Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3)

by Ainsley St Claire

  Breaking the kiss, she contends, “I hope it’s because you were distracted by my absence in your bed.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Good. Now could you shred this cheese?” she asks as she hands me a nice block of cheddar and a grater. “I’ll chop this pepper and some Canadian bacon and whip the eggs. Does that work for you?”

  I love her post-sex confidence. “Absolutely.”

  We work in tandem for a while, and then she surprises me when she asks, “How do you think the 49ers are going to end up this year? They’re having their typical tough start to the season, as always.”

  We’ve been hanging out for over a month and never spoken about sports. The last thing I expected was for her to ask me about the NFL. “You understand football?”

  “Sort of. I still have my dad’s season tickets. It was one way to spend time with him without a step-monster.”

  “Do you go to games?”

  “If I can find someone to go with me, but I give most of them away. The seats are pretty decent. They’re on the forty-five-yard line, and about twenty-five rows up. Far enough so you can see over the bench. I wish the team were better. Is there any hope in my lifetime, or should I give up the tickets?”

  I’m stunned. “Don’t give up those tickets. They’re getting better. I’m happy to go with you to some of the games this fall. I can’t believe you like football.”

  “I like baseball, too. I’m a big Giants fan.”

  She is beautiful, amazing in bed, and loves sports. How could I get any luckier? “You are a guy’s wet dream. You do get that, right?”

  Dripping with sarcasm, she tells me, “Sure. That’s why I’ve had two serious boyfriends in my entire life.”

  I’m taken aback by her admission. “Trust me when I tell you, not only are you beautiful, but you like sports, which makes you a rock star in my book.”

  Shyly, she admits, “Well, right now that’s the only book I care about.”

  She plates the omelets, and we sit at the table. I take a bite, and I’m convinced this is the best omelet I’ve ever had. “This is amazing. There’s a bit of a kick. What’s different?”

  “I added some shakes of Tabasco sauce while you were making the Nespressos.”

  What can’t this girl do? “You’re an incredible cook.”

  “I had a great helper.” Changing subjects, she asks, “What should I wear to ride on the Harley?”

  As much as I’d love to have her wrapped around me for a three-hour drive out to Yosemite, it isn’t practical without good protection. “How about we go in my car? It’s a bit more comfortable than the motorcycle, and we can shop for leathers for you before we go for a long ride on the Harley.”

  “Leathers?”

  “We want to cover those fine legs and arms with good leather chaps and a jacket. Plus, we should get you your own helmet.”

  “Makes sense.” She places her finger seductively in her mouth. “And here I was hoping you wanted me fit with a leather corset and thong.”

  I stop mid-bite. “Do you understand how hot that makes me?”

  She giggles. “I’m up for whatever floats your boat except for minors, and I’m not too keen on adding other people into the mix. But I love the spanking. I’ve never done that before. When you threatened to tie me up, I think I had an actual orgasm at the thought.”

  “Fuck, girl. You are my wet dream.”

  “Good, because you’re my wet dream. Just enough bad boy to get me all excited.”

  I guess this is as good a time as any to find out if she’s into what I like. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to wait until we get to the Majestic to fuck you tonight.”

  “Well, I suppose you’ll have to pack a blanket for some roadside fucking.”

  Did she just tell me she’s willing to have sex in public? I’m practically speechless as she lifts her shirt, exposing her exquisite breasts, the nipples begging to be touched and played with. My mouth drops open as she twists and pulls on them before bringing her breast to her mouth and licking the tip. “Mmm….”

  “Fuck. That’s it. Get your ass to your room and assume the position.”

  “What’s the position?” she asks innocently.

  “I want you naked, on your hands and knees on your bed,” I growl.

  She grins widely and scampers off, obviously excited. She’s as horny as I am.

  I eat the last few bites of my breakfast; I’m going to need my energy. Before I go find her, I run upstairs to grab a few condoms and a sex toy.

  When I stop at the threshold to her room, I’m greeted by the most glorious sight. She’s on her hands and knees, her pink slit glistening as it faces me. I stare at her reflection in the mirror—her eyes are closed and she’s playing with herself, her fingers swirling around her clit as she rocks back and forth. My cock hurts from straining against the zipper in my jeans. I undress as I watch the show she’s giving me, and it’s almost painful to remove my boxers over my steel rod. The wet sounds and her labored breathing mean she’s close. I want to hear her call my name as I make her come.

  Hadlee

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I don’t understand why I’m so open with Cameron. I’ve had two long-term partners with long periods of celibacy in between. I’m a sexual person, and I masturbate often. I have toys, and I’ve always been curious about kinky sex. With Cameron, when he spanks me, it gets my motor running. Knowing Cameron is a bad boy underneath his cool exterior excites me. Maybe that’s why I can be myself. I’m not uncomfortable with him in the least. I feel safe with him. He doesn’t point out the dimples in my thighs, the pudge around my middle, my overly large breasts—believe it or not, most men don’t really like more than a handful—or seem to mind my red hair.

  I quickly undress and crawl onto my bed, so the first view he’ll have is of my wet slit. I watch myself in the mirrored closet doors, and I’m so excited I begin playing with my slick channel. Circling my clit, I have a small orgasm, and our eyes meet as he watches me play with myself.

  I lick my fingers. “Did you enjoy the show?”

  I stare at his raging erection as he strokes himself. “I would say so. But I think you’ll need to be punished for taking away my enjoyment from giving you pleasure.”

  I wiggle my ass in the air. “I’ve been naughty. I think you’ll have to punish me.”

  He brings something from behind his back and asks, “Have you ever seen these before?”

  I shake my head and whisper, “No.”

  He squeezes the pincher and they open and close, but they don’t seem to close completely. “These are adjustable nipple clamps. You enjoy nipple play, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to try them.”

  I can’t take my eyes off the clamp as I nod, my body involuntarily quivering from a small orgasm.

  As he approaches, I notice they’re jeweled. He tells me, “These screws here will keep the clamp from pinching too tight. We want them to add good pressure and some pain, but not too much.”

  He glances at me expectantly. I bite my lower lip and nod, and he demands, “Turn around.”

  I kneel on the bed facing him. He caresses my breast roughly and brings the nipple to his mouth, thoroughly licking and sucking it to a hard nub. He pulls it taut and attaches the first clamp with a tight pinch that sends jolts to my core as I moan my appreciation. He then does the same to my other nipple. I’m becoming desperate for friction against my clit, but each time I move my hand to my pussy, he pushes it away. Once both nipples are secured in the clamps, he pulls on the chain connecting them and I moan in ecstasy again.

  “I love how responsive you are,” he whispers. “Lie on your back and open your legs.”

  He dives in and eats my pussy as if he hasn’t had a meal in days. His fingers push deep inside as he finds that spot, and I’m so aroused. Lathering my clit with his mouth, he sucks and strums it until I’m close to reaching my pinnacle. Then he stops.

  What? Don’t stop! I’m almost there.
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  “Naughty girls don’t get to come that easily.”

  I can’t help but be a little disappointed.

  “Roll over and show me that ivory ass of yours.”

  I do as he asks and wave my ass in the air at him. The chains shift, and the combination of the clamps with the weight of my breasts and the friction of the quilt below me almost have me overwhelmed by my arousal. “Please, Cameron,” I beg.

  “You want to come?” he snarls.

  “Yes, please.” My hips move voluntarily as I search for anything to bring me relief. He caresses my ass and then spanks me hard. I moan just as he slams his cock inside. He slaps my backside again, and I clamp down on him inside of me.

  He pounds me hard and fast, my every nerve on fire as his long fingers adeptly circle my clit.

  I can’t hold back any longer.

  “Hadlee, come for me.”

  He grunts his orgasm while I moan his name.

  Collapsing next to me on the bed, he removes the nipple clamps, and the pain and pleasure make me almost delirious.

  “Well, what do you think of the clamps?”

  “Holy shit, that was a totally new sensation. That was fucking unbelievable.”

  “Shit! I forgot to wear a condom. I swear I don’t have any STDs. You have an IUD, right? I was surprised by you masturbating when I came in, and I just dove right in.”

  Giggling, I tell him, “Yes, you sure did dive in. I’ve never been super comfortable receiving oral sex, but you are mind-blowing. And yes, I have an IUD.”

  “If you keep going like this, we won’t make it to Yosemite,” he warns.

  I guess it’s time to come back to reality. “I suppose we should do something other than fuck.”

  His eyes are smoldering, clearly struggling with the idea of going out or staying in all weekend.

  “Have you ever had a blow job while driving?” I ask with as much innocence as a girl who just got fucked hard while wearing nipple clamps and getting spanked possibly could.

  “No, and I’d be afraid I’d crash my Porsche.”

  “Okay fine, I won’t do that, but you have to promise me you’ll let me finish you off with just my mouth at some point this weekend.”

  “Trust me, you won’t have to beg. I just believe your orgasms are more important to me than my own.”

  Cameron

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I drive a slate gray Porsche 918 Spyder that most women would swoon over. It appeals to the environmentalist as a hybrid electric car, but the cockpit looks like it belongs in a video game. For a million-dollar vehicle, it’s a gearhead’s dream, and I love it. We cruise along the freeway, traveling east across the desert valley to one of America’s most stunning locations. Hadlee is sitting in the front passenger seat with so much soft leather around her, and the engine is so quiet I can hear her breathe. At eighty miles per hour, the engine is only idling in electric mode. But I can feel the power. Four thousand pounds of German engineering. With only nine hundred and eighteen made each year, this car turns heads.

  Hadlee reaches over and holds my hand. Not since my mother died have I had someone show me this much affection, and I like it. As we pass through the wind turbine farms, the miles of almond trees, it’s open road most of the time.

  I turn the music up and show her what a terrible singer I am as Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” plays and we both sing along. She has a tremendous voice. I lower the volume so I can hear her, and she blushes. “Turn the music back up. My voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard.”

  “No, you’re really a great singer.”

  “I think you’re in an after-sex delusion.”

  “Is that a real thing?”

  With complete seriousness, she says, “Oh, absolutely. They’ve done tons of studies, and I’ve read them. I’m a doctor, you know.” It isn’t until she’s done that I realize she’s being facetious.

  She is truly funny, and I laugh loud and hard. “You almost had me with that.”

  “There is no way you’re that gullible.”

  “When you put it that way, of course not.” To get myself out of trouble, I ask, “If you were in a band, what type of music would you sing, and what would you name your band?”

  “That’s a good question. Let’s see… I’m not good enough to headline a band, so calling it ‘Hadlee Ford’ would be a real loser. I would sing fun and upbeat pop and call us the….” She’s actually thinking about this, and we drive a couple minutes in silence before she continues. “We’d call ourselves ‘The Wayward Children.’”

  “’The Wayward Children’? Where did that come from?”

  “I thought ‘The Naughty Doctors’ sounded like a porn title, so I went with a different word for disobedient. And since I’m a pediatrician and love children, I ended it with that.”

  “That’s some interesting logic, but the band title does work with your genre.”

  “What about you?”

  “I know given the tattoos you’d think I’d want to be in a heavy metal band or maybe alternative, but I think if I could sing, I would be like Michael Bublé. I’m nowhere near as creative as you are though, so we would call ourselves ‘Cameron and the Band.’”

  I change my iPod to play Michael Bublé over the stereo, and I belt out “All I Do is Dream of You.”

  She puts her hand on my arm and says with great sincerity, “Please keep your day job.”

  “Hey! Was I that bad?”

  She’s laughing so hard she wipes a tear from her eye. “No, not at all.”

  We ride in comfortable silence as we sing to the California desert valley and ranches.

  We start to approach Yosemite, driving uphill through the town of Midpines. The landscape changes and the temperature drops slightly as the road parallels the Merced River. I stare out at the redbud trees along its banks sprouting magenta-colored flowers, the river rising high enough to accommodate whitewater rafters.

  “Have you ever been whitewater rafting?” I ask.

  “I did as a girl when I went to summer camp, but I’m not a great swimmer. I can swim, but the whitewater’s a little intimidating. How about you?”

  “Dillon, Mason, and I went once. Dillon got knocked from the boat, and he sank, right to the bottom and scared the guide. He was fine but seemed like a drowned rat when he finally figured out that if he stood up, the water was at his waist. We all laugh about it when it comes up.”

  As we pull up to the entrance gate at Yosemite National Park, the attendant greets us. “Welcome to Yosemite. Heading up to the Majestic Yosemite Hotel?”

  I hand him my national park pass. “Yes, we are.”

  “Do you need a map?”

  I start to tell him, “No,” because I come here often to ride my motorcycle, but Hadlee most likely doesn’t know the park as well as I do. “Yes, please.”

  He hands me my season pass along with the map, and I pass it all to Hadlee. We follow the signs marked Bridalveil Fall, stopping in the parking lot just before we reach the tunnel. It offers a stunning panoramic view of the Yosemite Valley, where we can see all its icons in one vista: El Capitan, Bridalveil Fall, and Half Dome. We take a selfie with the stunning background.

  “This is my favorite spot,” I tell Hadlee.

  “I can see why. Mother Nature is staggering in her beauty.”

  Returning to the car, we head off to the Majestic Yosemite Hotel. For decades the Majestic was called the Ahwahnee Hotel, but the new owners changed the name a few years ago. It’s the finest hotel in the National Park system.

  As we pull up to the front of the hotel, Hadlee gushes, “It’s magnificent.”

  “It was built in the 1920s, the location carefully chosen due to its exposure to Yosemite’s most famous residents”—I point to each in turn—“Glacier Point, Yosemite Falls, and Half Dome.”

  “How often do you come here on your bike?”

  “My club does two trips a year, and I might do two more depending on how work is going.”
r />   “You have a very stressful job.”

  “I do, but yours is probably more stressful.”

  “Diagnosing ear infections or the flu, and helping parents cope with things like ADHD or asthma isn’t necessarily stressful.”

  “Those things aren’t, but you just had to tell a family their daughter has cancer. That had to wreck you.”

  “It did and does, but thankfully I only do that a few times a year.”

  When I hand the keys to the valet, Hadlee leans over and asks, “Are you nervous?”

  “Nah, it’s only a car. After losing my mom the way I did, I recognize that cars are replaceable.”

  “You do understand they’re going to pull a Ferris Bueller and take it for a joyride.”

  I hold up the fob. “They can only go about a half of a mile before the engine dies since they only have the valet key.”

  We walk into the hotel hand in hand, a “Wow!” escaping her as she takes in the lobby.

  The design of the Majestic is a mix of Native American, Middle Eastern, Art Deco, and the Arts and Crafts movement. “The hotel’s wood-like façade is actually made of concrete to protect the historic building from fires, which have taken other park hotels,” I tell her.

  She reaches into her bag, trying to get her wallet out among all the other contents.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “Getting my wallet. I’m not completely broke. You drove, so I can get the room.”

  “Are you crazy? Don’t worry. I got this. In fact, let me be clear—I don’t want your wallet to make an appearance all weekend. This entire trip is my treat. Now head over there to the Great Lounge and check out the floor-to-ceiling windows and stunning views.”

  If she thinks she can change my mind, she’s nuts. She has enough bills to worry about, and I can easily afford this. Plus there’s something in me that wants to treat her like the princess I think she is.

  I go to the front desk and learn they’ve had a cancellation for one of the free-standing cottages on the hotel grounds. Awesome!