Stuck-Up Suit

by Vi Keeland

  Hmmm.

  Make up your mind, Morgan.

  I ventured into the kitchen. The refrigerator was a vast smorgasbord of takeout containers. And…three containers of Nesquik strawberry milk.

  Huh.

  In the bedroom, I eyed the nightstand. Checking out his DVD collection and the contents of his fridge was one thing, but invading his bedside table would really be crossing a line. I looked around the room for something else to check out. It was pretty barren—no pictures, no folded pieces of paper on top of the dresser from emptying his pockets the day before. My eyes narrowed in on that nightstand again.

  “No,” I said out loud to myself.

  I lifted Blackie up over my head, and we had a talk. “It would be wrong of me to go through Graham’s drawer, wouldn’t it, little buddy?”

  He stuck his tongue out and licked my nose.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Inside the walk-in closet seemed more like Graham J. Morgan. Suits lined one side, mostly dark. An obscene amount of dress shirts lined the other. Everything was neat and organized.

  Boring.

  I walked back into the bedroom, my eyes falling immediately back on the nightstand. The damn thing was haunting me. “Maybe just one peek.” I stroked Blackie, who was still in my arms. He purred at me. Dogs purr? A purr would be the human equivalent to a yes, wouldn’t it?

  Just one little peek…I won’t even move anything.

  Walking to the drawer, I slid it open with my pointer finger. Inside was a black velvet satchel, a clear bottle of something that could be lubricant—although the label was facing down, and an unopened box of condoms.

  Okay…so maybe I needed to move one or two things.

  “You think there’s something good in that bag, buddy?” I was speaking to Blackie again.

  But it wasn’t Blackie that answered.

  “I know there’s something good in that bag.” Graham’s deep voice scared the shit out of me. I jumped, my arms jerking upward sent Blackie sailing into the air. Luckily, he landed on the bed right side up.

  “You scared the hell out of me.” My hand clutched at my chest.

  Graham stood in the doorway leaning casually against one side. “You were so engrossed in your snooping, that you didn’t hear me come in.”

  “I wasn’t snooping.”

  Graham arched an eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “So I must have left the drawer wide open this morning?”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Guess so.”

  He chuckled and walked to the table, sliding the drawer closed. “Well, if I left it open this morning and you weren’t snooping, then you probably don’t want to know what’s in the bag.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Shame.”

  “Why? What’s in the bag?”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Will you tell me what’s in the bag?”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ll show you what’s in the bag. Now greet me properly.”

  I rolled my eyes as if it wasn’t something I wanted to do every time I looked at his ridiculously handsome face. Then I planted a chaste kiss on his lips. But before I could pull away, he had a handful of my hair in his hand and didn’t let go until he kissed me properly.

  “Wouldn’t have taken you for a snooper,” he mumbled against my lips.

  I pulled my head back and looked at him. “I’m not usually. But I can’t figure you out.”

  “What’s there to figure out?”

  “Slapstick comedy or Civil War flicks? The same type of person doesn’t usually have both.”

  Graham looked amused. “I like both.”

  “What’s with the three quarts of Nesquik? Strawberry, too.”

  “I like it.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And so does Blackie.”

  “You feed your dog Quik?”

  “I do.”

  “See…that’s the thing. Mr. Big Prick doesn’t have a cute little dog, and he definitely doesn’t share strawberry milk with it.”

  “Maybe I’m not Mr. Big Prick like you think.” He slid my hand down to his crotch. “Maybe I just have a big prick, but I’m not really the prick you imagine.”

  “What’s your secretary’s name?”

  “Elaine.”

  “Eliza. She just told it to you this morning. I was there.”

  “I’m busy. It’s hard to find a good secretary to stay very long.”

  “Only when you’re a big prick.”

  “So maybe I am a big prick. But I’m not to you, am I?”

  I sighed. “So what’s in the bag already?”

  “What if I told you it was rope because I wanted to tie you up?”

  I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “I think I could get into that.”

  He blew out a frustrated whoosh of air. “Damn. I should have bought rope.”

  “That would entail a trip to the hardware store. I’m guessing you’re not a big DIY yourself kind of guy and don’t even know where one is.”

  “How about one of those sex toy balls that strap around your face, so you can’t talk. What if I told you that was in the bag, big mouth?”

  “A ball gag?”

  “You knew what I was talking about fast enough.”

  I leaned in and whispered, “I have Caddyshack, Happy Gilmore, and Anchorman, too. But instead of boring Civil War movies, I might have a few movies in a different genre.”

  He groaned. “Are you telling me you have a porn stash?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You couldn’t be more perfect if I’d made you myself.”

  “Thought you didn’t like my wiseass mouth?”

  “Your wiseass mouth makes me hard, and later I’m going to fuck that mouth. You’re right, I don’t know where the damn hardware store is, but I’m resourceful, and I’m sure I can find something to secure your arms and legs while I have at it.”

  He was only teasing, but listening to him talk about tying me up had me aroused, and Graham saw it on my face. “Fuck, Soraya.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  That was all he needed. It wasn’t until hours later that I finally learned what was inside the bag—the lingerie he had bought at Bergdorf’s the afternoon he went to pay for my dress for the gala. I didn’t get to wear it that night, but I did get a promise from Graham that the drawer would be filled with more interesting things for my next snooping session.

  The next morning, I woke to a fully dressed Graham stroking my cheek. My eyes fluttered open. “Hey. Did I oversleep?”

  “No. I’m early. I have a busy day and wanted to get an early start.”

  I stretched my arms up over my head, causing the sheet to slip down and expose my bare breasts. The morning chill made my nipples instantly hard.

  “Don’t do that. I’ll never leave.” Graham rubbed two fingers over one of the stiff peaks.

  “Mmm…”

  “Soraya…” he warned.

  “What? That feels good. Don’t touch it if you don’t want my reaction.”

  He shook his head. “Will you stay with me tonight again? I’m going to be late, but I’d love to come home to this beautiful sight in my bed.”

  “You have to work late?” I looked out the bedroom window. “It’s not even light yet, and you’re already planning on working until after it’s dark.”

  “No. I need to go by the wake tonight. There’s a session from seven to nine this evening, so I’ll probably stay at the office until then.”

  “Oh.”

  “Will you be here when I come home?”

  “Why don’t I go with you tonight? To the funeral parlor. You shouldn’t have to do it alone. I can’t imagine it will be pleasant, your ex-best friend whose company you were trying to buy and his grieving wife who also happens to be your ex-girlfriend. You could use some company.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. Although it seems to be a th
ing for me lately. Funerals and dates.”

  Graham chuckled and kissed me gently. “I’ll pick you up at 6:30. And thank you.”

  After he left, I lay in bed for a little while before getting up. I couldn’t stop thinking…tonight was going to be interesting.

  CHAPTER 14

  GRAHAM

  I SHOULD HAVE BEEN WORKING instead of fucking around. My desk was piled with stacks of documents, there were, at least, a hundred emails in my inbox that I needed to respond to, and here I was writing to a sixty-year-old advice columnist again.

  Dear Ida,

  The woman I’ve been seeing has recently expressed an interest in being tied up. I was wondering if you could provide some guidance for a first-time bondage novice. Would rope be a good investment? Or do you suggest something along the lines of fur-lined handcuffs? Perhaps some silk ties that are less likely to leave marks on her wrists? I should note that I plan to bury my face in her tight little cunt, so there will be a good deal of tugging on the restraints while she is writhing on the bed from multiple orgasms.

  -Fifty Shades of Morgan, Manhattan

  It only took twenty minutes for a response to appear in my inbox. I had expected a lengthy response full of her usual sarcasm. I should have known better than to think I could anticipate anything to do with Soraya Venedetta.

  Dear Fifty,

  Might I suggest checking your partner’s bedside nightstand? Perhaps since this woman you’re seeing expressed an interest, she went shopping after lunch for some supplies.

  This woman was going to be the death of me; I just knew it.

  An hour later, my secretary buzzed in through the intercom. “Mr. Morgan? You have a phone call on line three.”

  “Didn’t I ask not to be interrupted?”

  “Yes. But they said it was urgent.”

  “Who is it, and what do they want?”

  “Umm. I didn’t ask.”

  “Listen…” What the hell was her name? Ellen? God damn it. “The bulk of your job is to screen phone calls, am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you consider interrupting me when I’ve asked not to be interrupted, without having the name of the caller, doing your job correctly?”

  “I…”

  My patience was running thin. “Find out the name of the caller and the nature of the so-called urgent matter.”

  A minute later the intercom buzzed again. “What?”

  “It’s a Ms. Moreau. She said to tell you the nature of her emergency is that her husband is dead.”

  I picked up the phone. “Genevieve.”

  “Graham. I need your help.”

  “I’m working on it. I told you that yesterday.”

  “I need more than that.”

  I took off my glasses and tossed them on my desk. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I inhaled a deep breath. It had been years since I had a civil conversation with her, but contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t a total prick. She had just lost her husband to a heart attack at the age of thirty-one.

  Leaning back in my chair, I exhaled a breath of venom and sucked in fresh compassion. “What can I do for you, Genevieve?”

  “I don’t want to run a company by myself. I can’t do it.”

  “Of course you can. You’ll hire someone you can trust if it’s overwhelming.”

  “I trust you, Graham.”

  I used to fucking trust you, too. It was physically painful to bite my tongue. “You’re not in a state to discuss business right now.”

  “I’m always in a state to discuss business. So are you. It’s the one thing we have in common. Our emotions take a backseat to a deal.”

  “I think you’re wrong, and you’re just unable to see that clearly right now. But what is it you think you’d like me to help with?”

  “I want to merge with Morgan Financial Holdings.”

  “You want me to buy Gainesworth Investments? As in take it over completely?”

  “No. Gainesworth Investments and Morgan Financial Holdings combined would be a powerhouse. I want to run it with you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me right. I want to merge. Be a team again.”

  “Genevieve, I don’t want to be tactless, but…you just lost your husband. Don’t you think you should take some time before seeking a new teammate? Grieve a little perhaps? You’re not thinking clearly.”

  She sighed. “Liam and I were separated.”

  “I wasn’t aware.”

  “I caught him fucking my twenty-three-year-old assistant.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re thinking what comes around goes around. I would be, too.”

  Surprisingly, I actually wasn’t. “You still suffered a loss. Your daughter must need you right now. Let me finish freezing out shareholders from acquiring too much stock, and keep your leverage safe. We can discuss business after you’ve had time to think clearly.”

  “That’s Graham-speak for we’ll have a conversation after I’ve already decided what I want.”

  “Genevieve, go be with your family. Business can wait.”

  “Fine. But check your calendar. You have an appointment this Friday with a Ms. More at ten—it’ll say it’s a referral from Bob Baxter. It’s not. That’s me. More—Moreau. I made the appointment two weeks ago. I was planning on coming to you about this anyway.”

  “I’ll see you at the service tonight, Genevieve.”

  After I hung up, I clicked on my calendar. Sure enough, there was an appointment for a new client consultation with a Ms. More on Friday. And it was noted as a referral from Bob Baxter. I had to hand it to her. Normally I would call someone who refers a new client, flush out some information on the referral. But Genevieve was smart. She knew there was no way I was calling Bob Baxter. There was no such thing as a ten-minute call with that man. He would have had me on the phone for three hours and made it impossible to decline a dinner invitation before I hung up, too.

  Unable to concentrate, I decided to go to the gym for a while. Running and lifting always helped me clear my mind. Around mile three on the treadmill, my head was still spinning. Flashes of my life were flickering through my mind randomly.

  Soraya’s eyes fluttering open this morning snuggled in my bed. Smiling as she found me looking at her.

  Genevieve and I popping open a bottle of champagne in the office the night our asset management portfolio reached a billion dollars for the first time.

  Soraya, kneeling, looking up at me as she slid that ball of silver around the head of my cock.

  Walking into Genevieve’s office after arriving back early from a business trip, ready to celebrate another closed deal. Finding her kneeling, taking Liam’s cock down her throat.

  I ran faster and faster. But the faster I went, the faster the flash just played in my head.

  Watching Tig’s needle pierce my skin and the ink bleed over Genevieve’s name.

  Liam and I, arm in arm, watching as they hung the first sign at our office three weeks after graduation.

  My mother. My mother. Frail, lying in the hospital bed, trying to pretend she was fine.

  What the fuck?

  I ran faster.

  Soraya’s feather tattoo.

  Genevieve sitting on the corner of my desk.

  Liam running next to me on the treadmill.

  I looked to my left. Fucking Liam was running next to me. The vision was so clear, for a heartbeat I really thought it was him.

  When I finally stopped, I had been running so fast, it took me a full five minutes to catch my breath. Leaning down with my hands on my knees as I panted, sweat dripping from everywhere, I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Just when everything finally started to seem so simple, why did it suddenly feel complicated?

  I had no idea at the time, but the feeling was a premonition of things to come.

  ***

  I WASN’T A HUGE DRINKER, never took drugs. Sex was my only vice. And when I w
as stressed out, I needed it even more. Like a fiend.

  I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking about fucking Soraya on the way to a wake, but I couldn’t help myself. She looked absolutely stunning in that little black dress. She’d done her hair up, even though I knew she didn’t like it that way. She probably felt that she needed to hide the colored tips again. She looked nervous, too. Fuck me, if that rare vulnerability she was exhibiting didn’t make me want to screw her senseless even more. The divider separating us from the driver was completely closed, and that wasn’t helping. The temptation to lift her onto my lap was getting stronger by the minute.

  She must have been reading my mind when she said, “You look like you want to attack me, Morgan.”

  “Would you lose respect for me if I told you that despite where we’re headed tonight, all I can think about is slipping your panties off and letting you come on my face?”

  “I already know you’re a dirty bastard. So, that’s not surprising. But this just might be a new low for you,” she joked.

  “Something you’ll figure out about me…when I’m under stress, I get particularly horny. Sex diverts my mind from whatever is bothering me. It’s really the only thing that helps.”

  “I see. Are you looking for my help, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Don’t call me Mr. Morgan unless you’re going for a submissive vibe, in which case I’ll be more than happy to take you over my knee right now. We could play that game if you want.” My thoughts trailed off as I became mesmerized by her slightly parted lips. “God, I want to fuck your mouth right now.”

  She seemed to squirm in her seat. “Do you now?”

  “Yes. And go down on you. We can liken it to stress eating.”

  She burst into laughter.

  “Glad you think it’s funny because I am ten seconds from burying my face underneath that dress.”

  “We can’t. We’re going to be at the funeral parlor any minute.”

  My voice sounded thick and needy as I slid my hand underneath her dress, caressing her thigh. “Not if we agree to be late.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Instead of answering her, I picked up the phone to call my driver. “Louis, we’re not quite ready to head to the funeral home. We’d like you to just drive around for a while. Circle back here in about thirty minutes.”