by Liz Crowe
“Not kidding, Craig. Look into it.” The guy flipped a post card onto his desk, with a number and website, stating when and where he could take the class and the state-administered test. He picked it up, registered it, and let his tired brain take it on as just one more thing he could be okay at, to get by.
Chapter Four
He shook the hand of the large-and-in-charge woman who was his new sales manager, grabbed a cup of coffee, and made his way into the conference room. He’d passed the real estate exams with flying colors, submitted his resignation at the cycle dealership, and still pined for Lindsay. He had no one to occupy his nights. And even though he knew it was best, he was the sort of person who craved companionship. He flat out hated being alone. But he’d been determined not to call her. And she’d answered his silence with exactly that—silence. Which told him plenty about how she felt.
He shook a few hands, ran his hands down his wrinkled shirtfront, noting the zipped-up expensive suits of the people around him. He smiled, sipped and was thoroughly, totally nervous for about fifteen minutes.
Until he saw her—Sara Thornton—the woman who would change his life.
She sat across from him, wearing a yellow linen-looking suit with a neckline dipping just enough for him to see the lovely curve of her breasts. And she was, in a word, exquisite. His eyes narrowed, and the room and chatter around him faded as he watched her fiddle with her smart phone, eat some fruit, sip her coffee. He could watch her all day. The soft curls of her dark blond hair, the snap of her incredible green eyes and that laugh—dear Lord, he was lost.
She looked up, and he winked, leaned back, and crossed his ankle over his knee. His heart pounded so hard he nearly turned to the guy next to him and apologized. Pam, the manager, introduced him. He held up a hand, looked over at her, the woman seated across from him, the one he’d already made a mental note to seduce, fast.
Then the door opened, revealing a tall, handsome older guy in a flawless suit. Craig watched as the woman of his dreams disappeared into that man’s smile. He sighed, and made a vow. He would have her, if for no other reason than to prove that he could, that she would find pleasure with him, at least once.
It was an old mental script. A familiar one. One he felt comfortable repeating.
Although….he snuck another glance at the lovely woman and studied her a few seconds, then observed as the man worked the room, caught his name and filed it away. Jack Gordon had everyone’s full attention, of that there was no doubt. And it was clear to him that the female vision of perfection directly across from him was doing her best to resist him. Her face was flushed and when the guy stood at the door about to leave, he shot a look so full of meaning straight at her it made Craig’s skin pebble.
Yes, his new workplace was about to get interesting.
“No one warned me this job was so fucking hard.” Craig ran a hand through his hair and stared at the database he had built for himself, trying to rally everyone he knew to announce his new status as seller of homes. Although he hadn’t really managed that either, yet.
He’d taken calls, responded to emails and shadowed Sara for one day as she drove buyers around. But he’d been too mesmerized by her, too distracted to really pay close attention to techniques with clients. He’d sat in the back with the male half of the buying couple and stared at her profile, watched the way the tendrils of her hair curled around her jaw, how her lips moved when she spoke and laughed. By the end of that day he’d been a horny mess. When Lindsay had shown up at his place late, he’d availed himself of the opportunity, passing out right after from exertion, not even hearing or caring when she left.
His phone buzzed with a text from the “office number.”
“Craig, there’s a walk-in,” the receptionist messaged him. He straightened his tie and walked out to the storefront area of the downtown Stewart Realty office. Sunlight gleamed off the light wood surfaces. Flat screen televisions were tuned to news and sports and the very hot chick at the front desk winked then pointing to a thin woman sitting on the couch, perusing the listings they had scrolling on a tablet computer.
Within ten minutes of talking to her he knew he had a live one, but her smile kept getting wider as she shifted closer to him with every breath. Finally, her carefully manicured hand landed right on his thigh, making him jump. He looked at her—she was fifty if she was a day, nicely preserved, but he had more than he needed on his sexual plate between being infatuated with a woman at work and getting off most every night with freak show Lindsay. He looked up and caught the receptionist’s eye, and gave her a “help me” look. She smiled and picked up her phone.
When Sara appeared at the door, glaring at him a little, he shook off the woman and stood, holding out his hand and spouted bullshit about “life and business partner,” and they pretended to be a happily engaged couple for another hour until the prospective buyer left. They laughed their way to the back office where he sorted out her database problem, loving the excuse to be near her for any length of time. She was amazing, and it took all he had not to lean over and kiss her.
Then he saw her tense, and he heard the voices of a few agents talking about an event they’d attended last night. An event where one Mr. Jack Gordon had been, and not with Sara, obviously. She shut her eyes. He listened to the guys go on about Gordon, and his hot date from some fundraiser, and watched Sara’s face fall.
He stood. This was one tangle he wanted no part of, although something in him figured he likely would be, no matter what. He knew himself well. He wanted Sara Thornton, that fucking uber-alpha male Gordon be damned. But, he backed out of her cubicle without a word. This Jack guy seemed like a class-A prick on so many levels, at least based on the plethora of office gossip that surrounded him and his womanizing ways. Surely she’d figure it out on her own.
Chapter Five
“Why don’t I even know where you live?” Craig demanded that night, as Lindsay lay on his chest after an energetic session. He ran his hand through her hair, then smiled at her when she flipped over and propped her chin on his torso. “I mean, really Linds, why so secretive?” He wanted to know, but almost didn’t at the same time.
She stood, stretched and started pulling her clothes back on. He put his hands behind his head and watched her. “You deaf today?”
“No,” she said, pulling her hair back in a severe up-do. “I’m just, private, I guess.”
He lay, still naked, enjoying her rear view as she messed with her face in the bathroom mirror. “Maybe I want to know more about you. So maybe we should take a break from all this, until you’re ready to be less private.”
She turned, her eyes flashing with something close to anger for a second. Then she smiled and walked over to him, sat, and wrapped her hand around his softening cock. “Oh sweetie, there really isn’t that much more to know. I love what you do to me. You love doing it to me. Why complicate it with details?”
Anger pierced him between the eyes and he sat, rolling away from her to the other side of the bed. He shook his head at himself.
This is not the woman you want. Let her go. Stop trying to engage her in anything more than sex.
But it wasn’t in him. He wanted her around, or something like her, so he could shake off his newly found and highly annoying Sara obsession. “Fine. Go.”
She walked around to his side of the bed and shoved him down, started to crawl on top of him but he rolled away and stood. “I need to swim. Go on. Keep your fucking precious privacy, I don’t care.”
She kissed him before she left but he kept it simple and non-committal. He yanked on his suit and headed upstairs to the top floor pool and swam for nearly two hours, blocking out all sound and feeling until he pulled himself up on the side, panting and about to puke.
He flopped down on a poolside lounge chair, drank some water, and then grabbed his phone and called Lillian. “Hey,” he said, rubbing his hair with a towel. “If I tell you you’re my favorite almost sister-in-law, will you tell me I’m not cr
azy?” She was the one he defaulted to most times. The other three were fine but Lil was stable, tough and calm, a touchstone. Engaged to his youngest brother, she was the closest in age to him and the one who was the least inclined to suffer his bullshit, and he needed a dose of intolerance right now.
“Hey yourself little bro. Sorry, can’t do that. You’re certifiable. Real estate? Jesus. You were gonna be a scientist remember? Cure cancer or some shit?”
He groaned. “Don’t start, please Lil. I need you not to nag. Just fill my ear with soothing sounds of ‘Craig you are the bomb.’ Shit like that.”
“Craig, you are the bomb. But surely the woman you are currently bedding can take care of telling you this.”
He could hear some random kid noises. He had four nephews and one niece already and loved hanging around them. A sudden physical ache of homesickness swept through him. “I miss you guys.”
“Move back then. God knows you could sell houses in Louisville and more people would know who the hell you are. Why are you staying up there if you aren’t going to school?”
“Maybe.” A vision of Sara shot across his brain, followed quickly by a memory of Lindsay’s face when he fucked her. “I gotta go.”
“Wait, I have news.”
“Oh?”
“We set the date.”
“Oh. Cool. Congrats.”
“Wedding is next fall. November-ish, I think.”
“Super.”
“I love you little brother. Be good. Protect your heart.”
He sighed. “Will do.” He hung up before he got more depressed, dragged himself back down to his condo and took a shower before falling dead asleep on the couch.
Sunday was his first real open house. He’d finagled a decent one from one of Sara’s many listings. He wandered through the cavernous McMansion, running his hand over the granite surfaces, opening the doors of the gargantuan Sub-Zero fridge, admiring the expensive Italian marble foyer, cherry wood floors, and the amazing kitted out man-cave basement. He put out his business cards and some brochures about houses of a similar price and style on the kitchen counter and leaned there, bored already.
He checked his phone, noting he had a call from his mother and some number he didn’t know. He’d been avoiding Lindsay, hoping to wean himself off her and regain some of his focus. It did piss him off that she was so secretive, but he couldn’t square his own physical need for her with the nearly simultaneous urge to avoid her like the plague. And he absolutely refused to entertain the concept that it was his own issue—that the fear of being alone made him keep coming back to her like a moth to a deadly flame.
She drained him. Their every encounter was sexual, rough and many times angry, but she claimed to love it that way. He, however, was getting sick of it. She’d sent a text yesterday, telling him she was “available” for the night, but he had ignored it and gone out to a bar instead. He'd flirted his ass off, groped some random woman in the smelly back hallway and left, brain buzzing and body unsatisfied. He could have easily brought the nameless girl home but it seemed like too much effort for too little gain.
The doorbell rang. He straightened his tie and opened it, selling face fixed in place. The sight of Lindsay with her hair pulled up, dressed in what looked like a raincoat and high heels set his body on fire. He gripped the doorway and tried to look pissed off. “What the hell are you doing here?” She stepped past him into the foyer, the patent leather heels click-clicking along the tile.
“Nice place, realtor man.” She ran her hand across the mahogany banister. “Give me a tour?” She held out a hand. He shook his head, but watched himself as if from a distance while he followed her back to the kitchen. She leaned over the giant stainless steel island, pretending to study the view out the back window. His cock slammed into the back of his zipper as he yanked her coat off revealing, not to his surprise, a corset, stockings and nothing else but those fuck-me heels.
Without a single word, he pulled all the pins out of her hair, letting it tumble across her shoulders. He felt her hand on his cock, sensed her unzipping him. “Don’t be so sulky baby,” she whispered, loosening his tie and pulling it off, then slipped it around her neck. She leaned back on the island, slipping her fingers between her legs. He licked his lips. “Lindsay misses you.”
He grabbed her and flipped her around, bending her over the stainless steel surface. “Lindsay needs to not refer to herself in the third person.” He grunted and forced her legs farther apart, making her squeal and shiver. “It makes Craig nervous, and horny.”
He bent over, whispered in her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you now, since I know that’s why you’re here.” He angled his hips behind her and slid inside her nice and deep then out, whispering to her the whole time as she groaned and arched her back.
He grabbed her hair and pulled, reached around to finger her clit making her pussy flex around him as her climax gained steam. She arched more, taking him deeper with every stroke. “Come Lindsay. Show me.”
“Yes,” she hissed and the contractions of her body yanked his own climax from down deep making him groan and his hips move faster. “God! Craig!” she squealed. He pounded into her, filling her and cursing himself for not locking the front door.
Thankfully, no one showed up for the next two hours while they ended up sprawled on the basement carpet in an enthusiastic sixty-nine. He licked and sucked her pussy, only half realizing where he was and what he was doing. When she pulled her favorite finger in his ass trick, stroking his gland and deep throating him as she knelt over his crotch he had a moment of Zen just as his second orgasm of the day roared up from his spine and exploded down her willing throat. She pumped her hips into his face and came when he did. Then he pushed her off and stood, wiping his lips and staring down at the thin, sexy, forty-two-year-old cougar who’d been rocking his world for months. Without a word, he went upstairs, disgusted with himself.
She met him in the kitchen, sipping water and re-dressed in her raincoat. Something one of the sisters-in-law had said to him a few days ago floated across his still drug-addled brain.
“You need to settle Craig. As in settle down. You’re gonna be thirty soon and what do you have to show for it? No real job, no girlfriend, nothing but what your dad’s money bought you in a town that’s not even yours. Come home. We’ll help you figure it out.”
He clenched his fists, shoved them in his pockets and stared at Lindsay. “We are done. Do you hear me? Don’t call me. Don’t come over. No more open-house surprises.”
She grinned and sidled over to him, ran her hand down his torso and put his tie back around his neck. “Don’t be silly sweetie. You know you can’t do without me.”
“Watch me.” He jerked away from her, walked to the front door and opened it.
She tried to lean in for a kiss but he looked away and a bright shaft of resolve coursed him. He would cut her loose. He would prove he had a real job. Stop getting distracted by this woman and her manipulation and needy bullshit. She waved to him from the car, and he slammed the door, relishing the echo of it rolling through the empty foyer.
Chapter Six
He watched Sara jump in her car and leave, off to show a house to a total stranger in the middle of nowhere. He shook his head, trying not to be such a worrywart, and went inside the office, already late for his own floor time. He flirted with the receptionist, contemplated asking her out, and then caught himself. He had a new goal now: less pussy and more working towards a successful future.
He lingered as she leaned forward enough for him to get a great view of the tops of her tits. His newly minted resolve was slipping when his phone buzzed with a text. “Hold that thought,” he said to the girl, as he pulled it out of his pocket. He read the screen, tried to process it. 911—1750 Whitaker Road.
“Call the police,” he shouted to the shocked and now disappointed-looking girl. "1750 Whitaker. Sara’s in trouble.” He was out the back door like a shot, roaring down interstate 94 in minutes. He fixated on the a
ddress, hoping he could remember how to get there, and prayed she was okay.
He saw her car in the gravel drive and tried to process the scene. Some redneck was standing entirely too close behind her, his hand on her face, pressing it to the hot metal hood. He screeched his bike to a halt, jumped off letting it fall to the ground and pulled the asshole away from her, landing at least two punches before the guy went down, arms and legs flailing and blood pouring from his nose.
Rage blinded him but he jerked the attacker over onto his stomach, grabbed one arm and felt it pop out of its socket as he wrenched it up high. The dumbass was blubbering and begging. Craig couldn’t really hear and didn’t care. His own blood pounded in his ears. When hands grabbed his shoulders, he shook them off, too angry at the dickhead whose neck he was standing on to care.
“Sir,” a blue-uniformed policeman spoke. His vision cleared, and he stood, letting the cop take over. Craig turned and saw Sara then, trembling, blouse ripped and knees visibly shaking. He was by her side in a second, catching her just as she started to fall.
“Shh...” he soothed, as the adrenaline began to deplete in his system leaving him wobbly. “I’m here. It’s fine.”
The cops piled the guy into their car just as Jack sped up and sprayed gravel everywhere from the wheels of his Stingray. He jumped out, still in full golf gear, and glared around, spotted Sara and Craig on the steps and made for them.
Sara stood and launched herself at him. He held her, closed his eyes, kissed her cheek then handed her back to Craig before stomping over and tearing the cops a new collective asshole for not letting him get his hands on the would-be rapist. Craig watched, somewhat detached, now cold and shaking himself.
“Sir, we need your statement.” An officer not occupied with placating Jack, stood in front of him. Sara sunk back to the steps. He convinced her to let the EMT’s check her out then spoke in short, clipped, to-the-point sentences, keeping the corner of his eye trained on her to make sure she was okay.