Hardass (Bad Bitch)

by Christina Saunders

  “Tell me.” He gripped my hair and pulled before fastening his teeth to my neck again.

  Yes, anything, yes. “Yes. I want it.”

  He covered my mouth with his hand and sank inside me. I squealed against his palm at the flash of pain and the intense glow of pleasure. His cock was thick, stretching me as it slid against my wetness. He groaned into my throat. The pleasure quickly overtook anything else as he moved inside me, his hips starting a steady rhythm as he licked and sucked my neck. He slid his hand from my mouth and gripped my breast.

  The bed shook from his impacts, but he kept our bodies close together. The sound of skin on skin didn’t carry. His strokes were hard and sure, hitting my clit on each jarring burst of aggression. I dug my nails into his back through his shirt and spread my legs as far as I could to get every bit of contact.

  “Fuck,” he exhaled into my ear, then bit down on my earlobe.

  “Wash.” I didn’t recognize the breathy, throaty voice even though it was mine.

  “Tell me you want it harder.” He was a devil in my ear, promising me so much pleasure.

  “Harder, Wash.”

  He released my hair and shoved his arm between my back and the bed, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder. He leveraged my body so he could go even harder, pulling me down onto his cock with each intense thrust. I wrapped my legs around him as my body began to seize.

  “No.” He slowed down.

  I tried to move my hips up to him to keep the delicious contact.

  “No, Caroline. You come only when I say you can.”

  I dug my nails into his back and glared up at him.

  “God, I need to rough-fuck you just to keep you in line, don’t I?” He slanted his mouth over mine, sinking his tongue inside at the same time he started pounding into me again.

  I wouldn’t last. I couldn’t. I cried out into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound and kept pistoning into me.

  “Come. Come for me,” he said against my lips.

  I had never heard anything sweeter. My pussy responded, and my body seized as I came so hard my back arched off the bed. His name was on my lips before he silenced me with another deep kiss. I was nothing but heat and bliss, all exploding from my core into every cell of my body. His cock hardened even more inside me as I rose to the top of my high and started sliding down the other side.

  His fingers tightened on my shoulder. “Jesus.” He groaned and slammed back into me. Deep as he could be, he bit down on my shoulder and grunted his release.

  His cock kicked inside me and I squeezed him with my legs, wanting every last bit he had. My clit ached in pleasant waves as he let out a breath and sank onto me, spent.

  I moved my hands up to his hair and we just lay there, tangled up in each other while we came back down to earth.

  He dropped a kiss on my neck and pulled out. “Are you okay?” He sounded almost sheepish.

  I just had the two best orgasms of my life in the space of three days. I’m perfect. “I’m, um, great.”

  “Let me get you some tissue.” He rose and yanked his boxers and pants up before going to the bathroom and returning with some tissues. He went to the bedroom door as I cleaned up. My mind was still in shock from the intense orgasm, not to mention how unexpected his actions were. Hadn’t he just run away from me? And now this?

  He turned toward me and leaned back against the door. He was slightly flushed, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the booze or our activities. I strode to him, ignoring the ache between my legs. I would be walking funny the next day, for certain. But it was worth it.

  “Wash—”

  “Caroline, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He shook his head. “In fact, I tried very hard to keep it from happening. I’ve failed, yet again. I’m sorry.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you’re just going to fuck me and then apologize? Is that what we’re doing?”

  “No, not like that. I’m not apologizing for the sex. It was the best—” He bounced his head against the door as if it would help him get his thoughts in order. “What I’m trying to say is that this thing, this thing we’re doing, it can’t happen again. I just saw you tonight in that dress and those goddamn heels. And the way you held your own with Judge Lane. Even though you shouldn’t have said what you said. And I lost control. Again.”

  I walked the rest of the way to him and smoothed down his shirt, running my hands over his chest and abs. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so afraid of losing control.”

  He gripped my hands and pulled them away from his body, his face stern. “Maybe you shouldn’t keep tempting me.”

  I ripped my hands away from his. “Tempting you? Are you fucking kidding me? You follow me in here, throw me down and fuck me, and somehow all of this is my fault? Have you and Judge Lane been comparing notes or something?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I mea—”

  “No. I think it’s exactly what you meant. You know what? You’ve been right this whole time. We should keep this purely professional. I’ve been an idiot for running after you. For thinking there was an actual man beneath all this.” I waved my hand at him. “But I was mistaken. So, from now on, let’s just work together. That’s it.”

  His jaw tightened. I didn’t care. I was tired of his wishy-washy bullshit. I wanted him. Short of coming out and saying “you had me at hello,” I wasn’t sure what else I could do.

  He blocked the door, his eyes boring into me in the gloom. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if rethinking whatever he planned to say.

  The tears were back, making my nose tingle and my eyes burn. “Move.” I forced the tremble from my voice. “I’m leaving.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “I’m not kidding, Wash. Get the fuck out of my way.” I wasn’t going to cry in front of him. Not again, anyway.

  After a few more moments of tense silence, he moved aside. I yanked the door open and hurried down the hall. I told Terrell that I wasn’t feeling well, wished him luck on his date, and assured him my taking a cab back to the apartment was the best course of action.

  I stayed strong until I plopped down on the vinyl seat and pulled the taxi door closed. The cabbie had the decency to let me sniffle in peace the rest of the way home. I saved the sobs until I was safely in my bedroom, and fell asleep determined to keep the hardass at bay from then on out.

  Chapter Seven

  Wash

  I’d been in my office for two hours. Two hours when I should have been reading e-mails, writing letters, doing any number of things I needed to do for my clients. Instead, I did the same thing I’d done all weekend. I thought about her, wondered what I could do to fix the situation.

  I stared out my windows—something I rarely did. I’d worked my way into the corner office but never seemed to enjoy its perks. My coffee had long since gone cold. Caroline hadn’t shown up yet, but I didn’t expect her to. Not after Saturday night.

  I’d stood in that bedroom, still awash in her scent and her taste, and tried to plot the safest course of action. After a few long moments at a total loss, I figured the best thing to do would be to explain that whatever I just said was idiotic and that I was sorry. I didn’t seem to be able to get a handle on my feelings. I was irrational, possessive. I’d kept an eye on her all night, the way she worked the room with Terrell.

  I found myself more than once pondering what it would take to get Terrell fired. The way they were so easy together, the way he touched her, and made her laugh—all these things got under my skin. Even though I knew they were just friends and nothing more, I was jealous he got to spend so much time with her. So I did the only logical thing; I drank more. And then I drank some more.

  And then I went too far, fucking her under Trent’s roof in the middle of a judicial fund-raiser. Fuck. I couldn’t regret it even if I tried. Her body, her sounds, all of her was embedded in my memory. It was the hottest thing I’d ever done, and even as I sat and stared at the cloudy sky and muddy riv
er, I wanted her again any way I could have her.

  “Mr. Granade.” Caroline’s heels clicked on my wood floor.

  I turned to her, at a loss for words for once in my life.

  She wore a dark turtleneck and gray slacks—demure for her. But it didn’t work. I could still make out every curve on her body and wanted to run my hands over them, kiss them, explore her inch by inch. She sank into one of my chairs and flipped the page over on her legal pad. All business.

  “I’ve set up a meeting with Luke Graves for right after lunch. One o’clock at his office downtown. I didn’t give any details of why we wanted to speak to him, just said it concerned his brother. Also, we are set to visit the morgue on Friday morning.” She kept her eyes on her notepad. “Is there anything else I should be doing on the preparation front?”

  I stared at her, willing her to look at me. My powers of persuasion were weak all of a sudden, because she continued scrutinizing her notes.

  “Look, Caroline, what happened the other ni—”

  She looked up, her gaze piercing. “Mr. Granade, please tell me if there’s any other legwork I need to be doing before our meeting this afternoon.”

  Mr. Granade. She’d called me Wash Saturday night. I wanted her to call me that again, to call me that all the time. But I’d fucked it up.

  She rose. “If that’s all, I’ll finish pulling all the information on Luke Graves. I’ll have a detailed list of high points for you in the next hour.”

  “Okay. Yes.”

  She strode out as I sputtered for something intelligent to say. Then she was gone and I was back where I started. Alone and consumed with thoughts of her.

  After a while, I shook it off and forced myself to work. If she wanted to keep things professional—which she’d made crystal clear—then I would, too. After all, I was the partner. I should have been the one staying professional from the start.

  I cleared my e-mails and was about to start looking at the various brief drafts on my desk when she reappeared, her face still in a careful mask and her eyes everywhere but on me. She handed me a bulleted list of information as promised. It was getting close to noon.

  “Let’s go get lunch and discuss the interview.” I used the tone I’d come to wield like a baton. It got things done. It kept the associates in line.

  “I don’t think so. I’ll just meet you over at his office.” She turned on her heel and left.

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline

  I spent the entire elevator ride up to Luke Graves’s office primping myself in the reflective doors. I’d stuck to my guns earlier when I’d told Wash I wouldn’t go to lunch with him. I’d wanted to, but I couldn’t let myself slide right back into his mindfuck, or even his oh-so-good normalfuck.

  The doors slid open, and I hoisted my messenger-bag-style briefcase higher on my side. Graves and Berns was a high-end investment brokerage, very high-end from the looks of things. Everything was marble, glass, and shiny chrome. The office was at the top of one of the tallest buildings in the city, so the views were spectacular.

  How does a guy who works here end up with a reprobate for a brother?

  “Hi. I have an appointment with Mr. Graves at one.” Wash had beaten me to the meeting. He stood at the reception desk, and the receptionist gave him the same goo-goo eyes that I probably did when I first saw him. I couldn’t exactly blame her. In his dark suit and tie, he looked like a corporate office wet dream.

  He turned as I approached. “And this is my associate, Ms. Montreat.”

  “I’ll buzz Mr. Graves. Please have a seat, and he’ll be out shortly.” The blonde gave a beauty queen smile to Wash and completely ignored me.

  I chose a plush leather chair and sat. He took the seat opposite me. It was hard for me to avoid his gaze, and I suspected that was his intent. I opened my briefcase and pulled out my legal pad. Doodling would keep me occupied for at least a little while.

  When I began to draw squiggles and stars, he pulled my information sheet from his briefcase and seemed to study it. It must not have been very enthralling, because every time I glanced up, he was looking at me. I couldn’t stop the heat rising in my cheeks, the warmth radiating from my core. I wanted it to stop. Or did I?

  When he looked at me that way, like a hungry wolf, my thoughts stopped flowing and just stuck together. Useless.

  “Mr. Granade?” the receptionist chirped. “He’s ready to see you now.”

  We rose and followed her down the hall. Wash put his hand on my lower back. His touch was at first tentative and then steady. I should have swatted him away, but I didn’t want to make a scene. Yes, that’s the reason.

  She led us to an office twice the size of Wash’s with a spectacular view of the river. The steamboat was in the middle of the channel, white with red trim and looking straight out of a movie. Well, except for the tourists packed on its decks taking pictures. Still, this was one of the best vistas in town. The rent alone on this place must have been outrageous.

  “Mr. Graves, this is Mr. Granade and Ms. Montreat from Palmer & Granade.” The receptionist motioned us inside and left, closing the wide glass door behind her.

  A man in his late forties, trim for his age, rose from behind a massive mahogany desk and met us. He was dressed in an impeccable suit, clearly tailored just to him. His hair was salt and pepper, and he smiled widely as he welcomed us. His blue eyes were far lighter than Wash’s, giving an almost transparent effect.

  He had a tasteful number of family photos along the interior wall, a trim, smiling wife and children in each one. It gave the otherwise high-style office a somewhat homey feel.

  We all shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Graves.”

  “Please, call me Luke.” His grip was firm, and he looked me in the eye. He was respectful, confident. I liked him.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. Had some last-minute things come up. Can I offer you something to drink? We have just about anything you might care for.”

  “No, I think we’re all right.” Mr. Granade smiled.

  Luke motioned us to some white leather chairs around a small table. Everything in his office was ultramodern, smooth lines, nothing fancy, except for his desk. It was made of some dark wood, clearly antique, with ornate carvings of what looked like gryphons along each leg.

  “That’s a family heirloom.” He followed my gaze. “Been handed down for three generations. I come from a long line of woodworkers. That piece is heavy as a car but far less easy to move.”

  “It’s very nice.” I sat and tried to get comfortable to take notes, but the chair was all stiff and angled oddly. I did my best.

  Mr. Granade sat far more gracefully than I did. “Do you mind if we record this interview?”

  “Not a bit. Go ahead.” Luke draped an ankle over his knee, his fleur-de-lis socks peeking through above his loafer.

  I dug my recorder out and clicked it on, then settled back to take notes. I hastily flipped my doodled sheet over to a fresh one. When I looked up, Luke was smiling at me as if he’d seen my “art.” So professional, Caroline.

  “I assume this is about my brother. Your associate was a bit evasive on the phone.” He shot me a smile. “Well done.”

  “She’s sharp.” Wash nodded. “Couldn’t agree more. And, yes, this is about Tyler. I just have some questions. And I hope they don’t bother you, as I’m sure you love your brother—”

  Wash had turned on that easy charm. His mannerisms, his tone of voice—all of it designed to put Luke at ease. It worked, and not just on Luke. But I wouldn’t fall under his spell. Not again.

  Luke waved his hand. “No, it’s fine. This isn’t the first time someone’s come around asking questions about Tyler. But they usually have badges and guns, and”—he shot a glance to me—“aren’t as pleasant.”

  Wash’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward. “Well, then I’ll get straight to the point. Tyler has been hanging around with my client, Rowan Ellis. I’m looking for any information that can help me track
Tyler down, mainly to see if he can help Rowan.”

  Luke sighed and shook his head. “I’m just glad Mom and Dad aren’t around to see this, any of this. Tyler has made such a mess, and now he’s involved in another one. Look, Mr. Granade—”

  “Please, call me Wash.” He thinned the line of his lips, concern writ large on his features. He was such an expert at the game.

  It was all an act for him. The bait to get the information he needed. I’d seen him do it in court over and over again with different witnesses, playing them all like instruments. I was more impressed than I should have been. All the same, I loved watching him work.

  Luke leaned forward and put his head in his hands for a moment before raising his gaze and meeting Wash’s eye. “I confess I did read in the papers that you’d taken on the defense of the Bayou Butcher. So I was curious what Tyler could have to do with it. I’d like to say I’m surprised. Hell, I’d like to say a lot of things—that his last stint at rehab worked, that he had a job, that he’d stopped stealing. But none of that’s true. I know he’s been in with a bad crowd for quite some time. He calls for cash off and on, tries to get his hands on what little trust fund money he has left. You don’t think he’s dangerous or anything, right? I have a wife, kids. I can’t risk them for him.”

  Wash clasped his hands together. “We don’t know. We just want to see if he has any information that might help exonerate Rowan. That’s all we’re after.”

  “Well, I don’t want to lie to you, Wash. But this whole interview worries me. I don’t want to get Tyler in any trouble, but if he’s dangerous, then he needs to be off the streets. I’m just not sure if I should call my lawyer or what.”

  We definitely did not need him calling a lawyer.

  “Of course, if you’d feel more comfortable with counsel present, that’s fine. I know none of this is easy for you.” Wash leaned back and draped an arm over the back of his chair, the picture of nonchalance.

  Luke looked from Wash to me, as if waffling on whether to call his lawyer. I saw a chance. I took it.