“You taste so sweet, Sara,” I murmur, then plunge my tongue in and out of her mouth again and again. My hands wander to her sweet spot and, pressing my thumb firmly against her bundle of nerves, I begin massaging it in small circles. Her legs shake uncontrollably against my thighs. I want to watch her fall apart.
“Come for me, sweet princess. Ride my fingers, work your hips and take your pleasure.”
I can feel her pussy quiver and spasm around my fingers, and I growl as my cock throbs with need. With her mouth parted, her labored breathing comes out in quick puffs while her lips form an O. She coats my fingers with her luxurious juices, creating erotic wet sounds that have me almost spilling my load.
I can’t take anymore. I need to feel her from the inside. I roll a condom on my throbbing cock. I growl as I hold on to her hips and slowly guide myself past her opening. The thickness of my cock stretches her core further as I to push myself in inch by slow inch, her muscles exquisitely expanding to accommodate my full length as I fill her.
I let out a satisfied groan once I’m spent, and we collapse to the bed, breathing heavy.
She stares at me and grins. “Who needs a gym when we can do this.”
It’s our final morning, and I don’t want to leave here. We make love slowly and softly before we finally get out of bed. While I make her the French toast I promised, she runs into town to grab the New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle. Savoring our French toast with real maple syrup, we enjoy good coffee and read the paper. It’s a perfect Sunday morning.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s getting late, so I begin to clean up. She offers to help but I shoo her away, and she sits close by and watches me closely. When I finish cleaning the end of the dishes and wipe down the counters, she says, “You do know that doing the dishes and cleaning up is a major turn-on for most women.”
“Well, we haven’t tried the kitchen counter.” I bounce my eyebrows suggestively.
She lets out the most melodious laugh that makes me hard just hearing it. I want so much to take her on the counter. Maybe another time.
“I hate that this weekend needs to end.” Bringing her into my arms, I kiss her and say regretfully, “If we need to get down to Hillsboro, we’ll probably need to head out shortly. Do you want to stop by your place to drop off your things? And if you’d feel more comfortable rolling up to my folks’ in your own car, I understand.”
Her face falls. “We can do whatever you feel comfortable doing.”
She matters to me. Her feelings matter to me. I’m not always the best at communicating that, but I want her to know that I want more. Staring deep into her blue-green eyes, I tell her honestly, “I’d rather stay here with you for the next month, but unfortunately that isn’t an option because my dad and the partners of SHN are expecting both of us.”
Nodding, she sighs. “I guess you’re right.”
As we drive over Mount Tamalpais, I reach for her hand. “I want you to know that I want to scream from the rooftops how wonderful you are. But I also don’t want to jeopardize your relationship with the partners. When you’re ready to tell everyone, I’ll be ready too.”
She smiles at me. “Thank you. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to keep this between us for a while. Only because this is special, and I want to keep it that way.”
Squeezing her hand, I assure her, “I think it’s special, too.”
We arrive at my parents’ house, and I’m distracted by my mother’s dogs as we walk in. She has a herd of dogs that seems to grow each time I visit. I stop to greet them, and Sara gives me a wink as she continues on.
We don’t seem to be going out of our way to be together, but she’s never out of my sight as she talks to each of the partners and my sister. As we sit down, we find what are becoming our regular seats, which means I get to sit next to Sara on my right and CeCe on my left.
As a general rule, I hide my emotions, having learned a long time ago that they were intel I'd rather not hand out freely. But today is different. Sara has awoken something inside of me that has me excited with the anticipation of what we can be and where we’re going. The lovesick smile that breaks across my face hasn’t been seen for many years, and throughout dinner I both talk and eat faster. I have a good feeling about the weekend; nothing that feels this right could possibly go wrong. It couldn't.
Dinner seems more fun than usual, the partners sharing funny stories about their weekends that seems to further bond them together. When Sara’s asked about her weekend, I’m very interested in hearing what she has to say.
“Well, I spent it with a friend up in Stinson Beach at my foster parents' beach house.”
“Was it with your mysterious man?” Emerson asks.
Everyone leans in for her answer, and she says, “It was a great weekend. We walked the beach and enjoyed all that Stinson has to offer. Have any of you ever been?”
I’m impressed at how she answers the question but doesn’t actually answer it at the same time.
The conversation moves around to what to do in Stinson when CeCe leans in and asks, “Okay, big brother. Spill. What has you so happy?”
Smiling and determined to not to give her any information, I simply say, “I guess it’s life.”
She scoffs. “Life? I’d ask if it was a girl, but I know better. I saw the picture on TMZ. Getting serious?”
“Maybe. I don’t know yet,” I tell her honestly. I’m not going to talk to CeCe about this until Sara and I know for sure what we are.
“Hmmm. Okay. I know you better than anyone else in this world, so you can tell me later.”
I kiss her on the cheek and give her a hug. “I’ve met someone, and she’s perfect for me in almost every way, but I don’t want to make a big deal of it yet. I promise I’ll keep you posted.”
“I love you, and I’m happy for you. When you’re ready to tell her, you can tell me.”
I laugh because her twin sense is so accurate. “Promise.” Standing next to her as we begin to move into Dad’s office, I knock my hip into hers and ask, “And what about you?”
“I’ve got my eye on someone.”
“Does he know?”
She blushes. “I’ll never tell.”
As I drive Sara home, I hear her cell phone repeatedly ping, indicating that she keeps getting texts. She isn’t answering them, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re from another man. I’m not usually jealous, but for some reason this time I am.
“You’re awfully popular this evening. Is everything okay?”
She glances at me and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yes. It’s a friend I can catch up with later. Seems everyone had big weekends.”
I realize she’s being equally as evasive with me as she was at dinner, but I’m not going to let it bother me. I place my hand on her thigh and quietly share, “I’m not sure I’m ready for the weekend to end.”
Staring out the window as the traffic passes us while we drive back into The City, she tells me, “Me neither. It was so much fun being with you. I wish it didn’t have to end, but I have a crazy week ahead. What about you?”
My week is overwhelming, with my deal out of Seattle getting shaky, but I really want to see her. “It’s a crazy week for me too, but I’d love to see you. Do you have any time?” I ask, trying not to sound too desperate.
“I didn’t get much work done this weekend, so I have a few things to get accomplished that will make for some long days. Can we talk later and figure something out?”
I may be imagining it, but it feels like she’s pulling away. And I can’t be sure it isn’t because of something I’ve done, or if it’s her way of getting back into a work mode. “Of course,” I tell her, trying not to show my disappointment. “No pressure. Really.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just preoccupied with everything I need to get done. We have a closing this week, plus I have three SEC filings to get finished, and those are very labor intensive.”
“You don’t have any help?�
�
“Not really. Our outside counsel can only do so much. I have an admin and I use the receptionist, but as a start-up, it mostly falls to me.”
As we pull up to her apartment building, I turn to her and say, “I’ll clear my schedule whenever you can make time for me.”
She leans in and gives me a slow, passionate kiss. “I’ll give you a call. Have a good evening, and sleep well.” Her lips brush mine. Not innocently, like a tease—it’s hot, fiery and demanding. I want to pull away before I lose myself, but I can’t seem to; my senses have been seduced and I can no longer think straight. Her hand wanders to my achingly hard cock and she strokes me through my jeans. “I do want to see you again later this week.”
My heart soars as she heads to her building, turning to wave as she opens the door and enters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sara
I wanted to invite Trey up to my place and continue our fun from our weekend, but I just have so much going through my mind right now, to the point that I need to write down a checklist of things I want to get done this week.
Opening the door to my apartment, I’m shocked to see Henry sitting in my living room. “What are you doing here?”
“You gave me a key, remember?”
“What would Claudia say?”
“We have a fictional marriage. She wouldn’t care.”
“That's bullshit. You’ve been telling me that, and yet you have an infant son. What do you want from me, Henry?”
“I want you. I want to get between your legs and hear you call my name as I eat your sweet pussy. I want to watch as you take my cock deep down your throat.” Running his hand up and down my arm, he tries to pull me closer to him.
My patience running thin, I firmly tell him, “Henry, I’ve been clear. I don’t know how to be clearer that you need to leave me alone. I can’t and won’t get involved with you ever again.”
“Baby, we’re good together when we’re naked. You and I click.” He puts his hand on my breast and tries to kiss me.
Pushing his hand away, I sneer, “Henry, you need to leave. Now.”
“We can make this our secret,” he pleads. “Your new boyfriend never needs to know. Just like you don’t tell Claudia, I won’t tell him.”
I push him away. Henry is never going to see me as anything but a cheap lay, someone to fuck.
Walking to my front door, I open it and stand there holding the knob, waiting for him to walk over the threshold. “Good night, Henry. Please only call me for professional purposes. And please leave my house key when you leave.” He doesn’t move to leave, but reaches for my breast again. Almost violently I push his hand away. I don’t want this. “Get the fuck out, Henry. And don’t. Come. Back.”
He finally walks by, handing me the house key. He’s hardly out the door before I slam it behind him.
My hands are shaking. I can’t believe he had the nerve. Why can’t he listen? We had fun when we were together, but when I compare Henry and Trey, several things remind me of how he really wasn’t that into me.
Hell, there are so many reasons why we were so wrong together, and more to the point, why he's a waste of my time and energy. For starters, he was never honest with me. I hold back the snort of disbelief regarding all the ways he lied to me. Nor did he or does he respect me.
I sit back and wipe the tears that are beginning to fall. These things make me feel bad about myself, but I can’t allow myself to waste any more time on Henry.
I find my fortitude and regroup. It dawns on me that Henry doesn’t know one thing about my family, and I’m not sure he even knows my favorite color. I realize that Trey knows more about me from our two days away than Henry knows after six months of dating. I start to feel used when I realize that he only cared about my job regarding what was going on with Mason, Cameron or Dillon. And when things didn’t go his way, I’d get the silent treatment and he would shut me out. How old are we?
I’m not sure why I didn’t see it until now. I gave my heart freely to Henry and allowed him to break it, getting zero in return. I need to forget Henry and focus on Trey, and whatever it is that we’re considering building.
With that behind me, a weight’s lifted off my shoulders. Having found my purpose, I’m able to clear my mind and write my to-do list for the week to help quiet my brain and hopefully get some sleep.
Shit. There are over thirty objectives on my list. Each one will take at least two hours. How am I going to fit this all in—and this is only Monday’s list? I don’t think I’ll be able to see Trey this week. That’s disappointing, and I feel so overwhelmed it makes me want to cry.
On my ride to work this morning, I text Trey. Good morning.
Trey: Good morning. Did you sleep well?
Me: Yes, after I wrote out the list of all I have to do. You don’t happen to have about 40 hours today you can lend me?
Trey: I wish. Sorry. I’m running out of town this afternoon and will be back Wednesday. Can we have dinner?
Me: Is everything OK? I’ll let you know how my week is going.
Trey: Hopefully it works for you. I’d love to see you. Have a great day.
Me: You, too.
Work is already crazy when I get off the elevator, and it isn’t even eight. I can’t believe how many people are here. I see Annabel and ask, “What’s going on?”
Putting a stack of papers aside, she says, “I just got here myself so I’m not sure.”
“Do you know who else is here?”
“I’ll wander around and see.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I was only curious.”
“I need coffee anyway. I’ll informally look around.”
Annabel knocks on my door a few minutes later with a cup of coffee for me. “I picked this up for you. It looks like the acquisitions team has a lead on something.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the coffee.”
During our Monday morning partners meeting, we discuss some open issues from the previous night, and then Mason makes an announcement, “Great news. We were notified today that Fractional Technologies is accepting our offer.”
We all celebrate another win, smiling and giving each other high fives.
“I’ll reach out to Christine to get the contract rolling and make the initial arrangements for a funds transfer for you and Dillon,” I tell them. The SHN leadership team has independently approached several prospective companies for SHN to invest with. Meanwhile, the SHN staff has been working on other less desirable companies which are being fed by our mole to Perkins Klein. We have been going out of our way to lose those less desirable companies. “I can’t help but wonder how these companies we approached below the radar and behind our employees backs are affecting our morale.”
Mason nods. “Sara, I think you’re right. We do need a better answer than ‘We knew these guys and want to invest.’”
“What does Jim suggest?” Emerson asks.
Cameron glances up. “Jim? The FBI guy?”
“Reaching out to Jim is a good idea,” Dillon agrees. “He must have some experience in this area.”
“I’ll call him and ask,” Mason says.
As our meeting breaks up, Emerson asks me, “Busy day today?”
“I have a long list and not enough time. You?”
“The same.” She turns to me, and says, “Good luck.”
As I wander back to my office, my cell phone pings with a text from CeCe. Hey. Let me know if you can meet me for lunch. We can talk about bridesmaid things if you’d like.
I want to have a girlfriend I can share my love life with, but it could never be CeCe. As Trey’s sister, I don’t think she’d be objective. Eventually, I text her: We landed our third win below the radar. Time will be tight today. I can meet about 10 tonight, or we can try tomorrow?
CeCe: Tonight would work and be much more fun. How about we meet at Bourbon and Branch? Tonight’s password is Hill Rock.
Me: Got it. See you about ten. Can’t wait.
; After spending the day running around completing contracts and getting a few issues handled, I only manage to cross off five things on my list. I want to cry, but I don’t even have the energy to do that. I eat a small bite for dinner in the office and head out in time to meet CeCe. Bourbon and Branch is one of those super-hip spots that no matter the night, it’s packed, and to get in you need a reservation that comes with a password. It changes nightly and is usually a small bourbon brand that winds up being the drink special.
When I arrive, CeCe waves me over. She’s surrounded by all sorts of handsome men, who she makes leave as I reach the table.
“Don’t send them away on my account,” I tell her.
“Oh, honey, these guys are only good to look at.” Leaning in, she says in a conspiratorial tone, “They really don’t have much going on upstairs. We’d be bored.”
I laugh. “I don’t know about that.”
She nods. “Trust me.”
Standing, she kisses me on both cheeks and says, “You always look like a model. Just gorgeous.”
“You’re very kind.” Then I whisper, as if it’s top secret, “I have an incredible personal shopper at Nordstrom, and she picks out my clothes and tells me what to wear together, even down to the underwear.”
“Really? Do you share her name?”
“Of course! It’s Jennifer. She works on commission, so she doesn’t cost anything, but she has a real eye for what I’d like and what looks good on me.”
“I think we need to go shopping soon, and you can introduce us.”
The waiter arrives and we order two of the drink specials, then gossip about the boys around the bar. We don’t really know them, just have fun imagining what their stories are.
She points to a clean-cut blond Greek god, probably six and a half feet tall, leaning against the bar wearing tight-fitting jeans, his legs crossed at the ankles, and his black T-shirt straining against his broad chest and muscular arms. He’s hot and oozes sex. “That one there, his name is Steve. He’s a fireman with SFFD.”
“Oh I like firemen.”
Promise (Venture Capitalist Book 2) Page 9