by Remy Landon
He was rock hard. He imagined Cassandra fondling the big head of his stiff cock—tentatively at first, sliding down to cup and caress his balls, then grasping his length and stroking his shaft, faster and faster...
He would have to take care of this. And masturbating wouldn't be enough. He needed to fuck.
Carlo set his laptop on the coffee table and picked up his phone. 12:45 a.m. It was late, but that had never mattered before, and she was only minutes away. Scrolling through his list of contacts, he found her number.
She picked up on the second ring, sounding pleasantly surprised and surprisingly alert. “Carlo?
“Hi. I didn't wake you?”
“No. Watching a movie.”“Are you alone?”Her voice took on a teasing tone. “Why, yes, actually. I am.”
“Good. I'd like to come over.”
“Oh, would you? And what did you have in mind, Mr. Leone?”
“As an attorney, you must realize that you shouldn't ask questions without already knowing the answers.”
She laughed. “Very true. I guess I'll see you in a bit, then.”
Carlo grinned as he ended the call. He was fortunate to have found someone who had his same mindset: no strings, no stress...just sex when it was mutually agreeable. Her strong libido, combined with her intelligence and emotional maturity, made her an ideal fuck buddy for him. He'd met Alexis two years ago at Prost, a German-style pub in East Petersburg. After a few drinks, her hand was on his thigh, and within the hour, he was standing in her bedroom receiving one of the best blow jobs he'd ever had. They had hooked up numerous times before he and Brock had started the contest. Alexis would not have been a suitable candidate for that—no challenge, for one thing, and he wanted her more long-term so he could keep coming back.
In ten minutes, he was standing outside her neat, ranch-style home. The door opened, and Alexis stood before him in a loosely-belted, silky peach robe, her close-cropped, caramel brown hair looking a bit disheveled. She pushed her sweep of bangs to one side and smiled apologetically. “Sorry I'm not in top form—someone didn't give me very much notice.”
“And that someone thinks you look fantastic.” It was true; even without makeup, she was very attractive, with hazel eyes and a heart-shaped face. “Thanks for letting me come over.” Alexis motioned him inside and closed the door behind him, taking his hand. He followed her to the living room. “No need to thank me, Carlo. I'll be getting something out of this, too.” She winked as she put her arms around his waist. She was the tallest woman he'd ever been with, standing only a couple of inches shorter than him, which made for smooth and uncomplicated stand-up sex.
He looked at her hungrily as the playfulness in her eyes was replaced by fiery passion. His cock was throbbing.
“How do you want me?” she murmured, pulling him closer so his erection pressed against her slippery robe.
Carlo had already decided this on the drive over. Putting his mouth at her ear, he answered her softly. “I'm going to take you from behind.” He wanted this to be primal, and he wanted to go in deep.
Alexis inhaled sharply as she opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, revealing her nude body, tanned and slender. There was a small, blue butterfly tattoo just above her panty line that he hadn't seen before. Her nipples were already hard, and he had no doubt if he felt between her legs, she would be wet and ready for him as she always was.
Cupping her face in his hands, Carlo brought his lips to hers and kissed her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth. Alexis was groping him through his jeans, and he groaned against her mouth. He didn't want to wait a second longer. “I need you now,” he said hoarsely. This would be quick, and rough.
He guided her to stand in back of the couch. “Bend over,” he commanded, his voice a ragged whisper. She quickly obeyed, spreading her feet apart, and Carlo's want intensified as he took in the sight of her tight ass and long legs. Fumbling in his jeans pocket for a condom, he unfastened his pants and pushed them down, his cock springing forward. He tore open the packet and rolled the condom over his erection before placing one hand on the back of her neck. He used his other hand to check her, although it most likely wasn't necessary.
Dragging a finger along her glistening slit, he smiled as he heard her moan. He wanted to make sure she was wet enough for him to enter her like he planned. He tunneled two fingers inside her, pushed them deep, and she moaned again.
Satisfied, he tightened his grip on her neck and placed his other hand at the small of her back. Her skin was soft and warm. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down her opening, drawing in his breath with anticipation.
Carlo jerked his hips forward, and Alexis gasped his name as he entered her. She was bracing herself against the couch as he thrust hard, fast and deep. He didn't want to hurt her, but since her pussy was growing hotter and tighter by the second, he knew she would accept a little pain with this pleasure. A groan escaped him.
She cried out his name again, and he could tell her climax was only seconds away. He closed his eyes and gave one final, deep thrust as she came just before him, thankful of the release she had given him.
Afterwards, they had a glass of wine and chatted easily for a bit, like the good friends they were. He would not spend the night; this was not what they did. The orgasm had left him feeling relaxed, and he looked forward to being able to get at least a few consecutive hours of sleep.
Alexis kissed him on the cheek when he left. “Thanks, fuck buddy,” she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Until next time.”
On the ride home, his thoughts turned once again to Cassandra. As much as he felt an urgent need to have her—totally, completely—he knew he would have to be patient. Rushing was never the answer with this. He would wait a week, maybe more, before contacting her again, to make her wonder. He would find the balance with Cassandra. And if only for a brief time, she would be his.
chapter nine ~ Cassandra
Ingrid was pacing the stable aisle, the heels of her riding boots clacking against the cement floor, while Cassandra and Sonya cleaned tack and did their best to ignore her. Ingrid always got like this on Judy days—the days when the trainer came to work with the horses. For one thing, Judy was a highly-regarded equestrian, a United States Dressage Federation gold medalist who had studied with some of the world's top dressage masters, training over a dozen horses and riders to Grand Prix, the highest level in dressage. She was also a royal bitch. Paolo Miller had worshipped her and was training at Third Level at the time of her death. After Paolo died, Ingrid secretly hoped Judy's services would no longer be needed, but Carlo had kept her on at Windswept to continue training and showing the horses his mother had loved so much.
And with a little less than two months until the dressage show at Devon, Judy had been at Windswept for several hours each day, four days a week, practicing the Fourth Level test with Brownie, rehearsing a musical freestyle program with Sweet Surrender, and coaching Ingrid, who would be riding five year old Rafsi in the U.S.E.F. Young Horse test. Being under Judy's increasingly critical eye for the past few weeks had caused Ingrid to snap at not only Cassandra, but at her own stepsister.
Sunlight spilled in from the windows and splashed in a pale yellow glow on the newly-swept floor. Cassandra had just finished saddling Rafsi and now sat on a wooden stool, oiling stirrup leathers, while Sonya was in a camp chair sliding a damp rag up and down a set of black reins, looking bored and annoyed.
Ingrid sighed loudly and checked her watch. “She's late. Again. Does she really think the world will just wait for her?”
Maybe not, but she knows you will, thought Cassandra. She almost—almost—felt sorry for Ingrid on Judy days. She supposed she could try to de-stress her by some conversation. “How was your last session on Rafsi?”
Ingrid turned to look at her with disdain. “It was fine.”
“Well, that's good, then. You must be getting excited for Devon.”
“Excited isn't a word I would use to describe what I'm f
eeling. I will be relieved when it's over with.”
The sound of a car door slamming shut, and Judy walked in. She was tall, thin and angular, her black hair pulled back into a severe bun with not a strand out of place. Her pink polo and tan breeches were impeccably neat and clean, her boots buffed to perfection. Cassandra was equally irritated and impressed by her.
As usual, Judy completely ignored the stable hands as she addressed Ingrid, offering no apologies for her tardiness. “Shall we?” Impatiently, as if she was the one who had been kept waiting.
Sonya shook her head and rolled her eyes as she watched them walk toward Rafsi's stall. “I will be sooo glad when this dumb horse show is over. I seriously need a different job. Don't you get sick of this place?”
Cassandra smiled. “Actually, no, I don't. Not ever.”
“It's just so boring. And I've never been able to get used to the smell.”
Sonya just didn't get it. It wasn't her fault; some people just couldn't understand. Personally, Cassandra loved all the smells of the stable: the sweet summery odor of fresh hay, the rich scent of leather, the heady aroma of the horses.
“I mean, maybe if there were more people working here...no offense, but just more people to interact with...” Sonya's eyes grew wide. “Oh my God. I can't believe I didn't mention this before! I met the guy who owns the stable.”
“You did?”
“Yes. About two weeks ago. I came in to the office just as he was finishing his meeting with Ingrid. I wish you'd been here—you would have fuh-lipped out. He is so effing hot.”
“Really? I always thought the owner would be some rich old guy instead of—” Cassandra stopped in mid-sentence when it hit her.
“Oh, he's rich, all right. Just not old. He's the head of Miller Valve—the stable used to be his mom's, and Ingrid told me he kept it after she died. Just because she loved it so much. Kinda sweet, actually.”
Cassandra picked up a leather girth to clean, working in the saddle soap slowly, methodically. Although her heart was pounding, she kept her tone light. “Did you happen to get his name?”
“Umm...it was something Italian. Leone. I don't even know if I heard his first name.” She giggled. “Wayyy too distracted looking at him.”
Carlo Leone was the owner of Windswept. Why hadn't he said anything when they'd first met? My God, and she had told him it was a private stable and basically asked him to leave!
“So he was just meeting with Ingrid?”
“Yeah. I literally ran into him when he was walking out of the office. He didn't seem to mind, and I sure as hell didn't!”
Was it strictly a business meeting with Ingrid? Or maybe he was looking for me. Cassandra felt a little burst of pleasure at the thought and then abruptly dismissed it. Don't be so goddamned pathetic, she scolded herself. He's the owner, and Ingrid's the manager—of course they would need to meet once in a while. Still, it was a bit strange that he showed up so soon after she had met him there, when he said he hadn't visited Windswept in a few months.
It had been ten days since she'd last seen Carlo. But who was counting?
No matter how much she might try to deny it, Cassandra thought wryly...she was.
chapter ten ~ Carlo
Timing was everything, Carlo thought, as he sat in his office responding to emails. It had been harder than he'd expected, staying away from Cassandra. For the past week, he'd had to fight the urge to drive to Windswept on his way home. But all the waiting would—hopefully—pay off in the end.
He'd been planning the next contact for days now, from the time and the place to what he would wear. Heavy on the innuendos, light on the physical contact—balancing the two always served to heighten the sexual tension nicely. This was not only necessary for the ultimate goal, but it had become incredibly intoxicating for him to be in charge. For him, there was no other way. He had allowed himself—once—to be completely vulnerable with a woman, letting her in to every fiber of his being, every ounce of his soul...and in the aftermath, he had learned what that would do to a man.
His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed, grateful that the rhythmic clicking brought him back into the present.
The door opened. Estelle Perry, his secretary, who had never knocked and never would. She was in her sixties, hired by his stepfather, and had been with the company for thirty years. Everything about her trumpeted no-nonsense, from her short gray hair to her pencil skirt and sensible black flats. Carlo liked her immensely.
“Estelle.”
“Carlo. Good morning. Just double-checking to see if you okayed this expense for the Phillies game.”
He skimmed the receipt she handed him. “Yes. Judging from the refreshments, it looks like the boys enjoyed themselves.”
“They always do.” Estelle walked over to the Boston Fern on his windowsill and poked a finger into the soil. “Are you watering this, or do I need to take over again?”
“I'm thinking you need to take over again. I keep forgetting it's there.”
“Perhaps if it had breasts.”
“Estelle. That's completely untrue. You know I'm more of an ass man.”
She frowned at him from behind her bright blue glasses. “You've seemed distracted lately. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is as it should be. Thank you for asking.”
Estelle opened her mouth, then closed it. Carlo grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes and sighed.
A loud rapping on the door, and Brock entered. Estelle nodded to him in greeting and took the receipt off Carlo's desk. “I'll reimburse Jared.”
The two men watched her exit. Brock shook his head, chuckling, as he closed the door behind her. “The woman fucking hates me. I don't get her.”
“She's an enigma. You're not supposed to get her.”
“She needs to get laid. And speaking of laid...are you making any progress?”
“I'd rather not divulge anything.”
Brock grinned. “That would be a no, then.”
“Believe what you want.”
“I'm not meaning to brag here, buddy, but I've been texting mine—sexting, actually—it's gotten pretty hot. She's been more receptive than I thought. I even find myself needing to pull back a bit, because as you and I have found out, slow and steady wins the race.”
“We'll see how it all plays out.”
“Yes, we will. Do you have any interest in going for the same end result this time? Or would you rather just provide evidence and come to a mutual decision like we usually do?”
“The latter. That way, we can individualize and go as far as we're able.”
“All right. I have some ideas.”
“I'm sure you do. I hope your creativity extends to non-sexual endeavors...for example, our company.”
“Ha! Of course. I've been giving that some thought, too—the direction we may want to move in. I hear that Madison Valve is having some real problems making deliveries, so we need to get the sales force to work on their distributors...tell them we can fill all the orders.”
Carlo nodded. “Let's plan to have a break-out group at the sales meeting, and we can talk about this. I'd like to hear from all the regions and how we can capitalize on our competitors' misfortune.”
“Sounds like a plan. I'm off...going to take some customers to lunch.”
“Enjoy.”
“And I want to wish you the best of luck with your...um, project.” Brock threw a smirk over his shoulder as he left the office.
I won't need your luck. But thanks. Carlo sat down at his desk and woke his computer out of sleep mode. He paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. He typed CASSANDRA, and smiled.
chapter eleven ~ Cassandra
“My feet are fucking killing me,” moaned Allison, as she and Cassandra walked out of Tucker's after an eight-hour Saturday shift. The mid-August night was quiet and comfortable in the deepening twilight.
“It's your shoes—I keep telling you. Spend the money on good sneakers.”
“I know. I should be able to look this weekend. It's been a combination of a sick kid and the car in the shop.”
Cassandra was about to respond when Allison grabbed her arm and spoke in a low tone. “Girl...look to your right. Is that who I think it is?”
Cassandra felt her heart leap in the split second before she commanded it not to. Carlo. He was leaning casually against his black Mercedes, his arms crossed in front of him and one leg bent in front of the other. He wore a charcoal gray V-neck t-shirt, fitted pale denim shorts ending just above the knee—distressed-looking with gashes in the fabric—and black leather flip-flops. His hair looked freshly tousled, as if a rogue wind had come out of nowhere to ruffle it. Aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, and his mouth—that mouth—was easing into a grin as she advanced. He exuded confidence and a sense of daring with just a dash of arrogance. Cassandra had two words in her head as her steps slowed. I'm. Fucked.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Cass.” Allison was beaming as Cassandra shot her a withering glance and then a pleading one to convey don't leave me.
Carlo nodded at Allison who smiled in return as she walked away toward her car. It was almost as if they were in on this together. Cassandra curled her toes inside her sneakers. It was utterly ridiculous, the way she was feeling. Why did he have this effect on her? She was not interested in getting involved with any men. Period. And she would fight like hell to ignore the nagging thought that Carlo Leone could not be considered just any man.
“Hello, Cassandra.” His voice was warm, rich, deep.
It had been just over two weeks since she'd seen him. During that time, she had called forth his image more times than she wanted to admit, but nothing, nothing could compare to the in-the-flesh, up close and personal version of him, standing here in front of her.
“Hi. What are you doing here?” Good. Her voice sounded stronger than she'd anticipated.
“I think that's rather obvious, don't you?”