A Million Dirty Secrets

by C. L. Parker

  There was no answer at the house.

  Of course there was no answer. Delaine probably didn’t feel comfortable answering my phone, but I was now beginning to sweat in my suit, imagining all the ways this could blow up in my face when Polly arrived to do her job.

  In a panic, I picked up my briefcase and walked back out the door, dialing Samuel on my way past Mason’s desk and telling him to swing back around to pick me up. Mason stopped me before I could make a break for it. “Daniel called and said he’s waiting for you to let him know if you’re dropping by today,” he said, confused.

  Daniel Crawford, my uncle the doctor.

  “Shit, I forgot all about that. I’ll call him from my cell. Not sure what time I’ll be back, but I have to take care of some things,” I said as I pushed the door open and slipped out into the hall.

  You’d think Delaine had sucked out all of my fucking brain cells last night, the way I was screwing up. Maybe she had.

  And there was that damn hard-on again …

  “Crawford!” David’s voice boomed from the other end of the hall, where his office suite was located, before he started making his way toward me. “What the hell is this about?”

  I sighed and turned toward him, my hand already balling into a fist and ready to rebreak his nose if he started trying to push my buttons. For the most part, we were able to stay out of each other’s way, but because we were partners, it was impossible to avoid each other entirely.

  “What?” I asked with my teeth clenched.

  “Ten percent of what we earned last quarter was sent to charities!” He held the quarterly report out toward me as if I hadn’t already seen it.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “We agreed on five percent.”

  “I don’t know why I bother having the same discussion about this every time I turn around, but here goes nothing,” I spat out in irritation. I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with his shit right now, but then again, I never was. “With the bad economy, charities need our help more than ever right now, Stone. The huge tax write-off, not to mention the fact that a good deal of our clients sign on because of our generous charitable efforts, proves even further why donating is not only the right thing to do, but a smart thing to do. Besides, we have more than enough money to spare and you know it.”

  It wasn’t until then that I noticed the employees had stopped their daily routines to watch the showdown. It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. Of course David would take full advantage of the audience.

  “Then maybe you should sell some of your shares to me, and donate that money.” His ugly face smiled smugly before he turned his back on me and walked toward his end of the building.

  As much as I was trying to get him to sell out to me, he was doing the same in return. Both of us were too damn stubborn to let the other one win.

  His abhorrent behavior in front of our employees and the fact that I knew he didn’t really give a shit about my mother’s dream for Scarlet Lotus to pay it forward, so to speak, made me entertain the thought of knocking every one of the fucker’s teeth out of his oversized head. But I’d learned as a child that two wrongs don’t make a right, and I really was in a hurry, so I slowly counted to ten to regain my composure and forced my feet to move in the opposite direction. I’d deal with him later if need be.

  I made my way to the lobby and outside and was relieved to find Samuel already waiting at the curb. Chicago rush hour traffic can be a bitch, but somehow Samuel always seemed to outmaneuver everyone else, and in a stretch limo to boot.

  Lanie

  Oh … my … good googly-moogly!

  Never, and I do mean never, had I ever felt something so insanely pleasurable in all my life.

  The wicked things that man did with his fingers and the seductive way he looked at me from under those long, lush lashes, hypnotizing me and my body into obeying his every command. The dirty things his sinful mouth said that made me feel like slapping him and riding his face all at the same time, and don’t even get me started on that tongue and the malevolent way it sang to my nipples. I swear, I think he was speaking in tongues even though not a sound was made, but I sure as hell felt it.

  The man was evil incarnate, Satan’s immortal son, and I was doomed. I could feel what little religion was left in my traitorous body being sucked from my soul, turning me into a backsliding sinner. I was going to hell, and I really hoped his fingers met me at the gate.

  I sat there in my postorgasmic bliss, my skin shriveling up and the water going cold. Back and forth he walked from the bedroom to the bathroom as he got ready for work. I watched him brush his teeth in his underwear, and then he disappeared back into the bedroom only to reemerge in a pair of black slacks that hung low on his hips and accentuated the delicious V of his abdomen. The belt on his pants was hanging open, he still didn’t have a shirt on, and he was standing there barefoot. I was mesmerized by the movement of his back muscles as he looked into the mirror and did absolutely nothing but put a dab of gel in his palm before he ran his fingers through his sexy hair. He looked over at me, winked, and did this half-smirk thing while he applied deodorant in a way that made it look pornographic. I seriously wanted to nuzzle his pits.

  There was an air of confidence about him that made me want to lick him from head to toe, and then maybe suck on all his little piggies.

  While a part of me was relieved that he was leaving, my inner miniwhore wanted to beg him to get back in the tub and show us that magic trick he’d done with those porntastic fingers again. Just like that, Double Agent Coochie was born. All it had taken was my very first orgasm to bring her to life. And she was apparently a very shameless hoochie. Great.

  It wasn’t until I heard Noah shout that he was leaving and the door close behind him that I finally forced myself to get out of the bath of sin. My bags were sitting just inside the door; I assumed Noah had brought them up. Once I was dressed and feeling a bit modest again, I decided to leave the bedroom in search of some sustenance. I hadn’t even eaten the night before because my nerves had been all over the damn place and I’d been worried that I’d end up puking right in the middle of my auction.

  The house was eerily quiet, but oddly warm and cozy given how big it was. I slowly made my way down the hall and toward the staircase, checking out my surroundings in awe. It was tastefully decorated with large paintings that looked like they cost more than what my father had made in an entire year at the only factory in Hillsboro. The floors were carpeted a regal red, but the walls were kept white. Most of the doors to the other rooms were closed, but I didn’t bother to open them because I was hungry and I knew I’d eventually see them over the next two years.

  Once I made it down the staircase, the eerie quiet went out the window. There had to be at least half a dozen women in gray uniforms with white aprons scurrying about like a colony of ants united in the task of making Casa de Crawford immaculate. All of that stopped the second they sensed my presence, every pair of eyes trained on me in surprise.

  “Um, hi,” I greeted them.

  A short, pudgy woman stepped forward with a smile as bright as the sun. “Excuse me, miss. We didn’t mean to disturb you. We can come back later if you’d like.” She waved her hands at the other women and they started gathering their supplies.

  “No, it’s fine!” I said, probably a little louder than necessary. “I mean, you know … you’re not bothering me. So just do whatever it is you’re here to do, and I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

  The lady turned back to me again, same smile in place. “We shouldn’t be long.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Pfft, yeah. Take your time.” She bowed slightly, which was weird, and then turned again, but I stopped her. “Um, can you point me in the direction of the kitchen?”

  She waved her hand toward a long corridor. “It’s just down the way and through the dining hall, miss.”

  I thanked her and headed in that direction, convinced I had given the help plenty to s
peculate and gossip about the second I was out of earshot. Not that I blamed them. I’d probably do the same if I were them. And then I wondered if maybe I looked different now that I’d had my first orgasm. Could they tell? Surely not.

  I wandered toward the back of the house and through a huge formal dining room with a table in the middle that had to seat at least fifty people. Okay, that might have been a slight exaggeration, but I swear it looked just like that table in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom when they served chilled monkey brains to the guests.

  There was a door at the other end, and I swore to Christ that if I pushed it open and found myself in some ancient tunnel filled with booby traps and every insect known to man, I was so out of there. Thankfully, it was only the kitchen. But I wasn’t really sure you could even call it a kitchen. That just seemed like such a small word for the restaurant-style food preparation center that was before me. Everything was stainless steel and more sterile than the inside of a gallon of bleach. However, a quick glance around showed no sign of monkey brains or those brass cuppy thingies they were served in, so it was all good.

  I looked around until I finally found a pantry that was as big as the entire first floor of my house back home, and boy, did I ever hit the mother lode of junk food. Seemed Mr. Crawford, aka King of the Finger Fuck, had a sweet tooth. I grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs—because I seriously was coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs—and some chocolate syrup and did the happy-time dance out of the pantry and back into the kitchen.

  I remembered seeing bowls somewhere during my search, but it was going to be like a massive game of Memory to find them again. After opening several cabinets, I finally scored a win and squealed, “Yay, me!” while I did a fist pump in the air.

  I was my biggest fan.

  The refrigerator was obvious and, you guessed it, huge. Imagine my disappointment, though, when I opened one side of it to find that it wasn’t a walk-in cold storage unit. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a butcher living inside there with a whole herd of cattle, but I guess Noah skimped on that part.

  I grabbed the milk and went back over to my stash, filling my bowl with cereal and licking my chops when I poured the moo juice over the cocoa yumminess and it turned all chocolaty. I was careful not to pour too much and make a mess, even though there was probably some little flute thingy around there somewhere to blow on to command a group of little orange men with green hair to scurry in and clean up before retreating back to the dungeon of doom and gloom with the rest of their little pals.

  Yes, I had an overactive imagination, but it was totally warranted in a place as big as this.

  I knew exactly where the glasses were from my previous expedition for the bowl, so I grabbed one and squirted a crazy amount of chocolate syrup into it. I swear I could hear my dentist tsking at me from somewhere deep in the recesses of my conscience.

  And then it was time to start another game of seek-and-find to score some silverware. A plastic spoon would’ve been okay at this point … heck, I’d make do with a spork. Score! First drawer I opened, I hit the jackpot. Which was a good thing, because I loathed soggy cereal.

  Milk and syrup back to the refrigerator, cereal box back in the pantry, and I was on my way.

  And then the phone rang.

  I looked around the kitchen and finally spotted it hanging on the wall next to the stove, but there was no way I was going to answer that thing. Firstly, because that would mean I’d have to leave my sugar haven. Secondly, because I had absolutely no idea who it could be, and it wasn’t my house. Plus, how would I explain who I was or why I was answering Noah’s telephone?

  Um, hi. I’m the piece of virgin ass for whom Mr. Crawford paid two million smackeroos to have his dirty, dirty way with. In fact, he just fucked my mouth last night, but that was after I nearly bit off his dick and before he finger-fucked my whore of a pussy into oblivion this morning. He’s not here right now, but I can take a message if you want.

  Yeah, that conversation was not going to happen.

  So I ignored the incessant ringing and dug into my goodies.

  As much as it was irritating me, the sound of the phone did remind me that I needed to call Dez and check in with her. I had stashed my cell phone away in my things, hoping whoever purchased me wouldn’t do something like take it away and forbid me to have any contact whatsoever with the outside world. Noah hadn’t said I couldn’t, so I assumed it would be okay.

  Not that I really gave a rat’s ass what he said. I’d sold him my body, not my humanity.

  Once I’d scarfed down my breakfast, I rinsed my dishes, put them in the dishwasher, and then I stood there like an idiot. I had no friggin’ clue what I was supposed to do with the rest of my day. I thought about going upstairs and finding my cell to call Dez, but I’d just eaten a Jethro Bodine–sized portion of Cocoa Puffs, so that would be too much like exercise. In an epic light bulb of a moment, I decided to hunt down a television set and get my Maury on instead.

  After I had roamed around for what seemed like an eternity, and was really wishing I had left a trail of bread crumbs to find my way back, I finally found what was obviously an entertainment room. It was like a testosterone-filled playground for men. Video game consoles, air hockey table, a massive stereo system and dance floor, theater seats and a leather sectional, a poker table, a wet bar, and the biggest television I’d ever seen. Well, it was more like a wallevision. Seriously, it took up a whole wall.

  I wondered if Noah ever sat in here with his hand shoved down the front of his pants in a classic Al Bundy pose.

  Can someone please tell me why I suddenly envisioned shoving my own hand down his pants?

  Double Agent Coochie smiled knowingly and nodded at me in answer.

  “Shut up. You are out of control, missy,” I mumbled to my crotch.

  Anywho, I had no clue how to turn the monster of a television on, but I did manage to find a giant remote control on the bar. I picked it up with both hands and sat in one of the theater seats to study it. The thing had a gazillion buttons on it and not a damn one of them was labeled.

  This should be fun.

  I closed my eyes and did that thing where you swirl your finger around in the air and just let it drop down on a button and hope it’s the right one. Nothing. I opened one eye and looked around, finding rainbow sparkles reflecting off the walls as they spun around the room. I looked up and … He had a disco ball in his man cave? I giggled to myself and tried again. This time Eminem started blaring out of the surround-sound speakers at a decibel level that was probably going to cause me to go deaf in a matter of minutes. I tried to turn it back off, but of course I’d had my eyes closed while I was pressing buttons, so I had no clue which one it was. That probably wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.

  By this time I was frantically pushing buttons, trying to find the right one to stop the insanity, but only causing more insanity instead. I kid you not, the dance floor started rotating, lights were flickering on and off in a multitude of colors, the seat I was sitting in started vibrating and giving me a massage and … What the hell? Was the blender seriously controlled by the damn remote?

  One more button and the bastard of a television finally clicked on.

  I threw that remote across the room and sank back into the molester seat with the super friendly fingers because, as shot as my nerves were, I could really use that massage.

  “Calgon! Take me away!” I shouted at the top of my lungs so that I could hear myself over Eminem’s “Not Afraid.” “Screw you, Slim Shady! I am afraid. Very afraid.”

  “What the hell is going on in here?” someone’s voice yelled.

  My eyes shot open and I lurched forward, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest in shock. There stood Noah in the doorway with a look of utter confusion on his face.

  “Make it stop!” I yelled back.

  He walked across the room, picked up the remote from the floor where it had landed, and expertly pushed a few buttons until there was finally silence and my
molester chair stopped feeling me up. Well, that part hadn’t been so bad, and I sort of wished he had forgotten to push that button.

  “I’m sorry!” I yelled, because apparently my brain hadn’t quite processed the fact that I didn’t need to anymore. Noah raised a brow at me. I lowered my voice and started again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to watch TV … and who uses a remote with no labels anyway?”

  “It takes some getting used to,” he said, putting it back on the bar.

  “What are you doing home? I thought you said six.”

  “Yeah, well, having never done this sort of thing before, I may have forgotten to go over some details with you, and Polly will be here today.” He opened his suit jacket and pushed it back to put his hands on his hips.

  I wanted to bite his belly. Obviously Double Agent Coochie had taken over my brain, traitor that she was.

  “And please,” he continued, looking sexy as hell with that red silk tie, “don’t play with shit if you don’t know what you’re doing. We wouldn’t want there to be another mishap, now would we?” He seriously petted his Wonder Peen through his pants as if he was consoling it. I wanted to grab that sexy tie of his and strangle him.

  “Pfft, that was soooo yesterday,” I scoffed. “Get over it already. Besides, I kissed it and made it all better for you last night.”

  Those words did not seriously come out of my mouth. And that quick, I was thinking about him coming in my mouth. Jesus, Lanie! Pull it together. You hate him, remember?

  Him. Not the Wonder Peen or those orgasmically long fingers, which he was currently drumming on his lick-me-right-here hips.

  “Fuck you! I hate you,” I said and then gasped immediately, covering my mouth. Not because I was afraid I’d offended him, but because dropping the F-bomb wasn’t something I normally did. I also didn’t normally think about fingers in the very sluttish way I had been mere seconds before. I decided to blame the chocolate and sugar overload for my temporary mental breakdown.

  “Oh, you are going to fuck me.” He stalked toward me. “A lot. Just not right now. We’ve got shit to do. Let’s go.”