by Vivian Wood
He was enraged with her, but at the same time she was irresistible to him. “You fucking drive me crazy, you know that?”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could speak, his hands were on her waist and he’d closed the distance between them. Sam’s lips parted easily, and his tongue found hers. He walked them back, just three steps, and pushed her against the brick wall.
Her hands were on his chest, beneath his jacket. He’d missed this, this hunger she had for him that he could never quite tame.
Connor hadn’t seen anyone else in the alley, but now he wouldn’t have even cared. He reached underneath her short dress and found a skimpy lace thong. It tore easily in his hands, and he cast it aside.
His mouth was on her neck while he sucked and nibbled. Sam’s breath was heavy in his ear. He slipped a finger between her folds. She already gushed with want, and let out a low moan at his touch.
Connor went back to her mouth and kissed her deeply. He pulled her breasts from her dress. Either the chill of the night, his touch, or both had her nipples hard in an instant. With ease, as if she weighed nothing, he hoisted her up around his waist and she wrapped her legs around him.
He leveraged her against the wall and sucked her nipples. When she pushed her wetness against the bulge in his jeans, he sucked harder until she let out a cry.
Carefully, he put her back down and turned her around. With her back to him, and her dark hair cascading down her back, he peeled up the unbelievably tight bottom of her skirt to reveal her ass.
Connor gripped her hips and yanked her back a couple of steps. Forced to bend over at a sharp angle, her palms pressed against the wall, he slapped her ass. It made an incredible echo into the night.
“Look at me,” he told her, and she gazed at him over her shoulder. Connor slid two fingers into her and she squeezed her eyes shut as she let out a gasp.
He fucked her with his hand and began to increase the speed. Still, he held her steady with his other hand—not that she would move even if she could.
When he felt her start to get close, he released her waist and bent down. Connor kissed one of her full cheeks before he bit lightly. As he slid his fingers out of her and began to circle her clit, he flicked his tongue across her rim. Sam flinched, just barely, but she didn’t move. And she didn’t try to stop him.
He wouldn’t go any farther than that, not now. He tasted the most secret part of her and worked her clit faster. Connor could feel her wetness start to flood. It trickled down her thighs. Occasionally, he would leave her rim to lap up the trails along her thighs.
“Did you miss this?” he asked her before he dove his tongue into her opening.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I said, did you miss this?” he asked again, and pressed harder into her clit.
“Yes,” she said, louder into the night.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asked, even as her clit was swollen more than he’d ever seen.
“I don’t—”
“Come for me,” he demanded. He moved back to her rim, and squeezed her ass apart with his hands. He could hear her as she panted. Connor took a finger back to her clit while he slid a thumb inside her. Sam started to command her own rhythm as she rocked back and forth against his face.
When he dipped his head to taste more of her, he could see that she played with her breasts. “Good girl,” he told her, and she moaned at his words.
Connor brought her closer to orgasm. He hit her G-spot and worked his tongue expertly. His erection pushed painfully against his jeans, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make her come.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asked her again.
“I’m—now—”
He buried his face deep into her, and felt the rock of her orgasm as it shook her entire body. She cried out, but he didn’t let her go. It wasn’t until he’d drank every trace of her orgasm that he stood up, squeezed her ass again, and turned her around. He didn’t even bother to wipe his face. He wanted her to cover him, evidence of what he could make her do.
She was weak on her stilettos, her face and chest flushed. He ran a hand across her bare chest, and squeezed a nipple between his thumb and finger. There were still the slightest hints of his hickeys on her chest. He’d been a goddamned idiot to treat her the way he had.
He looked down at her swollen clit, emerged from the hood. He could fuck her all day. Her wetness was evident, spread along her mound and the fronts of her thighs.
Sam panted lightly, still in the afterglow of the orgasm.
Connor went to unbuckle his jeans, and her eyes moved from his groin back to his eyes. She smiled. Finally.
His erection nearly hurt, he needed her so badly. Connor reached out and ran his finger across her lips while he pulled his length out. He left a trace of her come, and she licked it away.
Sam bit her lip and pulled him toward her. She maintained eye contact, and it was impossible to look anywhere but deep in that green abyss. He went to kiss her, but she ducked away—shy, like a schoolgirl. Instead, she lowered into a crouch, his cock inches from her lips. He looked to either side of the alley, but saw nothing.
Below him, Sam looked like a goddess. What did I do to deserve this? She looked up at him and gave him another one of those smiles he’d been so desperate for the past few days.
Connor closed his eyes, grasped his base, and waited to feel her lips on him. He could still remember the magic of her mouth. How it had felt when she’d taken him into the back of her throat. How she had licked the precum from his tip like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“This has to stop,” she said, her voice like ice. He opened his eyes, and she stood once more, her mouth against his ear. She’d thrown his words from the plane right back at him.
Sam had tucked her breasts back in her dress and pulled down the hem.
She turned and stormed down the alley, somehow balancing on those cobblestone streets even in dangerously high heels.
Connor was left holding his dick alone in the alley, his mouth open and the taste of her all over his face.
27
Sam
Sam chewed on the pencil at her desk and stared at her computer screen. She’d been that way for an hour, but for some reason this client email was impossible to write.
Scratch that, she knew the reason. She couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing after what had happened in that alley.
She sighed, and instead sent the file to her boss that had been requested that morning. Immediately, a message popped up. This isn’t what I asked for??? Mrs. Whiteworth replied.
Shit. She’d messed up the simplest of tasks all day. Sam could still smell him on her. But it wasn’t just that—no matter how many times she ran over the event in her head, she just couldn’t figure him out. Was he just jealous? Perhaps. Horny? Definitely.
Still, she thought there was more to it than that. She’d dealt with jealous, horny men before. None of them had that fire in their eyes that he’d held the other night.
It was obvious he liked her. That much was evident when he nearly dragged her out of the club Tarzan-style. Sure, she’d egged him on. Ellie had called her out on that. She hadn’t known what he would do, but she hadn’t expected what had happened.
And now she was more attracted to him than ever.
Idiot! she thought to herself. Sam couldn’t help how she felt, but she knew how he treated her was wrong. Misogyny nearly sweated out his pores at times. How he treated all women was wrong. There were certainly hints that maybe he was more like his dad than he seemed. No, he’s not. You’re wrong.
Sam breathed out deeply and put her head on her desk.
“Taking a lie down, are we?” Mrs. Whiteworth asked. Sam’s head snapped up. She hadn’t heard the woman walk in. She walked like a cat, always on the prowl and silent.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her entire body coursed with embarrassment. She scrambled for excuses, but came up with nothing. An apology would have to
be enough.
“Sam,” the older woman said as she walked close to the desk. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her. “Are you alright?”
That simple question nearly brought Sam to tears. She would not cry at work. How weak was she? “I’m fine,” she said, and forced a smile. “Really. I’m sorry about that wrong attachment, I’ll send it over right now.”
“I’m not concerned with the file at the moment,” the woman said. She smiled kindly at her. “I didn’t come all the way over here to make pleasantries. I asked if you’re alright.”
“I don’t know,” Sam said slowly. She realized it was the most honest thing she’d said in awhile. The time with Ellie and Aunt Mary had been good. They soothed her. But it had also just fed her wild need to lure Connor in. With Mrs. Whiteworth, she’d been caught at her most vulnerable.
“You can talk to me, you know,” the woman said. “I know I don’t always seem like the warmest person in the world. And I’m not HR, and I’m not your mom, but it’s clear you’re going through some things.”
“I… I won’t let it impact my work again,” Sam promised with new resolve.
“Sweetheart, you can’t do it all,” she said. “Trust me. What are you, twenty-six? Twenty-five?”
Sam nodded. Twenty-five years old and mooning over some boy like she was sixteen. How did she let it come to this?
“It’s a beast of an age,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. “I was twenty-five once. I worked in the catering department for a company that no longer exists, but served every political gala in the city.”
Sam looked at her with a new perspective. She couldn’t imagine the regal woman in a black apron with platters of food.
“Don’t look at me like that,” the woman said with a laugh. “I did, really. And I was quite good at it. I wanted to be a chef, like Julia Child. Well, not like her, but you know what I mean.”
“A chef,” Sam repeated. What do I want to be? It had been so long since she’d pondered it. She knew she wasn’t cut out for a great career in event management, that was for sure.
“And I was crazy in love. Or lust. Thought I was, at least,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. “The kind where I was happy to throw everything away for it.”
Sam blushed. Was I that easy to read? “What… what happened?” she asked.
Mrs. Whiteworth sat down in one of the guest chairs. “He was the son of a very influential politician at the time. If I told you his surname, you’d probably be able to guess. I met him when I was helping to cater one of those godawful snoozefests.”
She cocked her head and looked at the elegant woman. Sam couldn’t imagine her being anything but poised. And able to get anything she liked.
“But,” Mrs. Whiteworth continued with a sigh. “It didn’t work out. As you can see,” she said, and waved her bare ring hand at Sam.
“Was it unrequited?” Sam asked. She nearly laughed at the word herself.
“Unrequited? No, not entirely,” Mrs. Whiteworth said with a smile. “I like to think not. We carried on in secret. For nearly a year, in fact. He worried that being with me would mar his family’s reputation. His budding political career.”
Sam looked at her lap. It all sounded too familiar. Although Connor had never told her that outright. She’d never asked or looked into Sandra’s background. What did Sandra have that she didn’t? The right upbringing? The right education? What’s wrong with me?
Mrs. Whiteworth leaned toward her. “If he doesn’t see what a catch you are, he’s a moron,” she told her.
“How did you know?” she asked. And how much do you know? Did she know Connor was a client?
“It’s obvious, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. She held up a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry. I don’t think the rest of the office knows. It takes age, and experience to be able to see it. Plus, your generation is so obsessed with their own lives, they barely notice others exist.”
Sam’s face burned. She was part of that generation, of course. And Mrs. Whiteworth was right. When was the last time she’d taken a genuine interest in anyone’s well-being at work? When was the last time she’d noticed anything about them unless it had to do with her, too? She couldn’t help but think of poor Jenny. She’d swooped in on her when she’d thought Connor was hot on that first day, and she’d been unfairly angry at her with the whole dating app thing—even though she’d never approached her about it.
She didn’t know a damn thing about Jenny, and they’d started at nearly the same time.
“I had no idea.” It was all she could think of to say.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Mrs. Whiteworth said. “You’re young. I know you’re probably tired of hearing that at this point in your life, but it’s true. You have no idea how young, or how much is ahead of you. I know it feels like whatever you’re going through right now is too heavy to carry. Trust me, it isn’t. You’re a strong woman.”
Sam blushed at the unexpected compliment. She wanted to look away; the woman’s eyes were almost too intense. But she forced herself to hold the gaze. “Why do you think that?” she asked. She wanted to take it back. It sounded too much like she was fishing for compliments.
“You think I’d hire anything else?” Mrs. Whiteworth asked.
She went over the roster of employees in her head. Mrs. Whiteworth was right. There were elements to all of them that were impressive. How else would this agency have so quickly become the powerhouse in the industry it was?
“Just remember,” Mrs. Whiteworth said as she stood up. “You can talk to me.”
“Mrs. Whiteworth?” she asked as the woman was halfway to the door. She turned in her flawlessly tailored Chanel and looked at Sam. “Why event management?” she asked.
The woman laughed. “Turns out I was shit in the kitchen,” she said. “I went to culinary school when I was forty. Or tried, at least. This is the next closest thing. As it turns out, I never wanted to be a chef. What I wanted was to throw one hell of a party.”
Sam smiled. The woman was forty before she even gave what she really wanted a chance. There was time. There was time to decide. “And the boy?” she asked. “What happened to him?”
Mrs. Whiteworth sighed. “I wish I could tell you I don’t know,” she said. “That he disappeared into the great wild, that all I carry of him are romantic notions of what he could be doing. Who he could be. But this is a small town at its core,” she said. “All I can tell you is he followed, diligently, in his family’s footsteps. Although, do you want to know something?” she asked.
Sam leaned forward, the promise of a secret way too tempting to pass up. “What?”
“He got bald and fat before he was thirty-five,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “My torch for him went out long ago. That doesn’t happen with real love, does it? Believe me, you’re not too old to still be confusing lust for love.”
Sam sat back and let that soak in. Was she right? Is that all this was?
The glass doors to her office swung shut in silence.
Sam leaned back in her white leather chair and wondered about the self-imposed deadline. It was just a few days away. When she’d said she’d just finish up the month, she’d meant it. She didn’t care that she hadn’t told Connor. Who was he to deserve a notice, anyway?
That’s it, she thought to herself. You have until the end of the month. Either you get him to see things your way, or let him go.
That was easier said than done. Sam searched Connor’s name and a plethora of images popped up of the two of them together. A few local bloggers guessed at their potential wedding date. Some completely made up how the two of them met. Journalism at its finest, she thought.
Still, she had to admit they looked more than good together. They looked right.
She knew she shouldn’t do it as soon as her fingers started to type the name. Sandra Brewer. It took her a few minutes to narrow down the search—but there she was.
Moderately pretty and largely unassuming. Sam was surprised. I
t wasn’t the airhead hot blonde she’d expected.
The girl had gone to Vassar, worked at an NGO, and was from a town in Connecticut she’d never heard of. She seemed moderately well-off and educated, but not leaps and bounds “better” than Sam in any regard. Why her and not me?
Sam stared at a photo of Sandra until her image had to be permanently burned into her brain. She just couldn’t figure it out.
Why did she get the real engagement?
28
Connor
Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. With every ring of the phone, he prayed that she wouldn’t answer. Not that he wanted to leave a voicemail, either, though.
“What?” Sam said for an answer.
“Hi,” he said. “Um, I know it’s last minute, but my family is having an overnight retreat—”
She gave a mean laugh. “And let me guess, I’m expected to accompany you.”
“Well, yeah.”
“What kind of family has a ‘retreat’ anyway?” she asked.
“Apparently mine,” he said. “I know it sounds ridiculous, and it’s usually in the autumn, but due to a ton of stuff, it got changed last minute to tomorrow.”
She sighed. “And what exactly does such a ‘retreat’ entail?”
“You’ll be somewhat happy to know it’s simply an overnight stay at The Cottage.”
“Really?” she asked. Sam seemed to warm to the idea that it was nearby, only required a thirty minute drive, and The Cottage was known for the saltwater pools, massages and pampering, and not much else.
“So, can you do it?” he asked.
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I drive there myself. I don’t care what excuse you tell your family. I don’t want to spend a second longer with you than I have to.”