by Kara Chase
He’s a Neanderthal—a chump.
A total dude, and yet, I cream my panties after five minutes in the same room with him. All I can think of is bending over and feeling his strong hands on my hips, grinding into my ass.
This is the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, but I’ll be damned if I let him get the upper hand here.
No man—regardless of how hot he is or how wet I get—will dominate me.
I came from nothing and fought my way tooth and nail through high school, college, law school, and then in the corporate world. So much time and discipline it took for me to get this far. I might play with being submissive between the sheets, but the reality is, I will fight on any playing field, and I will win.
I don’t give up, and I don’t lose. That is my golden rule.
Anyone who challenges me will be cut down. Incompetent real estate agents or drop dead gorgeous bozos from Wall Street—it doesn’t matter. They’ll all find themselves acquiescing to my desires.
It’s just how it is, babe.
“Looks like we got found out,” Lucien chimes in.
He’s smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. He flashes me a quick come-hither look. He’s really playing it up now, walking towards me with a sexy strutting exaggerated motion across the living room.
“Maybe we should check out the view from the bedroom.”
Lucien is so close now I can feel his breath on my lips. Once again, my nipples turn hard—it’s a good thing I have on that push up bra. He’s getting a glimpse of my cleavage, but at least my nipples are not obvious.
Fuck—even when he’s being a comedian, he’s sexy. Waves of desire are flooding over me. How many layers are there to this guy?
He has truly got me thumped.
I am both confused and intrigued.
What kind of fucking witchcraft does this Lucien dude have going on? In such short time, he’s been able to bring me to this knee-quivering state, and worst of all, he seems oblivious to my charms.
I haven’t been able to beat him on anything. Every move I make he seems unaffected by it. Yet, against pretty much anything he does, I am sent into either fits of desire, dizzying confusion, passionate rages, or some combination of all three.
All this and I haven’t even fucked him yet!
Jonie pipes in.
“So guys, it looks like you both submitted your bids at the same time, and according to state law, we can’t pick one bid over another since we’re both partners. We both got the checks literally at the same time. If we give the apartment to Lucien, we’re gender discriminating, and if we give the apartment to Vivian, we’re gender discriminating again, and you know this is a blue state so we’re at a standstill.”
Jonie chuckles to break the tension.
“So here is the deal you guys,” Jonie, continues, “you both have the apartment. One of you has to decide to withdraw their claim. Whoever that is, you give up and the other person gets the place.”
So fucking typical—slough off your fuckups. It seems to be the regular order for these times.
Oh well. I do love the long game.
It keeps me tuned up and on top of things. I will just have to use patience and a bit of cunning. There’s no fucking way I am losing this place.
It’s perfect for me. The airy expansion of space rising up to a vaulted ceiling. It’s a fucking church, tailor made for the appreciation and worship of Vivian.
Time to take a moment and come up with a plan.
Lucien’s glare is telling me to just let it go—but fuck if I give in.
I’ll have to put all my attention and smarts to this dilemma.
“Lucien—will you be the honorable gentleman and concede?”
I’ll try the obvious first and see where it goes.
Lucien stares hard, raising his brows at me.
“My lady, with all due respect, but you are so fucking far from a helpless damsel in distress who relies on the kindness of strangers to get what she wants. But I am indeed a gracious fucking man, and I’m always subject to being affected by a beautiful broad. And doll, you are indeed a cool drink on a hot day, make no mistake.
“I’m tempted to acquiesce, simply in hopes of being present to witness the fucking joy and gratitude radiate from your…countenance. Maybe even, if the gods allow, you would be so generous as to show your appreciation by allowing a handshake, which would send me on an adventure into a luscious daydream for hours on end.”
Lucien takes a breath from his monologue, for dramatic effect no doubt, then continues to a rapt audience of me and the two real estate agents.
We’re all captured by his voice rising and falling like a love song. We are deers in the headlights, frozen and entranced by him.
“I can even begin to imagine the start of the fantasy—it begins with you asking me to assist you in measuring the bedroom, to decide on whether you should buy that king size luxury, four post oak bed set.”
And here he leaves us hanging. I think my mouth is literally open with my tongue hanging out. I’ve even forgotten for a second what’s actually happening.
The sly bastard is trying to soften me up with his silver tongue, and I must admit—he’s doing a very good job.
Maybe saying fuck a bit too much, but the rough exterior has me all riled up in a good way. Think Niagara Falls. That’s my panties right now.
Lucien continues. “But fucking alas,” and I can’t help a girlish giggle. He knows what I’m laughing at and continues, knowing he’s got a captive audience hanging on his every goddamn word. “I have been holding out for this apartment for quite some time now. I’m afraid it is something I want, doll, and I understand your position here. You are probably unfamiliar with men who do not give you what you want. Well, consider this occasion to be a good learning experience for you. I am sure you will soon find another place almost as fantastic.”
Lucien’s voice as gone from honey to hard candy.
Well, fuck that hard candy shit—you want to battle, baby?
Then get your thunderbolts in line because I have some enlightening lightning coming your way.
Vivian Sweet is going to live here.
“Okay, Lucien, enough of the babbling, what do you want? What will it take for me to get the deed? You want a tidy envelope of cash? I can cut you a good deal on some legal representation. Or maybe something else?”
I emphasize my poise. I hold up my chin and stare at him right in the eyes.
“Name your price,” I say.
He looks at me and his eyes narrow.
“This apartment is going to be mine,” I say, determined.
“Over my dead fucking body,” he says back.
That’s it babe. Welcome to Mount Olympus. Where Zeus and I have just declared war.
Chapter Seven
Lucien
Vivian Sweet doesn’t stand a fucking chance against me.
There, I said it—if this fucking chick thinks she’s going to steal my penthouse from under my nose, she’s in for a lesson.
You don’t fuck with Lucien Parker and expect to come out of it unscathed.
That being said, there’s one thing I don’t want to do with this chick and that’s bring the law into it. I’ve heard of Vivian before, and she’s not someone you want staring at you inside a courthouse.
She rubs elbows with all the judges that matter, and I’m more than sure she’d put one hell of a fight just so she could have the apartment.
But hey—don’t take my words the wrong way, alright?
I’m not fucking afraid of her—if that’s what it takes, I’ll demolish her in court. I just don’t want to drag this for god knows how long.
Besides, I think she wants this fight. And I’m not beneath giving her one. You’d fight for this apartment too, if you saw it. The fucking floor to ceiling windows that you can put a bitch up against as you fuck her senseless.
Close your eyes and imagine you and me, baby. Up in the clouds. I’m gonna press you aga
inst the glass and fuck you good. You’ll stop caring about anything. You’ll forget to fucking cook dinner for your family. They'll starve but you won’t. Because you’ll have been swallowing my fucking cum.
Yeah. I’m an asshole. But a fucking lovable one.
So in case you’re wondering what the hell I’m going to do, my plan is a simple one: I’m gonna move in ahead of her. After all, it’s been two days since our face off, and I doubt she had the time to drag her boxes of pink thongs and shit all the way from TriBeCa or wherever the hell stuck-up white chicks live.
Yeah, that’s the reason why I’m standing here with a fucking small army of movers, right in front of the Trident building. It’s expensive as fuck to rush the moving process, but anything to kick Vivian to the curb.
Oh, I can’t wait to see her face once she opens the door and sees my shit all over the place.
I bet she’ll start crying. She may be this big-shot lawyer, but she doesn’t stand a fucking chance against someone like me.
That’s the way the world works, doll.
Don’t hate the player, hate the motherfucking game.
“Alright, guys, let’s get this shit done,” I tell my army of movers, clapping my hands together and marching straight through the main doors of the Trident.
I hear their heavy boots stomping through the marble floor right behind me, and I can’t help but notice that everybody in the main hall of the building is looking at me.
Yeah, that’s right, peasants—your new god has fucking arrived.
I’m about to step inside the elevator when I feel a large hand on my shoulder, clammy fingers gripping it tight.
I spin around fast, my fists clenching out of instinct, and my jaw drops as I realize I’m standing in front of the most morbidly obese motherfucker I’ve ever seen.
His button up shirt is stretched thin over his paunch, and I can see drops of sweat shining as they go through the multiple fat layers on his chin. I didn’t even know a single man could have this many chins. His eyes are beady and if it weren’t for his weight, I’d say he looks like a fucking snake.
Well, alright, let’s just fucking compromise and say that this guy looks like a snake that just ate a fucking hippo. A very large fucking hippo.
“Luciano Parkour?” he asks me in a drawled tone, his heavy Russian accent coating every single one of his words.
Despite the amount of fat on his face, he still looks Slavic enough for me to connect his accent to his place of provenance—probably some shithole part of the old Soviet Union.
“Lucien Parker,” I correct him, the words leaving my mouth through gritted teeth.
Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?
“Yes, yes, Lucio Parkour, I know,” he continues, not making the slightest effort to get my name right. “My name is Edwin Snodgrass, and I’m the Condo Board President here at the Trident.”
Right, Edwin Snodgrass. I’ve heard of this fucking asshole. His parents, wealthy industrialists, came to the United States after the Soviet Union collapsed.
When they finally passed away, Mr. Fat Putin here decided the best course of action would be to sit on his parent’s fortune and make life for the hardworking American a living nightmare.
Aside from enjoying being the chairman of useless shit like the Condo Board Association, he’s also a lobbyist for the shiftless, always advocating shit like higher taxes to fund social programs. Free shit for everyone who doesn’t want to work, I wonder what could go wrong.
Lets go ahead and use my hard earned tax money to pay people who never worked a day in their lives and had 22 babies. Yeah, fuck me. Why don’t they go get a fucking job?
Funny, though—he always fails to mention the money he has stashed away in a dozen of offshore companies. I bet he doesn’t want to pay higher taxes on that.
“Condo Board President. Got it,” I tell him with a disinterested shrug, and then I turn around to step inside the elevator.
Once more, he lays his clammy fingers on my shoulder.
I swear to god, I’m a few seconds away from introducing Fat Putin to my fist.
“Do not turn away from me,” he tells me, waving a finger that looks like a fucking bratwurst sausage in front of my face.
His cheeks are red, and he seems pretty worked out about something.
“I know about your situation, Mr. Parkour, and I will not have it! I will not!”
“What situation?” I ask him with a sigh.
Seriously, it’s fucking Saturday morning. Why the fuck do I have to put up with this asshole?
“I know about you and Miss Sweet! Two people, one apartment! There’s some drama going on, I know it, and I will not have it in this building.”
“Right, okay, man,” I say, and this time I don’t turn around.
I know this guy would just grab me by the shoulder again, and I really don’t want to punch someone at the Trident on my first day as a resident. But you know, the more seconds pass, the more that starts looking like a good option.
“You have to understand, Mr. Parkour,” he continues, his cheeks growing redder.
As he becomes more and more infuriated, specks of saliva start flying from his mouth to my shirt. Disgusted, I take one step back.
“The Trident is for the civilized, and we will not tolerate any drama around these parts. Our residents are people of well-standing and—”
“Yeah, I got all that,” I tell him with a grin.
Without him noticing, I take one step further back and get inside the elevator. Before the asshole has the time to do a thing, I’ve already waved my magnetic card at the elevator panel and pressed the button that’ll take me to the eighty-ninth floor.
As Edwin sees the doors closing, a vein in his forehead bulges so much that I think the goddamn thing is just going to blow the fuck up.
Seriously, I’m amazed that a freakishly obese person like him—and with a fucking temper to boot—still hasn’t had a stroke.
Fuck that shit, anyway. I got bigger fish to try.
As I finally get to the eighty-ninth floor, a few of the movers are already waiting for me, the freight elevator packed to the ceiling with my shit.
For a moment, I forget all about Vivian and start picturing how the penthouse will look once I have all my stuff in there.
Shit—I honestly can’t wait.
“Alright, guys,” I start, fishing the apartment key out of my pocket, “ready to do this shit?”
“We were born ready, Mr. Parker,” one of them says, closely following behind me.
His tone is an enthusiastic one, and I can’t help but wonder if that has something to do with the generous tip I promised every single one of these guys.
Already imagining the look on Vivian’s face when she realizes I’ve moved in before she did, I open the door and step inside.
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
My first reaction is to raise my hand in front of my eyes, so that they’re protected from all the fucking pink. The curtains that came with the apartment have been taken off, and in their place are large and obscene pink curtains.
Pink paintings hang from everyone one of the walls, and there’s even a fucking pink couch right in the middle of my living room.
Shit, I can’t take this much estrogen.
“What the fuck?”
“Good morning, Lucien,” Vivian greets me, walking through the fucking living room as if she owns the place.
She places both hands on her hips, and then throws me a victorious smirk.
She fucking beat me to it.
Fuck me.
Chapter Eight
Vivian
Priceless.
The dumbfounded look on Lucien’s face is absolutely priceless. The asshole thought he could pull one over me, but he has no idea who he’s trying to mess with.
Lucien Parker just got played.
You see, I got word that he was on the look for a moving company, and I used my own connections to
hire some guys to haul all this stuff here last night.
It wasn’t exactly cheap, but when you’re willing to fork out one hundred and seventeen million dollars for a penthouse...well, let’s just say that all the rest starts looking like chump change.
And what are a few thousand dollars more, if they might make the difference between having to put up with this asshole and getting rid of him?
In case you’re wondering by the way, I’m not crazy about pink—in fact, I hate pink.
Now, don’t think that I’m all manly and whatnot; I do like some feminine colors, and I’m proud of the fact that I’m a woman.
It’s just that when it comes to furniture, I’d rather have some deep brown overstuffed leather chairs than some flimsy pink sofas.
But I figured if there’s someone that’ll probably hate all this crap more than I do, it’s going to be Lucien. He looks just like the kind of guy that will have a psychotic break if he remains inside a room looking like this for more than five minutes.
That’s why all my furniture is safely stored in hermetically sealed and temperature controlled private storage. And I went to the ends of the city to buy all this horrendous pink shit.
Because that motherfucker will hate it.
And move out.
Oh, I’m not going to make this easy for him, not at all. I’m going to make him as uncomfortable as I possibly can.
And judging by the expression on his face, I’m already succeeding. But then again, I always succeed.
You can take that to the bank.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes going from the curtains to the paintings on the wall, and finally to the large pink couch.
I actually have to make an effort not to burst out laughing.
“Why, I live here, Lucien,” I laugh softly, my smirk growing by the moment. “The question is—are you always this late? Seems like I beat you by a day.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself, taking a few cautious steps inside the apartment and completely ignoring me.