“Sorry,” she murmured. But the look on her face didn’t look sorry at all.
She was playing with him, and if he didn’t watch out, he was going to lose control. Flip her over, push her face into the bed, and fuck her the way he wanted to, forget that sweet shit.
But no…it was her first time. He had to get it right.
Determined not to let himself preemie creamy, he grabbed a condom, sat sideways on the bed, and slid it on over his dick.
“C’mon,” he said, beckoning forward when she looked questioningly at the new position.
Telling her to get on top worked. She morphed from saucy minx back into the good girl whose asswipe ex had taught her absolutely nothing about how to be a woman to a man.
“We’re going to do this slow, okay?” he assured her. “You start feeling some kind of way, you tell me to stop. I’m not looking to hurt you.”
She nodded, but continued eyeing his lap and erect cock like it was a pop quiz she hadn’t been prepared to take.
He took pity on her after she awkwardly climbed on. “Watch me. Watch me, take your virginity, Lena.”
With those words, he parted her pussy lips with one hand. He was so hard he didn’t even have to guide himself in. All he had to do was pulled her hips forward with his other hand and watch as her wet slit sank down over the tip of his erection. “Watch me. Watch me take your virginity, Lena.”
The sight of her pussy slowly consuming his entire cock was nearly enough to make him come. And he hissed when she started to adjust and readjust herself after sinking down all the way to the base.
“Am I hurting you,” she asked with a truly adorable worried look in her huge brown eyes.
“No, you’re not hurting me,” he answered in a mocking tone, silently thanking her for helping him out with her silly question. For at least a moment or two, his basic Masshole need to tease her outweighed his baser instinct to come in her tight pussy. “Not in the way you think anyways. I’ll be alright. You do what you need to do to get comfortable. Just let me know when you are alright to move.”
Somehow he made it sound NBD. No big deal, baby, keep on grinding your hips all over my dick. I’m not struggling at all.
But his patience was soon rewarded when she went from trying to get comfortable on his big dick, to circling her hips with a natural rhythm.
“Ah, baby, yeah…” he threw his head back, struggling to hold on as she rode him. “You’re fucking killing me. Yeah just like that.”
The feeling of Lena Kumar riding his dick…it was un-fucking-believable.
“Yeah, fuck. Fuck this dick,” he told her, his voice getting rougher and rougher the closer she got. “It’s yours. All yours.”
Her moans came faster, and then she cried out, her pussy clamping down on his dick.
“You came. You came, right?” he asked, hoping to God.
“Yes,” she answered, looking just as shocked as him that it happened so quickly.
“Thank, fuck.”
There was no holding back after that. He flipped her on to her back and plunged back into her, his body roaring as he finally let the dog off the chain.
He pounded into her, too far gone to be nice about it. And this girl, this girl. What the fuck, instead of lying there waiting for him to get done, she wrapped her arms and legs around him. Joined him right on that edge. She came again, and this time her clamp down undid him. He spilled into the condom with a coarse yell, his body going rigid, paralyzed by the sensation of finally realizing this dream.
No, better than the dream…he thought as he pulled out and collapsed on the bare mattress beside her.
“Why are you laughing,” she asked beside him, her voice breathless.
He told her the truth. “That was even better than I imagined.”
“You imagined us…together like that?”
Yeah, he must have been an Academy Award level actor in high school. She sounded like she had no idea of the dirty thoughts he had harbored about her until that hallway confrontation guilted him into cutting that shit out.
But they weren’t in high school anymore. And now he told it to her straight. “Fuck yeah, I did. A lot. Whacked off to it, too. But the real thing was way fuckin’ better.”
And…cue the awkward silence. He knew he sounded a little rough—what a prep school English teacher once referred to as unnecessarily crude, but in the game of Asshole or Get Assholed, the guy with the biggest “don’t give a fuck” accent always wins. Plus, he knew the way he talked held a lot of appeal with girls looking to fuck on the wild side. Which was fine by him, as long as they knew he was a short-term rental, not available for lease.
But in the moments after his rough confession, he almost regretted not losing his South Boston accent, like a few players he knew had after playing on elite teams too long. He wanted to be better for her. Better than the guy she’d known back in high school.
He was trying to come up with a f-bomb free sentence, when she started to get out of the bed.
“Where you going?”
She looked down at him, her brown eyes back to confused and wary. It made him long to take her again. To see them glazed over with lust instead of “what did I just do?”
“I thought you had to work today. And I should get going. Back to the hotel.”
No, he had to keep her here. Letting her leave would be a disaster. She’d get back with her girls and talk herself out of the Next Time he was already hardcore planning.
This was the problem with fucking a virgin. She didn’t have enough experience to know that real life sex wasn’t anything like what had just happened in this bed. Didn’t matter how hot he was—most girls didn’t come twice on his dick in one session. And he for shit sure didn’t lose his mind like that when it came time to get his. Or start thinking about the next time before he’d come down from the first.
“Fuck work. Let’s take a nap. I was out late last night.”
She tugged back, her expression hesitant. “But, my best friend, Dawn, is probably wondering where I am, and you should—”
“Let me have this, baby, okay? You don’t know how long I waited.”
This time he didn’t act. Didn’t try to prove to the academy that his heart wasn’t pounding a Boston song for this girl.
And thank fuck…it worked. She settled back into the bed with him, and maybe her nerdiness was rubbing off on him. For he found himself taking a big whiff of her hair as she lay her head down on his chest. It smelled like coconuts and flowers. Like a vacation no man in his right mind wouldn’t want to take.
“That Rohan dickweed is a fucking joke. If you were my girl, no way would I have let my parents have a say.”
She froze in his arms.
Alright, guess it was still too soon to talk about all the stuff he’d read in her diary.
“Relax. We don’t have to talk about the personal shit if you don’t want. But when we wake up, we should have a conversation about taking care of the rest of that Shake if Off list of yours.”
She didn’t leave. In fact, she did exactly what he wanted and fell asleep in his arms.
But the rest of that wish didn’t come true.
When he woke up, it was to the sound of insistent knocking in a room darkened by the afternoon sun.
Shit. He’d totally lost track of time. That was probably his uncle wondering why the bar was not set up for the night service.
It wasn’t his uncle. Later and for many weeks afterward, he’d wish it had been his uncle.
But it was Graham, and his eyes widened as soon as he’s saw the girl in Keane’s bed. “I knew it!” he whined. “She was my three-pointer, mine!”
Chapter Four
Present Day
For no reason whatsoever, Keane jerked awake in a still dark room. He immediately checked the time.
4 am. Again. For the third day in a row.
This shit was starting to drive him crazy. But he already knew from the previous two days there would be no going back to
sleep.
He sat up in bed, barely registering the fundraiser blonde he’d been banging for three nights now. Nice girl. But fucking her wasn’t working. If anything, the sex had only amplified the new restless sensations he’d been feeling since the first time he woke up too early, metastasizing them like cancer.
Despite the hour, he put on his main prosthetic and crossed over to his city-facing floor-to-ceiling windows to go through his usual Scrooge McDuck morning routine. Counting his real estate gold was a lot harder this early in the morning. Even with a three-panel view of the west, south, and north sides of the city, he couldn’t quite view all his properties. He’d need binoculars for that and the sun to Lion King over everything he owned.
But he used his imagination to tally all the “bad neighborhood” blocks he’d bought up a few years before the Boston gentrification wave went city wide. And along with the latest DGK Acquisitions future holding’s map, he guesstimated the record capital all the new buildings he currently had in development would eventually deliver into his company’s business accounts.
Playing real estate baron dispelled some of the dark swirling around his current mood. Yet even after calculating his astronomical riches, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with his city. Something had changed, but he couldn’t quite deduce what it was.
He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde he’d netted, trying to conjure up the will to wake her up for some morning smashing pissers.
But instead of his dick stirring, an image of Lena dozing in his crappy bed in Daytona Beach rose to the front of his mind. She’d been even younger than this young thing. So had he…
Don’t.
The word radiated in his mind. Warning him sure as a sign with a bright red x on it that this wasn’t a path he needed to go down. The truth was, he should have left her in that moment. After Graham told her everything and sent her running, he should have just let her go. Finding her again. Begging her for another chance—well look how that had turned out.
Lena was a game he’d lost, so fuck that, because all he did was win. In fact, he’d updated his self-evident truths after he lost his leg. Now it was…
Rule #1: Don’t get assholed
Rule #2: Win.
He’d left that love-struck Southie behind along with a third of his leg. He never talked to his parents anymore. Hell, he barely even thought about them. He’d dragged him and his brother out of that shithole life, and with this latest deal he’d be adding a ninth zero to his millionaire status. Fuck Lena. Fuck that summer. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anybody. Money, money, and more money. That would fill up the hollow hole she left when she walked away from him like Marianne. Any day now.
And as for the restless energy, Keane pushed away from the window with a better idea than trying to get it up to bang the blonde still sleeping in his bed.
“Wow, you have a whole hockey rink in your cellar!”
An hour into taking his new restless energy out on a puck in his custom ice rink, Keane slid to a stop at the sound of the blonde’s voice.
She stood at the only part of the rink’s wall not covered in Plexiglas with a cup of coffee in her hands. She was only wearing one of his button-ups and was probably cold as fuck in his ice-cold basement, but she looked like a ray of sunshine, with her dewy skin and blonde hair. Nice girl.
“I thought you might like some coffee,” she said, holding the cup up with a bright smile.
“Nanh, I don’t do coffee before nine. And hey, since you found your way down here, you can find your way out. I’m no longer feeling like company,” he answered.
That had been a pretty nice version of “get the fuck out.” He even managed not to drop any f-bombs. New personal best. But the blonde responded like he kidney punched her. She did drop the f-bomb, several of them as she screamed about how he had never given her, given them a chance. Then she threw the coffee she’d brought down for him on the ice. Pretty fucking disrespectful.
That’s why he needed to up his minimum age requirement Keane decided when she finally huffed away. The younger ones always threw tantrums when he told them to bounce.
Well, all but one of them…
“I get that your natural setting is withholding. You’ve got a lot of emotions you’re suppressing and you probably want to protect yourself…” Lena said calmly when she’d come to visit him in the rehab center after the accident and he told her to get the fuck out as soon as he saw her standing in the doorway.
She’d come all the way into the room anyway, her face so soft and sympathetic, it made Keane want to bellow. “I believe—actually I know you’re going to need somebody to help you through this…”
“And what? You think you’re the person who’s going to help me?” he’d yelled back, hating that he couldn’t get out of bed to confront her, thanks to his missing third of a left leg. “You didn’t want me when I was a hockey star. You dumped me out and fucked off to California. But now that I’m broken, here you are again, like a fucking vampire feeding on useless shit like emotions and feelings.”
She held stronger than she did in high school. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she stood her ground. “Keane you’re not broken. But you have been hurt and I know your hockey career meant so much to you. It must be awful to have something like this happen. I imagine the world feels very out of control for you.”
She was analyzing him. Fuck head shrinking him. Like he was one of the little kids she’d worked with when she interned at the Institute for Better Boys, during their summer together.
“Something didn’t happen. You fucking happened to me. I let you in, I broke all my rules for you, and you assholed me. You chose your dad over me.”
She’d flinched. “It wasn’t a choice between you and my dad. I was trying to think practically about what would be best for both of our futures.”
“Yeah, well I hear Daddy’s number one draft pick Rohan decided to move to Cali. Guess he’s doing his residency in LA now, same city as you.”
Her face fell, tearful patience giving way to naked shock. “That was a coincidence.”
“A coincidence. Yeah, sure.”
It wasn’t a normal anger he was feeling now. More like fury. So blinding, it made him clutch the sheets in a useless attempt to get up as he growled, “You trying to tell me he hasn’t been in touch? You saying you didn’t move pretty much as far from Boston as a bitch can get without leaving the country just to start dating that ass tool again?”
She closed her eyes in a way Keane recognized.
That’s what women did when they got caught red-handed. They closed their eyes. His mom had done the same thing when he tracked her down to some washed-up hockey player’s brownstone after she abandoned her two boys to live with their shithole dad. She’d just closed her eyes, like she could block out the sight of the kid standing on the cracked concrete stoop of her lover’s house.
“Like, I said, get the fuck out.”
“Keane—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” He roared the words at her. Over and over again, until someone came to drag her away.
Keane owned that hockey player’s brownstone now. Along with every other house on that block. He’d turned it into a plaza with an Anthropologie and an Urban Outfitters and not one but two places for millennials to buy milkshakes disguised as coffee. He’d also gotten Lena back for daring to show up at his rehab center. And her father. But somehow she still didn’t feel fully handled. It was like that instinct he sometimes had to flip back through a contract, because he was sure he’d forgotten he’d missed one of the signatures—
Fuck! He was doing it again. Thinking about Lena. His mom. Shit that didn’t matter anymore.
Instead of shooting the next puck with his stick, he grabbed it and hurled it across the rink.
The strange restless energy continued to ride him all Monday morning. Work barely provided a distraction even though DGK was setting up to finally close on that Dorchester deal now that the las
t holdouts had accepted their offers. It continued to nag at him through a day filled with meetings with his New Development team. Seriously, if the restlessness had been a person, he would have gone down to HR and filed a harassment claim.
“So what do you think?”
Keane looked up from his thoughts to see his brother, Bono, on the other side of his office table. What had he been talking about again?
As if to give him an assist, Bono’s eyes fell on the glossy poster for the Dorchester retail, residents, and entertainment complex they were planning to put up after they leveled all the stores on those two blocks over the next few weeks.
“Nah, don’t start selling store units yet. We’re still two years’ out,” he said, ignoring his brother’s other question.
But Bono continued to regard him with worried green eyes. Keane had brown hair and was muscular and cut like their father—minus the six-pack-a-day belly, while Bono had blond hair and was on the lean side like their mom. But they had their dad’s green eyes in common.
And Keane rolled his, already knowing what would come next. Even though Keane had put him through school, Bono seemed to think it was his job to fill in for the mother who’d abandoned them so many years ago.
“Have you thought anymore about my offer to start interviewing other CEOs to take your place?”
“No, why the fuck would I do that?” Keane asked, not bothering to mask his impatience.
“Because this is the biggest deal we’ve ever closed and you don’t seem to be all that interested in it,” Bono answered.
“I am interested,” Keane answered. “I’m just…distracted. Can we get back to the multi-million-dollar project now?”
“Distracted? Distracted by what? Or should I ask who?” Bono asked, sitting straighter in his chair. His face became eager and curious, like a dog who’d caught a scent of something he wanted to pursue. Probably because he was a serial monogamous, incapable of dating any girl for less than a couple of years. While Keane hadn’t dated anyone for more than a couple of months. Not since that summer with Lena.
Keane: Her Ruthless Ex: 50 Loving States, Massachusetts Page 6
