Foundation

by Lainey Davis

  There’s only one stool open at the bar and Isaac gestures toward it. “What,” I say. “You think I’m so feeble after the run that I need to sit? Like I’m going to collapse? Maybe you need to sit so you don’t pass out from the stink fumes from those skanky running clothes.”

  “Fair enough,” he says, giving his shirt a sniff and smiling. “I did already run this morning. Don’t mind if I do sit.”

  He makes a big show of sinking into the stool and stretching out his long legs. He puts his arms up on the bar, grinning. “Maybe you can give me laundry advice. That setup you’ve got on the first floor is pretty sweet.”

  I lean against the bar next to him, regretting giving up the stool. My lower back starts to hurt as my heart rate slows down. I shiver, realizing I worked up a sweat getting here and it must be evaporating and making me cold. Oh god, do I stink as much as Isaac?

  I try to catch a whiff of myself and the smug fucker catches me. He leans toward me, smiling, and takes an exaggerated sniff. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You don’t smell any worse than me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Zack

  “THIS IS PROBABLY going to come out wrong,” I start, “but how did you get interested in home renovations? You’re a refined businesswoman…” She snorts. “I mean by appearances. Nobody would call your personality refined.”

  She nods, tapping her fingers on the bar and looking impatient. “I bought a shit hole house in a shit hole neighborhood to spite my parents and I made it nice to prove that I could.”

  I nod. “I, too, bought a shit hole house. But I haven’t put in the time to fix it up much.”

  She looks at me, considering. “I did most of the work when I was right out of college,” she says. “I was lower on the ladder at work and had more time.”

  I finally manage to flag down the bar tender and order us each a light beer. There’s no way I’ll make it back to Nicole’s house on foot if I drink anything heavier.

  “What’s with Beltane,” she asks, chewing on a plastic drink stirrer.

  “Beltane?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “The name of your family’s company? It’s a sun festival right? Like a Celtic pagan sort of thing?”

  I shrug. “My grandma emigrated here from Ireland. My family’s kind of into all that stuff. Dad believes in a Lion King sort of approach to business.”

  She starts twirling a stray lock of hair around one finger, and I have to exercise all my self-control not to lean over and join in, entwining my fingers with hers in those messy locks. “Lion King approach?”

  I crack a smile. “Yeah. You know. ‘Everything the light touches is our kingdom.’” I do my best James Earl Jones impression and Nicole bursts out laughing. I decide I’ll give up all my independence and my entire reputation as a hard-ass if I can hear her make that sound again.

  We talk about her first job as a project manager at a tech company, and it turns out she knows my college roommate, Rayland. “You lived with Ray-Ray?” Her eyes go wide. “No, actually that makes sense. He’s some brooding genius.” The bartender comes back with our beers and she continues. “He was actually a dream to work with because I never had to hound him for anything. He always met deadlines and entered everything on our project spreadsheets. When he left for grad school, the idiot who replaced him was a nightmare.”

  I laugh. “You’d love working with engineers,” I tell her. “Brooding cyborg describes just about all of us except maybe my brother Cal.”

  I reach for my wallet to pay and Nicole actually growls at me. “You’re not buying my damn drink,” she says.

  “You’re about to be a quarter million dollars in the red, Ms. Kennedy,” I remind her. “You should accept the beer.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you to stop telling me what to do?” Her face turns red. I love driving her wild like this. I make a mental note to tell her what to do every time I see her, and another mental note to imagine telling her what to do while naked…later when I’m home alone, that is. I already beat off once today thinking about Nicole, but after this I’m going to have to go again when I get home.

  I’m not proud of it, but looking at her now, all sweaty in her tight running stuff, I’m not sorry about it either. The bar tender takes my card and looks between me and Nicole. “Both beers on the one card,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off Nicole.

  She glares at me, picks up her drink, and chugs it down in about three seconds. She just opens her throat and pours the liquid down like it’s water, and slams the glass down on the bar before I even can get mine raise to my lips.

  “There,” she says. “We hydrated. I’m heading back.”

  “Shit,” I mutter as she makes her way through the crowd toward the door. She’s actually serious. I knock back a few swigs of my drink and quickly sign the credit card receipt and take off after her. The second she gets outside, she starts running, but I know she can’t hold that pace for long, so I go slow and steady. She runs along in good form, lasting much longer than I expect.

  I decide right there in the cold, chasing her, that I don’t give a shit anymore that she’s a client. That line I didn’t want to cross has slid right into the river with her yard. I have to catch her, and I have to touch her. When she steps aside to bend over, hands on her thighs, breathing heavy, I come up behind her and place my hand on her back, the heat of her body radiating through the cold and into my palms.

  Christ, she feels good. As she breathes heavily, I lean down so my mouth is right near her ear. “I had no idea you could open your throat like that,” I whisper. “You should show me again.”

  She whips her head over at me and growls as she stands up straight. I watch her decide to let go of her restraint. She shoves me toward the alley, planting two hands right on my chest and pressing hard. My back hits the bricks and I grin at her, heaving and glaring.

  I press off the wall and box her in against the opposite wall, her face in the shadows of the alley, her breath puffing out in a cold white cloud in the night air. “Why’d you run out of there?”

  She shrugs. “You pissed me off.”

  I lean in closer, rocking my hips into her and her eyes drop to my crotch when she feels how hard I am. “Maybe I like when you’re pissed off.” My voice is low, mouth right by her ear.

  “What are you doing,” she says, but her eyes tell me she knows exactly what I’m doing.

  “Waiting for you to tell me to stop,” I say, leaning in closer, closer as my heart pounds in my ears. I can see her own pulse ticking in her neck. She doesn’t tell me to stop, and I don’t, crushing my mouth against hers.

  Her plump lips are cold against mine, and she tastes like light beer. She moans into my mouth and I thrust my hips against hers, pinning her against the wall. My dick is so hard I can feel it straining against the seams of my running pants. I don’t dare take my hands off the brick wall beside her head, though. Once I lay my hands on her again, I’m not going to be able to stop, and I’m not quite so far gone that I’m going to fuck her in an alley.

  Unless she asks for that.

  She digs her hands into my shoulders as she tries to pull my head closer into hers, her tongue sliding into my mouth and tangling with mine. And then she pulls back just as suddenly. “Well what the fuck do we do now,” she spits out, looking around, as if a warm bed will suddenly appear in the winter night.

  I laugh, half at her and half at the ridiculous predicament. “Now we run back to your house so I can fuck you,” I say, knowing it’s a bad idea and utterly powerless to stop.

  She takes a deep breath and ducks out from under my arm. She starts running, faster than before. “Easy,” I tell her, falling into stride beside her. “If you pass out, I won’t be able to bend you over that counter of yours.”

  “You wish,” she says, puffing but not sounding winded. “When we do this, I’m on top.” She puffs again, but speeds up. We get to a red light and I laugh as she looks both ways for cars and runs through the intersection wi
thout stopping to catch her breath.

  I admit, I’m pretty pleased with the thought of her riding me, those tits bobbing near my face as she finds her rhythm. But I can’t bring myself to just let her get her way. Everything about tonight feels like a challenge, and after the time I’ve had at work lately, I’m in the mood to win.

  I dismiss the thought that fucking her is not going to make anything at work any easier.

  I lean down toward her ear again as we weave through a crowd of people. “No,” I say. “I’m going to strip you out of those tights and bend you over so your ass is in the air. I’m going to smack it until your cold skin turns pink while I shove my cock into you from behind, and you’re going to come so hard your screams will shake a little more of your back yard into the river.”

  She stops abruptly and I almost trip over her. She turns to look at me. “Do not joke about my landslide, Isaac,” she says. There’s something about the sound of my full name on her lips that has my cock jolting in my pants again. Nobody calls me that except her.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Ms. Kennedy,” I say, starting to run again. We pick up the pace until we’re sprinting toward her townhouse. The old lady next door sticks her head out and tries to talk to Nicole but she mutters something to her and punches at the numbers on the key pad.

  The door opens and she grabs me by the shirt, hauling me inside. She actually tries to shove me to the floor and climb on top of me, but I reach for her arm and pull her in toward my chest. We stay like this for a few beats, both of us catching our breath from the run, from the adrenaline. She licks her lip and her eyes flash, and I lose control.

  “Turn around,” I tell her, spinning her in my arms and frog walking her through to the kitchen. When we get to the counter, I take each of her hands in mine and place them against the dark marble. “Hold on,” I growl.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nicole

  NOBODY TALKS TO me this way, I think, as Isaac Brady does exactly what he said he would and yanks down my pants. Nobody has ever talked to me this way, and nobody has made me feel this fucking excited before, either.

  I love sex, and I love it on my terms, which means me on top grinding just so against my date’s pubic bone until I detonate my lady rocket. I don’t do relationships. I don’t really even do second dates. I have no room in my life for that. Sex is for release, animalistic and sweaty. Then I go home and sleep in my own damn bed by myself as God intended.

  So when I feel the crack of Isaac’s palm on the cold skin of my ass, I shriek. In that instant, I realize I’ve been going about this very, very wrong. He rubs his hand on my ass cheek a few times and then brings his hand down on the other cheek. I gasp as his cold finger tips massage their way between my legs, finding me wet and hot and wanting.

  He slides one long finger inside me. It’s cold and smooth, the contrast to my own sizzling heat making me pant. “Fuck, Isaac,” I mutter, biting my lip and looking over my shoulder. I see him standing there, wild eyed, with one hand palming his dick above the waistband of his pulled-down pants while the other hand thrusts in and out of my pussy.

  He looks dark and fierce and very, very sexy. “What are you waiting for,” I say.

  He pulls his hand out of me and wraps it in my hair, giving it a tug and bending my head back. “I’m clean,” he growls, “and I don’t have a condom. I want to fuck you bare.”

  “Oh shit,” I pant as he tugs again on my hair, the tingles on my scalp in contrast to the slow, aching pulse of my core. “Yes,” I breathe. This isn’t a thing I do, not with the men who are happy enough to let me take charge of our carefully choreographed encounters. Isaac Brady isn’t satisfied and his long arms feel powerful. At home on my body.

  “Please,” I beg. I actually fucking beg him to take me raw. He grunts as he slides inside me, spearing me on his cock in one swift thrust that makes both of us groan.

  The angle of my hips somehow makes his cock feel like it’s brushing against every nerve ending in my body. As he thrusts inside me, harder and faster, I feel my orgasm building on its own. Like he’s scraping it out of me. I refuse to tell him it feels good, and I have just enough brain capacity to realize that’s ridiculous.

  “Come for me, Nicole,” he grunts, giving my hair another tug.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I spit back at him, thrusting my hips back to meet his as we crash together. He’s got one hand on my hip for leverage and I hear the sound of our bodies slapping together. Both of us have our pants around our ankles, fully dressed on top as his bare cock slides in and out. I’m so wet, I can feel my slick arousal coating my upper thighs the harder he fucks me. Jesus, I had no idea it feels so good to get totally pounded like this.

  “You feel so fucking good,” he says, growling. I can feel his sack bumping against my crotch, and I like that, too.

  “I love feeling your balls,” I groan, leaning forward more, my hands sliding across the counter as my palms start to sweat.

  Isaac redoubles his efforts, thrusting impossibly fast. I close my eyes. Can I really come this way, I wonder, and I pick up one hand to reach between my legs, desperate for the friction. He roars and pulls my hand away, pinning it down on the counter with the hand that had been in my hair, which is now flying all over the place as my body jolts with his thrusts.

  He smacks my ass again, and I just…let go. I stop thinking and my body takes over until I’m coming. I come so long and so hard that my forehead drops against the counter. I cry with relief that my clit isn’t broken, and then I come some more. I feel my moans practically shaking the windows in their panes and I know I’m screaming his name, screaming for him to keep going. “Fill me up, Isaac,” I shriek. “Jesus, fuck, this feels so good. I want your come.”

  And he gives it to me. With two more slamming thrusts that bounce my hip bones off the cabinets, I feel his balls slap against me again and then I feel him swell inside me, thrusting and spurting as he bites my shoulder and breathes against my ear.

  “Nicole,” he moans, still spasming. Finally, he stills, and he leans against my back. I slump over the counter, my chest heaving.

  Soon, my legs start cramping, whether from running or being fucked in this position I’m not sure. I grimace and try to move out from under him, but this makes him slide out from my body and I feel…empty once his cock leaves me, even though I can still feel it right there, wet and sticky against my ass cheek.

  I wriggle out of his long arms and grab for a water glass in the sink, not caring if it’s dirty. I start chugging water and I realize he’s staring at me. And no wonder. I’ve got my pants around my ankles, my ass is probably red from being slapped, and I’m downing water like I’m in a boat race at kegger.

  I finish the water and groan in gratitude. And then my baggage starts taking over my thought patterns. I just fucked my engineer in my kitchen, and I really fucking liked it, and I can’t handle that right now.

  “You can head on out now,” I tell him, flipping my hair back out of my eyes. “We’ve both got work tomorrow and I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  “What?”

  I gesture toward the door. “You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to cuddle me or anything like that.”

  Isaac stands staring at me, his mouth working up and down. I’ve stunned him, and that surprises me. I thought we were on the same page here. I like that I can see so much of myself in him. No nonsense. Nothing emotional. We just had a fucking great time, and now we can each go on home to bed and get on with our evening.

  “You’re serious right now?” Isaac’s eyebrows are so far up his forehead I almost can’t see them behind his messed up sex hair.

  “Yes, Isaac. I’m kicking you the hell out so I can go wash your spunk from my vag and go to bed.”

  He laughs as he squats down to pull up his pants, shaking his head. Then he keeps laughing. “What?” I stand with my hands on my hips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me bend over to pull up the pants he probably ripped p
ulling them down over my birthing hips.

  That’s what my mother calls my wide ass. Birthing hips.

  “Tell me something,” he says, reaching for his keys where he left them on my counter with his gym bag.

  “What?” I repeat, my voice getting shrill and high. I start tapping my nails against the counter.

  “Was I better than the purple Babe Rocket?”

  I feel the flush start at my knees and rise to the top of my ears. I thought we were both going to silently agree not to discuss that he’d signed for delivery of the vibrator I drunk-ordered last week. I haven’t even managed to get off with the thing yet, and am probably going to send it back for a refund. Although something tells me I can conjure up memories of this kitchen tryst and it’ll work just fine. “Get out, Isaac,” I finally spit out at him. “Just go home.”

  And then he does something truly surprising. He laughs, slings his gym bag over his shoulder, and leans in to kiss my cheek, pausing to rest his forehead against mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

  Then he’s gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Nicole

  I WRIGGLE UNCOMFORTABLY on the stoop at Emma’s house on Saturday after ringing the bell to their loft. Stag family dinner is usually at Tim and Alice’s house, and it’s usually on Sunday, but Emma and Thatcher are hosting a birthday party for their oldest kid, Wesley.

  I can never decide if I’m supposed to just go up or wait to be greeted. If this were a normal day at Emma and Thatcher’s house, I’d let myself in and help myself to her cheese drawer. But her parents are probably up there, and my boss. Years of growing up in Madeline Kennedy’s household, with her cold, rigid manners, are hard to shake.