know what’s underneath those curve-hugging black athletic pants. Simple cotton panties, or a naughty G-string? Either way, I want to bury my fingers inside the waistband of those pants, peel them down her hips, and find out. Perhaps it’s because Hudson just made her forbidden fruit, but I want a taste. My damn mouth is practically watering.
She looks smart and put together, despite her casual attire that includes a tank top and tennis shoes. With a clipboard in one hand and her trusty number-two pencil in the other
, she ticks items off her list, and instructs the movers who are unloading and carrying boxes up to her new place—which just so happens to be directly underneath mine.
“You’re not going to last three minutes, let alone three days.” Hudson grimaces, glancing over again at our newest resident.
“What do you know about her?”
He rolls his eyes but humors me. “Emery Elaine Winters. She’s an attorney. Excellent references. Even better credit score, and she signed a one-year lease. And she, and her pussy, are to remain in pristine condition, or so help me God . . .”
I can’t help the inappropriate comment just hanging on the tip of my tongue. “I could make sure her engine is running properly, give her a tune-up, if necessary.”
Hudson growls out a curse.
When I glance up at her again, I see Roxy, another of our residents, has joined Emery on the sidewalk. They appear to be making small talk, shaking hands, exchanging words, and smiling at each other. There’s something I strongly dislike about these two women talking. Roxy is an exotic dancer, and she and I have a bit of a rocky past. Which is a huge fucking understatement, but not something I care to dwell on now. Hudson mentions something about fourth-quarter taxes, and I tune him out, sure I just heard my name on Roxy’s over-glossed lips.
“Excuse me, I’ve got business to attend to.” I step around him, heading straight toward my new prize. Roxy spots me and takes off for the parking area.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hudson calls after me.
“Just being neighborly. Someone’s got to properly welcome Miss Winters.”
“Damn it, Hayden,” I hear him shout.
“I’ve got this, buddy,” I shout back over my shoulder.
I can control myself around her. I have to, according to Hudson. I don’t like being told what to do, especially where my cock is concerned, and hell, it’ll probably only make me want her more. But as I close the distance between Emery and me, I make a plan.
Friends.
I will become friends with the so hot I want to bend her over and fuck her in broad daylight new girl.
This is either the best plan I’ve ever had, or will end with me sporting a black eye, courtesy of my best friend.
It’s go time.
Chapter Two
Emery
The blazing sun beats down on me, causing little beads of sweat to form at the back of my neck. My hand is damp where I’m holding the clipboard, and I wipe my forehead with my other arm. I feel a little ridiculous, sweating like a pig while I’m just directing the movers, who are doing all the actual work.
I’d known that Los Angeles would be hot, especially in June, but nothing could have prepared me for this. To a born-and-bred Michigan girl, “shorts weather” is pretty much anything above freezing. A hundred degrees might as well have been a million, for all it meant to me. Seeing a number on a weather report is completely different from feeling it in the flesh. I lick my chapped lips for the umpteenth time—the humidity, or lack thereof, is yet another thing I have to get used to.
“Hey there!” calls a bubbly female voice. “You look like you could use this.”
I turn to see a tall, dirty-blond woman holding out a bottle of water. I swallow at the sight of the cold droplets beading along the plastic. “Oh . . . thank you.” I accept it and drink fast. Before I know it, the bottle is half-empty.
She cocks her head with a slight smile. “You’re new to these parts, right?”
“How could you tell? The lack of tan?” I look down at my fish-belly white arms that sharply contrast with this woman’s perfectly bronzed skin. My skin is already starting to turn pink with the first hints of sunburn. Damn it. I thought I put on enough sunscreen.
“I was going to say you still look bright-eyed and hopeful. Plus you weren’t carrying your own water.” She holds out her hand. Her nails are deep scarlet, perfectly manicured, and way too long to be real. “I’m Roxy. Looks like we’ll be neighbors—I’m in unit 3C.”
I shake her hand firmly. “I’m Emery. Unit 4B.”
Now that I’m not ready to die of thirst anymore, I can get a good look at my new acquaintance. She has legs all the way from her ass to the floor, as my mother would say, although her stiletto sandals made me think that she’s taller than she really is. She’s wearing Daisy Dukes and a blue halter top that defies the laws of physics to contain her huge fake breasts. She’s also wearing enough makeup to spackle a wall—heavy foundation and bright blush, shimmery hot-pink lip gloss, a lush forest of false lashes, and plucked and penciled brows arching high over turquoise-shadowed eyes.
Overall, not the kind of person I’d usually pal around with. But she seems sweet. And in my sweat-soaked tank top, yoga pants, and tennis shoes, it’s not like I’m exactly dressed for success either.
“So, what brings you to the city of angels?” she asks. “Looking to make it big in Hollywood?”
“Actually, I have a summer internship at a law firm downtown. I start on Monday.” That’s as much as she needs to know. I didn’t uproot my whole life and move across the country to dwell on the past. I want to put my shiny new diploma to use, dive headfirst into my career—and leave a certain douchebag in the dust.
“Oh, wow! I could never do a high-powered job like that . . . way too much stress. I work long enough hours as it is.” Her dark brown gaze drifts over my shoulder, and her expression suddenly sours. “Ugh. Don’t look now, but . . .”
Of course, I look now. Over by the outdoor stairwell, two men in dress shirts and creased suits are talking. They’re both attractive, and one of them keeps stealing glances at us.
He seems around my age, maybe a year or two older. He’s ridiculously handsome with an angular jaw that has just the right amount of stubble, and a ready smirk that begs to be either slapped or kissed. His short dark hair is cut just long enough to grab onto, although why I’d need to grab onto it, I’m not sure. His broad shoulders and trim waist hint at some very nice muscles beneath his business attire. Even beyond his surface-level hotness, there’s something strangely magnetic about him, something that makes my stomach twist pleasantly just looking at him. Something that makes his slightest movement scream sex.
Feeling hot for reasons that have nothing to do with the actual temperature, I quickly turn back to Roxy before the man can notice my stare. “Who are those guys?”
“That’s Hudson Stone and Hayden Oliver. They’re the real-estate investors who own this building . . . a lot of buildings around here, actually.”
For real? They both look so young. Someone must have a rich daddy. I resist the urge to look over again.
“What’s so bad about them? Do they screw people over on rent or something?”
Roxy shakes her head. “Nah, everything that’s on paper is fine. These places are more than worth what you pay for them.”
God, I hope so. My new luxury condo is probably the biggest splurge I’ve ever made. Sometimes I still feel guilty about dropping that much cash, even if it is a good deal for a location in Hollywood Hills. But I figured that I deserve a treat after surviving law school on top of my latest breakup. Besides, if I’m going to walk the big-city lawyer walk, I should also talk the talk. “Dress for the job you want” doesn’t just apply to clothes, right?
I realize that Roxy has continued on without me.
“ . . . and Hudson is a pretty nice guy. He’s polite when he comes around, which isn’t often. But Hayden is the landlord here, and it’s him you want to watch out for. He’s fucked his way through half the single women in the city, even some of his own tenants. Treats his properties like an all-you-can-eat buffet. What a shameless piece of shit. And he lives upstairs in 5B, so nobody can get away from him without moving out.”
Her story feels like a bucket of ice water straight down my panties. A checkered past like that would kill anyone’s buzz, no matter how attractive the son of a bitch is. I’ve had enough of men who can’t keep it in their pants to last me a lifetime. Besides, I
’m here to succeed, not sleep with my new landlord—or with anybody, for that matter.
I tamp down what’s left of my libido and nod at Roxy. “Good to know. Thanks for the warning.”
She gives her hand a breezy flip. “No prob, sweetie. Us girls gotta look out for each other, right?”
“Hey, lady,” a burly moving guy says, interrupting us. He’s standing next to us with a medium-sized box under his arm. His eyes aren’t focused even remotely near our faces. “What room you want this in?”
With my pencil, I point at the huge capital letters written in black marker on the side of the box. “The label says ‘bathroom,’ so it goes in the bathroom. Anywhere is fine.” I cross my arms over my cleavage and raise my eyebrows, letting him know he’s been caught. “The next time you want to get a closer peek at a woman’s chest, try to come up with a better excuse.”
He gives me a serious dirty look. But I just stare up at him as coolly as possible until he wanders off again.
Roxy chuckles behind her hand. “I think that’s my cue. I’ll let you get done moving in, but you should totally come over for a glass of wine sometime. Or we can do lunch. Have some girl talk.”
“Sure, that sounds nice,” I reply with a smile. And it really does. I don’t know anyone in this big, strange city, so I sure could use a friend.
She waves as she walks away, then disappears toward the parking lot.
Hopefully I’ll actually have time to hang out with her. In law school, I was no stranger to eighty-hour weeks, and my professors all said that practicing law in the real world is even more grueling. But I know I can take whatever this internship throws at me. Bring it the fuck on, I say silently.
I go back to checking off items on my clipboard and directing the movers. Despite the butterflies in my stomach whenever I think about my new life, I’m not looking forward to the long, grimy weekend of unpacking boxes that lies ahead of me. And then I have to get settled into my job, knuckle down on studying for my bar exam next month . . .
