Roosted

by Brooke May

  “You bet your sweet arse I am.” I really like how she didn’t say ass as most Americans do. I like her attempt, and then she cries out in euphoric detonation, rocketing me into my own. The scene playing out in my head is her fingers of one hand suspended in her pussy and her thumb rubbing her clit while the other plays with her nipples or fists her hair. The evidence of her orgasm running down her arse onto my seat, my floor, and I hope to fuck that the cleaners have already been in there for the day because I don’t want a thing to be missing when I get there tomorrow.

  We stay in suspended silence for a few minutes, both of us trying to catch our breaths. My dick still throbs from my release, my stomach and a small part of my bed covered in my cum.

  “That was fun.” I hear the devilish smile in her voice, picturing the vixen-like gleam in her sea green eyes.

  “It would have been better if you were on my lap.”

  “Another time,” she quickly replies. “I’ve got to go, Oz. But thanks for the memories.” She hangs up before I get the chance to answer her. I keep the phone to my ear. The light of the screen in my peripheral shines until it fades.

  “Wow.” Finally, I drop my phone and get up to clean myself.

  The things this woman does to me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My week at work has been bloody fantastic. I never said that about my work at Havre and Bell. I haven’t had a job I’ve enjoyed this much since I was a teenager working at the garage my dad still works for.

  It’s Wednesday, and everything has been amazing here. I’ve hired three other people including a receptionist for my department—with Paige’s permission, of course. When she said each race crew would have their own department in the office building, I thought it meant they would each have their own accountant. Little did I know they all would work under me while managing their own accounts. I handle the big one, though. The main one the twins also control.

  I’ve had a revolving door of people coming in and out to ask questions or, in Parker’s case, to lounge and bother me with random shit. I will admit he is actually pretty entertaining. When I’m not knee-deep in work, I’ve enjoyed having lunch down in the motocross garage with the guys and watching Paige and Parker go at one another only to have whatever they are fighting over be settled in the dirt.

  My luck with running into Paige hasn’t been so fortunate. Between my non-stop working to get their accounts in order, hiring new employees, and basically falling face first into my bed each night, I haven’t seen her outside of lunch time.

  Len was telling me yesterday that Paige has been busy talking deals over with the drivers of other motor sports. She has also been out on the finished moto track practicing every chance she can get.

  It’s a good thing really. I was hired to do a job, not fuck around in offices, garages, or hallway closets with my boss. I fucked up my last job by banging the boss’s daughter, so as much as I want to fuck Paige’s brains out, I need to keep all that separate from who I am at work. It doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking forward to messages from her or phone sex at night.

  Yeah, that hasn’t happened either.

  If it wasn’t for the occasional glances she has thrown my way or the look she gets in her eyes when I walk into a room, I would think our sex life together has shriveled up and died. And then again, I have no fucking clue what is going on in that woman’s head. Nor do I want to know. Have you seen how quickly her moods turn? That is one place I never want to get into.

  Just her pussy.

  And her mouth.

  Maybe someday her arse?

  I can hope, so don’t look at me like that. Women get off on arse play too. I think Paige would be one of them.

  While I’ve been busy with my own things and Paige has been busy with her deal, Parker has been left unsupervised. I have to say it is a dangerous thing to let him be this free. The man is a freak of nature who thinks himself a modern marvel, God’s gift to woman-kind with a twelve-inch dick and the attention span of a three-year-old with the maturity to match.

  Yesterday, he came in right after I got back from lunch and proceeded to give me every dirty detail he could about his past conquests. None of which he could recall any of the women’s names. I know I’m not much better when it comes to past conquests, but I don’t go around bragging about the women I’ve bedded in the same type of flair Parker seems to enjoy.

  He’s labeled them too.

  There is a screamer, a giggler, a freak in the sheets, and his latest happens to be his prude. That one fascinates him. He can’t quite seem to get her to bend to his will yet. A challenge in the eyes of a man like Parker Bartin can lead down the land of trouble and will someday get him something he might not ever really want.

  As for today… well, it isn’t much different from yesterday. I came back from my lunch break where I had watched Len work on one of the twins’ bikes and bullshitted for a bit. Heading back to my office, I dug back into the hole left from their past accountant.

  What.

  A.

  Clusterfuck.

  The man royally fucked them over and himself. He kept every single ledger from the very beginning when he started to rip the twins off, and a separate one for everything he took out of the company.

  The stupid cunt.

  The twins really did start with nothing. The only items they had to their names were a couple of hundred dollars, the clothes on their backs, and their racing gear along with two bikes. They hired the cunt they called an accountant when fame started to pick up for them. He was low in price, and at that time, he was only working for them. Until he was working for himself; it didn’t take him long to start taking a couple of hundred here or there from the twins’ personal accounts and their business account until one of them wised up.

  And when I mean one of them, I mean Paige. I don’t think Parker thinks about anything in the world; not where his next meal is coming from or if the bills are even paid. He truly has embraced the celebrity lifestyle.

  It took me until six last night to get a feel for what all was missing, and most of this morning, I’ve spent trying to sort it all through. I’m trying to rein my focus in, but that doesn’t really happen with the inflated ego lounging in my sitting area. My office may have a great deal of space from my lounging area to my desk, but it carries voices well. And Parker’s happens to be one of those who never runs out of air or things to say.

  “The party is the biggest Salt Lake has ever seen, Ax.” Parker throws his arms out wide, indicating how big this so-called party he and Paige have every year out in the desert is. “The bikes, the speed, and fuck, man, the chicks are basically running around naked all weekend.”

  “Okay.” I’ve been giving him small acknowledgements every so often; it makes him believe I’m listening to him when I’m really not. I’m close to having everything balanced out again, so they can finally bring on other motor sports racers with contracts.

  “I kid you not. Tits are everywhere!” He says it as if he is seizing. It’s pretty comical to watch him from just beyond my line of sight while he loses his shit.

  “Do you need to be alone?” My brows rise, and I push my glasses down to regard him.

  Barking out a laugh, Parker shakes his head. “Nah, Ax. I’m good.” He finally gets off his arse and makes his way to the door. “I could tug on the albino cave dweller right there.” He points at my couch. “And you would be none the wiser. I should be asking you if you need to be alone with how into those numbers and books you are.”

  And that is how it works. You underestimate a person’s capacity for intelligence and end up slapped across the face when they prove you wrong. Parker looks and acts like a moron, a pretty boy who has lived off his looks and ego, when he isn’t.

  For the most part.

  I think he relies on his dick, tongue, and douchebag charm most of the time and hides the fact he can actually think from most people.

  “See?” My eyes shoot up from their fixed position on the op
posite edge of my desk to Parker at the door. “Paige isn’t the only one hiding their true self in my family, Axle. You would be wise to remember that.” He turns and leaves without another word.

  I can’t be for certain if I’ve pissed him off, but I don’t really care. I can’t read other people’s emotions worth a shit, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. He was bugging me while I was trying to do my work. Parker needs to go back down to the garage and start working instead of bugging me or flirting with the receptionists.

  Shaking it off, I push my glasses back up my nose and go back to work. By the end of the day, I should be done with all this and can start focusing on whatever else needs to be handled.

  My phone chooses to go off fifteen minutes later.

  Have I told you I haven’t gotten any messages from Paige in the past couple of days?

  I have? Well, good. Then I don’t need to go in to detail about how I felt like an addict coming off a bender. I had the shakes, night sweats, and all that wonderful shit from not hearing from her. So being the hopeless junky I am, I quickly pluck my phone from the top drawer in my desk and light it up.

  Disappointment floods me like ice injected into my veins.

  Chapter Twenty

  Megan: Hi Axle. How are you? I’ve missed our friendship.

  Once I read the message, I have to re-read it several times before I can even begin to process it. Megan has basically fallen off the face of the earth since the night I hooked up with Paige. Not that I’m trying to talk to her. I’ve been a shitty friend on my part. Just because we aren’t fucking anymore doesn’t mean our friendship needs to go away. We had promised not to ruin our friendship, yet we let it happen.

  Another fine example of how fucking a woman can mess up things.

  I don’t know where I stand with her in the friendship department anymore. I don’t feel any less of a man to admit being around her now makes me mildly uncomfortable. I’m sure she feels the same way around me.

  Me: I’ve been good. Started a new job. How have you been?

  Setting my phone down, I go back to work only to be stopped again.

  Megan: That’s great! I’m well. Could we meet for lunch tomorrow?

  Sighing, I push my work away and take a minute to talk things over with Megan.

  Me: I don’t work in the city anymore. Could we meet for dinner tonight instead?

  Megan: I can manage that. Lucky 13’s? Say 6-ish?

  Me: Works for me. I’ll see you then.

  Megan: Okay.

  Casting my phone back into the drawer, I return to my work and focus on it for the rest of the day. That is until my stomach revolts and commands me to get something in it. The spread I had on my desk has diminished, and now I am basically done. I’m torturing myself with the tedious work of labeling the fuck out of everything. I’m a little obsessed when it comes to keeping things organized. I like order—call it OCD if you will, but I like to keep my things nice.

  So sue me.

  I stretch on my way down to the break room. Yesterday, I had it filled with fruits and other snacks for myself and my new co-workers. Len told me Paige said I was the boss of the numbers. I’m the head fucking accountant, and I don’t know how to deal with the shit that comes with the title. I’d much rather call them my co-workers than my employees. I don’t like the god complex which accompanies my title.

  The break room is much nicer than the one at Havre and Bell. Instead of the bland, boring white everywhere, it looks like a modern kitchen; kind of like Paige and Parker’s but more of a galley.

  Going straight to the bowl of fruit, I see no one has touched it yet. I’ll have to let the others know they are free to bring whatever they want and share my things. It’s their first day, so I don’t want them to feel that I’m that much of an arsehole to withhold food or the break room. If they are hungry and don’t have something, they can just grab whatever is in here unless it’s labeled otherwise.

  The apple makes a crisp break as I bite into the red flesh and the juices seep into my mouth. Fuck, it tastes good, but it instantly makes me thirsty. Turning to the refrigerator, I stop in my tracks with the sound of the door clicking closed and the lock turning. The apple stays stuck in my mouth like the pig I am as Paige turns to face me.

  “Hi, Oz.” Her voice is soft like a cumulonimbus cloud, and like the clouds she can cause a great storm. Her boots clunk on the tile floor, bringing her closer to me. The only noises are the sound of her boots, our breathing, and the blood thundering in my ears.

  Her cool hands brace her body against my chest, and she rises to the tips of her boots like she is going to give me a kiss. Instead, she takes a hearty bite from the opposite side of my apple.

  Fuck, yes.

  “Mmm.” She moans, dropping back to the flat of her feet. She doesn’t go to wipe the juices off the corners of her mouth. Instead, she lets them drip down to her chin and one little drop at a time falls on the ample cleavage created by her bra and tank.

  I moan around the apple, my body sagging in the slightest of ways as I take her in. I’m turned into an imprudent reject by the simple things Paige Bartin does around me. I’ve completely forgotten my arms are hanging at my sides like useless noodles.

  “I’ve been wondering when my brother would finally leave you alone.” Her tongue darts out to dab the remnants of her bite before she wipes her chin with her finger, leaving the rest glazing her cleavage.

  May I motorboat those plump beauties?

  She pulls the apple from my mouth and sets it on the counter. “You’ve been holed up in there for the past two days.” Her head tilts the tiniest fraction to the side; her sea green eyes penetrate the depths of my mind. “Get it all figured out?”

  I swallow the bite suspended in my mouth. “Yes, it was a fucking mess.”

  “No shit.” Her red lips perk on one side. “That’s why I wanted an expert like you. You saw what was wrong when you looked at our files.” Her fingers walk up the front of my chest, her touch searing me through my vest and dress shirt. “I’ve wanted some alone time with you.”

  My eyes grow hooded, matching hers. At night, when I get home, I want the same thing with her, but at work, I’m not thinking about anything but fixing their accounts.

  “I’m starting to think you only want me for sex.” My arms are no longer noodles. My colossal hands wrap around her biceps, pulling her to me.

  “Oh darn, you’re on to me now.” Strangely, I don’t sense the humor in her voice like I thought I would. She’s dry, even, and controlled. She isn’t going to give anything away to me. “So what you do say? Break room fuck sound good to you?”

  My dick springs to life in my trousers. Do I really mind that Paige is using me to supply her orgasms?

  No, no, I’m not. As long as I’m giving them to her with either my fingers, tongue, or dick, I can live with that. My eyes dart around her, checking to see if the door is truly locked. I haven’t had time to see everything yet, and I wasn’t sure if the door had a window in it or not.

  It doesn’t.

  When I turn back to her, I catch the time. It’s nearly five thirty.

  I cringe, and even though my body is yelling at me to stay put and stick my dick in her tight, wonderful pussy, I take a step back.

  What the motherfucking hell am I doing?

  Do I cancel on Megan? Try to make dinner with her tomorrow and stay here to get my mind and dick blown by Paige?

  “What’s the matter, Oz?” She steps back into my space. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me. I seem to remember fucking somewhere we can easily be caught turns you on?”

  I jerk and nearly yelp when she cups me, finding my dick straining.

  “See? He wants it.” Her brows twitch and lustful excitement fills her usually expressionless face. “Fuck. Me.”

  I’ve learned Paige doesn’t ask; she commands.

  “I-I ca-ca—” I’m cut off from my weak and would have been non-reinforced excuse by a violent knock on the door and
yelling from Len.

  “Paige, get your ass out here and back down to the garage! We have shit to do if you want to be ready for your race Friday.” A few more violent bangs from the pixie sound and then a rather loud growling.

  “I thought I had a while before the bitch found me,” Paige grumbles, relinquishing her hold on my dick as she glares up at me. “Were you about to refuse me?”

  Shit.

  She’s angry now. I guess saying no to a woman like Paige isn’t wise.

  “No, I was just going to resch—”

  “Paige! Now!”

  Snarling, Paige pins me with one last glare and then stomps out of the room. I watch Len’s Mohawk sway from side to side as she shakes her head and follows Paige. And then I remember why I was pushing Paige away.

  Booking it back to my office, I put everything away and hightail it back to the city and to Lucky 13’s to meet Megan for dinner. She’s already there with our food waiting at the table by the time I get in the door. Marching over, I take the seat opposite her.

  “Here I am.” The heat crossing my face is foreign—whether out of anger of being pulled away from Paige manhandling my dick and balls or the annoyance of being here entirely.

  “I ordered for you.” Megan smiles softly, and we fall into a funky silence. I don’t like this shit. I don’t care to beat around the bush; I would rather get straight to the point.

  “We both fucked our friendship up, Megan.”

  Her gentle, glassy eyes flash to me. “No, it was me.” She sniffles. “I knew you didn’t want something more, and I pushed it. I ended up pushing you away and ruining our friendship. I’m sorry.”

  I’m not going to lie and say no. It was her fault. I never gave her the false hope she somehow found. I never promised more.

  “I can’t say I can forget about it, but let’s attempt to put all of it in the past and try to salvage our friendship.” I don’t move to squeeze her hand. I may still be her friend, but I’m not blurring the lines.