by Mia Ford
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Blurb
Nathan Pope has got it together, and he has ever since he picked up a financial book as a kid. He is smart, handsome, intelligent, and extremely rich. Pope Financial is skyrocketing to the next level and Nathan is left with some serious decisions on how to maneuver that. Normally, Nathan would pick a decision and go with it, leaving nothing in his life to distract him, and that includes women. He was a playboy, a billionaire with no patience for gold diggers or the stress of relationships, that is until he meets his match, Ruby Woods.
Ruby is sexy, smart, and full of sass, which she uses to push her agenda in every aspect of life. Ruby has been fighting for the cause since she was old enough to hold a protest sign and doesn’t let anything get in the way of her moral objectives. During the day she fights for social justice with a small firm in New York, and at night she’s creating signs and rallying the troops against big business. As far as Ruby’s personal life is concerned, she finds it non-existent, too exhausted from the idiot men she keeps meeting on a daily basis, that is until Nathan comes around.
Will hot and steamy passion keep these two locked together or will a secret Nathan is hiding bring their romance crashing down?
Chapter One
Nathan
Friday evening and I was still at work. Late as shit. Always. The CEO of a huge company and I couldn’t figure out how the hell to get a little bit of time to myself. Not that I needed it. I’d squander the hell out of it most likely. But squandering was fun… or could be.
There I was, though, swiveling in my office chair, staring up at the books on the shelves covering my walls. I didn’t even think I had ever read those books. In fact, I was sure the decorator put those books there for show. When I was younger, you’d always find me with a book in my hand whether it was Thoreau, a little old-school Plato, or even some biography of one of the late greats. However, when I reached my teenage years, I realized people didn’t like to be around intelligent people, they were intimidated, so I stopped right then and there. Instead, I picked up a book about finance called “The Intelligent Investor” by Benjamin Graham. That was it for me, at fourteen I knew what my path was.
That’s the small version of how I got where I was, 33 years old, CEO of the most prestigious accounting firm in America, Pope Financial, and getting ready to make moves toward an even broader market. People think I started all this after graduating from Harvard, but in reality, Harvard was just a tool for me, a way to get in the door with the big guys, and it worked. I had spent the better portion of my life thus far creating an empire, building it brick by brick and then covering it in steel to make it solid and lasting. I looked up at Chris standing in the office talking to someone on his cell phone.
I liked Chris, I always had, though sometimes he forgot who ran the company. He was my corporate advisor and my best friend. I went to him for everything from business challenges to the few personal issues I might ever have. I wasn’t a guy who liked drama, nor did I have time to cater to a woman full-time so I guess you could consider me a playboy of sorts. Women flocked to me because of money and good looks but seldom would you find one who wanted to stay around for who I was inside, which was fine with me, I didn’t feel comfortable with commitment when I knew my money was what they wanted in the end.
“Man,” Chris said, hanging up the phone and sitting down in the chair across from me. “What a fucking day.”
“Well, why are we still here?”
“I want to talk to you about expansion overseas,” Chris said. “I think the way to go here is through outsourcing. It takes a lot of funds to get in overseas, and this would allow us to outsource a lot of our major stuff, especially IT, and save boatloads of cash. That money can be implemented back into the system to create these overseas entities.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I want to be overseas, there’s no question. I’m not sold on outsourcing, however.”
“Chew on it,” Chris said. “We have time. And in the meantime, let’s get our asses out of this office and over to The Exposé Club, I hear there are some serious hotties on the 3rd floor tonight.”
“Well, I didn’t pay a shit-ton of money for my gold card to hang out in the regular area and not get my dick sucked,” I laughed.
I patted Chris on the back and flipped off the lights as we left the office. Neither one of us wanted to go home first, which was fine since it was only ten at night anyway. We headed straight to the club, and I, not feeling like socializing, went right up the elevator to the third floor. The music and lights were bumping, and I looked around the room, seeing if there were any women I had been with before. The week had been brutally long, and I wasn’t looking forward to having to talk to some girl until I could get her in a private room. Besides, this was why we came up there in the first place, the floor wasn’t meant for intellectual conversation.
“Hey there cutie,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned around to see Mindy, a chick I have had more than one romp around the back room with in the past. She was no muss and no fuss, which was exactly what I was looking for. To top it off she was young, firm, and she liked a cock in her mouth. I nodded my head at her and smiled, seeing her eyes dilate at the interest I was showing.
“Come on,” I said, nodding my head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Not up for talking tonight, huh?”
“Not at all,” I chuckled. “And I have a pretty good idea where I want that mouth to go to.”
She looked at me for a second and then took me by the wrist pulling me back to one of the private rooms. I walked inside and strolled over to the couch, plopping down and looking up at her. She locked the door and turned toward me, her eyes darkened and her lips plump and juicy. She walked forward and grabbed a pillow tossing it on the floor in front of me. She looked up at me and smiled coyly as she undid the buckle on my belt and slowly slid the zipper down. She tugged on my pants, and I lifted my ass, letting her pull them, along with my boxers down to my ankles. I spread my knees apart and pulled my arms behind my head as she reached out and grabbed onto my already hard shaft. I had been ready for this all day.
She slid her hands up my thighs and dug her nails in, causing me to jump slightly. I could see the pleasure from my pain flash over her eyes, but before I could say anything, the feeling of her hot wet heat flowing over the crown of my cock took the words right out of my mouth. Her to
ngue flicked across the head, whipping back and forth to tease me and increase the intensity. She pulled my dick a little farther into her mouth and sucked hard, massaging right beneath the head with her tongue.
“Fuuuck,” I groaned, feeling her moist pouty lips trailing over every inch of my dick. She was so damn good at what she was up to. I had a moment of thinking about how many men the cute little hooker had put her mouth on. It was a fleeting moment. The pleasure swelling in my balls was enough to jerk my stupid ass right back into the moment.
I reached my head forward and curled my fingers through her hair, pushing down as she slid my dick into the back of her throat. I let her stay there for several seconds before tugging her head slowly back up. She glanced up at me with her soft blue teary eyes and groaned, the vibration shaking through my entire body. Immediately I wanted more, and I let go of her head, knowing she knew exactly what I wanted.
Up and down her head bobbed, the sound of her spit pulsing through my ears. I could feel her moist mouth dragging down my shaft and back up again, the cold air of the club hitting the wet areas and increasing my need to release. She reached up with her right hand and cupped my balls, rolling them gently in the palm of her hands. I groaned loudly, feeling my balls begin to tighten as she pulled her head back up and sucked hard in the back of her throat. She reached up with her left hand and situated right below her mouth, twisting it as she rose up, creating a sense of warm friction against my skin.
“You know what I want,” I groaned and lowered my voice, commanding her. “Make me come.”
I moved my hands down and grasped the edge of the couch knowing exactly what her next move would be. Both her hands grasped my thighs to brace herself, and her lips formed into a circle sheathing her teeth. She rose up on her knees and began to bob up and down on my cock so hard her face was hitting my stomach. I moaned loudly tensing the muscles in my thighs as she deep throated my erection over and over again until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I reached down and grabbed her head, slowing her speed just enough to hold back for a few more seconds. She smiled through the sucking, and I shook my head, wanting to see her pull my dick into her mouth.
As soon as I let go of her hair, she picked up speed again, placing her hands on my thighs and grasping on tightly. Her tits bounced against the insides of my legs as her face moved up and down in a frenzied rhythm. As the heat in my stomach began to overflow, I tensed my muscles and pushed her head down, watching as she put the head of my cock on the back of her tongue and sucked. I could feel the explosion inside her mouth, her throat pulsing against my cock as she swallowed my flowing hot seed. She moaned loudly, vibrating my shaft and I fell backward, the orgasm trickling away.
And that was the best way I knew for de-stressed after a hell of a week at work. Nothing felt better than the warmth of a willing girl’s sweet mouth. And especially the one that knew exactly what she was doing.
Chapter Two
Ruby
“It’s important that we drive the message home,” I said to the crowd at the meeting. “We want to get past the stigma people have about protestors. We want them to be open to listen to what we have to say. The time of non-sourced Facebook sharing is over. I want you to always present evidence of our cause through reliable, peer-reviewed, clear-cut information. In an effort to combat the Huffington Post sharers out there we have put together a packet of links every one of you will receive tomorrow morning. These are links to articles that are completely legitimate and have been tested and found to be true and unbiased in intent. We have some big protests coming up, and I want everyone to stay safe. Remember we are peaceful protestors. In the words of Dr. King, himself, ‘Non-Violence is a powerful and just weapon, which cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.’ Thank you, everyone, for coming out.”
Everyone stood and clapped, making me feel satisfied that the speech had been successful. I had been protesting for years, through many different topics, but right then, my focus was centered around outsourcing and the damage it is doing to the economic and social climate in this country. Technically, I worked for an organization called Climate X who focused on different social justice issues. But in my free time, I headed up the local New York chapter of Keep Jobs at Home, a group of concerned citizens looking to make a difference in our current and future political climate when it came to outsourcing jobs to people in other countries. Today was the last full meeting before we marched through the streets of the city next week.
“Ruby,” Elizabeth, the co-chair of KJAH called out for me as I walked toward a desk at the back of the room.
“What’s up?”
“That was a great speech,” she said holding her folders close to her chest.
Elizabeth was a young college student, interested in social justice, passionate about the causes, but lacked the assertion to get out there and protest with all her might. Not everyone was made for sit-ins, sign holding, and marches through the city, so I took Elizabeth and put her in a position where we could use her talents of organizing to the best possible ability. She thought the world of me, which I never understood since I barely had said two words to her since she started with the organization.
“Thanks,” I said smiling. “I am excited about the protest next week. They told me you specifically went above and beyond, and we are supposed to have a noticeably increased turn out this time.”
“Yeah,” she said excitedly. “I mean the Facebook event alone has over three thousand people who said they were coming. Even if only half of them show up, it’ll be triple of what it was last time. Your message is getting out there.”
“It’s not my message,” I said patting her on the shoulder. “It’s the message of the people. The message of those who are without jobs, without companies, and are struggling because the U.S. is working against their own interests when it comes to business. It’s also about the people doing those jobs. They work in unbelievable environments, are paid pennies on the dollar, and are subjected to torturous scenarios, all to go home and live in poverty.”
“Absolutely,” she said blushing.
“Okay, I am going to go meet my sister for some drinks,” I said. “You got the rest of this.”
“Yeah,” she said nodding her head. “I’ll see you soon.”
As I walked out of the building, I stopped and shook several other protestors hands. I didn’t know how I had become the face of this movement, locally, but it was kind of exhausting trying to get the job done when everyone wanted to have a conversation. The day was over, though, and I had promised my sister, Lisa, who also happens to be my best friend, that we would meet for drinks at a local pub in the Art District. She wanted to go to this uppity club, Exposé in Manhattan, but I was not feeling that at all. I was glad that she conceded and picked a more low-key spot.
When I arrived, I paid the cab driver and wandered inside, looking around for Lisa. I spotted her at the end of the bar, sipping on a pint of ale and trying to ignore the idiot guys behind her at the pool table. I smiled as I made my way over to her, hugging her tightly.
“My sister,” she sighed. “How was your meeting? You save any small children or large animals?”
“Not today, my friend, not today,” I said laughing. “It was the outsourcing organization. We have a protest next week.”
“Nice,” she said looking up at the bartender to get his attention. “Did you quote Thoreau this time?”
“No,” I grumbled. “That goes right over these people’s heads. I went with Dr. King this time because I was talking about peaceful protesting.”
“Good choice,” she said nodding her head. “So, what exactly are you working on with outsourcing.”
“It’s a social injustice, another way for big business to further separate the classes,” I said taking a sip. “People in this country are working jobs that don’t pay the bills because there isn’t anything else, especially for the working class. In the meantime, big companies with the money are s
ending jobs overseas, paying ridiculously low wages, and then using that money so they can buy bigger houses and more jets while Jane starves in the streets. Not to mention they skirt most of the labor laws this country has enacted to ensure workers are treated fairly, furthering the degradation of other countries and keeping their poverty line at unnecessarily low levels.”
“Don’t companies do it so they can stay in business because of the extremely tight measures on taxation and manufacturing guidelines?”
“They use that as an excuse. But the reality of it when you look at their quarterly earnings, they make more than enough money to keep everyone in the company happy and still create jobs in the United States which would help in decreasing our own poverty line,” I explained. “In the end, though, Joe CEO and his shareholders don’t want to take a million dollar pay cut.”
“I mean, would you?”
“When I made hundreds of millions a year? Yeah, I’d sacrifice that million or two,” I said shaking my head. “It’s greed and power driving them, and their want to keep the classes so far apart that no one will ever be able to move up, better their lives, and create a fairer wage system in this country.”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “There are pros and cons to everything.”
I did not want to have that conversation with her again. We had very different views on a lot of things, and we kept our peace with that by not discussing it. She was intense, I was passionate, and the two of us in a debate always turned into a screaming match. So, a long time ago we decided to cut off conversations before they reached that point.
“Yeah, there are,” I replied. “Anyway, so what’s up! How’s work, life, all that stuff?”
“Good,” she said, obviously okay with me changing the subject. “Stressful and always go, go, go, but you know how that is.”
“Yeah,” I snorted. “I don’t think I’ve had eight hours of sleep since I was a kid. And to think I complained when mom got me up during the summer after ten hours. I’d kill someone with a Twinkie to get 10 hours of sleep.”