Glued to my screen, I dumbly waited on a reply.
To: Elizabeth Monroe
From: Connor King
Subject: Repayment
My brother will be handled, and I can think of many ways you can repay me. First tell me, with a last name like Monroe, do you look anything like Marilyn?
An arrogant man indeed. He was certainly related to Kalen. I wondered if he looked anything like his gorgeous brother.
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Non-starter
How I look shouldn’t matter. But to stop any further imaginings in your mind, the only thing Marilyn and I have in common is hair color. Though you are being an ass, I still would like the name of the artist. I’ll do my own digging.
My hope was he was a flirt and not a true jackass. Otherwise my one last hope to bring my company out of the red might be over.
To: Elizabeth Monroe
From: Connor King
Subject: True?
Are you a true blonde? There is a way to find out.
Egotistical… I exhaled before responding as my blood pressure rose.
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Business only
I won’t dignify that with an answer. I’m looking to help the artist be seen. If you don’t know his or her name, please say so and we can stop. You have my phone number you can pass on to the artist. I have favorable terms for any art I sell. But I will not be answering any more emails.
I had my hand on my laptop poised to close it when a final email came through.
To: Elizabeth Monroe
From: Connor King
Subject: Contract
There will be no calls. The artist is gun-shy. Email the contract and I’ll get back to you. When do you need the art if he agrees?
Well, it was a he. Breaking the rule I’d just enacted, I sent another email with a copy of the standard contract, minus the special terms I gave my more widely known artists.
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Contract terms
I’ve attached the contract. As the showing will be on Saturday, I’ll need the art in two days. Have the artist send me 5-10 pieces and I’ll look it over. As the contract states, there is no guarantee of placement or sales. I can arrange for pickup of the art if he prefers.
That time I did close the laptop. I was done with the conceited King. He was too full of himself. I bet he thought he could have any woman—or person, for that matter—he wanted.
I couldn’t help that he got my blood going. I found myself texting Striker three letters: DTF.
Thirteen
Connor
Nothing had ever gotten my dick harder than those three dirty letters texted by the blonde. Elizabeth wanted to know if I was down to fuck. I had had three letters in response. FML. Fuck my life. Damn, it was good.
When the Soho penthouse door opened, her lips were on mine. Soft and sweet. What was better was she stood in a lacy black bra and panties. Her tits may have been small, but damn if my mouth wasn’t watering.
I cupped her ass, and she obliged me by wrapping her legs around my waist. I carried her to the bedroom like the champ I was. I felt like beating my chest because I was the one who had the privilege to fuck her. Scissoring her legs, one up and one down, I was deep inside her when she hit the bed. I groaned as her leg easily extended so her foot was beside her head.
“Limber,” I said out of surprise.
“There’s so much you don’t know about me. Now shut up and fuck me.”
I could have come at that moment like a teenage boy. Holy shit, the woman did things to me no other had in maybe forever. I took her mouth in a kiss that spoke volumes I hoped she didn’t hear. She was making me weak, making me want her. I was losing control.
Then her inner walls clamped down on my cock until I was shooting rapid fire come shots at her bull’s-eye and damn if she didn’t sport a smirk. Game on.
Several orgasms later, I said, “I wish I could stay, but I have to go. Unlike you, I have work to do.”
Her scowl was cute. “I work.”
“You do? Yet you called me to fuck in the middle of the day.”
“Maybe I had an itch,” she said.
“I’m all for scratching,” I said, giving her a lopsided grin.
A part of me wondered if a certain email conversation had gotten my girl horny. I had to figure out a way to bridge the two worlds we were building. Then again, if this was just a fuck as she said, what did the truth matter?
I parked my car in the King Enterprises garage. My father would blow a gasket when he saw I was wearing jeans and a tee. I’d planned to dress the part for today’s meeting, but I’d chosen fucking the blonde over making my father happy. Maybe I was more like my brother than I thought.
“Hi, Connor,” the receptionist said. “Your father will see you in his office.”
I nodded and walked in that direction until I stopped short in front of the office designated for me. One I never used.
“Connor.” Just inside the door stood Charles, my father’s right-hand man and lawyer.
“What are you doing here and in my office?”
Was this a new trend I was missing? Blindsided twice in my workspace.
“Connor.” And for the third time my name was called, the voice had a familiar Irish lilt.
I brushed past Charles and into my office to find my mother standing there with her hands fisted. “I have nothing to say to either of you.”
What could I say to the two people betraying my father in the worst way? His best friend and wife were fucking.
“I think he knows,” Mother said to me, probably worried because the prenup she’d signed would leave her with nothing if she were caught cheating.
“Of course, he knows. You think you could keep that a secret for that long?”
“Did you tell him?”
I chuckled, but it was dark and lacked any resemblance to humor. “Why would I do that? Your shit-storm would take me under too—because he’s my actual father, right?” I pointed at the man standing by the door.
“Keep your voice down, boy.”
I glared at Charles. “Don’t you call me boy. You’re either the man who stood by and let another man raise your son or you’re the coward who sleeps with his best friend’s wife because he can’t get his own. Or maybe both.”
“Listen here,” the old man said. I bet he wanted to stand up to me, but he was a few inches shorter.
Mom got between us. “Stop.”
I just glared at her.
“I promise you, Connor. Royce is your da, but”—she glanced at Charles.
Da was what my mother had called my dad when I was growing up. Do what your da tells you. Don’t argue with your da. It was an Irish thing, and my mother had been born and raised in Ireland. She moved to America when she married my father.
“I’m done with the both of you. When I come back, I don’t expect to see you here.” Mom grabbed my arm, and I pulled away. “Don’t act like you care. I was nothing but a way to make him marry you. As soon as that happened, you shipped me off to boarding school. And we both know how that went.”
I stormed out, afraid I may say something I’d regret. As I walked, I realized I had no one in this world. My brother and I barely knew each other. He’d been raised by his mother in Scotland. We’d only met a couple of years ago and he wasn’t exactly welcoming. He had Griffin, and I had…
“Connor.”
I glanced up to see Royce King walking to his office. The man who may or may not be my father. He waved me in, but his smile quickly disappeared when he noticed I wasn’t dressed for work.
“Can you at least show me some respect?” he said, scorn filling his face.
“I don’t work here.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but Charles and my mother had spoiled my mood and I was looking for a fight.
“You should. You should be the future of the company. Not your brother.”
“We’ve talked about this. A nine-to-five job isn’t my thing.”
“Your thing?” His mouth opened, but he clutched his chest. His face grew redder by the second.
“Dad,” I said, reaching for him as he collapsed to his knees. I caught him in time to lower him to the floor. “Call 9-1-1!”
You never really know how you feel about a person until you’re about to lose them. As the seconds churned into minutes and a blur of activity flew around me, flashes of holidays and Dad showing up to baseball games filled my mind. Yes, he’d been absent for most of my life. But when he was there, he was always fully present.
“Dad,” I called as EMTs arrived.
I moved backward on hands and knees to give them space to work. I couldn’t imagine this was it. Time felt irrelevant as I somehow ended up in the hospital, holding myself up in the hallway just beyond the doors they wheeled my father through.
My mistake was calling my brother.
“This is Kalen.”
“Brother,” I said.
“Connor, please tell me this isn’t about Lizzy.”
“This isn’t about her and don’t ask me anymore. You don’t control my dick.”
One of the passing nurses flushed but smiled as she walked by.
“I’m calling about Da.”
“What about him?” Kalen asked.
“He’s had a stroke or a heart attack.”
Kalen was silent for a moment. “And? We know he’s been sick.”
My brother’s relationship with our father was non-existent. The way Kalen saw it, Da had left him and his mother for dead.
“So that’s it?” I asked.
“What do you want from me? He’s your father, not mine.”
He didn’t mean that biologically. If Kalen had any idea about my mother and Charles, he wouldn’t have made that comment. He meant it because he believed Da was more of a father to me than he was to him. Little did he know.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, tired of all the fighting. I hung up and hated how alone I felt. I wasn’t supposed to need anybody, and I needed a distraction.
Me: What are you doing?
It didn’t take long to get a response.
Lizzy: Working. Something you’re probably not familiar with.
I felt the beginnings of a smile.
Me: Some consider shopping hard work.
The dots circled as she typed.
Lizzy: Ha Ha. I am working. What about you? Have you killed anyone today?
She didn’t understand how close to the truth she was. Had my fight with my father killed him?
Me: Maybe. What are you wearing?
Lizzy: Don’t go all cheesy on me, killer boy. You have better lines than that.
Me: Your eyes go all unfocused when you're about to come all over my cock.
Lizzy: Damn big boy. How am I supposed to finish work after that?
Me: You can always come.
Lizzy: Where?
Me: At your desk. I can talk you through it.
I could visualize her smile as it crinkled the corners of her eyes.
Lizzy: I wish I could. I have to take a rain check. My 4 o’clock meeting has arrived.
Me: Think of me.
Lizzy: Damn you.
I had an inappropriate grin when the doctor came out to talk to me.
Fourteen
Lizzy
Freshly out of the shower, in only a robe, and reading through my earlier texts with Striker, I was caught off guard when a knock came at my door. I checked my phone, and I had no missed calls. The only person it could be was Griffin, but he was supposed to be in Scotland. Then again, I hadn’t been able to shake the security detail I’d been given, even after a scathing text to Griff. Maybe something had gone wrong. There was another possibility.
But my grin stretched the length of my face when I found Striker on the other side of the door with a six-pack of beer in his hand.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
When I stepped back, he walked in smelling again like leather and wood. A scent I’d now always attribute to him.
“I didn’t get a text,” I said, closing the door.
“I figure you owe me. You sent me an SOS earlier.”
“A DTF.”
“Same difference,” he said, gracing me with his killer smile. “I’ve had a shit day and thought a good fuck would help.”
“The beer?” I asked, trying to hold back a grin.
“I couldn’t come empty-handed.” When I lifted a brow, knowing he had a different reason, he grinned. “Or pay off any asshole you might have over.”
I laughed. “You’re in luck. The only person you need to bribe is me.” I held out a hand for a beer, and he gave me one. “Now tell me the real reason you’re here.”
“I thought the only thing you wanted from me was my cock?”
“True,” I said, walking into the kitchen for a bottle opener. When I turned to offer it to him, he was already drinking his. I shrugged. “Be general, no specifics. Get it off your chest, then fuck my brains out.”
“You’re a therapist now?”
I shrugged. “For the next five minutes.”
He chuckled. “What would you say if I told you my father had a heart attack and named me his successor?”
“Does that make you the biker king?”
Striker coughed. “What makes you think my dad is a biker?”
I raised my shoulders and let them fall. “It’s that, or you’re the son of a billionaire because who says successor? The latter means we couldn’t fuck.”
“If I’m rich, you won’t fuck me?”
“Exactly. Rich guys think they own you, so your dad is a biker to keep things simple. Besides, a billionaire’s son wouldn’t have the ink you have.”
He nodded. “You like my ink?”
“I think it’s interesting you have it only where it can be viewed from the back. Like you’ve got some Jekyll and Hyde envy.”
“Maybe I do.”
Letting my grin widen, I teased, “Maybe you just thought it was cool.”
He let his head fall back with a rich belly laugh. “You are something.”
“I am, but let’s not dwell on me. Tell me the name of your gang.” When he looked confused, I added, “Biker gang.”
He didn’t let me down and said, “The Devil’s Kings,” as if I’d been right about his affiliations.
“Ah, makes sense,” I said, tipping up my head. “And you don’t want to be top dog?”
“My brother’s better suited.”
I waved a finger. “Too much information, but now that you’ve said it, I’ll say my brother has the same
daddy issues you have.”
“He didn’t want to be top dog either?”
“Nope. He’d rather play cops and robbers like we did as kids.”
“Who was the cop?” he asked.
I gave him a coy glance. “My brother. I was always the robber.” I didn’t know why I said it so seductively.
But Striker joined in the new game. “What kind?”
I moved to stand in front of him. “A jewel thief.” I cupped his, catching him off guard.
“It seems I’m going to have to arrest you.”
Suddenly, my beer disappeared and so did his. He spun me around and pulled my arms to my back. I felt the tie of my robe slipping from around my waist.
“Does this mean I’ll get a body search?” I teased.
He moved quickly, and I found my back pressed to the nearest wall with his big hand on my sternum. “A thorough search is required.”
I’d never really role played before, but I found it so hot. The man would look good in uniform. His eyes never left mine as his hand moved to one breast then the other, giving each a squeeze and a tweak of my tightened nipples.
When that hand slid over my belly, I felt a flutter I didn’t expect. But when his finger slipped inside me, I c
ouldn’t think of anything else. In fact, I might have let out a tiny gasp that stretched his sexy smirk wider.
“There,” I said with as much dignity as I could, which came out as more of a breath than a spoken word.
Damn him, he took that hand away. I glared at him.
“Sorry, princess. Prisoners don’t get treats.” I felt my jaw unhinge as I prepared to give him hell in the form of four-letter words unbecoming of a lady, if my mother was to be believed. “Of course, I’m not above being bribed.”
Tongue in cheek, I kept my mouth shut, but not for long. I got to my knees. Slowly, as my hands were still tied behind my back. I looked up with my eyes but not with my head. He took his time before moving his hand to unzip his pants, releasing that colossal cock of his. I licked my lips before licking the plump head of his cock aimed directly at my mouth.
I wanted my hands and subconsciously pulled at my bonds. His hand slid over my head and cupped it at the back. With one hand at the base of his cock and the other on my head, he created a rhythm as he closed his eyes.
“Tilt your head back. It will help me to slip past that gag reflex of yours,” he said.
I did as he asked and found he was right. It became easier to swallow his dick, so to speak. When my eyes watered, he pulled out.
“Not so fast, princess. When I come, it’s going to be deep inside that pretty cunt of yours.”
With his help, I was on my feet and spun around to face the wall. My hands were released and guided above my head. Then he was inside me fast and hard. It didn’t take long before we were both coming.
I would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn’t scooped me up in those muscled arms of his. As he set me down on the bed, he said, “I’ll get something to clean us both up.”
His cock was covered in my orgasm as his had filled me up. I closed my eyes, wondering what was happening to me. Soon after, he used a warm towel to erase the evidence of our lovemaking, then he slid next to me in bed. I tucked myself in the crook of his arm.
I would have dozed off, but my phone vibrated on my bedside table. When I grabbed it, I kept the motion going and got off the bed. When I looked back, Striker’s eyes were closed. I couldn’t be sure if he was asleep, but I left the room anyway.
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