Forced to Yield

by Tasha Fawkes

  I sit up, barely able to keep myself upright as the room spins. I smile, feeling dazed and only half with it. He chuckles and wipes his mouth.

  “You're lucky I didn't stop halfway through as punishment for lunch yesterday,” he says.

  I grin. I have no idea what I was thinking yesterday.

  “Sorry about that,” I giggle.

  He glances at his watch and curses. “Gosh, I'm sorry, but I have to go. I was on my way to dinner with my family when you called,” he mutters.

  “That’s okay,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. He leans over and kisses me, slowly and tenderly on the lips.

  “I have tickets to the Celtics on Friday night, if you're interested?” I wrinkle my nose, because as much as I want to see him again, I honestly can't think of anything worse.

  He laughs. “I take it you're not a fan?”

  “I'm not really,” I say. “I've never even been to a game,” I admit.

  “What?” he growls, sounding shocked and offended. “Well then, we need to fix that. It will change your life,” he adds.

  I laugh, because somehow I doubt that.

  “Shana. Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

  I look up, a surge of fear racing through me as my father stares at me. His eyebrows raise as he waits for me to respond. I can't remember the last time he asked me into his office, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't good.

  “Of course,” I force myself to say.

  I stand up and follow him to the end of the hall where his office is. My heart races as I run through all the worst scenarios. He knows. No. There is no possible way he could know anything. But what if he does?

  He motions for me to come in. I give him a tight smile and then sit down and wait for him to walk around his large, custom carved desk. He sits down, adjusting the jacket of his suit before looking at me over the rim of his glasses.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  I resist the urge to snort, because even asking a simple question like that, I can tell by his tone that he is not really that interested. He just knows how to work the conversation up to whatever he needs to talk about. God knows he’s had experience doing it.

  “Fine,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “Good. Shana, I just wanted to ask you something. Have the Harris brothers tried contacting you at all?”

  I freeze. I swear I feel the air rush from my lungs. I stare at him, doing my best to look confused, and then I shake my head.

  “No, why would they?” I ask. I’m sure my voice is more high-pitched than usual, but my father doesn't seem to notice.

  “No reason. I'm just worried that they might try to get to someone in the company to push for this ridiculous merger,” he says.

  “And you think that they might approach me because I'm the weakest link?” I say slowly. It suddenly makes sense. He doesn’t know anything. He just assumes if they’re going to try to recruit anyone, it will be me.

  He rolls his eyes. “Don't make this a bigger deal than it is,” he urges me. “It was just a question.”

  “It is big a deal,” I retort. “I mean, have you called everyone else on the board into your office to ask them if the Harris brothers are harassing them?” I ask, my voice rising. He looks down, giving me the satisfaction that I’m right. “I didn't think so.”

  “What do you want me to do, Shana? Do you want me to tell you that I think they might try to get to you? Okay. Let's put it on the table. I think that might happen.”

  “And why in the world would they do that?” I say with a snarl. “Why would they possibly think I'd ever go against you, my own flesh and blood,” I mutter.

  He glares at me. “Don’t take that tone with me, Shana. I've done a lot for you. You would be nowhere if it wasn't for me.”

  I laugh, because I can see he really believes that. My hands shake as I stand up.

  “Is there anything else?” I ask him stiffly.

  He shakes his head, not looking at me.

  “You're free to go.”

  I text Rex the moment I get back to my desk to ask him if he’s free for dinner. I need someone to talk to, and I feel like he’ll understand. From what he told me, his experience with his family is similar to mine. It’s much easier opening up to someone when they’ve been through what you have.

  Rex: sure, let me choose somewhere. I’ll pick you up from your house at six, okay?

  Me: Sounds good.

  I force myself to focus on my work so that I don't think about the altercation I just had with my father. If I let my mind slip back into that headspace, then I'll never get anything done.

  Somehow I get through the rest of the day, but even arriving back home doesn’t alter my mood. I'm still feeling on edge and angry. I’m tempted to call off the date, but I decide not to. I think I need this, or I’m going to fall apart.

  I get dressed and then examine my reflection in the mirror as I brush my hair. I sweep it up into a bun and secure it with some clips, then I layer some mascara over my lashes and some lip gloss. I press my lips together and flash a smile at the mirror. Rex texts me right as I'm walking outside to let me know that he's here, and I look up and see his car parked across the street. He flashes his lights, and I wave to let him know I’ve seen him.

  He glances at me as I climb into his car.

  “Hey. Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “It's fine, just a shit of a day.” I glance at him. “My dad asked me about you today.”

  Rex shoots me a look. “Oh?”

  I nod. “He wanted to know if you or your brother had contacted me.”

  “Did you tell him?” he asks. He winces as soon as the words come out, but the damage has already been done.

  “What do you think?” I retort, angry that he would even ask that.

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I know this is hard for you, but this is the best outcome for you in the end. You deserve much more than he gives you.”

  “I know I do,” I say.

  I glance out my window, hoping he takes the hint that I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

  He takes me to a nice, quiet, little Italian place over by the lake. I’m grateful that he didn’t try to impress by taking me somewhere fancy. I’m not in the mood to have to yell to hear myself think.

  I don't eat much, because my mind is still on my father. Every now and then Rex glances at me, like he knows what I'm thinking. Not that it would be a hard guess, all things considered.

  “Just forget about what he said.”

  I look up at him. “How do you know that he said something?” I frown.

  “Because I know his type. Hell, most of my family is just like him, remember? He probably tried to make you feel like you owe him,” Rex mutters. I stiffen, because that's exactly how he made me feel. “Look at what you've done to get where you are. Think about how much your father influenced that,” he says.

  “Not much,” I admit.

  “Exactly, so think about that. Think about everything you've done yourself. You could get a job anywhere with your dedication and experience. And you’d be much more recognized than you are now.” He reaches across the table and touches my hand. “Don't let him drag you back in, Shana.”

  I nod and take a deep breath. He's right. I know he's right.

  After we finish our dinner, he drives me home. As we sit in the car, he glances over at me, his hand creeping over my thigh. I smile, a flicker of anticipation racing through me. He leans closer and kisses me on the lips. I kiss him back, shivering as his hand creeps around the back of my neck.

  “Are we still on for the Celtics game tomorrow night?” he asks when he pulls away.

  I roll my eyes. “I can't wait.”

  He chuckles. “I can see how much you mean that. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Eleven

  Rex

  She turns to me, smiling excitedly. Her eyes shine brightly, matching her brilliant, radiant smile. The crowd erupts as another penalty is giv
en, and Shana is one of the loudest cheering. I look around us and then glance up at the box, where I’d usually be. I thought about taking her there, but you get a much better feel for the atmosphere when you’re practically on the court in the front row, like we are.

  “Okay, so I was wrong and you were right,” she says, rolling her eyes. “This is freaking amazing!”

  I laugh and wrap my arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the cheek. She looks amazing, even just in her tight-fitting jeans and blue sweater, which dips dangerously low in the front. Every now and then when she moves at just the right angle, I catch enough of a glimpse of her breasts to give me a pretty impressive erection. Just what you want when you’re watching a basketball game.

  “I knew you’d like it,” I murmur, focusing on how sweet her skin tastes as I run my tongue along her neck.

  She giggles and shies away from me, her eyes meeting mine. I let my gaze linger on hers for a moment, and then look away. I smirk when I can feel her eyes still on me. No doubt she’s thinking about what an amazing guy I am, and she’d be right. I am a hell of a catch.

  I've kicked things up a notch. She's vulnerable and whether she knows it or not, she needs a man in her life to take the focus off the volatile relationship she has with her father. I need to get her to trust me, so I can be that man. This is the perfect way to start that off.

  I feel a twinge of guilt. I know I'm lying to her, but it’s for her own good, as well as mine. That’s what I keep telling myself. She will be better off if she can break free from her father, once and for all. Right. Because her welfare is your top priority. I do my best to ignore the little voice in my head, because I know it’s right.

  I'm making her fall in love with me.

  It’s such an ass act. What happens when she realizes that she’s being played? What kind of damage is that going to do to her self-confidence? Not only that, she'll never forgive me.

  But, by then, the deal will be done and that's what I want, right? I need this deal to go through to unlock that inheritance, or I’m fucked. My whole family’s welfare is on the line. That has to be my only focus. I can deal with the consequences later.

  I shake my head. I’m not used to feeling bad about getting what I need. Maybe it’s because I usually have to fight for it so hard. Or maybe it’s because I feel like the world owes me something. Shana is different. She’s so similar to me in so many ways that I feel bad about taking what I want—even if she’s getting something just as important to her in return. If I don’t tread carefully, feelings are going to fuck this up, one way or the other. I’m sure of it.

  I turn my attention back to the game and to Shana standing next to me. As the final siren blares, a three pointer is scored to seal the game for us. The crowd erupts into cheers and Shana bounces on her feet, clapping as loud as anyone else. I chuckle as I watch. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and even though I’ve missed a good chunk of the game, I’m on my feet cheering too.

  “Okay, that was incredible,” she says, turning to hug me. “Have I thanked you yet? If not, thank you! I'm not even sure if we won or not. Hell, I don’t even care. Just the atmosphere…” She shakes her head and laughs.

  “You can thank me later,” I mutter, smirking at her.

  “Later, huh?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Then what do you want to do now?” she says with a grin.

  “How about we do what real fans would do and go celebrate?” I suggest.

  She nods and takes my hand. “Sounds good to me.”

  We head out to a bar just around the corner from the stadium and have a few drinks—along with everyone else in the stadium, it seems. My plan was for us to get to know one another a little more, but it’s late, and being a Friday night, post-game, there are a lot of people around. We somehow manage to score ourselves a table in the middle of the bar, but I struggle to hear anything she’s saying. She shakes her head helplessly after repeating herself for the third time.

  “Want to go down to that coffee shop we passed?” I yell at her.

  She shakes her head again, not hearing me. I pull out my phone and text her. She reads it and nods, looking relieved. I take her hand and lead her outside.

  We walk the short distance down the block and into the coffee shop. It’s busy, but nothing compared to what the bar was like. I order us a coffee each while she gets us a table. I watch while I wait, my back leaning against the counter. She gazes out the window, watching the crowds of people walking past. I love watching her expressions, because she’s so natural and open. It’s been a great night, and I’m looking forward to it continuing.

  I place our drinks on the table and then slide into the booth. I sigh, because it’s nice just being able to hear myself think. I’ve always hated bars and crowded places, which would surprise a lot of people, given my reputation. The difference is, whenever I was out drinking or getting into mischief, I was usually too off my face to care.

  “You want to know a secret?” she asks, her eyes glowing.

  “Sure,” I grin.

  “I had to Google to find out what the Celtics were,” she says with a giggle.

  “That’s not something to be proud of,” I tease. “How could you not know who they are? You live in Boston!”

  “I’ve heard of them, I just wasn’t sure if they played football or baseball or what,” she says defensively. “I mean, who watches basketball anyway?”

  I shake my head in mock disgust and laugh.

  “I can’t even respond to that,” I smirk.

  Just like most of my emotions today have been real, I’m finding that I’m really enjoying myself. The more I get to know her, the more I like. She’s funny, she says what she thinks, and she’s an amazing kisser. If I was interested in a long-term girlfriend, she’d be perfect. But I’m not… am I?

  “What was the last book you read?” she asks suddenly.

  “The last book I read,” I muse. I make a face, sure my next statement isn’t going to go down too well. “Total honesty? I don't think I’ve read a book since college.”

  Her eyes widen. She claps her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, a chuckle escaping her lips.

  “That’s sickening. I read nearly a book a night.”

  “Why doesn’t that that surprise me?” I smirk at her.

  She leans across the table and playfully hits me on the arm.

  “And what is that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting I need to get out more?” she gasps, feigning horror.

  “Are you denying it?” I smirk.

  She laughs, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. The way she smiles, the way her eyes light up when she talks about something that she's passionate about…they’re all little things that I'm really starting to notice. I'm telling myself that I'm not getting in too deep, but I'm a fool if I don't admit that there's an attraction there. I down the rest of my coffee and then look up at her.

  “I used to write poetry,” I say to her with a straight face.

  “Really?” she says, her eyes lighting up.

  “No. I just wanted to see what your reaction would be,” I tease.

  She giggles and shakes her head. I reach for her hand and roll my fingers over hers. My heart is pounding, but I tell myself that’s the caffeine kicking in and not because of her touch. “Come back to my place?” I suggest.

  “That sounds good,” she murmurs, clasping her hand in mine.

  We’re barely through the door of my place and I’m kissing her with an urgency I haven't felt before. I don’t know what’s up with me. First the heart flutters and shit, and now this. All I know is that I need her and I need her now. I groan as I undress her, kissing along her neck. I pull away, taking a moment to admire the view of her standing there in just her panties and bra, and then I lift her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom.

  My lips don't leave hers the entire way. I grunt and reach behind her, unclasping her bra. I peel it off one handedly, while still holding her in my arms. She giggles as though she's impr
essed with my skills.

  I throw her down on the bed and climb on top of her. She gasps as my hands palm her breasts, arching her back off the mattress. I close my mouth over her nipple and suck it until its stiff, curling my tongue around it. She cries out as I bite down and shoots me a look.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, not sorry at all.

  I lift myself up, long enough to tear off my shirt and shuffle out of my pants, then I resume my position on top of her. She sighs and wraps her legs around me and then she reaches down, her fingers curling around my erection. I groan as I kiss her, loving the taste of her lips while she works my cock.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I mutter.

  I move my way down the bed so my face is level with her pussy, then I spread her legs further apart and lick along her entrance. She gasps, her hands raking through my hair. Her body jolts as I slide my tongue inside her.

  “Oh, God,” she pants, her thighs clenching around my neck.

  She locks me in place, so I’m not going anywhere—not that I was planning to anyway. I thrust my tongue deeper inside her, flicking her clit until she gasps.

  “Fuck,” she cries out, closing her eyes as she tilts her head back while I lick her senseless. With her fingers clutching at my hair, her body convulses. She groans, coming hard on my tongue. I circle her clit as she rocks against me, until she can’t take it anymore.

  Satisfied that I’ve done my job, I make my way back up to her lips. I kiss her deeply and align myself up at her entrance. Just as I’m about to enter, she puts her hand down and blocks me, her eyes glistening.

  “Not so fast,” she says with a grin.

  I cock my head, confused for a second, until she rolls me over so that I’m on my back. I watch as she slides her way down over my body until her mouth is wrapped around my cock.

  Holy fucking Christ.

  Good, God, can this woman suck a cock. I groan, jerking forward at the feel of her lips on my dick. She takes me completely in her mouth, sucking hard along my length, her lips working back and forth. I gasp and grab hold of her hair, guiding her deeper over my cock.