BAKER

by Scott Hildreth

  “We have other properties, yes.” A lock of hair fell into her face. She twisted her mouth to the side and blew it out of the way. “I’m not sure where they are. Not all of them, anyway. This is my first day.”

  After seeing her outside my office, I had every intention of finding her, determining what she was doing in the neighborhood, and then somehow coerce her to leave before Cash – or any of the other men – saw her. I hadn’t been in her presence five minutes, and I’d altered my plans. Her round ass, narrow waist, perfect tits, and remarkable scent convinced me getting rid of her wasn’t the answer.

  I wanted to fuck her into a coma. Afterward, I’d find a way to convince her to ride her bicycle back to wherever she came from.

  “Are you here permanently?” I leaned forward. “In this office?”

  “Don’t worry,” She grinned. “I’m fixing the door.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

  “Is that what you meant?”

  I looked at her as if she had two heads. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You said this office. Like you couldn’t believe I was in this particular office. It’s a really cool office, so the only reason I could think that you’d say that was because of the door. It’s pretty jankety, huh?”

  If she was going to be working in the building beside our clubhouse on a permanent basis, the door was the least of her worries.

  There were very few assurances in life. If she worked next door to the clubhouse, however, a few things were certain. Sooner or later, Cash would see her. When he did, he would recognize her. From there, it would get ugly. That much I could guarantee.

  The ugly part. It was inevitable. I needed to convince her to fuck me before she ended up in a dumpster with a bullet between her eyes.

  I glanced at the door. “It doesn’t fit the frame very well. My guess is that you’ll need to replace it.”

  “They just replaced it.”

  “Have them replace it again. There’s not much that can be done to adjust a steel door.”

  “I’ll get them to come take a look at it.” She rubbed the back of her hand with her fingertips. “I like the eyeball, by the way. It’s pretty cool.”

  I sighed silently. “Thanks.”

  She twisted the loose lock of hair around her index finger as if it were a nervous habit. The corners of her mouth curled into a grin. “What do you do?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Don’t take this wrong, because I like them. A lot. But I always wonder when a person has so many tattoos. Where do you work?”

  “I’m an entrepreneur.” I relaxed into my chair and crossed my arms. “Of sorts.”

  “Really? What kinds of risks do you take?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Risks. An entrepreneur takes risks. What kind of businesses do you have?”

  “I’ll invest in anything that makes me money.”

  “It’s tough for me to invest in anything,” she said with a laugh. “I lost my job six months ago. Until I found this one, I was flat broke. Well, I’m still flat broke, but at least there’s promise of income.”

  I wondered if the job she lost was the one at the bank. I needed to get our conversation back on track, but curiosity got the best of me.

  “What happened with your last job?”

  Her gaze dropped to the middle of her desk. She shook her head and then looked up. “I worked at a bank. It got robbed. After they reviewed the recording of the robbery, they said I didn’t follow the bank’s protocol.”

  “Robbed?” I straightened my posture. “Like, robbed? While you were working?”

  “Uh huh. Robbed. Gun in my face, the whole enchilada.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  I did my best to act surprised. “That’s insane.”

  “I thought the same thing. I hadn’t worked there for six months. It was my first real job after college. Assistant manager.” She gazed beyond me, shook her head, and then met my gaze. “And, really. Who robs banks?”

  I refrained from answering, deciding that pushing the conversation in another direction was better for us both. “You said you didn’t follow protocol. The bank has a protocol you’re supposed to follow? During robberies?”

  “Yeah. We’re not supposed to resist.” She shook her head and shrugged. “They said I did.”

  “Did you?”

  She grinned. “Maybe a little. Not really. The guy was wearing a Kim Jong Un mask, and I wasn’t sure he could hear me, so I kept repeating myself. They thought I was being argumentative. And, I may have cussed at him. And threatened him. Then there was the entire gunshot thing.”

  “Wait a minute. A what mask? And he shot at you?”

  “Kim Jong Un. The Supreme Leader of North Korea.”

  “The guy with the hair?”

  “The hair and the attitude.” She wrinkled her nose and then leaned forward. “Do you think guys like that have, you know, little dicks?”

  I coughed out a laugh. “Guys like what?”

  “Guys with the big attitudes. I think big attitude equals little dick.”

  If she was right, Cash’s cock would be the size of a peanut. Her theory was amusing. “It’s possible.”

  “I think it’s probable,” she said. “Highly probable.”

  Her personality was proving to be as – or more – attractive than she was. I leaned over the edge of the desk and locked eyes with her. “What about the gunshot thing? What happened there?”

  “He shot at me.”

  “Who?”

  “Kim Jong Un. He told me to shut up, and I didn’t. I was trying to distract him, so I could give him the packet of money we’re supposed to give them when we get robbed.”

  “The dye pack?”

  “No. Bait money. It’s money that we’ve logged all the serial numbers down. If they get caught with it or spend it, it’s easy to trace.”

  “So, the Supreme leader of North Korea was onto your plan?”

  “Obviously, it wasn’t his first bank robbery. He pointed the gun at me and said, ‘Leave that stack over there, sweets’, and he nodded toward the other drawer. I tried to slip it in there anyway. That’s when he shot at me.”

  I decided to make her aware of Cash’s theory on the incident. “Maybe it was an accident.”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The barrel moved before he shot.” She pointed her index finger at the center of my face, and then quickly moved it to the side. “Boom!”

  I was shocked that she picked up on such a thing. “You noticed that?”

  “I watch a lot of Netflix. You’d be surprised what you can learn from NCIS.”

  If she was right, Cash’s accident wasn’t an accident at all. It was intentional. I stroked my beard. “Interesting.”

  After deciding Cash’s accident was nothing of the sort, I looked her over. She twirled her hair innocently and gazed beyond me. I took a quick glance into her blouse’s cleavage. Her voluptuous breasts hung heavily into the cups of her bra, heaving with each breath she took.

  My mind jockeyed back and forth between figuring out a way to get rid of her and devising a way to keep her around long enough to fuck her. In a matter of seconds, my cock began to rise against the worn denim of my jeans.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said, hoping that the change of subject matter would lessen my level of arousal. “It sounds awful.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. It got me here, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.” I studied her, and then faked having an epiphany. “Are you the girl that chained the bicycle to the rack this morning?”

  She smiled. “That’d be me. Why?”

  “I own the building next door, and I saw someone ride up this morning. I just put two and to together.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You own the entire building?”

  “Primarily
for business reasons.”

  “You don’t live there?”

  She was too smart for her own good. “I do, but I’m starting renovations. I need a place to stay for six months or so. I was considering uptown, but if there’s something here, I might be interested.”

  She pulled her desk drawer open and removed a ring of keys. “Would you like to see it?”

  I glanced at her breasts, and then met her gaze. I didn’t want to see it. I’d seen it before. Multiple times.

  I wanted to shove her full of dick. Doing so in her office wasn’t the best of ideas, but fucking her in Preston’s loft was a fabulous idea. I stood and motioned toward the door. “I’d love to. I’ll follow you.”

  SIX - Andy

  Sex on a stick was standing so close to me that I could reach out and touch him. Overflowing with anxious energy, I unlocked the door and gestured into the open space. “Go right ahead.”

  The apartment was over two thousand square feet of living space. The concrete floors had been stained to resemble brown marble, and the walls were painted an off-white. In one corner was the kitchen. In another, a large bedroom that overlooked the street below. The remaining floorspace was open, giving the tenant the freedom to decorate it into whatever he or she chose.

  He stepped into the center of the room and promptly turned around. From head to toe, he looked me over, taking his sweet time to do so.

  It seemed he was more interested in looking at me than the space.

  “It’s uhhm.” I nervously walked past him and toward the kitchen. “It’s twenty-one hundred square feet with an open floor plan. It’s more spacious than anything else in this area. And, the price is--”

  “Would you consider yourself adventurous?”

  I spun around. “Excuse me?”

  “Adventurous.” He began to walk in the other direction. “Would you describe yourself as an adventurous person?”

  It seemed like an odd question. “In what respect?”

  “Any,” he said over his shoulder.

  My friends and family always said I was a risk taker. I wouldn’t call myself daring or fearless, but I could claim to be adventurous without much hesitation.

  “Adventurous? I think so,” I said. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  He sauntered toward the windows. With the edge of the window sill gripped in each hand, he gazed blankly through the glass. Immersed in whatever it was he was looking at, he stood there for some time without speaking.

  I found him fascinating. He was handsome, mysterious, covered in tattoos, and as sexy as any man I had ever seen. There was something about him that made me question his intentions, but I couldn’t quite identify it.

  After a silent moment, he turned around. “Desire or necessity?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The bike. Do you ride it out of desire or necessity?”

  “Necessity.” I chuckled. “I don’t have a car.”

  “Good thing it never rains here.” He walked toward me, and then glanced over his shoulder as he passed. “Follow me.”

  The kitchen had an ‘L’ shaped counter, with ceiling-high cabinets above the countertops. In the center sat an island that doubled as an eating space. I guessed the four bar stools positioned at the bar were the only pieces of furniture left behind when the space was cleaned out.

  He leaned against the island and pushed one of the barstools to the side with the edge of his boot. “Have a seat.”

  Without question or comment, I walked to the bar and sat down. It was so unlike me not to make a snide comment. It was equally uncommon for me to be in the presence of such a sexy piece of man-meat. After a moment’s thought, I simply dismissed my lack of attitude as me being out of my element and not knowing how to react.

  I turned to face him. “Do you like what you’ve seen so far?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. As soon as he lowered his hands, a few strands fell into his face. He glanced around the room, and then looked at me. “I came into your office with an objective. Now, everything’s fucked up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have no interest in looking at this space,” he said.

  “Do you want to leave?”

  He crossed his arms and gave me a look. “No.”

  “But if you don’t want to--”

  “I’m here for another reason,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  I felt uneasy. His confident demeanor and lack of interest in the loft had me wondering if he was a handsome tattooed murderer.

  “What uhhm. Why…” I muttered. “I’m lost.”

  “I asked you to come here so I could fuck you.” He nodded toward my waist. “Take off your pants.”

  My nervousness vanished. Now in complete shock, I stared back at him with an open mouth. My face went flush. My mind raced. It had been forever since I’d had sex.

  For. Ever.

  There were several ways I could have perceived his offer. I’m sure there were many women who would tell themselves that they’d say no, slap him, or simply get up and walk away if presented with the same request.

  They could think whatever they wanted. In a real world, I doubt they’d do anything but take off their pants. It was an opportunity to have sex with someone I would leave the lights on for, and those opportunities were infrequent.

  My sexual vault was filled with vivid recollections of beer bellies, bad teeth, eight-dollar haircuts, and dicks that were thicker than they were long.

  Sex on a stick was mostly lean muscle, had nice teeth, and was well-manicured. I decided there was only one way to find out about what still remained a mystery. His confident nature led me to believe his maker didn’t cheat him when he traveled down the dick aisle of the assembly line.

  I hopped off the stool and unbuttoned my pants. “I’m not doing this for you.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?”

  “It’s been a bad year,” I said. “A really bad year. I’m doing this for me.”

  “Believe me. I damned sure didn’t come to your office with this in mind.” He reached for his belt. “But that ferocious little ass of yours convinced me to change directions.”

  I was flattered, but I wasn’t sure if I should be. “Ferocious?”

  “That’s right.” He unbuttoned his jeans. “Ferocious.”

  I should have been naked already, but in typical girl fashion, I needed to know if ferocious was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Is that good?” I asked. “Ferocious?”

  “Good enough that I’m where I shouldn’t be, doing something I shouldn’t be doing with someone I shouldn’t be doing it with.”

  It was way too many shouldn’ts. I hesitated. “You’re not married, are you?”

  He scowled. “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  He glared. “Fuck no.”

  “You’re single?”

  “Now, and always,” he said adamantly.

  It was all I needed to hear.

  My pants hit the floor. My shirt quickly followed. As I struggled to unclasp my bra, he lowered his jeans and boxer shorts in one shove.

  Holy mother of fuck.

  The mystery was no longer a mystery.

  I stared at it in awe. The word penis never came to mind. Sex on a stick was packing a full-fledged cock. While he bent down and unlaced his boots, I tossed my bra into the apartment’s abyss.

  I slipped my hand between my legs and made sure my pussy was as ready as my mind was.

  Soaked.

  I raised my glistening index finger and grinned. “I’m good to go.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. “If it’s not good enough to eat, it’s not good enough to fuck.”

  “You want to…” I swallowed heavily. “You want to lick my pussy?”

  “That’s right.” He set his boots at the end of the bar and then gestured toward island’s countertop. “Hop up there.”

  It was like Christmas way before Ch
ristmas: In less than one week, I’d landed a great job, and the sexiest man I’d ever seen wanted to fuck me. There was only one catch.

  He wanted to eat my pussy first.

  I jumped onto the countertop with cat-like precision and spread my legs so wide I was afraid I’d dislocate a hip.

  I propped my head in my hand and gave my best sultry look. “Anything else?”

  Still wearing his tee shirt, he leaned over the edge of the counter, winked at me, and then buried his face between my legs. At first, his beard tickled my inner thighs, but the distraction didn’t last long.

  As soon as his tongue flicked against my hyper-sensitive clit, I closed my eyes and prayed he liked it.

  If he didn’t, he was sure doing a good job of faking it.

  He alternated between sucking my clit and licking my pussy while he fingered me. He said he was an entrepreneur, but I began to question his claim. I decided that he was secretly a porn star. If he wasn’t, he should consider a career change.

  There was so much going on between my legs that my brain couldn’t decide what to do with the signals.

  I focused on the feeling that came when he flicked his tongue against my clit. The sensation shot from my throbbing nub to my brain like a jolt of electricity, bringing with it a wave of emotion each time it happened.

  In no time, I’d melted into a puddle of sexual bliss. My mind was floating somewhere off in heaven, and my legs were shaking uncontrollably. Be it due to his skill, his handsome looks – or a combination of both – I had no idea.

  I opened my eyes.

  Seeing him feast on my crotch like a starved wolf only complicated matters. The tingling sensation worsened. My entire body began to quake.

  He must have sensed it, because he looked up and met my gaze. After making eye contact, he went right back to eating my pussy like a tattooed boss.

  A few more strokes from his talented tongue later, and my clit began to buzz like a bee. Certain I was going to die from the orgasm that followed, I relaxed and embraced my impending death. If I was going to die on my first day at work, this was the way I wanted it to happen.

  The orgasm shot through me like a rocket. My muscles tensed. As it escaped me, I let out a wail like I was being murdered.