The Other Side of Greed

by Lily Zante

  “I should go,” he says against my lips.

  “I should drive you back,” I reply against his. This long, drawn-out phase of kissing and heavy petting without the grand prize is intoxicating. He is all I think about now, he is all I will think about long after he has left me.

  His breath is warm and sweet, and I fall, heart first, into another long, soft, sloppy kiss. I ache for his touch, but his hand is on my arm, and as our tongues tangle and duel, the throbbing between my legs deepens. I sigh against his lips. Desire rolls over me. His eyes are lidded, his lips wet, and when we kiss again, it’s not a gentle peck, but a longer prelude to wanting more.

  “This is getting uncomfortable,” I murmur, my lips brushing over him.

  He stops, moves his head back, examines my face carefully, as if he might forget me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, tracing my finger over his moist lower lip.

  “What do you want, Kyra?”

  I want for him to want me, the way I want him. I want for him to suggest that we go back to his place. “You.”

  To my disappointment, this doesn’t seem to bolster his spirits. “Don’t you want me?” I ask, because he’s slow to reply.

  “I don’t want to mess things up for you. You being the boss and all.” These aren’t the words I was expecting. He raises his hand to my face again, strokes my cheek, and then my lips.

  “We could go back to my place,” I suggest. My clammy legs, my beating heart, my desire for this man are all getting to be too much.

  “We should take this slow.” That’s another reply I wasn’t expecting. We have been taking it slow. But then he leans towards me and we fall into another long, sensual kiss that makes my toes curl. His actions don’t mirror his words, and slow isn’t what I have on my mind.

  I untangle myself from him, needing to know. “What do you want, Brad?” He’s answered my previous questions and I should be satisfied.

  “I want to kiss you like this all over.”

  His words paint a picture that my body can’t ignore. “Impossible in here,” I say, sounding grumpier than I intended to.

  “How about we head back to your place?”

  A bolt of disappointment shoots through my heated skin. I’m not imagining this, his reluctance to invite me over. Something isn’t right, but … I want him. I start up the car and drive to my place.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, we’re at my door and I’m fumbling for my door keys. I open the door to my tiny apartment and no sooner has the door shut than he pushes me against it and presses his mouth against mine. With his body tight against mine. The hardness of his erection presses into me, a sharp promise of things to come.

  Something feral seems to have unleashed in us now that we’re not in the storeroom at work, or in the car with its display-all windows. His mouth devours me. He rains hot, hard kisses against my jaw, sliding down to my neck, before lifting up my t-shirt and trailing his lips over my breasts and then lower down my stomach.

  I shiver. His touch is electric. His lips brush over my skin, and my nerve endings sizzle wherever he touches.

  A delicious shiver rolls over me because I know where this is heading. This is the longest time we’ve spent together. Lust pools and spreads between my legs. I bend down, lifting his head up, desperate for his kiss again. We groan against each other’s lips, hands feeling, stroking, kneading. He stands up slowly, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming me, making me forget to breathe. I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom where we fall onto the bed. At first it’s him on top of me, before I win and get on top of him.

  It’s heat and sizzle, playful domination, lips pressed together. When he’s on top again, he pulls off his t-shirt. My mouth hangs open because he has a physique that he hides well. I reach out, touching the corded outlines of his muscles. My breath stills as I gawk at him in awe filled with need and longing in one sweaty, desperate aphrodisiac. Before I can trail my hand along his six-pack, he switches us, masterfully turning the tables so that I’m on top, straddling him.

  “Your turn,” he says, his eyes looking darker than I remember them. Everything I am vanishes in a fog of sexual need as he sits up and peels off my t-shirt before burying his face in my breasts. I can’t help but giggle because his lips tickle and tease but just as I’m about to arch my back, he rolls me off him, jumps up off the bed and strips off my jeans. My insides quiver as his roving eyes slowly take in every inch of my body. He strips off too, and we grin at one another before tumbling back onto the bed. We melt into another kiss, hands tugging each other’s undergarments off. It’s a tricky, logistical, balancing act, with lips and tongues meshed, as we try to undress one another through the haze of our sexual urgency.

  He grunts, then falls to his knees, completely naked, his face level with my lower stomach. And then his fingers skate over to my hipbone.

  “Found it.” He glances up at me, and I jolt as he kisses the rosebud tattoo just above my hip bone. He licks it teasingly, then sucks the skin, giving me a hickey to the side of it. Just as the shock of us both naked and my realization that he is almost level with my most intimate parts sinks in, his fingers slide between my folds, teasing, electrifying, each stroke amplifying the riot of emotions which threaten to send me over the edge.

  When his tongue slides in, I babble incoherently as waves of euphoria splash over me, drowning me in a whirlpool of pleasure. Biting back a moan, the breath hitches in my throat as he undoes me from the inside out.

  He doesn’t let up, the expert that he is, worshipping me in a way I haven’t been touched for so long.

  And, damn. He’s good.

  I moan, and curse, and say his name, rocking against him, spinning out of control. Time slows to a stop, my heart pounds, and I ride the crescendo. I’m going to come crashing down any moment, but I want him inside. I jolt back, managing to pull myself away, then fall onto the bed. Before I have a second to catch my breath, he joins me, and then, in another fast and unexpected move, I’m on top of him again, straddling him as his steel-hard cock stabs me.

  I grasp my fingers around him. I am soaked and all I want is to slide onto him. We eye one another, eyes hooded, intoxicated by the lust that has been pooling between us for so long.

  I bite my lower lip, the anticipation, the need for him to slide inside me and fill me to the hilt, becoming almost unbearable.

  His eyes narrow and he hangs his head. “I don’t have a condom.”

  My insides still. Every cell freezes in shock. I stopped taking the pill, and now I’m in danger of letting lust blind me, of letting myself go further than I should. He lifts up on his elbows. I shuffle back a little, watch his throbbing manhood tempt me. I almost salivate at the sight of it.

  “Hey,” he sits up and touches my arm. My attention is on his hard-on and the possibility that nothing further might happen. My brain is still warring with my desire.

  “We can’t do this,” he says, rolling me onto the bed so that I’m lying beside him, his exposed hardness teasing me.

  “I don’t have any birth control either,” I state flatly.

  His lips caress my neck. With my panties off and wearing only my bra, my body is primed for all of him. His mouth dips lower, his lips on the front-fastening clasp of my bra. “Don’t worry,” he says, sliding lower and lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses along my stomach before his tongue skims my bikini line. I arch my back in anticipation. “I’ll still make you come.”

  I clamp my legs together. It’s not his tongue I want there right now. That won’t satisfy the big aching gap between my legs. I reach down, sliding my fingers around him. “There’s a drugstore around the block.”

  He sits up. “A drugstore?” The meaning slowly dawns on him. I’m lying on the bed, desperate for him. The way his erection juts out tell me he feels the same. I chew my lip.

  “You want me to go?” he asks.

  “Don’t you want to?”

  His eyes take in all of me, his he
ated gaze searing every inch of my skin, before settling on the apex between my legs. I close them tightly.

  He nods, once. “Yes.”

  “Then hurry.”

  He jumps up and throws on his clothes. In the blink of an eye, he’s by the door. “I’ll be back.”

  “Be quick.”

  The door slams, and I fall back onto the bed, wet, hot and frustrated.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  BRANDON

  * * *

  Fuck.

  I’m a jangled-up mess. My dick wants one thing, but my head is telling me something else.

  And my heart. I can’t look at Kyra and not feel something. That’s why we’re in this hot, sticky mess. I want her. But everything we have, everything she thinks I am, is a lie. An intricate web of deception. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her the truth about what I do on my days off. I could have started there. I should have started there. I should have told her who I am, what I do and why I walked into Redhill.

  Only now I’m in her bed, and all I want to do is fuck her. But it is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, and this makes it difficult. It holds me back, because I can do this and not care. I have done this and not cared. Not this—I’ve never become romantically involved in order to secure a deal. Never. This is a first. But I have run roughshod over people.

  With Kyra, this is something else. I have come to care for her more than I thought was possible for someone like me. But everything about me is a lie. That I’ve always been Brandon Hawks. That I was born on the day I was adopted by the billionaire Philip Hawks.

  That Brandon Clements, the unwanted boy, doesn’t exist.

  Kyra would like the real me, the boy I used to be. After all, she saves children like this. But telling her the truth over all the lies will be impossible. She will never give me a chance.

  I slow down my steps and wonder what the hell I’m doing. This is wrong on so many levels, and yet I can’t help the way I feel about this woman.

  I will hurt her so badly.

  Each lie is built on another lie which is built on another lie.

  But she’s waiting and my dick will explode unless I bury myself inside her right now. I buy the condoms and rush back. My cell phone rings just as I reach her place and I rush to answer it, my breath ragged from me almost running, but also because my hard-on isn’t helping.

  “Brandon?”

  It’s a voice I don’t recognize.

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Emma’s father.”

  The blood in my veins freezes. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?” I’m prepared for the worst, because he wouldn’t call me unless it was the worst.

  “She’s better. She’s much better.” I hear the laugh in his voice. “She asked for you.”

  “She did?”

  “Could you come by? It’s not urgent or –”

  “I’ll be there.” Emma asked for me. She wouldn’t ask for me unless it was something urgent. I have to go.

  I knock on Kyra’s door, my hopes deflate, just like my steel hardness. The surge of adrenaline whooshes clean out of my body. She opens the door wearing nothing but a bedsheet, and her smile slips when she sees my face. She can read me in an instant, and I can’t hide anything from her.

  She steps back as I walk in, closing the door behind me. We stare at each other. “You’ve changed your mind?” she asks, her head cocked because this sudden turn doesn’t make sense.

  “Emma’s dad called me.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  I nod. “I think so, but I’m not sure. At first I thought it must be bad news if he’s calling me.”

  “You should go.”

  “I don’t want to leave like this. I need to exp—”

  “No, you don’t. You just need to go, Brad.”

  Knowing Kyra, I completely get how she must feel. I’m giving up sex with her to go visit a friend. I see her mind going through mental hoops and jumps because something about me—everything about me—isn’t adding up. She should tell me to get the hell lost. She should yell and scream at me that she never wants to see me again. But she blinks and listens patiently, drawing the sheet around her really tightly.

  “Let me explain.” I move towards her, but she moves back. It’s guilt which makes me run to Emma. Feeling personally responsible for her accident, I have no choice but to go to her if she asked for me.

  “Emma’s waiting, Brad. You should go.”

  Maybe this is a sign, one of those signs that Kyra was talking about. I’m on the verge of making a huge mistake, and leaving here is the best thing to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  KYRA

  * * *

  Lies. He is lying to me. That’s all I can think of as I quickly get dressed. His scent hangs in the air long after he’s gone, and I fall back onto the rumpled bed, breathing it all in.

  I am a naïve fool. Too trusting and wanting to believe the good in everyone. But the thoughts I had about Brad from the start now come back and haunt me because what he says and what he does don’t align.

  He never suggests that we go back to his place. It’s odd that a grown man chooses to make out in a storeroom or inside a car. We only ended up in my bed because I initiated the move.

  Emma is more than a friend he is concerned about. He told me she was getting better. How is it that she holds so much sway over him unless she is someone important to him? Like a lover.

  What is he hiding? A wife? A girlfriend? I should have learned my lesson from my ex. My damaged heart can’t go through this again. This man is a walking mystery. All I know is his name, and not much else.

  He has called and texted, probably while he’s in the waiting room waiting to see his darling Emma, but I’ve declined his calls and I’ve read the texts which don’t say much except that he will explain.

  I’ve given him plenty of opportunities to explain. I need to trust my initial gut instinct which warned me not to trust this man.

  BRANDON

  * * *

  I messed up, again. She hates me, and she has every reason to hate me.

  This is nothing less than I deserve. Kyra will know something isn’t quite right. I’ve been forced to show my hand, and I will. I’ll put things right. Kyra and I, we can still be together. She’ll hate me at first, but hopefully, over time, she’ll learn to hate me less.

  I reach the hospital in no time, and as I walk into Emma’s hospital room, she’s not lying in bed, but walking around on crutches.

  The sight of her, still bruised and injured, stops me, but there is hope. She is moving. She’s up and about.

  She stops and looks up at me, her lips spreading into a slow, careful smile. It instantly erases my worries. Her parents acknowledge me, her dad thanks me for coming.

  “Hey, stranger.” I walk over and kiss her gently on the cheek. “So good to see you again. Are you in pain?”

  “I’m always in pain.” She winces as she slowly makes her way over to the armchair. I help her to sit, hovering around, ready to take her crutches or aid her in any way, but I seem to be getting more in her way than not.

  “Can I get you something?” I’m ready to go get her whatever she needs, food, drink, a nurse, painkillers. Watching someone who used to be such a powerhouse, now reduced to a tenth of the person she used to be, breaks my heart.

  “I’ll be okay once I sit down and take a breath.”

  * * *

  “I’m … I’m … sorry.” The words strangle my throat. I’ve been keeping it all inside, my part in this awful accident and the blame I carry.

  “Sorry for what?” She eases back into her seat.

  I did this to her. “It’s my fault … the accident. You being in that car.”

  “How is it your fault?” Her defiance eases my anguish.

  “Because you were only there to fetch something for me from the office—”

  Her face turns white. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember going there. I don’t remember if I went to th
e office—” She’s getting agitated at not being able to recall it. I take her hand and press it gently between mine.

  “Don’t. Don’t force it.”

  “Was it something important? It must have been if you asked me to—”

  “Hey, Emma. It’s not important.” Nothing is important anymore. What is all this wheeling and dealing for, when people’s lives can change in the flash of a moment?

  She opens her mouth, but I shake my head.

  “Don’t.” I attempt a smile, which is difficult, because now that she is sitting up, I can see she has lost so much weight. This woman who was once dressed in sharp suits and high heels, who ran my life for me, organized my days, questioned my motives and plans, told me off without holding back, admonishing me when I was doing something that wasn’t right, this woman is now a ghostlike wraith.

  “You wanted to see me.” I suddenly remember there was a reason for me being here. I’m prepared to pay anything, give her anything she needs, to ease herself back to normal. I need her. And now, more than ever, with my life beginning to fall apart, it seems I really could do with a spoonful of her no-nonsense medicine.

  “It wasn’t too important. I didn’t need for you to rush over to me.”

  “Hey.” My eyes are soft as I look at her. “It’s not a problem. I wasn’t doing anything. I just want to see how you are.”

  “I can’t come back.”

  “Can’t come back?” I echo, my heart sinking because I think I know what’s coming.

  “To work for you.”

  My shoulders sag. “Not now, of course not, but in time you’ll be fine. There’s no rush. You can come back whenever you feel ready to.”

  “I can’t, Brandon. I don’t want to.”

  I stare back in disbelief. How can this be a life-defining moment for her? “Is it money?” I pay her handsomely, way above the market rate, because what she does for me is priceless. “You’re due a raise and a bonus.” I flash her a hopeful smile, and I’m stupid enough to think that this might get her to change her mind.