by Nicole Snow
What started as another rough O becomes fuller. Becomes divine.
It's fire, it's passion, it's everything screaming to every last extremity.
Nerves crackle. Hearts pound. Muscles twitch.
Grant brings me off intense and raw. We share the best of ourselves in a beautiful moment. One I'm scared I won't have again – how could it possibly get better than this?
The last thing I see before I collapse in his arms is the axe on his chest, swaying from his heavy breathing. If he's a BASTARD like the tattoo says, then he's a beautiful one, and he's mine.
Mine, as I am his.
Virgin and beast. Sir's moscato. Bound to him as long as we share this bed, and he holds me in the moment. And I don't have to worry about how ridiculous this sounds, or how short-lived it'll be when the time comes to uncouple my poor heart.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes when he softens, and I feel him moving in for another kiss.
Fuck you, emotions. I promise myself there won't be any weakness when his mouth takes mine.
It's only tonight. It isn't love. It isn't anything. I'm here to lose my virginity, enjoy it, and scram. Easy-peasy, just like Tay said.
This isn't meant to last.
It's not forever.
It may well be the best sex of my life, but that's all it can be.
One, two, or half a dozen romps. Wham, bam, and see ya, madam.
I told myself I was ready. I said it wouldn't be a problem. I went through it in my mind over and over, before we got in the car and drove up here, ever since Tay first floated the scheme a few months ago, and I finally broke down and told her I'd follow through last week.
But I didn't bet on the way my pulse changes every time we kiss. It's more than mere lust. More than a virgin's zeal. More than feeling like an adult for the first time in my life.
If I'm being honest, it's more, and it damned well shouldn't be. The fact more is even in my head when I wrap my hands around his neck, savoring his heat, fighting loose tears, tells me this is trouble with a flashing neon T.
Men like Grant don't date. He's a man-whore in his natural heartbreaker habitat if there ever was one.
I'm no fool. I've seen too many womanizing, high octane sharks from my father's deals and high society to know better. He's also a total stranger, even if he doesn't feel like it, and even if I've called him the big S-I-R.
“Don't tell me you're getting sleepy now, moscato,” he whispers, running his thumb along my cheek, tracing my jawline like we're star-crossed lovers in the world's raunchiest Romeo and Juliet parody.
“Need you to wake me up,” I say, smiling for emphasis, regaining control. I open my lidded eyes when I'm sure the tears won't slip.
When he kisses me again, everything that shouldn't be real suddenly is.
Careful, I tell myself, and then I repeat it a few more times while our lips mingle.
He took my virginity like we agreed. I enjoyed it. But I'm flirting with a major red line with no mystery on the other side.
I can see the hurt already if I slip up. It's there, savage and waiting, if I get too comfortable, too close, and I let him run away with my heart.
So, it's more than one night.
It's three whole days sleeping in late, walking the rocky beach behind his lodge hand-in-hand, and petting his lovely friend, Jack, while our dinners digest with some of the best wine I've ever had.
Grant says a lot without giving away everything. He tells me about his brothers, Hayden and Luke, a real estate mogul and a Hollywood actor respectively. I laugh and blush when I find out his youngest brother played the infamous Mr. Black, every woman's secret heartthrob since Bare hit the silver screen. It's the biggest erotic thriller since...well, maybe ever.
Honestly, though, I don't think there's anyone in Hollywood worth comparing to the man I've given everything.
“You're lucky you know my last name,” he says on our last day, watching the sunset off the private balcony attached to his master suite, a new moscato in our glasses. “I come up here to get away from it all. New York is a great place for business and fast entertainment, but I'd fucking crack without nature, quiet, and women.”
I smile, sipping my wine, trying to pretend I'm the only woman he means. He probably has a harem waiting in Chandlersport, and plenty other towns across New England. “Tell me about it. This is my last getaway, too, before I start the new job.”
“Which firm?” he asks, taking a pull from his wine.
I shrug. “Don't know, and can't say I care. Some crappy, stuffy place dad says I need to work at so I can 'do something serious with my life,' as he says. Never mind how he thinks I'm heading for the gutter if I choose to live without the private jet someday.”
Grant smiles, reaching for my hand. God, his fingers feel good in mine. I don't want this to end, but the sunset reminds me it will.
It's inevitable as the moon in the next few hours. Our weekend enters its terminal stage, passing in one last burst of orange glory as the high summer sun slips behind the tall trees, spilling its last light on the Atlantic coast.
“Say no more. I know family pressure. My old man practically strangled all three of us before we started making coin. Gave my little brother, Luke, all kinds of shit when he decided to go his own way.”
“Well, you've done very well for yourself. You must've made your family proud,” I say quietly.
His eyes darken. “Sure. My family wasn't exactly what you'd call close knit.” He holds his cards so close to his chest, draining the last of his wine, his grip on my hand tightening before he catches himself. “No more past. I'm here for the present, Bekah, and I know you are, too.”
“You're right.” I nod, catching up to him as I throw back the last few gulps of my wine. “So, sir, since this is our last night, we'd better make it a good one, no?”
“Fuck yeah.” He stands, taking me by the hand, leading me to his bed again.
We take our time enjoying each other for the next few hours, until we collapse sometime after midnight. He fucks with a passion I'll never forget. It's steady, hard, and always hungry, even when he's come in me at least three times, always finding his release with a feral snarl and a grind of his hips. It never fails to carry me to ecstasy.
I thought the last few nights left me sore. Tomorrow, my legs will punish me more when I'm driving home with Tay, both of us taking our turns at the wheel. I'm guessing I won't be the only one, seeing how I've barely heard from her since she hooked up with the beach bum at the bar.
I don't care.
I'm wearing a sad, longing smile drifting off, but it's also happy. He sleeps with his face turned toward me, peaceful and strong as a well rested lion greeting his dreams. The heat of his skin on my cheek draws my fingers. I stroke his tattooed chest in delicate circles, wishing I had fifty more years to admire this, to know it, to love it the way it deserves.
I'll show myself out before he's up, just like I told him. It's how it has to be if I want to get away for good without showing him the tears I've held in every night. I don't need the man I call sir thinking I'm nothing except a stupid, emotional little girl who can't handle a casual fling.
I'm all grown up thanks to him.
I'm used to life's disappointments, and its boundaries. They're the only certainties I've known, growing up a Corbin.
Even now, I feel his presence, when I should just shut it out. My father would probably lock me away in a convent if he knew what I did tonight.
Not the sex, necessarily, but taking life into my own hands. Living for me, instead of the fortune he's dedicated his life to. Always disappointed when he sees the same desire he's tried to nurture in me failing, and failing hard.
Tomorrow, everything I hate returns with a vengeance. I'll barely have an evening to rest at home before I have to show up bright and early to work for his latest business ass-ociate.
I take another long glance at Grant before sleep finds me, burning his beautiful body and the gentle-but-firm smil
e framed in his beard into my brain.
I'll need it. A woman in my position needs her happy places.
They're rare.
As I shut my eyes and try to forget the bad, I don't know when I'll be this happy again.
3
Surprise, Surprise (Grant)
I finish packing the car, and spend a few last minutes with Jack on the porch, before it's time to go home. Haven't been this sore since I ran two marathons back to back for a company fundraiser last year.
Damn if it wasn't worth it.
I can't get her out of my head.
Every kiss. Every taste. Every scream.
They leave their imprint in my bones and in my head. Her moans linger, ringing in my ears, long after she's gone. I'm hard for a freakin' ghost. The three nights we had might never stop haunting me.
They're still heavy on my mind when I close the place up, text the caretakers about taking off, and head to Sanford's for one last beer before I leave the best fuck of my life behind forever.
“Thought about sending the Sheriff by to check on you, Grizzly,” Mack says later, leaning over with a big smile. “When was the last time you didn't roll in from sailing, ready to wet your throat? She must've been somethin' to keep you home the whole weekend. ”
“Something, Mack. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.” I take a long pull from my beer. I'm serious, too.
I love to fuck, but I don't brag. Grew out of that about the time my cock got its Prince Albert a decade ago.
“Fine. Leave an old man with his tongue hanging out,” the bartender chuckles to himself, sweeping a damp towel across the counter. “One of these days, you'll be done prowling around this happy hunting ground for pussy.”
“Bet you the SS Helene it won't be any time soon.” I smile, watching his eyes pop. Mack knows it's serious when I'm willing to bet my sailboat, the one named after my dead mother.
“Nah, kid, I don't take bets with no sport in 'em. Can't say I've got the storage to take her off your hands neither.”
My smile fades, and I swallow another mouthful of beer. “Why so sure, Mack? Don't tell me you think a chick almost young enough to be my daughter is magically 'the one,' or whatever bullshit people say?”
He stops cleaning the counter, looks at me, and lifts his eyebrows. “Fine. I'll bet both your brothers said the same thing before they got hitched. You told me yourself how surprised you were Luke fell into line, right behind Hayds. Don't assume the same damn thing can't happen to you.”
“No time for a wife. Company can't run itself. I'm going after the biggest deal of my life, too. Told you about the merger. I'd be one sorry SOB to risk everything I've worked for just to have regular pussy and –“
“Grizzly, it ain't about that,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “Go and ask your brothers if fuckin's all that counts when they come home to the women wearing their diamonds. Hell, ask me if sex is even at the top of the list when I think about all the reasons I miss my Rita. You'd better believe I miss her bangin' body every day, but I miss holding her, kissing her, spending my nights with her a hundred times more.”
I lower my eyes respectfully. His late wife died years ago, lost to a freak brain hemorrhage.
Old Mack came home to the love of his life slumped on the kitchen floor. Couldn't revive her. I was in town the week she died. I remember her funeral, and the long nights watching over the bartender and his kid, helping them with business for a few days. Also went out of my way to make sure Mack didn't do anything stupid with the frequent rum he picked up to drown his sorrows.
“All I'm saying, Grizzly, is you oughta at least leave the door open. It'd do you a world of good to have a woman worth more than keeping your dick wet. There's things I missed out on in life, but I don't regret one day I had with my wife and kid.” He looks at me, a sadness I'll never know fading in his eyes.
“How's the boy doing, anyway? Still plotting his big move on the librarian girl?”
Mack grins and rolls his eyes. “Ah, hell, don't get me started. That's a story for another time. You'd better hit the road before the storm rolls in.”
He's right. I pull out my phone and see the deep red lines of the front moving south from Canada, dense rains and winds certain to strike Chandlersport in the next hour or two. We say our goodbyes and I throw down a crisp hundred, leaving him a tip about ten times bigger than my drink.
We all have our little rituals.
Mack's big tip for the beer confessional makes me feel like the trip is truly complete. Helps ease me back into work. I've had my fun.
I'll head home to Wall Street re-charged, a whole lot of stress fucked from my system.
Usually, I don't think about the girls I've had. But when I get my car on the highway, listening to my driving mix to stay awake, I hope she's left town just as happy.
Hope she'll remember me, wherever she is. Almost as much as I hope I haven't ruined her for the other men she's bound to bed. The poor bastards won't be half as skilled at making her scream.
Almost, I said. Part of me bleeds jealousy when I picture her with anybody else. The rest is all ego, hoping she'll remember me every time she pulls out her toys or uses her fingers.
As a matter of fact, Greed is my middle name. I want her whispering my name every time she comes. Want it so much, see it so clear, it's fucking scary.
I don't know what just happened on this trip. But I know it needs to end now, so I can forget her and get on with life.
“Ready for your ten o'clock when you are, Mr. Shaw.” Nina pokes her head through my door, a young blonde so bright eyed and bushy tailed, I think she'd suck me off anytime without even asking for a raise.
Too bad she isn't my type, and I never screw employees. Bad policy. “Thanks, Nina. Be right out.”
I glimpse her ass bobbing through her skirt as she turns, disappearing back to her desk, the huge NEOLITHIC logo hanging over it. It'll make some guy happy, sure, but it has nothing on Bekah. It's too small, too flat, too weak to echo the crisp sting when I strike it.
You're still thinking about her. Get a damned grip, I tell myself.
No, really. I'd better, especially when I'm pulling my senior team off the trading floor to talk about the merger. My eyes go through the small glass window next to my office door, past Nina quickly fixing her hair before the meeting, and back to the logo.
I founded Neolithic with just a few million in my trust fund and a whole lot of dreams. Went balls-to-the-walls in the first few years, happy to be doing stocks instead of real estate. Ten years later, I've earned billions, and put a lot of old bulls to shame who thought they were the hottest, slickest shit-kickers in hedge funds. Also beat out my little brother, Hayden, who did well for himself taking over our old man's Windy City real estate empire.
He's earned like a fiend, too, but he's no Grant. Almost lost his shirt when our dad's gold digging ex, Kayla, tried seizing the family fortune. That's how he got his wife, Penny. His blushing bride was a publicity stunt and legal shield turned true love. Most twisted Cinderella story I'd ever heard until my brother Luke got in deep with our old help, Robbi.
Fuck, why am I thinking about my brothers and their love lives so much? It's still her.
Bekah, stewing in my brain, perfect ass and tits and a mewling whimper I'll never forget. I check to make sure my hard-on isn't showing when I stand up, fixing my tie briefly in the mirror, before heading down the hall to the board room with three minutes to spare.
I'm never late for anything. In this industry, timing is God. A put option executed a minute too late, or a counter-offer rolling in a second too soon, can be the difference between seven figures and eight.
Sure, these days the super computer algorithms clock so much just right, techno-babble miracles I've had designed by the whiz kids I poached from MIT. But a man's gut will never be obsolete, and neither will his time management.
Half those kids in programming are a little older and wiser now. Okay, I actually mean a lot.
Do
esn't matter. I still see the same nineteen and twenty year old baby faces when I walk into my board room. Half a dozen senior managers making more than most guys three times their age slam their phones down and give me their full attention, sitting up straighter in their chairs. I don't need Hail to the Chief to feel like the goddamned President.
“Morning, sir. I know you'd like to get right to it, so here's the report I compiled last night. The last part talks about what I think we need to do to sweeten the deal for Corbin. He wants to bite, or he wouldn't be doing this at all.” My VP and chief fund manager, Jake, slides a one page piece of paper over as soon as I sit down.
The room is silent except for Nina's fingers moving over her keyboard, transcribing every word, while I scan over his five hundred words. It's the maximum length I'll accept for a morning briefing, but I'll cut him some slack because what's on the line is damned important.
Neolithic is in serious talks to merge with Corbin Financial. It's a hundred year old firm with roots as deep as American investing itself, and it looks like the old wolf who runs it is finally interested in handing over the wheel so he can ride off to retirement. His firm also lost its ass recently in a few bad pharmaceutical bets. He's looking for an injection of a billion dollars, easy, to cover the losses.
If I play my cards right, his loss will be my zenith. I'll take Corbin-Neolithic to the moon, and plant our fucking flag on it.
“What's this?” I stop, my finger tapping the page. “I don't remember anything about our capital going international last time we talked?”
Jake shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Correct. That part's new. Mr. Corbin believes his firm's new direction is best served in Europe. Industrial research and manufacturing, I believe. Thing is, he's running short on funds to branch out as quickly as he'd like in the old world. He wants us to cover marketing to new E.U. clients, plus a sizable investment in several French companies seeking whales to buy corporate bonds. They're listed at the bottom.”