by Savannah May
“Where’s the Carter I left in the hospital? What have you done with him?” I laughed as I unzipped his fly and pulled out his impressive huge shaft.
I loved being on top of him and having him on his back, admiring every part of me. Any shyness I once lived with vanished completely with Carter. I spread myself open and relished his gaze and his fingers caressing and exploring all of me.
“You’re a goddess,” he rasped, his eyes filling with lust in tune with his pulsating wood that was hot in my hand.
I located his head at my entrance and lifted my hips enough to thrust slowly down on him, inch by inch until I was fully impaled on his huge prick.
“Fuck you feel amazing, Baby,” he moaned, reaching up to squeeze my breasts and pinch my aching nipples.
I rocked slowly back and forth on his pelvis, my wet lips grazing on his root and his cock filling me, stretching my walls.
With Carter strumming my clit as I sawed his length, I came apart quickly. My tremoring thighs wouldn’t support the squat I’d climbed into so as to thrust and fuck myself on his cock. I had to lean over his torso, so I was on all fours, caging him in which gave him no end of satisfaction judging by the big grin. I fucked him harder then, using my palms to push back on while my tits bobbed in his face. When he wasn’t squeezing and licking them hungrily of course.
After a huge release of pleasure that pushed at every part of me Carter exploded inside me with a groan as he grasped my hips to hold me deeply impaled on him. Panting, I rolled off him and nestled into the crook of his arm where he tugged me in close to his side. We lay there just relishing our new life together.
After all the sickies I’d pulled at work, being miserable at how he’d ended it, I couldn’t stay home from work with him. Carter insisted he was fine and three days into the week, I came home to find him out of bed making dinner.
“You shouldn’t be up,” I said, throwing my bag down and rushing over to him.
“I’m fine, Liv. I won’t get my strength back by lying around on my back. Not unless you’re on top of me, impaling your perfect pussy around me, that is.”
“You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t you ever do what you’re told?”
He lifted me up on the counter and fed me a bite of the incredible char-grilled sirloin tips he’d prepared in a mesquite sauce.
“You can cook too?” I squeaked, half orgasmic from the sensuous flavors.
“I wouldn’t have survived this long if I didn’t,” he joked.
“Yeah but bachelors usually heat up a pot noodle,” I said. “This is restaurant food. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Not so long as you’re by my side. Oh, speaking of restaurant food, your pal Reese wants to set up that double date for the weekend.”
“He called you?” I said, reaching for my phone to see if I’d missed him.
“I’m getting friend status, I guess. And he wanted to know when I plan to make an honest Maid of Honor out of him.”
“Oh my god, he pressured you into marrying me? I have two dads now?”
Carter fed me another sirloin tip and followed it with a kiss.
“How are you going to feel having the man that gives you away also standing up as my best man?”
“Is that your idea of a proposal?” I said jokingly, turning to put my phone down on the counter behind me, no text from my bestie. When I turned back, Carter had a small box in his hand, and it was visibly shaking.
“No, but this is,” he murmured, his voice cracking. His eyes were glassy, holding mine in their adoring gaze and I clapped my hands over my mouth, unable to take in what was happening.
“Livy you know that I love you more than anything. You’re the only woman in the world for me and I want you with me forever.”
“Oh god,” I gasped, my heart pounding hard enough to come crashing through my chest, tingles flying up and down my arms.
“Will you marry me, baby? Will you be mine?”
I nodded furiously as soon as he started the sentence. I nodded and nodded and couldn’t stop.
“I take it that’s yes?” he asked, reaching up for my left hand to unclamp it from its position over my mouth and soaked with tears flooding over my wrist.
“Yes, it’s yes,” I choked and splayed my fingers so he could slide the diamond onto my finger. “Ohmigod it’s yes, a million times yes. Yes, I’ll marry you forever.”
Carter
While Liv was at work, I spent my day cooking special meals for her and working out to get my body back into shape. John came by daily as well to check up on me as well as how the proposal went.
“Not that I need to ask,” he grinned. “You two are the most adoring lovebirds I’ve ever seen.”
“Your daughter is an incredible woman, John.”
He nodded agreement, staring into the distance. “Just like her mother.”
I decided to get him out of that past pain. “Liv wants to celebrate this weekend with a dinner. Her and I, Reese and Ben and you.”
“And Donna,” he added. “If I have to go out and dine with all my employees, don’t think you’re going to make a fifth wheel out of me.”
“Donna Hutchkiss from the cupcake store?” I asked, with a wry grin.
I remember him mentioning her one time when he stopped in to get some of those pink cakes for Liv, as a treat for her homecoming. She’d always liked them since she was a little girl, he said. I remember thinking at the time that he was having a hard time accepting Liv as all grown up but now I can recall various times he’s brought Donna into conversation for no apparent reason.
“Yeah, now my nest is empty I figured it was time I got back on the dating scene. I never wanted to bring another woman into her life after her mom went. Don’t laugh. There’s still life in me yet.”
“I’m not laughing,” I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m glad for you.”
“We’ll see. I’m taking my time, playing the field a little to see what’s out there, taking a page out of your playbook although not as hard as you play.”
“Played,” I reminded him. “There isn’t another woman on the planet now, not as far as I’m concerned.”
I hope you loved the first in a series of Hotshots.
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Chapter 1
Grace
I trail behind the woman in bottom-saggy dark dress pants, across the lobby of a fancy skyscraper. The kind of building I dreamed of working in, once.
“No drinking, no rowdy behavior...” she continues ticking off the commandments.
“I don’t...”
“No further hanging out with unsavory characters.” The older woman ignores my attempt to protest my innocence – big surprise there. She spouts out my orders as though I never made that lame attempt at setting her straight. “No getting into fights and definitely, and this one is very important, no drugs of any recreational variety.”
She has me all wrong. So wrong she could be speaking to someone else. You know when someone thinks they know you, not thinks, assumes? They look at a chart and assume they know everything about you. How you think, what you want. Even what you’ll do next, before you do.
Except they don’t.
My adviser, counselor, or whatever they call this sort of parole officer, gives me the list of commands that will allow me to stay out in the world with the nice folks. Like I’m some delinquent who drinks and fights and ‘hangs’ with inappropriate people.
I’m not that girl.
I wasn’t.
“I don’t do any of those things,” I hiss. I refuse to run to keep up with her.
She throws me a look over her shoulder and I know that if I continue to protest my
innocence this will only go on longer. So I add; “I won’t.” Just to get this over with.
“Good. You won’t believe me right now but rebellion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It doesn't mean you’re smart or glamorous, it just gets you into this kind of trouble.”
Don’t I know it.
Still, I force myself not to roll my eyes and simply nod with the right amount of humility. I learned that well in the last six months.
“I know we’re a little early but there’s supposed to be someone to take you in hand and tell you what to do. Wait here, I’ll go to Miss Markle’s office, see if she can help us.”
I wish I possessed the kind of rebellion she’s talking about. Or I did, before I got that one whiff of it and it turned around and bit my ass.
I was the good girl.
The one that worked to get good grades and hoped to make something of her life.
Something better.
There weren’t too many like me in the forgotten town I grew up in. In fact there weren't any like me, who thought beyond a job in the refinery or being married to someone that had one. I was on the right track to the other side of the tracks and set my jaw like a sword before me, After marching through teenage years with determination not to be cajoled and teased into the expected lifestyle, I slipped up.
I admit it.
Do I need to be punished forever?
I try to do as the officer of the court, Cynthia Treadwell, told me and stay put in the hallway. But we passed the break room a few doors back and I need a pick-me-up badly. I haven't had a decent brew in months. There are two things I’m desperate for – coffee and – you know. Even office coffee will be like fine Italian espresso after the dirty dishwater I had to drink inside. And a paycheck with enough left over to buy a vibe and get off.
I look up and down the deserted hall then slip into the small kitchen. I throw open the cupboards until I find the filters. Then flipping the switch on the industrial machine, I wait for it to spurt into life before sliding out the jug, filling it with water and methodically pouring it into the top reservoir. Then I pull apart the package of coffee and inhale the aroma that makes me think of exotic lands. I lay a frilled filter into the bowl and then tip the coffee into it so the scent fills my nostrils at the same time a shiver runs down the back of my legs. I’m filled with the certainty that someone is watching me. I feel the heat of a presence behind me and it makes my legs literally tremble. I’m being ridiculous. I refuse to look behind. Never show your fear. As I snap the machine into action a small raspy clearing of throat forces me to turn and my body jolts in surprise.
“You know how to make coffee,” the gorgeous guy leaning up against the door frame, one leg casually crossed over the other like he owns the joint, says. One side of his mouth tips up into a smug grin as he adds; “That’s a good start. You can bring me one.”
“I’m not here to make coffee,” I snap.
I’m all shivery with awkwardness by the dude gazing at me so blatantly. His eyes travel down the length of me, lingering on the parts that interest him and that betray me by jumping up in eager response.
I ought to be enraged.
But it’s too tough. His perfect face, the jaw all dark with new stubble I'd like to rake my fingernails over. A body I could climb all over because, even in a rumpled suit, his muscles are bristling beneath the fabric hard enough to burst it apart. Both are combining to seriously destabilize my fragile equilibrium.
“What are you here for then?” he asks, the smile never leaving his full lips.
“I...don’t know yet.” getting a grip on the shivery feeling running all around my skin would be a good start. And remembering not to blurt out “My parole officer just went to find out.” I do let him know; “But it is definitely not to wait on office dudes.”
Seriously? His eyes are taking another slow meander down the length of my body and not even bothering to try to disguise the fact that he’s sucking up every part of me, visually speaking. My brain expands with irritation at the blatant eyefuck but my traitorous body starts quivering even more because even creased and with dark circles under his eyes like he’s been up all night, this guy is hot enough to steam milk for the coffee.
I know I’ve been separated from men for a while but losing all control over a sexy one gets me into trouble. Isn’t that what got me into this lousy situation in the first place?
“Not here to make friends obviously,” he quips.
“You got that right,” I say, putting him in his place. Some guys think that any new girl in the office is ripe for a chance. “The plan is to stay away from all humanity, especially those of the Y chromosome variety and get on with my job.” “Except you don't know what it is.”
“Not exactly, but I’m about to find out.” I pour my coffee and blatantly ignore his demand for one. He can pour his own damn coffee, I’m done waiting on men and their demands. As I’m about to reconsider – because there’s no need to be rude at least not on the first day – he starts moving across the room. Filling the small space with his masculine presence until the air seems to be squashed out. Gasping, I have to turn away from him advancing on me, my cheeks filling and beginning to burn up with the blood rushing into them. Why the hell am I blushing? And why can’t I get some control over my body?
I grip the edge of the counter and take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. He’s just a man in an office albeit a godlike one. I reach for the coffee jug at the same time he arrives at the counter behind me and does the same. Our hands collide on the handle and his hard fingers almost entangle into mine sending sparks into my chest and straight between my thighs.
“Sorry,” I bluster and snatch my hand back. But not before a sudden vivid image of him bending me over the counter right there, pulling up my skirt and… Jesus, I have to get those thoughts out of my head. I hope every delicious man I come within ten feet of isn’t going to have this effect on me. I’m going to spend every day in the office shuddering with lusty desire. I have to remember what these kind of feelings lead to. That should remind me to keep my filthy needs under control.
“Don’t be,” he says, his voice raspy with tiredness and something else, visceral, almost animal. “Don’t ever be sorry.”
I turn my eyes up to his. He’s almost a foot taller than me and his chest is so broad it’s a wall trapping me up against the counter even without touching me. But he’s close. So close I could lift my hand and touch my fingers to the solid muscle ridges carving into the white cotton. His tie is loose, as though the knot was finally too much of an irritant and I almost reach out to tenderly slide it back into place. Make him perfect again. I’m compelled to touch him, to trail along the sharp line of his tense jaw, heavily stubbled with rough growth that makes him look even sexier in his disheveled state. My heart is fluttering and lifting against my throat repeatedly so my breath comes in short gasps. He must think I’m a little idiot because now he’s close, I see he’s older than I thought. I’m not sure how much older than me but even though he looks tired, the glint in his eyes and the tilted grin are devastating. As he holds me trapped in his stare, his head seems to tip down toward me, his warm breath falls on my upper lip and lifts goosebumps along my arms.
As he lifts his hand I lock on defiantly and stare him down. I know now that flinching gets you a lynching. But when his fingers dagger into the hair at the nape of my neck and tug, I’m helpless.
Hard – not enough to hurt but with enough force to pull my head back, tipping it up to face him.
I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me so bad and if he does I don’t know what I’ll do. Because I’ve sworn off men and this one is way above my pay grade – which is zero anyways. Ex-cons don’t get careers. This guy is far too sure of himself to be anything other than bad for me. Very very bad.
Chapter 2
Hopper
“Oh my, have you been here all night, Sir?” Janice says when she arrives shortly after seven. She looks around
my office warily, visibly cringing from eyeballing signs of debauchery. I get it – It’s barely been a month since she had to take care of the last one and get us out of paying a ton in blackmail fees.
“I had to get this thing done,” I tell her.
Janice goes into assistant mode instantly, getting the notes I’ve made organized into some semblance of order, ready for the legal team. She’ll take care of lining up the rest of my appointments for later in the day. “You should go home, Mr Grady.” she says, looking concerned for my health. Maybe she’s recalling how my father dropped like a stone from overwork.
“Maybe I will,” I tell her, glad to have her taking care of me. I forget to inquire why she’s in so early.
Janice is an older woman, in her mid forties I’d guess, and that suits me fine. She may not be the sexy doll I see most of my contemporaries keep for daily amusement, but Janice is still pretty hot. And she’s more like a mother to me than the one I lost at age eight ever was.
She handles all my affairs with perfect efficiency and none of the flirtatiousness my competitor fund managers enjoy with their secretaries. I’ve had enough of that. Office romance with your assistant brings nothing but problems. Been there, got the lawsuit. Now Janice cleans those up.
“There’s no one in shipping this early,” Janice pokes her head around my door. “I’ll go down myself and make sure your contracts go out. And I’ll get you that craft-brew coffee you like on the way back.”
“Thank you, Janice.” I say right as the call I’ve been waiting for comes in.
She disappears and I focus on closing this important deal. As soon as the last notes are done, tiredness sweeps over me. I get up and stretch, then decide to head over to my apartment for a power nap, a power workout and maybe a shave. I rub my hand over my chin, feeling the coarse bristles. I must look like a bum.
I wander through the empty office then hear the sounds coming from the kitchen. Right as I walk past, the woman crashing around in cupboards bends over, tipping her cute butt up in the air, obviously unaware that anyone else is in the office this early.
