Outwait

by Lisa Suzanne

I shrug. “Early meeting tomorrow.”

  “So? That’s never stopped you before.”

  “You’re right, it hasn’t, but I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Which is why one of us should definitely hook up with Taylor.”

  I chuckle. “You go ahead if you have to. I’m heading down there after a little more gin.” I nod toward the dance floor and watch as she moves to the music. The way she’s dancing tells me she wants to be fucked tonight; girls like her don’t put on a show like that unless they hope someone’s watching.

  He follows my gaze. “The blonde with the legs?”

  “Who else?”

  “Touché.”

  I pull out my phone and set my alarm for the morning. I’ve learned the hard way that if I want to get to work on time after a night out, I need to set my alarm before I start getting drunk and before I make my way to some random lady’s house. I set my phone down and take another sip of my gin.

  Miller turns back to me. “Listen, before you go, I do have some business I need to discuss.”

  Did I mention that Miller is my financial advisor? My father offered me a selection of the ones he uses, and some of my accounts are set up with them, but I trust Miller. My dad told me it’s never a good idea to mix money and friendship, but Miller and I aren’t like that.

  “What kind of business?”

  “One of the high-risk investments we talked about tanked.”

  “So pull it and put it into a lower risk one.”

  “That’s not what I’d recommend.”

  “Which one was it?”

  “The big one.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter. “Do what you have to do, just don’t spend my entire future.”

  “I don’t make money unless you make money.”

  “I know.” I look over at him with a glare. “So make us some fucking money.”

  He nods smoothly. I love my friend, but I hate that he’s so damn good at hiding what he’s really thinking. Part of me wants to know how much money he’s lost me, exactly. He doesn’t usually bring up my investment accounts over gin, so it must be pretty bad, but however much it is, I’m safe. My father taught me well despite the fact that I don’t always listen to his advice.

  I finish my second glass of gin, get a refill from Taylor, and excuse myself to talk to the blonde with all the legs.

  My conversation with Miller plays in my mind. Was my father right about investing with a friend? Was it a bad idea to trust Miller, even though he’s good at what he does? I know I’ll have good years and bad years; it’s the way the game works. High-risk means big loss or big reward, and last year was a big reward type of year. That doesn’t mean I’m okay with this year being a big loss, though.

  There are few things I really hate in this world, and flying, confrontation, and losing money are probably my top three. I push it to the back of my mind, even though I know it’ll be eating away at me until I have a chance to sit down with Miller and really look at my finances. What a fucking dick for bringing it up on a night when we’re supposed to be out having a good time. I bet he only did it to expense the bottle service, and he managed to stick a pin of anxiety in my stomach in the process. Asshole.

  The blonde is at the bar by the time I get downstairs, so I slide in smoothly beside her and signal the bartender. “Hendrick’s for me, and whatever she’s having for her,” I say, nodding toward the woman.

  She looks better up close than she did from above. Her gaze turns to me, and she has heavy brown eyes with long lashes. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I shrug. “I want to.”

  She turns to the bartender. “Manhattan.”

  “Manhattan?” I repeat with the slightest touch of appreciation. Manhattans are for people who want to get drunk fast, and that bodes well for my cause.

  She smiles. “I like whisky.”

  “I like girls who like whisky.”

  “Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, and then she narrows her eyes at me. “Is that just a line?”

  I shake my head. “When I turned twenty-one, my father gave me a bottle of Macallan. What he didn’t know was that I’d been sneaking it off the top shelf of the pantry for years when he wasn’t looking. I developed a liking for it early.”

  “Then why the gin?” she asks, nodding toward the bartender as he makes our drinks.

  “Long story. I’m Carson.”

  “Brittany.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brittany.”

  She grins. “Nice to meet you, too, Carson. You here alone?”

  I shake my head. “My friends are upstairs.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “Upstairs? Fancy.”

  “If you’re a good girl, I can get you up there.”

  She leans in a little closer, and I smell the whisky on her breath. Perfect. She smells like heaven and I want a taste. “What if I’m a naughty girl?”

  She doesn’t back away as she awaits my reply, and I already know I’m in.

  “Then I’ll take you up there before I take you back to your place.”

  “What if I want to skip upstairs and go right to my place?”

  “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Wherever?”

  The bartender places our drinks on the counter in front of us, interrupting our banter. “Thirty-eight, Mr. King,” he says to me.

  I nod up toward our table. “Put it on Miller Cox’s tab.”

  “Of course, sir.” He turns back to add that information into the computer, and the woman beside me looks impressed.

  “He knows your name? You come here a lot?”

  “I do business here a lot,” I say. It’s a half-truth. I do some business here, sure—like when Miller talks to me about how much money I’m losing seconds before I’m about to hit on someone, for example. I do come here when I need to entertain a client of my own; it’s rare, but it happens.

  I hold my glass up to hers, and she taps hers against mine.

  “What sort of business is that?” she asks.

  “Media.”

  “Entertainment?”

  I shake my head. “Telecommunications.”

  She looks vaguely disappointed, as if I could’ve given her her big break. Little does she know, I actually do have the connections to do just that if I wanted to.

  “What do you do, Brittany?”

  “I’m in human resources.”

  “How long have you been in human resources?”

  “Four years next April. How long have you been telecommunicating?”

  I chuckle. My whole life is the real answer, though I’ve technically only worked in my current position as executive vice president for the past two years. “I’ve been with the company in various positions since I was in high school.”

  She sips her Manhattan. “When are you taking me upstairs?”

  The key to a successful night here at Enders is making sure we get ladies back to our table. It’s not necessarily for our success, but for the bar’s success. We’ll continue to get good service if we provide good clientele, and drunk ladies at a bar are typically acceptable currency.

  “How about now?”

  She nods. “You got any single friends up there?” she asks.

  “I’ve got five friends up there. Three are single.”

  “Shoot,” she says, sticking out her bottom lip. “I’ve got four friends with me.”

  I raise a brow. “Guess one of you will have to double up.”

  She leans in. “It won’t be me tonight.” She takes a long sip of her Manhattan before she speaks again. “I want you all to myself.”

  I can’t tell if this is the best idea ever or if I’m totally fucked.

  CHAPTER 3

  CARSON

  Stumble, stumble. Mouth, lips. Hands grasping, groping. Tongue and a stumble. Is that a wall? That’s a wall. Hands feeling around for a switch, feeling around for my cock. A squeeze of my nuts as my eyes pop open. Brightness stinging my eyes. Eyes closed and tongues clashing togeth
er again.

  We’ve been groping each other since the Uber dropped us off here at Brittany’s apartment. She might have a roommate, might not—I’m not sure, and I don’t care.

  She steps back from me and pulls the black shirt off her body. I hear the rip of the tape that must’ve been stuck between her skin and the fabric, but her tits are out so it’s hard to think about anything else. A body like hers makes men dumb. My cock hardens painfully in my pants.

  I hook one arm around her small waist and pull her to me, and I use my other hand to grapple with her naked tit. I lean down and pull it into my mouth, and her hard nipple is heaven on my tongue. A sweet moan rumbles through her chest, and that sweet moan turns into a feral groan when I bare my teeth over her nipple.

  Her hands dive into my hair as she smashes my face against her tit, and then her hands start to scratch down my back, lower and lower as she searches for the bottom of my shirt. She yanks it up and I have to let go of her breast so she can pull it over my head.

  As she tosses it on the floor, she takes a good look at my stomach. A soft gasp escapes her lips, and my dick is so hard I think it might claw its way out of my pants.

  Her greedy fingers run down the abdominal muscles I work hard for. I’ll admit I got a damn lucky set of genes, but I still put in time and effort to keep my body fit. Her eyes shoot up to mine. She is so hot for me that I can actually see it on her face.

  She practically attacks me as she forges forward and our mouths collide once again. She tastes like whisky, which is perfect since the sting of gin is still on my tongue.

  I push my hand down the back of the short shorts she’s still wearing, and I cup her smooth, tight ass for a few seconds before I realize something important.

  She’s not wearing anything under those short shorts.

  She’s not. Wearing. Panties.

  Just the thought of the seam of her shorts rubbing against her sweet pussy all night nearly sets me off. If she’s wet, her shorts will smell like her, and they’ll be wet, too. I can’t stop myself from pulling my hand out of the back of her shorts and shoving it down the front.

  Smooth skin greets my hand—completely smooth—and I can’t remember the last time I was so fucking hard. I slide my finger through her slit, and it glides right along because she’s so wet for me. She moans, and then she groans when I slip one finger inside. She’s warm and soft and I want my cock in there instead of my finger.

  My space is limited in the confines of her shorts, but I manage to pump my finger in and out. She backs up, and my hand moves with her until she hits the wall. She balances herself with both hands spread out against the wall as she leans back into it, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as I continue to finger her. I lean my head forward and take one of her perfect tits back into my mouth, and it’s too much for her.

  She screams out before she contracts all around me. I suck harder on her tit and pump my finger faster until the spasms slow, and then she leans on the wall in peace for a few beats. She opens her eyes and gazes at me. She looks fucking spent, but this night’s just getting started.

  “Holy shit, Carson,” she says.

  I raise a brow. “What a nice appetizer for you.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “You want me to blow you now?”

  “A little finger fuck and you’re ready to get on your knees for me?”

  “I was ready to get on my knees for you the second you slid into the space next to me in the bar.”

  I chuckle. “But you still made me pay for your three Manhattans.”

  She lifts a shoulder, and her tits bounce. “It’s more fun that way.” She kneels down and unzips my pants before pulling my very hard cock out. She gasps and looks up at me. “Oh sweet Jesus.”

  Nothing will get me off faster than when a woman is giving me head and looks up at me with wide eyes full of wonder and innocence. I give her a lazy grin and then nod toward my cock as if telling her she can start now.

  She licks my long length once and then licks around the head of my dick before taking the entire thing all the way back to her throat. It’s so warm and sweet in there. I thread my fingers into her hair lightly, and then she starts to move her head up and down. I push my hips toward her on the down and pull back on the up. We find a fast rhythm together, and then I start to lose control.

  I’m always in control. Always. I have a job that demands it of me, and for better or worse, my career is my life. It’s rare that I give up control in any aspect of my life, but when a woman is on her knees for me or I’m balls deep in her pussy, when I find that zone where it’s all pleasure, I let go. I let pleasure take over and guide me, control me. Maybe it’s why I like fucking so much, and maybe it’s why I prefer fucking a different woman every night. No attachment, just pleasure.

  I can’t control my hips as they start to move faster, can’t control my hands as they pull her face tighter against me. I’m fucking her mouth now, and she’s barely moving as I thrust harder and harder.

  I don’t want to come in her mouth, though. No, I want to save that.

  Just as my balls start to tighten, I push her shoulder away from me. Even in this moment where I trick myself into thinking I’m about to lose control, I still maintain it.

  She’s breathless, panting on the floor as she rubs her jaw.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  She nods, her eyes full of fire. “Fuck me.”

  I want to tell her I’ll fuck her when I’m ready to fuck her—that I call the shots here, not her—but I am ready to fuck her, and it’s not worth the fight in this moment just to assert my dominance. So, I shut my mouth, pull my wallet out of the jeans that are halfway down my ass, and grab the condom I store in there. I kick off my shoes, pull off my pants, and roll on the condom all in the space of a few seconds. Brittany is still on the floor, out of breath.

  “Stand up and bend over,” I demand.

  She does, presenting herself to me for fucking.

  “Touch your toes.”

  She does as instructed, and I move in behind her. I slap her ass just once, and a little squeak escapes her. She looks gorgeous like this, and she’s at the exact right height for me to slide my cock right into her. But first, I need a second. She sucked me off so hard that I almost came, and I need to tame the beast for a second so I don’t come too fast. I want this to last a little longer. I want to extend the pleasure for both of us.

  I slide my finger into her, and then I add a second. She makes some noise beneath me as I run through my mental catalog of dirty talk. “You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” I ask.

  She responds with a moan, so I push my fingers into her faster and harder.

  She cries out louder and louder the harder I push. I can tell she’s getting close to another orgasm, and that’s the moment I pick to pull my fingers out and replace them with my cock.

  I plunge into her and she yells out a string of disconnected words that make no sense and sound something like oh-sweet-mother-cock-fuck-oh-oh-oh-fuck but I’m too wrapped up in my own oh-sweet-mother-cock-fuck-oh-oh-oh-fuck to translate. I grab her hips for leverage and slam into her over and over, and she breaks down into her orgasm fast. Her muscles contract all around my cock, and I lose myself in the pleasure of her body. I continue to pump into her, slowing my moves a bit as she comes down from her high, and then I start to pick up my speed.

  I move one of my hands down her thigh and back up before cupping her sweet ass cheek in my hand, and then I run my fingers down her crack, teasing her. She tightens up for me, and that’s what I was looking for. The tight clench of her body overwhelms me, and I pull out of her, tear off the condom, and jerk myself off right onto her ass.

  CHAPTER 4

  CARSON

  Last night was fun, but fuck if I’m not paying for it today.

  I sit in the King Communications boardroom thinking about how when my father finally hands me the reins to this company, I won’t schedule seven o’clock meetings. Ever.

 
I don’t care if we’re talking to China and they’re thirteen hours ahead of us and we don’t have a choice but to talk now.

  And while I’m making promises, I should probably include not drinking gin the night before a seven o’clock meeting. The hooking up with a hot girl portion of the night, though…that can stay.

  I feel the start of an awful headache, and I think I might still be a little drunk. I look around the table at the men seated here with me. Not one of them looks hungover. They’re all crisp men in their suits as they listen attentively to our Chinese translator, David, as he interprets for the rest of us.

  My father runs the call. He can speak some Mandarin, a result of many business deals in Asia. Members of the executive team fill the other seats at the boardroom table: Gary, VP of Operations; Cal, VP of Marketing; Dennis, VP of International Business Affairs; Paul, our CFO; and Steve, VP of Information Technology. Sometimes our assistants join the meetings, but not today. My administrative assistant, Lauren, is working on a project, and my father’s assistant, Iris, is helping her.

  I rub my temples as I try to ward off the hangover, but it’s futile. I sip some black coffee, and it tastes like shit. I don’t drink coffee on a regular basis because I hate the fake energy caffeine gives. I prefer the natural energy I get from cardio activities—like fucking.

  Do you have any idea how boring it is to sit in a meeting where you only understand about half of what’s going on? I know the business and I know it well, but I hate sitting in on conference calls, especially international ones. It’s a bunch of old men talking about voice and data services, and I’m bored as fuck with a mountain of paperwork on my desk.

  The seemingly interminable phone call finally ends after nearly two hours, and then my father starts with a review of the business we just covered. I’m half-listening.

  I don’t need to be here, but my father insists I attend these important meetings so the clients know I care. It’s nearly impossible to pretend I care when I really don’t, though. In fact, my father shouldn’t even be in this meeting. This is Dennis’s area, and when I take over, I plan to trust my men to do their jobs.