by Naomi Chase
She writhed with ecstasy as he cupped her bouncing breasts and rubbed her aching nipples before lifting her off the desk. As he held her in the air and pounded into her, she screamed, “Fuck, I can feel you in my stomach!”
Moments later she came, her body wracked with explosive tremors as she sobbed Brandon’s name, her nails raking down his back. He followed within seconds, head thrown back, muscles quivering, hands tightly gripping her ass as he shot his load inside her.
They didn’t take very long to regroup.
After another frenzied coupling on the huge desk, they moved to the wall, the worktable, and then the floor, sixty-nining each other into another mind-blowing orgasm. They fucked with the insatiable urgency of two lovers who had a lot of lost time to make up for, though they understood that the future remained uncertain.
Before the night was over, they’d christened every corner of the office before collapsing together on the sofa, where they’d started.
Savoring the heat of Brandon’s sweaty body spooning hers, Tamia blew out a deep, exhausted breath and groaned softly. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Brandon chuckled, his warm breath fanning the back of her neck. “Legs? What are those?”
They both laughed.
After a while, Tamia looked over her shoulder and whispered, “I love you, Brandon.”
He grew silent, his eyes searching hers.
Several seconds passed.
Just when she began to despair that he wasn’t going to reciprocate the sentiment, his expression softened.
“I love you, too, Tamia,” he whispered huskily. “I never stopped.”
Chapter 31
Brandon
The next afternoon, Brandon and Dre met for drinks and a late lunch at Stogie’s.
Seated across from each other at their favorite corner booth, the two friends were uncharacteristically silent as they ate, both preoccupied with their own private thoughts.
Brandon’s humidor sat untouched beside him on the table. After what he’d done to Tamia last night, he knew it’d be a long time before he could look at another cigar without springing an erection.
Giving himself a hard mental shake, he grabbed his bottle of beer and took a deep swallow, watching as Dre poked disinterestedly at his steak with his fork.
Brandon frowned, setting down his drink. “What’s up with you?”
Dre glanced up from his plate. “What do you mean?”
“Any other time, you would have inhaled that steak as soon as the plate hit the table. Now you’re picking at it. So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Such as?”
Dre didn’t respond.
Brandon angled his head to get a better look at his best friend’s downcast eyes. “You know I’m about to put you on the stand, so you might as well just come clean.”
Dre scowled. “Damn lawyers.”
Brandon laughed. “Out with it.”
Setting down his fork, Dre scrubbed his hands over his face and blew out a deep, ragged breath. “I fucked up, man. Fucked up big-time .”
“Damn, bruh. What’d you do?”
“Not what,” Dre countered sardonically. “Who.”
Brandon went still, staring at him. “You’d better not tell me you slept with Brooke.”
Dre frowned in confusion. “Who?”
“My sister,” Brandon growled. “Unless you got a death wish, nigga, you’d better not tell me you’re messing around with Brooke.”
“Hell, no! Damn, B, where the hell’d you get a crazy idea like that? Brooke’s like a little sister to me!”
Brandon nodded slowly. “Just making sure.”
Dre shook his head, disgruntled. “I can’t believe you just asked me some shit like that. You be trippin’, man. Straight up. Have I ever given you any reason to think I’d push up on your sister?”
“No, and you’d better keep it that way.” Brandon took a swig of beer. “So who were you talking about? Who did you fuck up with?”
Dre pushed out a long, deep breath and blurted, “I had sex with Fiona.”
“What?” Brandon exclaimed. “Aw, hell, nah! Are you kidding me?”
Dre made a pained face. “I wish I was.”
Glancing quickly around the restaurant, Brandon leaned across the table and whispered sharply, “I thought I told you to leave that girl alone.”
“I know,” Dre said grimly. “Trust and believe, I had no intention of going anywhere near her.”
“So what the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know, man.” Dre looked genuinely bewildered. “One minute we were arguing, the next minute I had her up on the printer.”
“The printer?”
“Yeah.” Dre grimaced, passing a trembling hand over his head. “We were in the copy room at the office—”
“What?” Brandon eyed Dre incredulously. “Where was everyone else?”
“Gone. It was Saturday night.”
Brandon gaped at Dre another moment, then downed more beer, stunned by his friend’s confession.
“It was crazy,” Dre continued. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I mean, you know how much I hate Fiona’s fucking ass.”
Brandon smirked. “Guess there’s a thin line between lust and hate.”
“You ain’t lying.” Dre shook his head at Brandon, eyes wide with dazed wonder. “Just between you and me, bruh, I ain’t never—I mean, ever—had no pussy like that before. Shorty almost had me getting down on one knee and proposing, that shit was so fucking tight. Dayuuummm!” he exclaimed before stuffing his fist into his mouth.
Brandon couldn’t help laughing. “Damn, nigga, you sound straight-up whipped.”
“Man.” Dre shuddered, rubbing his hands over his face.
Brandon forked up a bite of steak and chewed slowly, eyeing his friend across the table. “You know you gotta leave her alone, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” But Dre didn’t sound too convinced.
Brandon frowned at him. “Seriously, man. You and Leah have been together almost four years. If she finds out about this, she’ll be devastated.”
“I know,” Dre mumbled, his expression clouding with guilt and shame. “Believe me, the last thing I wanna do is hurt her. Ever since that night, I’ve been trying to tell myself that I wouldn’t have fucked Fiona if Leah hadn’t been holding out on me for so long. But I know that’s just a cop-out. The bottom line is that there’s absolutely no justification for cheating.”
“That’s right,” Brandon agreed, even as guilt gnawed at his insides at the memory of what he and Tamia had done last night. Although he’d asked Cynthia for some breathing room, they were still a couple. So, technically, he’d just cheated on her.
Who’re you kidding? his conscience mocked. You’ve been cheating on her since Tamia got out of prison.
Brandon frowned. Although he felt guilty for betraying Cynthia, he couldn’t bring himself to regret making love to Tamia. What they’d shared last night ... mere words couldn’t begin to describe just how phenomenal the experience had been. His mind was still blown.
“I owe you an apology, bruh.”
Pulled out of his reverie, Brandon shot Dre a surprised look. “Me?”
“Yeah.” Dre hesitated, fidgeting with his beer bottle. “Last time we were here, I gave you a hard time about renting the apartment for Tamia and letting her back into your life, and I lectured you about being unfair to Cynthia. But you and Tamia have history, so while I might not approve of everything you’ve done for her, I know it can’t be easy to get over someone you loved that much.”
“You’re right,” Brandon agreed quietly. “It’s not easy. Not by a long shot.”
Dre nodded understandingly.
After several seconds, he cleared his throat and added sheepishly, “Not to go there, but as you recall, I’ve seen the Mystique videos—”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“—so I already
know Tamia ain’t no joke. But if her pussy’s even half as good as her sister’s, it’s no wonder you can’t get enough of her. Ooo-wee!”
Brandon laughed, shaking his head. “You a damn fool, you know that?”
“Just keeping it real, my man.” Grinning wickedly, Dre raised his beer in a toast. “To the sisters.”
Brandon hesitated for a long moment, then clinked his bottle against Dre’s. “To the sisters. And may God help both of us.”
When Brandon returned to the office later that afternoon, he forced himself not to make a beeline to the cubicle that his assistant now shared with Tamia. Even though he’d been out all day and was dying to see her again—to see her smile and hear her voice, to talk and laugh with her, to check out what sexy shoes she was wearing—he had to remember that he was her boss and this was a place of business. So he had to play it calm and cool, and not act like a sprung schoolboy who’d just gotten his first taste of pussy.
And, of course, there was the matter of Cynthia to contend with.
Even before Brandon and Tamia hooked up last night, he’d known that his relationship with Cynthia was in trouble, maybe even doomed. But he’d been willing to try to make things work because he genuinely cared about her, and because they’d always been such good friends, he’d hoped that she could be the one. But he’d only been fooling himself. After last night, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way he and Cynthia could continue dating. Not when he was still in love with Tamia, and definitely not when he found himself counting down the hours until he and Tamia could be alone again to enjoy an encore performance.
He knew it wouldn’t be fair to string Cynthia along. So he had to do the right thing and break up with her. Sooner rather than later.
Dreading that conversation, Brandon unlocked the door to his office. The moment he crossed the threshold, his mind was bombarded with carnal images from last night. He saw Tamia on the sofa, knees bent, glistening pussy lips spread open as she rode his dick. He saw her sauntering provocatively to the desk, looking like every man’s erotic fantasy with her voluptuous breasts, bodacious ass, and killer legs. He saw her juicy butt jiggling as he bent her over the table and fucked her from behind, saw her luscious tits bouncing up and down as he rammed into her. When he looked down at the floor, he saw their naked bodies thrusting, gyrating, rolling around so vigorously it was a miracle they didn’t get a bad case of carpet burn.
Everywhere his gaze fell was a land mine of orgasmic nirvana.
He swallowed hard, loosening the knot of his tie as he strode to his desk and sat down. Almost at once, his mind flashed on the memory of Tamia occupying that very same chair, her stiletto-clad feet propped on the desk, a naughty smile curving her lips.
Ignoring the blinking message light on his phone and the stack of paperwork demanding his attention, Brandon retrieved his cell phone and pulled up the pictures he’d taken of Tamia. He clicked through them before lingering on the one of her blowing him a kiss.
As he stared at the seductive photo, he could feel his dick pushing against his zipper. He wished he could send everyone home, call Tamia into his office, and feast on her for the rest of the day, and long into the night.
Suddenly the phone rang, startling him.
When he saw the number to the state capitol in Austin, he smiled wryly, recognizing the irony of having his lustful daydream about Tamia interrupted by his father.
“Please hold for the lieutenant governor,” a woman’s familiar nasal voice instructed Brandon.
After several moments, Bernard came on the line, his resonant baritone crackling with authority even as he issued a simple greeting. “Hello, son.”
“Dad,” Brandon drawled, leaning back slowly in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
His father took umbrage. “What? I can’t call my firstborn just to say hello and see how your day is going?”
Brandon chuckled dryly. “Considering that you practically disowned me the last time we saw each other—”
Bernard guffawed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never disown you, son. You’re my heir. My pride and joy. But you made an egregious mistake, and you needed to be corrected.”
“Hmm,” was Brandon’s noncommittal response.
“Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to call and thank you for handling the situation with Dominic Archer. Mort phoned yesterday morning to inform me that Archer canceled the press conference and dropped the lawsuit against you. And when reporters asked him about his injuries after the bail hearing yesterday, he recanted his story about being assaulted by you. He told the reporters that he got into some bar fight after leaving Tamia’s apartment on Saturday night.”
“I heard about that,” Brandon said drolly.
His father laughed. “So how did you persuade that conniving son of a bitch to cooperate? Not even his attorney knows what the two of you discussed.”
Brandon smiled wryly. “Let’s just say even Satan has a soft spot.”
“You didn’t do anything illegal, did you?” Bernard half joked.
“Only if calling in an old favor is illegal,” Brandon murmured, thinking of yesterday’s private meeting with the judge who’d agreed—albeit reluctantly—to set up the escrow account for Dominic’s family members.
“Well, needless to say,” Bernard continued, “Russ went on a tear when he found out. Speaking on behalf of his nephew, of course, he called a meeting with Mort and the other founding partners to rant about how you’d gone rogue and obstructed justice by striking a deal with Archer behind his attorney’s back. Mort said ole Russ was the epitome of moral outrage.” Bernard’s tone dripped with amused satisfaction. “So have you seen him since yesterday?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” Brandon drawled. “But I’m sure he’ll make his way to me eventually.”
“After he’s finished sulking and licking his wounds, that is.”
Father and son shared a low chuckle.
“So how is your day going?” Bernard asked conversationally.
“Busy. I’ve been in meetings all day.”
“You’re not taking on any major cases, are you? When Mort and I were talking, I suggested to him that you should probably keep a low profile for the next year. You know, just until the election’s over.”
Brandon rolled his eyes and shook his head at his father’s obsession with ensuring that nothing compromised his candidacy. “You’ll be happy to know that I don’t have any major cases on the horizon. Not at the moment, anyway.”
“Good,” Bernard said approvingly. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Brandon frowned. “I’m a defense attorney, Dad. Do you honestly expect me to spend the next year shying away from potentially controversial cases just to protect your campaign from any negative backlash?”
“That’s exactly what I expect.”
Brandon clenched his jaw. “Dad—”
“Look, you’ve already accomplished more in your short career than over half the attorneys at that firm. After your masterful handling of the Quasar Diagnostics lawsuit, you deserve to take a breather. Let yourself ride high on the success of this past year’s accomplishments.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Come on, Dad. When have you ever been an advocate for taking a breather? Haven’t you always taught us that the key to success is never resting on your laurels or being satisfied with yesterday’s accomplishments?”
“Well, of course,” Bernard conceded gruffly. “And I stand firm by those life lessons I instilled in you and your siblings. But it’s not as if I’m telling you to go on sabbatical or anything that drastic. I’m simply encouraging you to take time to smell the roses. You went straight from the Quasar trial to Tamia’s, and then you made partner. Starting after the holidays, you’re going to be traveling and campaigning heavily on my behalf. Which reminds me—don’t forget you’re scheduled to sp
eak to the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce in San Antonio to help me shore up the Hispanic vote.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Dad,” Brandon muttered. “It’s on my calendar.”
“Good. Anyway, son, I have to run to a meeting. Gotta crack the whip on some of these troublemaking senators who’re holding up the passage of a budget bill.”
“Uh-oh,” Brandon drawled. “They must not know about you.”
His father laughed. “They must not. Anyway, think about what I said, Brandon. You’ve more than earned the right to take time to smell the roses.”
Brandon sighed. “I’ll think about it, Dad. Good night.”
“Good night, son.”
Brandon disconnected the call and set down the phone, his thoughts churning.
Although he resented the hell out of his father’s strong-arm tactics, he knew there’d been some merit to the old man’s argument. Brandon had spent the past eight years toiling slavishly to make partner, sacrificing everything—including his relationship with Tamia—to achieve that coveted goal. Regret assailed him every time he thought of the romantic getaway they’d hoped to take that summer but had never gotten around to scheduling. It was Dominic, not Brandon, who’d whisked Tamia away to St. Croix. Although their trip had been a disaster—served them right—it still haunted and angered Brandon that another man had made the time to arrange an exotic weekend tryst with his woman.
Now that he’d been named partner and had won the firm its most lucrative case of the year, there was nothing stopping Brandon from taking a few days off to “smell the roses,” as his father had put it.
And there was absolutely no reason he couldn’t take Tamia on that trip they’d been robbed of months ago.
Brandon drummed his fingertips on the desk for a few seconds, then picked up his phone and made a few calls before he could change his mind.
Chapter 32
Tamia
Tamia eyed Noemi Garcia sympathetically as the expectant mother rubbed her humongous belly, grimacing every now and then as her unborn baby stretched and rotated inside her womb.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” Tamia asked her.
