Send Nudes

by Ana Starling

  I know I should feel attracted, and I do. Hell, I won’t lie, I’m already growing hard. But I’m too much of a fucking disarray, too fucking confused, and too fucking sore to even consider going to meet her.

  Next, I say something I never expected I’d ever say.

  “I’m not interested. If she doesn’t mind, I’ll pay for my fucking drink.”

  The bartender looks surprised. For a good reason, too.

  He knows me. He knows how I don’t pass up on hot sluts. He’s well aware of how I roll, and he knows this bar is my hunting ground.

  Every time I come here, I come to score some—to pick up some slut I can fuck back at home.

  Sometimes, I pick up various kinds of these bitches…groups of friends actually. It’s kinkier that way. The kinkiest is sisters—fuck, especially when they’re twins or triplets.

  Imagine fucking three look-alike sisters. It’s like you’re in god-mode, copy-pasting random sluts.

  Only one word to describe it. Fucked up. Yeah, I know that’s two words, but who gives a shit?

  “Are you sure about this, Kane?” the bartender asks. He leans into me and speaks in a whisper, “You might regret this later. That lady is…”

  “I don’t give a fuck who she is,” I reply, taking a sip of my scotch. “I don’t care about anything right now. I just care about finishing this scotch and having another one.”

  It’s then that the bartender realizes what’s going on. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

  Yes. Something has fucking happened. I fucked up is what’s happened.

  I look up at the bartender.

  I don’t speak. I don’t smile. I only shoot him a straight screw-you face and wait for him to vanish; it takes up to a minute, but he does disappear.

  I take one last glance at the woman.

  I can see her finely rounded breasts. Her face is beautiful. I can’t see her ass from here, but I trust my instincts when it comes to assessing that kind of shit, and I dare say she’s going to have one fine ass.

  On the whole, she fits the category of someone I’d like to fuck.

  And if I’m going to be honest with you, after what happened between me, Diana, and Derek, I came here to clear my mind.

  I also came to find someone to fuck her brains out. To reclaim myself. To shut out all these thoughts in my mind.

  I came here so I don’t have to stop and think about what happened. I don’t want to even consider it…the possibility, the attraction.

  I choke on my scotch. I feel an urge to spew the burning drink back into the cup. I don’t yield to it; rather, I destroy it and swallow.

  My father always taught me that a man ought to hold his drink. A man that can’t hold his drink isn’t a fucking man.

  “This isn’t fucking working,” I mutter to myself.

  I leap to my feet. I lose my footing as a feeling of nausea descends upon me. I stagger, grabbing the stool for support.

  Nobody pays me any heed. Apparently, everyone around here is used to seeing plastered assholes. Still, drunk or not, I straighten up.

  I make to go when the voice of the bartender distracts me.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t call you a taxi?” he asks.

  I glance at him. “Just get a cab yourself and fuck that one.”

  I nod at the woman who tried to buy me a drink.

  “Because she sure as fuck ain’t getting anything from me.”

  He blinks at me and says before moving away, “Huh, thanks, Kane.”

  I leave the bar and make it to my apartment in one piece. It’s a penthouse apartment in one of the high rises in the city. It looks fucking expensive, and that’s because it is—just one of the residences I have.

  I come to this one when I leave work too late or just want to be alone.

  I also come here when an important female client comes for a business deal. And not only do I land the deal, I also land the woman. I bring her here to…well, I don’t need to fucking draw it up for you, do I?

  I rarely take women back to my actual house. Diana is probably the only one I’ve taken to my estate and had sex with.

  It’s kind of a policy; if it’s not my penthouse apartment, then it’s a hotel suite. Never my house. My house is like a sanctuary.

  Diana, however, is different; she’s special. It’s because of her that I can’t even bring myself to fuck another girl. And that, honey, is fucking new.

  But what of Derek? Remember what you did with him? To him…?

  I head straight for the cabinet and pull out another scotch. I fill up a glass. My plan is to get drunk, so that I don’t have to think about how things went down with Derek and Diana; it’s just so fucking inconceivable.

  But is it?

  I down the scotch and pull out another one. The drink doesn’t take effect as quick as I want it to, so I’m left with my actions.

  Derek and I—we shared Diana. And more than that, there was all that fucking attraction between the two of us.

  More than fucking Diana, I wanted Derek as well. Why the fuck do I feel like this? Sure, we have a fucking history, but that’s in the past.

  I lost my fucking mind. Yeah, no doubt about that.

  Anger bursts in me like a dam crumbling under the pressure of a flood. I throw the glass cup at the cabinet, and it shatters, breaking the glass cabinet while at it.

  “What if this is some fucking ploy by that fucked-up son of a bitch?” I roar. “What if Derek is trying to fucking mess with my head?”

  My voice bounces off the walls of the empty return, and the only reply I get is silence.

  The fucking bastard may be trying to get me to give up Diana. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s always been a sneaky fuck—a conniving, scheming, fucking bastard.

  At that, there’s a knock on the door. I’m startled at first, and then I realize that the dumb bitch from the bar might have followed me here; it wouldn’t be the first time some random slut took it upon herself to follow me home. Still, I amble toward the door to see who it is.

  It’s not the girl from the bar, and it sure as fuck isn’t some random slut.

  It’s Derek.

  26

  Derek

  Sitting in my own car, I’m torn between two roads.

  I am unsure what to do, but there’s an urgency in my mind that tells me I need to act now. I need to act now, otherwise I might lose everything. I might lose Diana.

  But it’s not that simple. It never is.

  I’m still parked beside Diana’s apartment building. It’s dark, but I can still see a couple of people walking up and down the street. The houses are partially lit—the ones that are inhabited.

  I can see Diana’s apartment from here.

  It’s lit up, but I know she’s sleeping. All that sex must be tiring for her. Shit, it was for me.

  I smile as I remember the things I did to her—things I made her do.

  Then I remember Kane and how he bolted, and a darkness descends upon my soul. I have to go and talk to him, but will it be easy?

  Kane has always been an arrogant bastard, never listening. Always wanting to fight. Always wanting to have his way.

  He never considers other people’s feelings. He always has his head shoved up inside his ass. He acts like he’s the only one on the planet, and that everyone must bow down to him.

  At first, it was charming, especially when his egotistical attitude is directed somewhere else. However, when that attitude begins to include you, it gets frustrating and downright irritating.

  That’s Kane, defined. Frustrating and downright irritating.

  But, I must say, what happened in Diana’s apartment with him was…interesting. I mean, it’s not new to us, and I certainly don’t mind it, even though it’s weird. I mean, just a couple of moments ago, we were sworn enemies.

  And it feels like even now, we are.

  Whatever the case, I know that we have to put our differences aside to solve this Maurice bullshit. Otherwise, we’re both
going to lose Diana for good.

  I’ve only had a few minutes to consider the issue. The only solution I can come up with is to tell Kane.

  Kane, being the arrogant son of a bitch that he is, can probably think of something rash, brash, and unplanned to keep Maurice away, and the bastard will probably be right. As for me, I’ll need time to consider all my options. I’ll need time to think about the best possible route out of this mess.

  I’ll need to involve my legal team, and they’ll need time to assemble and plan.

  Time, time, time…everything involves time with me, but time is something Diana doesn’t have. If I do it my way, we’ll lose her for sure. And with Diana not wanting to choose any one of us, it makes it infinitely more difficult.

  Now, I’m left with going to Kane to tell him that Diana, the girl we both want and—shit—need, is in deep shit. He needs to help.

  It should be simple enough—just drive down to his house or apartment and tell him. He’s reasonable enough to understand what’s at stake and to put our individual difference aside, right?

  No. Wrong.

  Kane is anything but reasonable. The fucked-up asshole can’t be reasoned with. He only reasons with his dick or with his fists.

  He’s like a jarhead that approaches everything with the muzzle of an assault rifle—even the finer issues that require diplomacy.

  Tact. It’s all the same to that asshole.

  What do I say when I get there? How do I get him to shut up and listen? How do I convince him it’s not one of my elaborately schemed plans?

  One thing about being braggadocio and proud is that you end up being very paranoid.

  Kane is that guy. He’s the paranoid boss who thinks everyone is gunning for him, that everyone who comes for a hug wants to stab him in the back. Whereas, he’s the one who has employed that tactic on me several times—more during our early days when we just started out as rivals.

  Kane thinks everyone is like him.

  Vengeful. Wild. Stupid.

  Well, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think himself stupid, but he is. Really.

  So, how do I tell a fucking moron like him that Diana is in trouble?

  By just fucking telling him!

  I start my car and begin driving. If I remain here, trying to figure out the entire problem, I’ll just be wasting valuable time. I’ll just have to barge in on Kane unprepared.

  I don’t care if I have to beat some sense into him or get beaten by him. I don’t care. I just have to get his attention.

  In about twenty minutes, I’m on the highway, headed for Kane’s apartment. Since it’s on the way to his mansion, I want to stop by there first to ensure he’s not sleeping in the city tonight.

  As I get closer, I get more nervous.

  Kane and I haven’t really had a good conversation in a long time. Heck, up until this Diana issue, we’ve never even set eyes on each other for some years running. It’s as though the hatred bonds that bind us were forged in the fires of hell.

  And now, we’re fucking the same woman at the same fucking time? Now, I’m driving to his apartment to enlist his help? How times change.

  All it took was one woman to bring us together.

  Or tear us further apart.

  I pause as I consider the statement. If this goes wrong somehow, if Diana gets taken, it will lead to us being torn apart from each other forever. I won’t be able to forgive Kane, and if Kane’s feelings for Diana are legitimate, then he’s not going to be able to forgive me and himself.

  I know it shouldn’t matter to me. After all, he’s my archenemy. But it does.

  A lot.

  I mean, I know we were—or we are—archenemies and all, but I guess I had always felt, deep down, this connection with him.

  Even though I hate the guy’s guts—at least I think I hate it—it’s not like I want to see the guy dead or anything, God forbid. Maybe if we had managed to stop Maurice before he tore us apart, we’d have a different story now. Maybe what happened between us and Diana wouldn’t have been so weird.

  Now, if I lose Diana because Kane has his head too far up his ass, I’ll truly, really hate him forever. I’ll hate him to the point that I’ll wish he were dead, because in truth, he’ll become dead to me.

  Dead and gone. Forever.

  I arrive at his apartment building downtown. It’s a huge skyscraper with a hundred and something floors. And guess who owns the penthouse?

  I’ve never really understood why Kane would buy a multimillion dollar property in the city and still feel the need to buy the lease on a penthouse in the same city. It has never made sense to me. But then again, when you consider Kane, you’ll know that nothing ever makes sense with him.

  I park in the garage and take the elevator to his penthouse suite. I arrive at the door, and I hold on for a moment, desperate for a last-minute plan of attack.

  I hate going into a volatile situation without a plan of attack. I’ve had several clients in my conference room who were yelling and screaming lawsuit. But going in with a plan, I’ve always been able to calm them down and get them to sign the contract I presented before them.

  It’s who I am. The best closer on the west coast.

  But standing right here in front of Kane’s apartment, I don’t feel like the best closer on the west coast. I feel like a fucking puppet running around to help a girl just because I fucked her and liked it. And fucked her again and loved it.

  From inside, I hear the shattering of a glass.

  Right, I think, seems like our boy is at it again.

  I begin to wonder if this is a good time. I don’t want to catch him in a foul mood. He’s just going to get me angry, and then we’ll have a fight.

  And being in the penthouse with no one to come to our rescue, we might end up killing each other. Or worse, we may end up with some fucking irreconcilable differences. Then again, Diana’s career depends on this, so I just have to make it work.

  I knock once on the door. A pause.

  The door opens with Kane standing in the doorway. His face is hidden behind a mask of rage. His eyes look like they’re ready to devour me.

  Here we go. I breathe and march into his apartment, brushing him aside.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he screams, slamming the door behind in anger.

  “Do you need to fucking shout all the time?” I ask him, first observing the scotch on the counter and the shattered cabinet behind the bar, before turning to meet his furious gaze.

  Kane looks at me aghast. He then recovers his savagery. “You fucking prick! You can’t just barge in here like that!”

  “And you think this is such a wonderful place that I’d want to come here?” I reply, anger blossoming in my chest. “I came for a reason!”

  “I don’t fucking care!” he exclaims, voice booming loudly.

  Veins are popping all over his face. He’s so angry, it makes me fucking angry. Here I am, coming to tell him that Diana is in trouble—something he doesn’t yet know—and he’s angry at me?

  If Maurice is Diana’s boss, he’s so going to fuck her over just like he fucked us over. He’s also going to hurt both our companies. I try to tell Kane this, but he doesn’t let me speak again.

  He launches into one of his tirades.

  “Dude, just fucking let me talk!” I roar, but Kane isn’t having any of it.

  He’s close to me now, going on and on about how I’ve always been jealous of him. On and on.

  I get so fed up that I slam my palms into his chest. He staggers back, stumbles, and fall to the ground. But he’s up in no time, still in shock and backpedalling.

  “What the fuck!” he yells.

  I’ve covered the distance between us and push him against the wall. “Cut that fucking shit and listen to me.”

  Just then, I feel it. The same thing I’d felt when Kane and I landed our first contract as partners. The same thing I felt when we were both with Diana.

  It’s strong. Very fucki
ng strong.

  I glance down and realize that Kane is hard.

  27

  Kane

  I have no fucking idea what’s happening.

  One moment, Derek’s barging into my apartment, the next he’s pushing me back, his hands on my chest. And then I get hard.

  He’s close to me. His eyes are locked on mine, and there’s a weird fucking heat around us. It’s as if we’re being drawn toward each other by the hand of God.

  Jesus, what the fuck is happening with me? I’ve only felt like this once before, a long time ago, and now, these feelings seem to be flooding me again.

  And you know me. I’m not the kind of guy who thinks before he acts. I just do whatever the fuck I want to do.

  And that’s why I just reach for Derek and grab his fucking cock. And he’s as hard as I am.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you came here to say,” I growl, tightening my fingers around his cock, “but right now, I just fucking need this.”

  Without saying a word more, I lean in and then crush my mouth against his, savoring his lips. He tastes just like I remember, his flavor making my cock so fucking hard it’s unbelievable. Slowly, he parts my lips with the tip of his tongue, and we surrender to a long kiss for what seems like forever.

  When we finally break apart, I’m more than ready for the rest.

  Without taking my eyes off his, I take one step forward and push him back until he’s against the couch. We sit down at the same time, and I push his fucking pants down in a hurry, forcing his cock to spring free.

  “It’s been a long time,” Derek whispers, his voice making my own cock become even harder.

  I don’t even care what I’m feeling and why I’m feeling it. All I know is that I want to make up for all the time we’ve lost.

  “Too fucking long,” I whisper back at him, and then I just lean in and press my mouth against the tip of his cock.

  With my heart racing like a motherfucker, I part my lips and take him inside my mouth, his fucking thickness filling me up. As he rests his hands on my head, I start bobbing my head up and down, sucking him with a hunger I didn’t know I had in me.