by R. R. Banks
I take a step back and laugh to myself. Brady lifts my chin with his fingers and stares into my eyes.
“What is it? Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod. “I was just – it's just been a long time since I've been with anybody,” I admit, not meeting his eyes. “And I guess there's part of me wondering if I still know what to do.”
He laughs. “Don't worry about a thing, sugar,” he says, his Texas drawl pouring over my body like the sweetest honey. “We'll figure it out as we go.”
He takes my hand and leads me into the house. We're walking softly across the wood floor and I can't help but feel like two teenagers sneaking into the house after curfew. We head up the staircase and Brady leads me down the hall to the bedroom at the end and I have to stifle my giggling.
Brady gives me a smile as he shuts the door behind us. Walking into the room, I feel my eyes grow wide and a gasp escapes my lips.
“This is – your bedroom?” I ask.
He nods. “It used to belong to my folks, but after they died, I moved into it.”
I turn a circle in the room, taking it all in. It's enormous. It's probably bigger than my whole apartment. And done in dark woods, and deep, rich greens, it is elegant. There's a sense of peace and tranquility that saturates the air in here.
“This room is amazing,” I say. “I can live in it.”
He smiles. “You're more than welcome to.”
Pulling me to him, Brady kisses me. This time, there's no hesitation. My body melts against his and his hands circle my waist. Our kissing grows more intense driven by passion, desire, and need. The fire inside of me is burning hotter than the sun and all of my inhibitions seem to melt away.
I'm fumbling with the belt buckle on his pants when he stops me. I look up at him questioningly.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “About – this. I just don't want you having any regrets.”
My heart feels like it's about to burst and those walls inside of me are crumbling so fast, I don't know that I can even stop them at this point. Giving him a seductive little smile, I rub his hard cock through his pants.
“I'm sure,” I say, my voice husky. “No regrets.”
He smiles and takes his hat off, tossing it onto the dresser against the wall. I raise my arms and let him slip the sundress off over my head, leaving me standing there in my bra and panties. There is a momentary flash of awkwardness that shoots through me, but Brady looks at me like a work of art. His eyes are wide and they roam every inch of my body, taking me all in and making me feel like the sexiest woman he's ever seen.
As he watches, I slowly unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. Next, I slide my panties down over my hips and push them down my legs. I step out of them and stand before him completely naked. There is an indescribable look upon his face, but the raw hunger in his eyes is undeniable. No man has ever looked at me the way Brady is, and it makes me wetter than I think I've ever been.
Brady takes his boots off as I step forward and finally manage to unbuckle his belt. Then I get his pants unbuttoned and push them down his legs. I unbutton his shirt as he kicks his pants off, sending them flying across the room. When he's naked and I get my first look at him, I feel my heart begin to race.
He's toned and firm in all the right places. Brady is well muscled, but not in that overbulked, steroid sort of a way. I can tell that his physique is from hard work. He's lean and trim, but also ripped. I run my fingertips along his stomach and feel him shudder beneath my touch. I kiss his chest, the tip of my tongue circling his nipple as I slide my hand down and take his firm, thick cock in my hand.
I squeeze it good and hard at the base, making him gasp. But he moans in pleasure when I start to run my hand up and down his shaft. I give him a flirty little smile as I slip down to me knees. But then Brady surprises me by taking me by the shoulders and standing me up again.
He shakes his head and a small smile touches his lips. “No, tonight is all about you, Amanda.”
He kisses me and guides me back to the bed, sitting me down on the edge of it. Brady gets down on his knees before me and pushes me backward so that I'm laying down. I look down at him as Brady parts my thighs, giving me a flirty little smile. He lowers his head and the rush of sensation that hits me in that moment makes me scream.
He looks up at me with wide eyes and I bite my bottom lip. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I just – sorry.”
He smiles and shakes his head, lowering his head down again. The feeling of his tongue tracing my lips, sliding into me, and then teasing my clit is overpowering. It's incredible. Brady plunges his tongue deep into me and I cry out again. Reaching up, I grab one of his pillows and put it over my face to keep from making too much noise – the last thing I want is to wake Nicholas up.
Brady takes my clit into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it as he slides a finger inside of me. Moving it in and out, he licks and sucks on me harder and faster. I'm biting his pillow and doing all I can to keep from crying out, but damn, it's difficult. The way Brady is moving his tongue and mouth on me, in me, is driving me absolutely crazy.
He sucks harder on my clit at the same time he drives his finger deep inside of my pussy and that's it for me. I feel my body tense up and the pressure that had been building up low within me explodes. My body bucks and thrashes as I cry out his name, an orgasm more powerful than anything I've ever felt before, tearing through me.
I grab his hair and push his face down into me, grinding myself against him as wave after wave of sensation rolls through my body. Slowly, the sensations begin to fade and I'm able to catch my breath again. Brady gives me a smile.
“You taste amazing, darlin',” he says.
“Get up here.”
“Yes ma'am.”
I slide up onto the bed a little further and Brady climbs on top of me. I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him hard. Passionately. His mouth is still wet with my juices, so I run my tongue all around.
“You're right,” I purr. “I do taste amazing.”
He chuckles. “You're somethin' else.”
I nod. “Yes, I am,” I say. “And I need you inside of me.”
Brady reaches into his nightstand dresser and takes a condom out of the drawer. Personally, I'd rather feel him – the real him – inside of me, but it's probably best to be smart about all of this. With the condom on, Brady climbs back on top of me and smiles.
My body tingles when Brady presses the head of his thick, swollen cock against my hot, wet little opening. And I groan as he slides himself into me, inch by amazing inch. He fills me up completely and when he drives himself forward, deeper into me, it feels like a bomb went off inside of me.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my head spinning with how good it feels to have Brady moving inside of me. His cock is thick and hard and stretches me wide open. And though there are momentary flashes of pain because of his size, the overwhelming feeling of pleasure more than makes up for it.
Brady is pumping his hips to a hard, steady rhythm, setting off explosions of sensation every time he drives himself deep into me. I rake my nails down his back and bite his neck as I thrash and writhe beneath him. He feels amazing and our bodies meld together like they were made for each other.
My breathing is ragged and shallow and my heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I'm half-afraid it's going to burst. The pressure is building up within me again and as Brady keeps thrusting himself into me, he's bringing me to the brink again.
He looks down at me with the strangest look in his eyes. I don't know what he's thinking in that moment and I wish I did. But as soon as the thought enters my mind, it's gone again, washed away in a rush of sensation as my orgasm, even more powerful than the first, crashes down over me.
I bite his shoulder to keep from crying out too loud when my body begins to tighten and spasm. And as I come hard, I lock my legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside of me.
My body is tightening and spasming so hard, I can feel the muscles inside of
me grip Brady's cock even tighter as he drives himself into me. I hear him grunt and then it turns into a slow groan as I feel his body tense up. He thrusts his cock into me again, deeper than before, and then I feel it begin to pulse. He calls my name as his body seems to let go completely and I feel him coming inside of the condom, filling it up with his hot, wet seed.
He collapses on top of me, our bodies spent. I feel his cock growing softer and he slides out of me, slipping off his condom and tossing it in a trashcan near the bed. That done, he rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him, laying my head down on his hard, broad chest.
“You are amazing,” he says.
I giggle. “You're not too bad yourself.”
He kisses the top of my head and trails his fingers down my back. I run my fingertips along his chest, reveling in the feel of his skin. Once again, I'm stunned that I'm even here. That I just had sex with Brady Keating – my soon to be fake-husband and apparent business partner.
But as I listen to him breathing, I know that it's more than just a business relationship. At least for me. And I can only hope that after what we just shared, that it is for him too.
“Thank you for today,” I say. “For everything, really.”
“This is only the beginning, darlin',” he says sleepily. “This is only the beginning.”
Only the beginning? It has a nice ring to it. I hold on to that and the feel of his warm body pressed to mine as the warm, comforting waters of sleep pulls me down into their depths.
Chapter Twenty
Tiffany
“How did this happen, Mr. Haas?”
“I – I really don't know, Miss Greene,” he stammers. “Nobody, and I mean nobody saw this coming.”
The fat, sweaty man across the desk from me looks like he's about to have a heart attack. I could only be so lucky. Carl Haas is a reporter for the San Antonio Beat, one of the city's sleazier tabloids. And he is my employee – an employee that just failed miserably at his job.
As much as I hate coming to this city, I hate coming to the offices of the Beat even more. They're dirty, grimy, and about what you'd expect of a tabloid. I feel dirty even sitting in the chair across the desk from him.
Tossing the day's paper on his desk, I point to the headline above the picture of Brady, the woman, and his bastard son. A headline that announces in big, bold letters, “Keating Steps Out With Mystery Woman.”
“Clearly, somebody saw it coming,” I say. “Somebody from your own – paper – nonetheless.”
“To be fair, Miss Greene,” he says. “This story only came out after we got word that your brother ˗”
“Half-brother,” I snap.
“Sorry, half-brother,” he says. “That story was written only after we got word that some of the other journalists went down to the zoo to cover it.”
“Journalists,” I spit. “You and your ilk are even less a journalist than some of these bloggers who insist they've found Bigfoot's love child.”
“That's not exactly fair, Miss Greene –”
“You told me that you have the pulse of – society – in this city,” I cut him off. “You told me there is nothing that happens among the so-called San Antonio A-list that you don't know about first.”
“And that's all true,” he argues. “This though – this came out of left field. Nobody knew he was dating this woman. Not until yesterday.”
“I pay you a lot of money, Mr. Haas,” I say, my voice bitterly cold. “I pay you that money to keep tabs on my half-brother. To let me know about the women in his life.”
“I – I know you do, Miss Greene,” he says. “But I can't tell you something that I don't know about.”
“I pay you to know these things, Mr. Haas.”
He falls silent and looks down at the top of his cluttered, filthy desk. I grimace at the collection of soda bottles and old fast food wrappers. There is an overpowering odor of grease and body odor in his office and if I stay there much longer, I might just be sick.
“What do you know – if anything – about this mystery woman?” I ask.
He sighs and sifts through some of the pile of papers on his desk, likely pretending he's looking for something so he doesn't have to meet my eyes.
“Not much yet, I'm afraid,” he says. “All I know at this point for sure is that her name is Amanda Johnston.”
“And?”
“That's it,” he says. “She's not one of the elite in the city. So far as I've been able to dig up so far, she's a nobody. Nobody of any real relevance in San Antonio, anyway.”
I laugh and shake my head. “So, my half-brother is dating a pauper,” she says. “A mysterious, unknown pauper at that.”
Mr. Haas shrugs. “So far as I can tell at this point.”
I look at him coldly, pinning him to his seat with my eyes. I want him to feel the full weight of my unhappiness and dissatisfaction with his efforts. This is my inheritance, my birthright on the line and he needs to understand how personally I take it and what I will do to him if he fails me.
“Certainly, she did not materialize out of thin air,” I say. “And I highly doubt he imported her from Russia. This woman – this Amanda Johnston – somebody in this god forsaken city knows who she is. Knows about her.”
“Yeah, probably.”
I look at him for a long moment. “Then don't you think you should be out there, on the streets, doing what you can to learn everything you can about her?” I say coldly. “Or should I perhaps, release the photos?”
A look of pure terror seizes his face and Mr. Haas looks ready to blow. He shakes his head violently.
“No, no need to do that, Miss Greene,” he says.
I believe in having leverage over people. I find that it greases the wheels and allows things to get done in a far more efficient manner. For instance, I have photographs of Mr. Haas here engaged in an illicit affair with an underage teenage boy.
Holding on to leverage like that can be a very persuasive tool in getting a person to agree to your demands. But I'm not a complete monster – I pay him a very fair wage for his services. Though, given his current failures, I'm not certain what I'm paying him for.
“Then get me what I need,” I say. “I need to know who this girl is. I need to know her vices, her dirty dark secrets. I need to know everything about her.”
I have a private investigator on retainer and he's been wonderful in providing me with leverage on any number of people – such as the unfortunate photographs of Mr. Haas. It was the happy by-product of a normal investigation, but even my PI has lines he won't cross. He has ethics and refuses to dig too deeply into the muck of somebody's personal life.
But somebody like Mr. Haas here – he doesn't concern himself with ethics. Which is why he is perfect for the role I need him to play in protecting my own future and my own legacy. Those things I'm owed.
“I need something I can use, Mr. Haas,” I say.
“I'll find it, Miss Greene,” he says. “Don't worry. I'll find it.”
“You have until the end of the week.”
I stand and quickly walk out of his office, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a stiff drink. I slide into the back seat of the car and the driver closes the door, sealing me into the dark, comfortable interior. I instruct him to drive and then raise the glass partition between us, needing a little privacy.
I didn't see this coming. I didn't think that Brady would ever be serious enough with a woman to threaten my inheritance. He loves living the playboy lifestyle. Loves to party. Loves beautiful women. And he takes nothing seriously. Ever.
Which makes the fact that he has a mystery woman – that nobody knew a thing about – on his arm more than a touch disturbing. His affairs are always public and always very brief. Making the situation even more worrisome for me is that he had his son with them in the picture.
Brady is a lot of things, but one thing I do know – and the only thing I'll give him credit for – is that he is a devoted father. Certainly, more so t
han his own dirtbag of a father. And I know that Brady would not stand for shuttling strange women in and out of Nicholas' life. The fact that he rented out the zoo for the three of them to spend a day together is – troubling.
Mr. Haas' failure to see this situation coming – and even more disturbingly, to know nothing about this woman – is causing me more than a little stress. I can see the threads of all of the plans I've made, of the groundwork I've laid, dangling out there. All Brady needs to do is pull one of those threads and the entire tapestry will unravel.
And I can't let that happen.
I don't have faith that Mr. Haas is going to deliver. If this woman is as big of a mystery as he says, I fear that he might not be able to dig up anything I can use. Which means that I need to implement my contingency plan.
I didn't want to have use my nuclear option, but I don't see that I have much choice. If Brady is as serious with this Amanda Johnston as it seems, then I'm going to need to blow things up sooner, rather than later. I cannot afford to let them get married or I'm going to lose everything that's owed to me.
I take my phone out of my purse and dial my PI's number. He answers on the first ring.
“Ackles,” he says in his, thick, gruff Texas drawl.
“Mr. Ackles,” I say. “Tiffany Greene.”
“Yes ma'am,” he replies. “What can I do for ya?”
“The contingency plan we discussed,” I say. “I need to begin implementing it.”
He chuckles softly. “Saw the paper this mornin',” he says. “Thought I might be gettin' a call from you today.”
“You thought correctly then,” I reply. “Can you do it?”
“Course,” he says. “Just gimmie a little time.”
“Of course,” I say. “But please be aware that time is not our greatest ally right now.”
