by K. L. Kreig
Looks like my once indivisible bachelor crew has fallen apart at the seams. First Ryder and Cassie, then Cash and Savannah. Maybe something in the taps in this new place.
Parker has always been a shameless hound, his taste for the hunt honed by his years as a Navy SEAL. But he’s the lone member of our crew of two left in New York, only coming to Atlanta for the occasional long weekend when finance business brings him to town. So it’s just me and my old buddy Jackson holding the status of bachelor here in the ATL.
Out of the corner of my eye I spy a luscious threesome with legs up to their ears and a bare midriff or two. Being traded sucks, but it doesn’t hurt that the women in this town are as good-looking as I remember.
I nod to Parker. “You been tearing up the streets of NYC?”
“Hey,” he says with a shrug, “I’ve gotta represent twice as hard now that it’s just me.”
Last time the two of us hung out, we started out in the meatpacking district and saw the sun rise in Atlantic City, driving around with a couple of leggy Danish models sprawled out in the back of Parker’s Ferrari. My head aches just thinking about the hangover I had the next day. But you only live once. Better make it hurt.
“We’re going to have to look into setting this guy up with a quality female,” Cassie says, furrowing her brow as if she’s scanning her mental rolodex.
“Yeah, between the two of us we’ve gotta know someone.”
Savannah pulls her phone out, ready to start scrolling through her contacts.
Cash laughs. “Don’t hold your breath, ladies. Knox is gonna be fresh blood for the local diamond dolls.”
Groupies. I’ve gotta admit—the routine gets old, but the eye candy never fails to tempt. As I said, you only live once.
“Not exactly what I’d call ‘quality,’ but the quantity can’t be beat,” Ryder says, lifting his glass.
“Hey,” I grumble, defending myself. “Last girl I hooked up with didn’t even know who I was.”
“Where’d you find her? Under a rock?” Cash may be tied down, but when the subject of random hookups comes up he’s still got that old twinkle in his eye. Once a hound, always a hound.
“Actually, I met her right here in this fine establishment of ours.”
“Nice. Hooking up in the Library—exactly what we had in mind,” Cash says with more than a little enthusiasm.
“You’ve been holding out on us, bro. When was this?” Ryder asks. “New Year’s.”
Yeah. Definitely not the first time a New Year’s countdown and a whole bunch of booze worked some last-minute magic in the romance department. Fortunately my memory of that night isn’t cloudy at all.
“So that’s where you disappeared that night, you dirty dog.” Cash smirks.
Savannah laughs as she puts her arm around Cash. “I don’t have a problem with you living vicariously, babe. Just wish you weren’t so obvious about it.”
Cash shrugs and breaks out into a shit-eating grin, topping off his bubbly with the last of the champagne.
“Anybody you care to see again?” Savannah asks, turning my way.
Yeah, you could definitely say that. If I knew how to find her, that is.
“She’s a bit of a mystery woman,” I say, playing it down. “Didn’t want to give me her digits. Didn’t seem to want to see me again.”
“Oooooh,” Cash says. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em. The very best kind.”
Savannah punches Cash in the arm and steals his drink out from under him.
“I love a mystery. We’ve gotta get to the bottom of this,” Cash continues.
“Yeah. What did she look like?” Cassie asks. “Maybe she’s a regular.”
I do my best to describe my one-night stand. Brown hair, brown eyes, sexy as hell, hates baseball. You’d have to be some detective to solve a case with clues that vague. I’m not holding my breath.
“Hey, it’s a big wide world out there. I’ll find someone else.”
And at least I’ve still got Jackson, a solid wingman when he can be convinced to hang.
“What’s going on with you, man?” I ask him. “Too busy at that drafting table to wing a friend in need?”
Jackson shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not really in the game these days.”
“Sounds suspicious,” I say. “Got someone special you’d care to introduce to the group? Ain’t no shame in taking an early retirement package if you find someone who’s willing to make it worth your while.”
“Don’t you know we never discuss Jackson’s love life in the presence of his sister?” a female voice calls out before I can go any further. “You’d better quit before we have to call in a family shrink.”
I turn to see who’s speaking, and it’s the redheaded member of the trio I’d glimpsed moments ago. But she’s not the one who catches my eye.
Shelby. My not-so-long-lost New Year’s hookup. Easier to find than I’d thought she’d be, and looking me right at me with an innocent smile on her lips and the slightest hint of a dare in her eyes. Before I can rush over to tell her how glad I am to see her again, she squeezes past me and heads straight to Jackson for a hug. What the hell? Are these two . . . together?
“Knox, meet Avery and Ruby. And this is my little sister, Shelby.”
Little sister? Jackson’s younger sister is my mysterious New Year’s hookup?
Fuck.
You have got to be kidding me.
DESTINATION CONNELLY Preview (Releasing June 2016) ~ KL Kreig
Present Day…
Conn
“Harder. Fuck, yes. That’s it, doll.” My fist grips her long bleached-blonde tresses hard, setting the pace I want her to take. Right now it’s slow and steady because her mouth is pure sin and I’d let her drag me into the depths of hell as long as she kept it wrapped around my cock the whole way south.
I met Lorna at the gym a month ago in the building where I live. She’d just moved in and hadn’t been warned about me yet, so I took advantage of the situation. I’m a cunning guy like that. As soon as she stumbles across the wrong woman in the locker room shower, she’ll lock her abundant assets down tighter than Fort Knox. Good thing I didn’t miss my chance.
I wanted Lorna the minute I set eyes on her. She’s absolutely fucking stunning and has a rack I’ve contemplated sliding my cock between, but her lips are full and pouty, so it was a toss-up. The mouth won. And Jesus, am I glad because she’s sucking me off like a professional. Hell, she should take out insurance on her mouth. It is that damn good.
Prying my head from the back of her couch, I look down at the woman on her knees in front of me. She’s beautiful, yes. She has great tits and a smokin’ body, no doubt. She can string a few decent sentences together in a row, so she seems halfway intelligent. Regardless of what my brothers think, I don’t just tap anything with a pussy. I am a little more selective than that.
But I already know this first encounter with Lorna, as lovely as she is, will be my last. She’s like all the others. Maybe she has a personality, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she could be long-term relationship material; maybe she’d turn out to be a whiny bitch and eating a bullet would sound far more appealing. Maybe she’s my perfect “Match.com” life companion. Who knows? I don’t—I won’t give her a chance to get that far. I feel nothing for her other than intense physical pleasure as she works me expertly closer to one hell of a climax.
Her eyes sweep up to mine, looking for encouragement. She doesn’t need it and she knows it, though I give it anyway. “You’re doing great, baby,” I rasp thickly. She holds my gaze, trying to see if there’s something there. A spark. Hope. Maybe I changed my mind about seeing the inside of her apartment once and once only? I may be a manwhore, but I’m no bastard. Before I let you anywhere near my dick, you know the score, and so does Lorna.
I don’t do seconds. Ever. It’s too messy for everyone involved.
Nope. No emotional connection whatsoever. No burn in my gut. No music in my ears. No racing of my heart—other tha
n the fact I’m getting closer to spurting down her throat.
That emotional switch was flipped to the off position eleven years ago when the girl who managed to brand her initials on the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands got on a plane and never looked back. After the way she fucked me over, you would think I’d hate her. In many ways I do.
But it doesn’t matter how deeply she’s wounded me, I still try to picture her face in every woman I take. I still try to imagine the taste of her nipples on my tongue and the feel of her pussy embracing my cock for the very first time.
Getting the hint, Lorna’s eyes flutter briefly before dropping again, going back to the task at hand. Sensing she wasn’t quite truthful that she was really okay with this one-time thing, I decide it’s time to reach the goal line. I guide her up and down my shaft quicker, fisting the base so I can squeeze hard, the way I like it. She gets the clue, sucking harder, moving faster, running her tongue perfectly around and under my crown until my hips buck. On a growl, my seed is ripped fiercely from my balls. Proving this isn’t her first rodeo, she swallows every drop, not spilling a one.
My head is tipped back, eyes shut, and my chest still heaving with the effort of the last few minutes when I feel her crawling up my body. She straddles my lap, the warmth of her silk-covered pussy bearing down against my semierect shaft; her bare tits press against my still shirt-covered chest. Scattering kisses up my throat and jaw, she latches onto my mouth, thrusting her tongue inside. I taste myself on her and while it doesn’t repulse me, it’s not a turn on for me either.
Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to take this further. The vibe I’m getting from her is like epoxy: Elmer’s glue. She’s trying to fasten herself to me and I am the anti-adhesive. I’m a slippery fucker, like glass.
Again, I’m not a bastard. I may not feel like fucking her, but I’m not going to leave her with the woman’s equivalent of blue balls either. So I reach between us, her pelvis now writhing, and pull aside the crotch of her white silk panties, slipping my fingers through her drenched folds.
“God, yes,” she moans in my ear. Once I slide two fingers inside, she rides my hand like she grew up spending hours a day on a stallion. Feathering my thumb over her clit, I bring her to a quick orgasm, enjoying the feel of her womanly softness under my fingertips. I let her kiss me and, for not the first time, have a twinge of guilt that I can’t feel anything for a woman beyond the physical pleasures they bring me. That part of me has been on lockdown for over a decade.
“Gotta go, babe,” I say as I lift her off my lap. I linger too long on her generous tits and she notices. Damn.
Her face falls, her lips turn down, and disappointment is etched over every beautiful feature. Yep…this right here is why I don’t do seconds. Technically, I didn’t even do firsts with Lorna, and my spidey senses were spot-on. She wants more than I’m capable of giving.
“But we didn’t get to the good part,” she whines.
Ladies, I’m here to tell you, sticking your bottom lip out like a four-year-old child to get what you want is not attractive. Have a little more self-respect than that for God’s sake.
“Have some work stuff I need to take care of.” It’s true, I always have work to do, even though that’s not the reason I’m now anxious to make my getaway. I should have seen the handmade wedding invitations and 2.5 babies floating in her clear blue eyes well before I ever walked into her apartment, but I was too focused on getting her undressed, instead. I tuck myself away, zip my jeans, and make my way to the exit. I mean door.
“I want to see you again,” she says pleadingly, grabbing hold of my arm.
I stop and take her face in my hands, enunciating my words clearly and slowly so she’ll get the message. “Lorna, we talked about it. This was a one-time thing.”
She looks like someone just ran over her puppy and left it for dead in the middle of the road. It makes me feel like the hit-and-run professional I’ve become. That’s not a great feeling, by the way, and I’m not proud of it, but c’est la vie, as the French would say. I am what I am and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon.
Lorna’s actually a nice woman. She’s funny, takes care of herself, and holds an executive VP of marketing position at some local media company, which is more than I want or need to know about her. She deserves to be someone’s special girl. I’m just not that someone.
“But why?”
I know my smile will come across as sad and I’m not doing it to garner sympathy from the woman whose talented mouth was just wrapped around my cock and who I’m about to heave-ho. It’s a genuine emotion that I try my damnedest to stifle. “I’m simply not capable of more. I’m sorry.” And I am. Sorry. So fucking sorry to leave another victim in my jerky wake, but not sorry enough that I won’t do it again and again and again.
Kissing her temple, I drop my hold and silently make my escape.
Lorna lives on the eighth floor. I live on the thirty-fourth. It would be much quicker to take the elevator, but I need to blow off some excess energy and make my thigh muscles burn a little since I missed out on my cardio just now, so I take the stairs instead, two by two. By the time I reach my floor a few minutes later, I feel better, despite being a sweaty mess, my tee sticking to my chest and back.
Just as I’m unlocking my door, I see Ella walking toward me with her arms full of bags. I run over to her, taking them from her grip.
“Why didn’t you have the guard help you up with these?” I scold. She does this all the damn time and it drives me fucking crazy. She’s the most stubborn, independent woman I have ever met. It’s alluring and infuriating all at the same time.
“Because I don’t like to be dependent on anyone. You know that. Now shut the fuck up.”
“Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass, Ella.”
“That’s why you love me, hun.”
“You’re right.” I kiss her cheek and we walk a few steps down the hall until we’re at her door.
Ella is my next-door neighbor. If there were any woman I could remotely envision myself with, it would be her. But I don’t do emotion and I don’t do commitment, much like Ella. We are simply the best of friends, although we’ve almost crossed the proverbial line several times late at night when we’ve had too much to drink and the moon is bright, throwing some sort of carnal spell through the windows.
As if she’s just noticing the clothes sticking to me, along with the beads of water running down my forehead, she teases, “Make another getaway, did you?”
I laugh loudly. “Something like that.”
She unlocks her door. I follow. Her condo is exactly the same as mine, except the layout is flip-flopped with the spacious kitchen and open main living area on the left and two bedrooms down the hallway to the right. She has a bay of floor-to-ceiling windows that mirror mine, except I have a corner space, so my windows span two sides.
“When are you going to learn not to shit where you eat?” She shakes her head in mocking disapproval. “You’re going to bang the wrong woman and she’s going to know where you live and go all stalker on your ass. Not smart, Connelly. Not smart at all.”
I shrug. She’s right. “I’m a slow learner.” I drop the bags on the counter and start helping her unload her groceries.
Ella and I have been neighbors and friends for the last year. Originally, when I saw her, of course I wanted to do her, badly. I even considered breaking my “one-and-done” rule because this woman is something incredible.
She’s beautiful, both inside and out. Petite, probably only five foot three. Tight, fit body. Average tits, but they’re all natural and I’d rather have a smaller, malleable handful than rock-hard fake ones any day. She’s smart, witty, and successful. You can’t have a three-thousand-square-foot condo in downtown Chicago that overlooks Navy Pier if you’re not doing something right with your career.
But the more I got to know her, the more I discovered there’s just something extraordinary about her heart that I don’t want to ruin. Like we all
do, she tucks a part of herself away that she should only share with that one special person when he comes along. I’m not that guy, so I don’t want to take that away from whoever he is.
I sincerely like Ella and if we cross that sometimes-wavering line, I will lose her as a friend. I don’t want that. Outside of my brothers, she’s one of the few genuine people I have in my life who’s not after something of mine, whether it be my contacts, my power, my money, or simply riding my coattails until they find something or someone better. When you are a young, attractive, wealthy, single man, trust me…you have a lot of sharks circling your boat, hungry for what you have, trying to take a bite no matter how small.
“When are you going to settle down?” she asks after putting the last of the fresh vegetables in the crisper.
“When are you?” I retort.
“You know the answer to that.” At thirty-three, Ella is three years older than I am. I know she’s been married and divorced. Other than that, she refuses to talk further about that relationship or any relationship for that matter. In fact, she doesn’t talk about her personal life at all. Ever. “Besides, we’re talking about you, now. Not me.”
My lips curl. “This is a tired conversation.” And one we have all too often. Ella thinks that by the age of thirty, I should be settling down, having babies, and building a six-thousand-square-foot house by the lake. Yes, she’s hypocritical as well.
I wholeheartedly disagree.
“Well someone needs to make you see you have more to give of yourself than just your dick. As impressive as I’m sure it is.”
My smile grows wide. “Impressive, huh? Want a demonstration?” I joke, wagging my eyebrows up and down.
Laughing, she answers, “As tantalizing as that offer is, it has to be a hard pass for me, cowboy.”
“Hmmm. Your loss.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She winks playfully.
This is what I love about hanging out with Ella. We flirt, we banter, we play around and it butts right up to the edge of sinful, but that’s where it stops. Because as much as I don’t want to ruin what we have, neither does she.