by Tia Siren
It’s such a fucking hard decision. Because while I know I’m going to go crazy, I can’t leave either.
Why?
One word.
Ashley.
That’s right. Either she’s turning on the fucking charm, or I’m fucking hornier than I’ve ever been all my life. Either way, it’s like I said; I’m going fucking crazy.
It all started two weeks ago. She went for a run in the morning. I don’t know where Dad was; I don’t think he’d come home the night before so he was probably off somewhere doing someone. But I woke up and was having a glass of juice and thinking of going to the gym when Ashley walked in through the front door.
I had come out of the kitchen and into the living room as she walked in from the foyer.
“Oh, hey there Parker,” she said with a smirk. Maybe for the first time in the entire time of knowing this woman was she smirking and looking at me with a smile. “I didn’t know you were in.”
“I was just going to go to the gym,” I told her, my eyes scanning her body. Even in athletic wear, she couldn't hide those amazing curves. Those fucking luscious tits. That flat stomach. Those incredible fucking legs.
“Oh you’re going to the gym?” Ashley asked me, taking a step closer. “Going to go work on your big, hard, muscles?”
If it wasn’t the overtly sexual nature by which she was fucking walking, or the way she was enunciating ‘big’ and ‘hard’ I would have fucking laughed out loud. But her eyes were smoldering with desire and all I could imagine was just taking another step and grabbing her. Throwing her against the wall and fucking the living daylights out of her.
Instead, I controlled myself. She was my dad’s fucking wife. As much as I hated the fucker, I couldn't do that to him. Even if I wasn’t related to the bastard.
But that didn’t stop Ashley. She came within an inch of me. I could smell her perfume. I could feel her breath on my body. Was it just my imagination, or did I feel her hand graze gently over my crotch?
“Well, you have fun…young man,” she whispered to me breathlessly. “I’m just going to go upstairs for a different kind of workout.”
Holy fucking shit.
I would have called her on it too, but before I could say anything, she had turned around and was swaying her hips suggestively as she walked back to the foyer and up the stairs.
It didn’t end there. A day later I was putting some of my stuff that I had shipped back from college into boxes and storing them in the closet. I was lifting the last box, when Ashley came into my room. I didn’t notice her at first till I felt her puff of breath in my ear.
“Looks like those big muscles are getting quite a workout, aren’t they?” Ashley whispered close into my ear.
I didn’t say anything, just grunted as I put the last box in its place.
Before I knew it, her hand was on my bicep. My heart started to beat as she gave it a squeeze.
“So big,” she murmured.
I was standing still as her hand wandered over my bicep, and then onto my hard pec. She gave it another squeeze, as if checking a melon at a grocery store. My cock started to throb and twitch uncontrollably as her hand came down my chest and onto my abs.
And then my heart stopped as her hand brushed down on my crotch.
This time there was no mistaking it. Her hand was on my crotch. And she gave me a good, long, firm squeeze.
“You’re big in just the right places, aren’t you?” she said to me.
But before I could respond, she gave a giggle and stepped away. I turned around, but I was too late. All I caught was the sight of her gorgeous ass in skinny jeans as she walked away.
It’s been going on for the last two fucking weeks. I’ll come home and see her leave a note that she’s on the pool on the roof. I’ll go up there and she’s there in a fucking tiny yellow bikini, all oiled up and glistening in the sun. Yeah, that really happened. That was this Saturday.
Or what about Sunday? She was going out for brunch to Balthazar on the Lower East Side with one of her girlfriends.
“Would you like to come, Parker?” I heard her ask me as I was reading the news in the family room.
“I’m fine, but you enjoy yourself,” I told her, thanking my luck for a moment of peace.
“Too bad,” she said with a pout. “I really like it when you cum.”
Yeah. Shit like that.
It’s been keeping my cock alternating between hard as a fucking brick—12 inches of pussy pleasing power—and a state of quiet, half-mast arousal. And of course, the worst part about it? I can’t fuck Ashley. We’ve been through the reasons why not.
And I can’t fuck it out with other girls. They’ve lost all their charm to me. I’ve fucked so many girls that I would have no problem at all getting some ass. Hell, all I’d need to do is walk down the fucking street. By the time I hit 3rd Avenue I’d have someone to take home. I can get most anyone I look at. It doesn’t take much on my part.
But now? The only one I want is someone I can't fucking have.
I’m brooding about this on the terrace, looking down on Park Avenue as Ashley walks into the living room. She’s wearing a pair of tight black yoga pants and a lace black bra.
I nearly bust a fucking nut right there as she comes out to the balcony and looks up at the sky as I devour her tits with my eyes.
“I think it’s warm enough for a tank top, yeah?” Ashley asks me with a mischievous smile in her eyes. She fucking knows what she’s doing. But I can’t call her on it.
I just growl and nod.
She smiles and bounces away, shaking that ass as I watch. I’m going to need to jerk off to her. Again.
This will have been the second time. Today.
So yeah, like I said. Going fucking crazy.
10
Ashley
I come down the stairs in the morning dressed in the tightest black dress that I could find yesterday. I actually went down to Bloomingdale's and searched for this. When the sales clerk asked me if she could help me find something, I actually turned to her and told her I was looking for ‘the sluttiest black dress that you have’.
After her initial surprise, we actually ended up having a lot of fun.
It shows off my boobs pretty well. The neckline plunges down and there’s no back at all, which means I’m going braless. I love that I can go braless with my boobs, because that's where some ladies have to let go of their push up bras and you can really see who’s endowed and who’s faking it.
Before I got married I used to love dressing up and going out on the town. All that changed recently of course. To think that Percy would take me out anywhere is to strain the bounds of imagination.
I actually haven't seen him around for the last few days. I don’t know if he’s taken up with another woman, or if he’s traveling for work. He certainly didn’t bother to tell me.
But when I get downstairs and walk through the foyer to the living room I see that there is light coming from the hallway that connects the living room to his office. He must be here.
Against my better judgment, I walk toward the hallway to see him. He may be a man I despise. He may be my fake husband. But I at least want to know where he is. Consider it self-preservation.
I walk down the hall and peek into his office.
He’s not there.
That’s odd. From what I’ve seen he’s usually not someone who leaves everything on in a room when he leaves. He never leaves and comes back to a room. He always leaves with finality.
But I see the lights on. I see his laptop open and turned on.
I look around the room.
It’s a very well-decorated room, with leather overstuffed chairs, dark wood-paneled bookshelves with lots of books, and a mahogany desk. It’s a very tasteful room for someone as coarse and ugly as Percy.
I don’t see him anywhere near here. Nor do I see him in the restroom, or hear him on the phone, or moving around on the first floor.
And then, I notice his computer aga
in.
My heart starts to flutter as I realize the possibilities.
JD Edwards wasn’t able to tell me the specific Swiss banker who held the documents needed to prove that Parker was to inherit Lowell and Company.
But maybe it’s on the computer. All this time I’ve been wracking my brain on how to get that information. It’s more difficult a piece of information to ascertain because Swiss banking secrecy laws are so strict.
This may be my only chance.
I rush in, trying to stay as quiet as possible and sit down at the desk.
The computer is unlocked. There’s no need for a password, which either means that Percy is so entirely confident that I will never do anything that he has no password. Or that he’s somewhere nearby.
Which doesn't give me a lot of time.
I start going through the folders on the desktop. Everything seems to be classified under his Documents section based on the objective.
My eyes widen as I see some of the objectives that he has listed. It reads like a veritable laundry list of white collar crime. “Compromise Carter Jeffries investment system,” one folder reads and I wonder what sort of compromise Percy is working on. “Secure cooperation of City Council leaders for Project Phoenix,” yet another folder reads. At first it sounds innocuous, until I see a folder next to that, “Create plausible deniability for Project Phoenix.”
Percy certainly has his fingers in a lot of pies. I need to find the right one.
But where to start?
I notice that the folders are all arranged in chronological order. That means that Percy has them arranged as each of his objectives happened. That sort of makes sense.
So, all I need to do is scroll far enough down that I come to what he did 20 years ago or such.
On one hand that's easy enough. On the other hand, there are close to 1 million folders.
Maybe if I narrow the search with anything that says Swiss banks? I try that. I get at least 700,000 results. On second thought, that makes sense. Whatever Percy is up to, parking money in Swiss banks is always a good idea for someone who has plenty of exposure.
So, if Swiss banks turned up too much, how do I refine it?
I type in a search term, “Inheritance” and pull up yet another 30,000 folders.
I have to say one thing for Percy Kane—he’s organized and uber-compartmentalized.
“Legal documents” is tried without much luck. “Contesting A Will” and “Altering Will” are tried. Nothing.
“It’s got to be in here,” I say to myself in frustration. This computer looks like it contains all of the records that Percy has. I can’t imagine, with some of the stuff that Percy has put into his computer, that the details surrounding Parker’s mother and what she signed away wouldn't be here. There’s too much other stuff that borderlines criminal for him to be worried about hiding from himself the method in which he robbed Parker of his birthright.
“Where would you be hiding?” I say to myself and lean into the screen.
“You’re not going to find it in there,” Parker says to me, startling me.
I nearly jump from my seat and look up.
My heart is racing. My adrenaline—already in high gear—is kicking in even harder.
And Parker? He’s got a smirk on his face.
“And just in case you were wondering,” he says to me. “Yes, it's going to cost you to keep my silence.”
11
Parker
I had a feeling Ashley would try to get some fucking dirt on my father sooner or later. And now here she is, sneaking around in my old man’s office, her smart eyes glued to the fucking screen. It’s not like I can fucking blame her; I’d be doing the same if I were in her fucking situation. But while her effort is a commendable one, she won’t get anywhere by snooping around in my father’s computer. He might be a fucking bastard, but he’s not a careless one. Far from it.
“I wasn’t —” she starts, her eyes widening as she tries to come up with some fucking lame ass excuse.
“Stop it,” I say, closing the office door behind me. She gets up from my father’s chair, pushing it back as anxiety makes her purse her lips. “I don’t give a fuck about what you’re trying to do. I get it,” I continue, going around my father’s desk.
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” she finally manages to say, getting out in the open what she was really doing in here. I grin and close the distance between us, fire burning in my eyes as I let them roam over her figure. Fuck, why does she have to look so fucking beautiful? It should be fucking illegal for any woman to have such a perfect figure.
Perhaps realizing that I’m mentally undressing her and bending her over the desk, a hesitant smile dawns on her lips, and she reaches for me, resting both her hands on my chest. Fuck, I need to focus.
“Who do you think I am? I told you; I don’t give a fuck. If anything, my father deserves to have someone fighting back for once in his life. But you’ll never be able to find anything on him like this.”
“Then how?” she asks, taking one step toward me and pressing her body against mine. She runs her tongue over her lips, trying to elicit a reaction out of me. I know what she’s doing now. No, fuck that; I know what she has been doing since the fucking start. She’s trying to fucking seduce me, to sink her hooks in me, so that I’ll do her bidding and take up arms against my own father.
I place my hand on her face and then, running it back to her neck, I grab a handful of her hair. I yank on it, pull her head back and lean in, my eyes never leaving hers. Before our lips touch, I stop and grin.
“You’re playing with fire, you know?” I whisper.
“I know,” she responds, a wicked grin dancing on her lips. Fuck, that’s all it takes for me; I throw all self-control out of the fucking window. If she wants to play with fire, then she better be able to withstand the burn.
Still holding her, I press my mouth against hers, parting her lips with my tongue. I place my free hand on her ass and cup her cheeks over her tight leggings, squeezing hard while I pull her into me. She comes willingly, pressing her tits against my chest, and I start to feel my cock hardening.
I pull back from her kiss, and with a low growl, place both my hands on her waist and push her against the wall. Her back hits it with a dry thump, and she opens her eyes, looking at me as if she had never seen a man before. Her face is painted with fucking desire right now; she might have spouted all that fucking bullshit about not wanting to cheat on my fucking father, but she wants me as much as I want her.
I kiss her again, squeezing her tits over her blouse as I do it. There’s a moan climbing up her throat, and that only makes me squeeze harder. She places both her hands on my shirt and pulls me into her. I let myself go, surrendering to desire as I press my crotch against hers. Feeling my hard cock straining against my pants, she lets one hand fall down my chest and over my belt, and flattens her open palm against it.
“You have no fucking idea about what I’m going to do to you,” I tell her, hooking my fingers on her blouse. Grinning, I tug on it, making all the buttons pop out in sequence. Moving fast, I place my hands on her breasts again, her warm skin spreading through my fingers. I lean in and plant my lips on her neck, nibbling at her skin while I pull the cup of her right breast down, freeing one hard nipple. I pinch it between my thumb and index finger and then, pulling back so that I can look her in the eyes once more, I go straight down and wrap my lips around her rosy tip.
She runs her hands through my hair as I suck on her nipple, and moans loudly, the sound of it filling the whole office. Thank God my father isn’t home right now. The old man would have a fucking seizure if he found out what we were doing. It’s not like he cares about his wife, though; he’d probably see it as something more akin to property theft. Fuck that.
Pushing all thoughts of wrong and right to the back of my mind, I slide my free hand down the side of Ashley’s body, tracing a straight line to between her thighs. Suddenly, I feel her stir, and I
realize she’s going to stop me again. This is her fucking game—to push and pull, tease and torture. But she has made one serious mistake: she’s trying to pull that shit on me. If she thinks I’m like other men, she’s in for a fucking surprise.
Before she can grab me, I plant my hand on her crotch and press my fingers as hard as I can against her pussy. She gasps, no strength to her fingers as she curls them around my wrist.
“You’re done with teasing me,” I tell her, feeling her parting her legs unconsciously, her fingers falling off from my wrist. “If you want evidence, this is what’s going to happen, Ashley. Tomorrow, you’ll get a package, and in that package there’ll be something for you to wear. Then, I’ll send a limo around to pick you up and we’re going to go for a ride.”
“Where…?” she asks, moaning out the words. Her eyes are glued to my lips, and I can almost feel the electricity running through her body. If I wanted to take her now, I could. She wants me to fuck her right now… And, fuck, I want to do it. But I won’t; I’m going to do this the right fucking way.
“Just do what I tell you to,” I say, a commanding tone in my voice as I flatten the palm of my hand against her pussy. “Play along and you’ll have what you’re looking for.” With that, I lean in and press my lips against hers once more. Pulling her bottom lip with my teeth as I pull back, I finally take my hand off of her pussy.
One last look into her eyes and I turn on my heel, my heart almost exploding as I step out of the office. I leave her standing there, too shaken to stop me from leaving.
Fuck, my mind is running at a hundred miles per hour right now. I have no fucking idea how I managed to restrain myself. It doesn’t matter; in the end, she’s going to get what she fucking wants, and I’m going to have her.