Fallacy

by K. A. Berg

  “Shit, you feel incredible,” I groan as I grip her hips and hold her in place, not wanting to blow my load like a virgin on prom night.

  The sexy little vixen on top of me isn’t having any of that, though. She grinds herself back and forth on me, creating what I’m assuming is enjoyable friction on her clit because she lets out a moan of her own.

  I release my grip on her and watch her magnificent tits bounce as she rides my cock. Quinn leans back, placing her hands on the floor while I watch my cock get lost inside of her over and over. I haven’t felt anything this good, ever. That’s when I realize it’s because I’m not wearing a condom. I’ve never not worn a condom.

  “Shit, Angel. Condom,” I grunt out, still lost in the magic of her pussy.

  “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill” she moans, not breaking the flow. “Don’t stop.”

  Struggling to form words, I reply, “I’m clean. I never ride bare.”

  “Then we’re good, just pull out,” she tells me, pushing herself back up to look me in the eye. I’m assuming to make sure I’m paying attention to her since the timing of this conversation sucks.

  Picking her up off of me, I spin her around and bend her over the couch. I thrust back into her, my balls slapping her pussy. She begins to spasm around me as I fuck her senseless. The tingling starts in the bottom of my spine, and my balls tighten as my orgasm builds.

  “Yes…Yes…Harder, Alex. Fuck me,” she shrieks as I ram into her over and over. Her screams of pleasure fill the space around us, pushing me over the edge. I pull out and wrap my hand around my dick as Quinn spins around with quickness my players don’t even have on the field.

  The first burst of my release lands on her cheek. I stroke myself until the last pulses of pleasure leave my body and Quinn’s face and chest are covered in cum. A pearl fucking necklace.

  Yeah, I’m never going to get enough of this woman. I need to figure out how to get this woman to let me in. I’m not giving her up. Not after feeling her pussy against my bare shaft. I’ve never been so wrapped up in a woman I forgot to put a condom on before. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have happened with anyone but Quinn.

  Chapter Five

  Quinn

  “Oh no, that’s your ‘I want to kill someone slowly’ face,” Blair, one of our accountants, says as she knocks on the door of my office.

  Blair is one of the only people I have a more than casual friendship with within the company. We’ve worked together since I officially started at Daddy’s company after graduation. She’s also one of the only people who knows how much I dislike my father. “I do want to kill someone—my boss. What are you still doing here at eight o’clock?”

  “End of the month. Got to make sure all the reports line up and everything’s kosher,” she explains as she makes herself comfy on the red leather sofa in the corner of my office.

  “Make yourself at home,” I joke as she settles in, putting her feet up.

  “I will,” she laughs. “. How do you get any work done with this thing in here? I’d want to lie down and nap all the time if this was calling my name from across the room.”

  “The only down time I ever got on that couch was while doing after hours work for my MBA,” I remind her. “It’s not like I get any down time while I’m here. My father is too busy riding my ass for me to have time to nap.” My irritation’s coming back. Blair gave me a momentary distraction, but now it’s gone. I was almost through the stack of proposals he asked me to re-read when she knocked.

  “What’s he got you doing now?” she asks, getting up to close the door. She knows the drill. Any bitching parties happen behind closed doors. In this business, people use whatever they can to get a leg up on anyone so they can climb the corporate ladder.

  I pick up the stack of papers on my desk and wave them in the air. “He’s got me combing through a pile of duds. He knows damn well there’s nothing worth investing in in this pile of shit because I’ve already told him as much, but it’s his form of punishment. Joke’s on him though since he’s the one paying me to do menial work.”

  I hate working for my father. Seriously loathe it! When I was a teenager and I found out what a total scumbag the man is, I tried to do anything I could just to spite him. I went to an average college instead of an Ivy League one as he wanted me too. He tried to deter me by refusing to pay for my education. His plan backfired when I got a full academic scholarship. I pissed him off even more when I decided to major in art history instead of finance.

  Scrunching her face in disgust, she says, “Ugh, nothing is worse than busy work. If you’ve already gone through them, why are you bothering to do it again? If you know there’s nothing in there, just tell him you’ve re-checked them, and there’s still nothing in there.”

  “You’d think I could since I know there’s nothing in here, but I’m sure there’s a trap of some kind. A trap to prove whether or not I actually read them a second time.” My father may be an asshole, but he’s not stupid. I know there’s something in here he can’t wait to throw in my face if I don’t find it.

  “You’re brilliant,” Blair points out. “Why are you still dealing with his bullshit? You’d be much higher up by now if you just cut your losses and left here for a place that’s going to appreciate you."

  I love my job. I love finding new companies to fund. I love it even more when I’m right, and their startup takes off. Helping someone’s dreams come true gives me an enormous sense of accomplishment. That love makes me very good at what I do but doing it for my father is tainting it for me.

  I could very well leave the company and go somewhere where I’d be valued. I wouldn’t have to deal with my father. But then he’d win. The man gets off on tearing apart everything I do. Nothing is ever good enough for him. I’m looking forward to the day when I slap my name over his on the door and double the success of this place without him. I can’t wait for him to get his comeuppance for all the shit he’s given me. Until then, though, I just have to grin and bear it.

  I’m very close to banging my head on my desk when my phone chimes notifying me of a text.

  Swiping open my phone, a text from an unknown number appears on the screen.

  Unknown: Wanna go to a Halloween party?

  * * *

  Me: Who is this?

  * * *

  Unknown: I’ve made you scream for me more than once now, and you can’t even remember my name. That’s a hit to the ego.

  Alex. He’s the only one who I’ve let fuck me more than once in Lord knows how long.

  Me: How’d you get my number, Alex?

  * * *

  Alex: Ahh!! So you do remember me?

  * * *

  Me: Well, you make an impression on a girl. But how’d you get my number? I don’t remember giving it to you.

  * * *

  Alex: I have my ways…

  * * *

  Me: Ashley or Superstar?

  * * *

  Alex: Tanner may or may not have grabbed it out of Ashley’s phone after he sexed her into a coma.

  * * *

  Me: Christ, the girl can’t handle her dick.

  * * *

  Alex: Yeah…about that party?

  * * *

  Me: Why do you want me to go to a Halloween party with you?

  * * *

  Alex: Because Tanner’s boring and practically domesticated.

  * * *

  Me: Is it sad I know how you feel? Ash is so far up Tanner’s ass it’s pathetic.

  * * *

  Alex: Stop dodging my question.

  * * *

  Me: I’m not sleeping with you again, you’ve already got an extra ride no one else ever gets.

  * * *

  Alex: Who said I wanted to sleep with you? You’re really full of yourself.

  * * *

  Me: Don’t act like it wasn’t the first thing on your mind when you asked me.

  * * *

  Alex: Maybe, but seriously, I want to go out with someon
e who knows how to have a good time.

  My hands don’t even give my brain a second to think about it before responding.

  Me: Fine. But it better be a hot spot, and I get to pick out our costumes.

  * * *

  Alex: I wouldn’t have it any other way, angel.

  Angel. I don’t know why I find it incredibly hot whenever he calls me that. Maybe it’s because it’s nice to have someone refer to me as something other than a bitch. Not that I take offense to it, but still it's nice to have someone see something else in me.

  “Well, whoever is on the other end of those texts has certainly put you in a better mood,” Blair says breaking the silence. Shit! I forgot she was here for a minute. I don’t know what it is about this man that makes me forget myself whenever he’s around.

  “It’s no one important,” I say, putting the phone down.

  Standing from the couch, she asks, “What do you say we go grab a drink before heading home? Seems like we both could use one after today.”

  “I say it sounds like a good idea. I could go for a drink and a hot guy to work through my rough day.”

  Two hours and a few drinks later, I’m going home alone. And I’m not happy about it. I don’t want to end the night with my vibrator, but not one guy at the bar was doing a damn thing for me. If he wasn’t married, he was already too drunk, or worse, just a total tool who was way too into himself for me. I’ve learned my lesson with guys who are too into themselves. All they care about is getting you into some position they can brag about to their friends, trying to put it in your ass because they think they’re awesome they deserve it, or just care about getting themselves off. If I’m the only one working to get me off, I might as well do it myself.

  Why the hell has it been so hard to find a good fuck? It’s New York City for Christ’s sake. Good lays are always a dime a dozen around here.

  A feeling deep in my gut tells me this all plays back to Alex. Something about him has me all messed up. I still can’t believe I let him ride bare last weekend. That’s a huge no-no for me. No glove, no love. I have a career to focus on, which doesn’t involve me getting knocked up.

  Chapter Six

  Alex

  I’ve done my research for tonight. My game plan is in place for getting Quinn into my bed again. Or her bed even. I’m not picky, just as long as I get the woman under me. She thought she was going to get me with these stupid costumes, but I’m not an easily embarrassed person. I’ll rock this Mark Antony gladiator dress no problem.

  “What about that one?” Quinn asks, nudging me in the side with her elbow.

  I’ve talked her into playing this wingman/wingwoman game. She’s under the impression we’re picking out the person the other takes home. We’ll be going home together. The club is full of drunk college kids, and I don’t think there’s a suitable bedmate for either of us in here. And I don’t give a shit even if there is.

  Ashley and Tanner bolted out of here within the first hour. I can’t say I blame them. If I could be home having a good time with Quinn right now, that’s where I’d be. But being she’s anti-relationships and anti-repeat fucks, I have to play this smoothly. She has to think leaving together is her idea.

  “There’s no way that chick is legal. I don’t know who the hell she blew to get in the door, but I’m not going down for statutory tonight,” I say in response to her latest suggestion. I’ll give her credit; she’s got great taste, but I don’t have the desire to be with any of these little girls. Not when I have a great woman right next to me.

  I scan the crowd and find a guy surrounded by women fawning all over him. I guess it means he’s a good-looking guy, but I know he’s not Quinn’s type, which makes him the perfect suggestion.

  Pointing him out, I ask, “What about that guy over there?”

  Shaking her head, just as I predicted, she says, “Not a chance in hell. He’s way too into himself. He’s already got a harem to choose from.”

  We play a few more rounds of “What about this and that one?” before Quinn huffs out a sigh. “There isn’t anyone here worth taking home.”

  “Unfortunately, I have to agree. I guess it’s me and my hand tonight,” I sigh in mock disappointment. There’s no way I’m having a solo night this evening.

  As soon as the sly smile spreads across her face, I know I have her before she even says, “It doesn’t have to be your hand tonight.”

  “I don’t see how. No one here is going to get the job done,” I complain. She’s playing right into my hand.

  “I can more than get the job done.” Her insinuation makes me wonder if she’s been playing the same game with me. Maybe she wasn’t into any of guys I picked out simply because she already planned on going home with me. I mean, I did it with her, who’s to say she’s not playing the same game. It could be her justifying going home with me again since she’s already broken her one-night rule with me.

  “You explicitly told me you weren’t sleeping with me tonight,” I remind her, raising my eyebrows in challenge.

  Sliding her hand up my fake armor, she coos, “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before we realized the best lay in here for us is each other,” she whispers in my ear. Yeah, I’m definitely getting the feeling this is her justifying us to herself. It’s okay with me, for now.

  “Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?” I ask, a winning smile spreading across my face.

  “Don’t pretend to be offended. If you don’t want to be objectified, then you wouldn’t work so hard to look good.” This is what I like about this woman—her tell-it-like-it-is attitude. It’s such a turn on.

  “You’re lucky I think you’re kind of cool. Lead the way, angel,” I say gesturing toward the entrance to the club.

  An hour later, Quinn’s ushering me through the front door of her place. I’ve barely closed the door when she shoves up me against it and fuses her mouth to mine. Matching her fervor, I swipe my tongue across her bottom lip seeking entrance into her magnificent mouth. She opens, and I don’t hesitate to plunge my tongue inside. I taste as much of her mouth as I can. I run my tongue along her teeth and the roof of her mouth. She whimpers.

  Her hands are everywhere, but she can’t get anywhere because of my costume. It’s as she’s sliding her hands under the fake armor to pull it over my head that something important dawns on me. Quinn has always been the aggressor when we’ve had sex. She calls the shots, initiates the action, makes the demands. It’s like it’s a defensive mechanism she has. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. I’m excellent at reading people. It’s hard to be successful in my line of work if you can’t.

  Tonight is going to be different, and Quinn is in for the best night of her life.

  “Where’s the fire, Angel?” I ask gripping her wrists as her hands make it to the waistband of the shorts I had on under my costume.

  “In our pants,” she says with a husky, lust-filled voice. The throaty sound goes straight to my dick, making it hard as hell.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I cluck my tongue at her. “Not tonight. If you rush straight to the main show, you miss all the good stuff in the previews.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she grits out, obviously annoyed at my delay of action.

  “Tonight, I’m the one doing the fucking. Did you think I’ve failed to notice you like to be the one in control of everything?” Her eyes go wide as if I just uncovered some hidden secret.

  Shaking her head, she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. And prepare yourself, angel, because tonight you’re at my mercy.”

  She tries to say something, but I stop her, placing my finger to her lips, effectively silencing her. “Unless I ask you a question, or you feel the need to scream and moan, I don’t want to hear another word from you. Like I said, tonight I’m fucking you. Not the other way around.”

  I turn her around, pulling her back to my front, and run my fi
ngertips down her arms. I’m rewarded with goosebumps popping up to decorate her skin. When my fingers make it back to her shoulders, I slide them under the straps of her Cleopatra dress and slip the garment down, exposing her breasts as I do.

  Her dress hangs down around her waist as I run my fingertips across her belly. There’s so much eroticism in touch. There are so many places other than her pussy, breasts, and ass I can touch her to turn her on. I run my fingers up over her breasts, giving them the faintest touch possible for the moment, as I make my way up to her shoulders. I drag the pads of my fingers across her collarbones, which earns me a very throaty moan.

  “As great as the short black hair looks on you, I like you much better as yourself,” I explain as I pull the wig off her head. Then I pull off the stocking looking thing which holds her hair together under the wig and drop it on the floor. Using what little bit of nails I have, I scratch them along her scalp before massaging.