“Hey yourself.” I gave her a slow smile, checking her out, and then took a long swig of my beer. She smiled back and trailed a finger down her necklace as if playing with her jewelry. Only her finger kept on going, tracing a line down to her cleavage, then along the edge of her tank top. Right where my tongue would be in a few minutes.
Later, in the parking lot in my truck, she sucked my cock good. And she liked doing it, dripping wet and moaning as she sucked while I twisted her nipples and forced her head down on me so she’d take it deep. I could spot the ones who liked it that way, who got off on it the way I did.
This one would be fun to play with. She’d liked to be fucked good and hard against my truck, like it raw and fast up against a bathroom wall. But as I closed my eyes and she pumped me, sucking nice and tight, it was Kara’s lips I pictured doing it. It was Kara’s hair I pictured fisting, her mouth I felt going down on me. Kara taking me deep down her throat, swallowing it all as I shot out a huge, hot load of come.
Now
Landing fist after fist, I made the sweat pour off of me. I always worked out full-throttle, but that afternoon I had hell’s fire licking at my heels. I worked the bag, taut muscles rippling as each fierce punch landed.
Why did I have so much pent-up energy I could fuel a city grid? It didn’t make sense to be so worked up. Kara was just a girl, like so many others. My fists pounded the bag vicious, relentless.
That pout when I’d asked her why I should bail her out, her plump lips that I wanted to bite. Those tits straining against her thin white t-shirt. The image was burned into my brain, how round, how perfect they looked, thrust out as if mine for the taking. But they had never really been mine for the taking.
I remembered how she’d stood in front of my desk as my eyes had roamed the length of her body. She’d stood still for me, letting me take her all in, allowing my fantasies to play out over her curves and planes. When I’d looked at her breasts, picturing exactly what I’d like to do, teasing, sucking, licking, biting, her nipples had hardened. As if she knew exactly what I was thinking and she liked it, wanted it, maybe even needed it the way I did. So responsive, like she’d been made for me.
I couldn’t think at all after she’d left. I’d paced my office like a caged wild animal, made it through a few calls, then cancelled everything that afternoon and hit the gym. For my second workout of the day. I gave my punches my full body weight, pounding the bag with a series of furious hits.
I’d underestimated the power of seeing Kara again. I’d told myself it wasn’t a big deal. By the numbers, she was simply one of many girls I’d known. I honestly figured by now she’d be married and maybe even pregnant with some other guy’s kid. Not standing there looking hotter than ever, defiant and strong yet also more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her before. Needing me.
But I didn’t do emotions. I was always in control, stone cold, in command. I was damn good at it, too, in all aspects of my life, personal and professional. My ruthlessness served me well in business. And in the bedroom, it made things simple when you never let emotions interfere. I was always clear with any sub: what we engaged in was pure, raw, paint-peeling sex. And nothing else. It didn’t dampen any of their enthusiasm. It even made some of them enjoy it more, abandoning all of their inhibitions to walk on the wild side.
Panting, I paused to take a swift chug from a gallon water jug. I wiped my forehead with a towel, then stood with it dangling from my hand on my hip. Across the room the new girl at the front desk was just about falling out of her chair watching me. She was eye-candy, put up there near the entrance in a short skirt and tight top to draw guys into the gym. It worked. She was hot. I couldn’t remember her name. I gave her a nod and she practically lit up like a Christmas tree.
I looked away. I wasn’t interested. I moved over to the speedbag. I needed to keep at it, make the sweat pour off of me, punch something senseless if I had any hope of clearing my head.
Who ever thought I’d be in this position now, Daddy Warbucks to Kara Brooks? The spoiled, precious daughter of the ranch owner living high up on the hill. Out the window of the spartan, one-room cabin where I’d spent my summers, I could see it. To me, it had looked like a mansion. Sometimes a light would twinkle down from her bedroom, letting me know that the princess in her tower was still awake.
When I’d come to work for her dad, I’d been a lean, rangy mutt. Aged out of foster care, already with a criminal record, I’d been bouncing around between odd jobs, drifting through life. Some days, I hadn’t always had enough to eat.
Kara had seemed like a luscious dream. Man, the way she used to look at me. I swore under my breath. Blonde and blue-eyed, sweet and innocent, Kara saw moonbeams in the air and rainbows in the sky. And when she looked at me, it was all stars in her eyes.
Her dad hadn’t exactly been thrilled about that. I moved back to the punching bag, grunting and sweating with effort and deep-seeded frustration. She’d been up on a pedestal that I couldn’t touch, tantalizing me. The girl I couldn’t have. But now look how Harlan had failed. Here she was, coming straight to the jaws of the wolf, looking for help.
Damn it. I punched again, thinking of Harlan. I’d tried to warn him, six years ago. That ranch was going belly-up. I’d known it way back then. I’d tried to talk Harlan into the future, tried to get him to see the potential in his ranch. The luxury tourism market was booming in Montana. All those rich city slickers wanted to come out and buy themselves a slice of real life and they didn’t mind paying through the goddamn roof to do it. But Harlan hadn’t been interested. He’d been too set in his ways.
And now Harlan was dead. Drenched and panting, I finally rested my head against the punching bag.
Why hadn’t I heard about that? Why hadn’t Bill called me? I would have gone to Harlan’s funeral. Of course, I hadn’t checked in once during all the intervening six years. Why would Bill have called me? There was no way for him to know that I still thought about the ranch and Harlan. Or how often I still thought of Kara.
I took another long slug of water and wiped the sweat from my brow with a towel. The clock overhead read 5:30. I didn’t want to stop moving yet, though.
I jogged the blocks back to my condo. People were getting out of work, heading into the late June sunshine that still felt hot at quitting time. I wondered where Kara was, somewhere nearby. I’d see her in a little over an hour.
I got to the Stanyon hotel and took the elevator up to the top floor. I owned the whole building: restaurant, bar, hotel and the penthouse suite where I stayed while I was in Montana. I didn’t spend much time there these days. Scoping out new sites, checking in on investments, meeting with partners took me all over the states. I hadn’t gone international yet, but I was talking to a couple of people about expansions. Constantly being on the move suited me well. I liked the feeling of always pushing ahead, taking things to the next level. When life got quiet, I got restless.
I stood by the picture windows in my living room. The view was breathtaking, the city laid out beneath me framed by the mountains beyond. But I didn’t see it half as vividly as the woman I was meeting for dinner.
I was pretty sure that she had no idea that I owned the property. I liked that. I wanted to see her eyes widen when she found out. It would gratify the monster inside me that wanted her to know how well I’d done. I wanted her surrounded by my power, feeling it deep inside. I knew it was childish, that I was a sick bastard, but I wanted her to feel just how much the tables had turned.
Starting to pace, I forced myself to think about the easy way out. Tonight, I could keep things simple. I
could meet Kara for a quick dinner, cut her a check, and get her out of my life for good.
Of course I’d give Kara the money. I didn’t know how much she needed, but I was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. I’d done well over the past few years, really well. I now owned and operated luxury wilderness lodges and communities all over the western states. Lately I’d started expanding into other high-end commercial real estate ventures like the Stanyon. Money made more money and I was damn good at what I did.
Plus, if I didn’t bail her out even my stone cold heart might have a moment of pause. I might look back and feel some of that…what did people call it? I think it was guilt. I didn’t want to mess with that. I would give her the money she needed.
I could help her with no strings attached, no need to pay me back. Then it would be back to business as usual. I’d head to Bozeman for the weekend to check on some of my properties. Monday morning I’d hop a flight to New York, next week New Zealand and I wouldn’t look back. There’d be no reason for us to ever see each other again.
The beast within me roared for more.
I headed into the master bath and cranked on the shower, hot. Steam started curling out of the glass-enclosed chamber. I stripped down naked.
The problem was, it wasn’t often that life served you up your fantasies. And this wasn’t just any fantasy. This wasn’t the sexy substitute teacher in high school I’d hoped wasn’t wearing panties. This was the one who got away, the girl who’d kept me hard for months on end and continued to torture me all the years since. I’d never gotten her out of my system. Even now on a warm summer’s night, six years slipped away and it was her soft, plump lips, her erect, needy nipples and her sweet, juicy ass that starred in my most hardcore erotic fantasies.
Stepping into the shower, I lathered my skin, letting the hot water pound into my wired muscles. That workout could have killed an ox, but I was still raring to go. My cock stood up full, demanding and rock hard.