Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “You look bad,” Derek comments as he stands at the opened door. My head rests against the cool leather of the front seat, perspiration dripping from my forehead. A car honks behind us, making me wince.

  “I’m dying,” I breathe out, closing my eyes.

  “What?” there’s panic in Derek’s voice.

  Derek is young. Twenty-five. I’d given him a job as my driver after he’d delivered many packages and correspondences to me on his bike as a messenger. I saw something in him. Perhaps, it was adventure, something I’ve always wanted. It reflects in his dark eyes whenever he looks around. It’s a hungry look, a voracious craving for more than what life was currently providing. Maybe by driving me, he’d someday be able to afford that backpacking trip through Europe he’s always going on about. But if I’m dead, Derek is out a job and an adventure.

  I keep my eyes closed, desperate to make the pain go away. I reach into my pocket and pull out the script from Doctor Abrams. “I need this. Hurry.”

  Derek wastes no time taking the script from me and scurrying around to the driver’s side of the car. The SUV jerks forward, my stomach rolling again, my head feeling like a drumline is using my skull as its percussion section.

  Maybe death won’t be so bad. Anything is better than the pain and hell I’m in.

  “Derek, crank the air up, full blast.” Within seconds, the cooler air reaches me, and I sink deeper into the seat, loosen my vomit-stained tie, and watch the masses of people go about their day in this city, doing whatever the fuck it is they do to fulfill their lives.

  My life is as dark and depressing as the interior of the car. Black is supposed to be professional, elegant, and a sign of high wealth. What a joke for all the good it does me. All the riches of the world can’t buy me a cure.

  Derek swerves the SUV into a corner space outside of McCabe’s Rx and runs in. They filled my father’s scripts, and here we are, full-fucking-circle, getting mine filled. The twisted, witchy laugh of karma reverberates in my skull making me want to pound my head against the glass window.

  An RV pulls up at the light and waits next to me. I glance over, and two little boys have their faces smashed against the windows, trying to see the height of the tall buildings. Large, luminous eyes take in the big city while tiny fingers point in a million different directions, attempting to get their mom to see everything they see.

  In true Derek loyalty, he brings the pill bottle and a water right to my door, twisting the caps off both to try and please me. With my palm held out, he places two bright green capsules in my hand, and I pop them into my mouth with all the reverence of magic pills, chugging water to wash them down.

  With a sigh, I sit back and close my eyes, squeezing them tighter when a blaring horn assaults the quiet of the car as Derek slides into the driver’s seat. “Where to, Boss?” he asks quietly.

  “Just follow that RV. I want to see what they see,” I murmur, pointing to the big cream and brown colored contraption a few car lengths ahead of us. Derek does as I say, not saying a word about my strange request. Never once have I told him to follow another car, let alone an RV. His eyes slide over to me several times. He thinks I’ve finally cracked.

  And I just may have.

  Eventually, we follow the family across the Brooklyn Bridge and into Liberty Park. We park a few open spaces away, my gaze evaluating the value of the vehicle. The RV has more rust on it than an old tractor I saw once abandoned in a corn field. Neglect. Wasteful neglect.

  This particular rust is older than both parents combined. Here are two people giving their children a lifetime of memories with the only means they have: a rusty, beat-up recreation vehicle and their time and effort inside an adventure.

  Yesterday, I wouldn’t have even paid the slightest attention to them. Today, I’m deeply moved by this loving family. Would my life have turned out differently had my parents given me more time and effort instead of possessions? For all of the things I own, the one thought that won’t escape my mind is that my empty life is a result of neglect.

  Damn it. I rub my forehead trying to erase the throb inside my skull. The ache is lessening, but it’s still a dull roar. Like a bee is trapped inside it, buzzing and flitting around looking for a means of escape.

  “Are you all right?” Derek moves the rearview mirror to take in my full face. Fresh worry lines wrinkle his forehead, no doubt a result of the poorly-timed delivery of my diagnosis from earlier.

  “Yeah, take me home. I need rest.”

  I jolt awake when the engine cuts off and Derek opens my door. The quiet of the garage at my apartment building soothes my troubled mind. Home. Even the whoosh of the elevators rising to the penthouse suite washes away those three life-altering words from my memory for a while.

  I head straight for my office and wait for my computer to boot up.

  “I thought you were going to rest,” Derek chastises as he plops down into the leather chair across from me.

  “I am, after I send a few emails regarding tomorrow.”

  “And may I ask, what is tomorrow— besides Wednesday?”

  “Tomorrow is the day I release my company into the hands of the CFO, I meet with my attorney to settle my affairs, and it’s also the day you buy us a recreational vehicle fit to go across the country. We’re going on an adventure.”

  “We are?” his voice rises with excitement and an unknown hesitation.

  “Yes, we are,” I assure him, turning all my focus to my email.

  “This isn’t going to be some Thelma & Louise trip that you’re planning for…you know, the final scene.” His eyebrows draw together in distress over the thought of it.

  “I didn’t plan on it ending that way, but if it does, I’m calling dibs on Thelma. If anyone’s having hot sex on this trip, it’s me.”

  Day 1

  I don’t know why the hell I thought I’d start a diary. No. Let’s call it a travel log. I guess maybe I thought it might help sort my thoughts. Perhaps, after I’m gone someone can auction it off and make a few dollars. The great Carter George’s innermost thoughts before his death. Yeah, I can see it becoming a bestseller now.

  To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never had a ‘no return from here’ situation. There’s always been another deal that’s usually bigger and better. This dying shit definitely doesn’t have another deal after it unless I’m somehow able to barter with the devil once I get to his gates.

  I remember watching my father go. It made me pray to a god that clearly doesn’t exist that I’d go fast. Fuck, I don’t want to suffer like my father did. People say he deserved the long, hard death he got. He was ruthless. He was a businessman, and I’d followed in his footsteps. By the way it’s looking, I’ll keep following them right to the grave. With one exception.

  This road trip.

  Dying has a way of fucking with your head. Maybe this really is karma for being the man I have been. I was my father’s son, after all. He worked himself to the bone, ignoring my mother and me. Then she bailed. She kissed me goodbye, hopped in a limo, and left without a word or consolatory hug. Nothing.

  At first, I got phone calls from her a few times a year, which dwindled to a few times every other year, and became non-existent as I aged into adulthood. Hell, I haven’t seen my mother since I graduated from college. Scratch that. She didn’t show up to that.

  Enough about that. Today I have to go to my board and explain what the hell is going on. They’re going to be pissed, but it’s not like I give a shit. I won’t be here in six months, so it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I even have a legacy to pass the company on to. I lived the life of a perma-bachelor, never falling in love for more than an hour at a time. If I even had the time for that. I doubt I’d have stayed married for long anyway. None of it matters now though.

  My story is going to start right after I meet with my board this morning. Then all that shit will be a past life.

  I want to live, damnit. Maybe there’s no cure, but I have six months
left. I’m going to live the life I should’ve been living. Strange how your own looming funeral humbles you.

  I’ve sent Derek out to get us an RV. I told him money wasn’t an issue. I also had him get us some camping gear since I’ve never been. He seemed all too eager about it.

  I have to go now. My meeting with the board is at 10:00 AM. I’ll be back to finish this log tomorrow. I hope.

  2

  Carter

  “Good morning, Mr. George!” Abigail, my secretary, greets me as I walk through the lobby. Her large green eyes drink me in as they always do. I don’t have any doubt she wants me to bend her over my desk and fuck her like a porn star, but the one thing I learned from my father was, “Don’t fuck the help.” It was engrained in my head that most women were gold diggers, and once they had the goods, they’d cut town, leaving you a broken man.

  “Abigail,” I grunt, moving past her and going into my office. The click-clack of her heels on the polished marble floor echoes behind me. Internally, I sigh because I know she wants to start the day off with my itinerary… or loads of questions about why I’ve canceled everything and called an emergency meeting of the board.

  “Mr. George,” she calls out as I sit at my desk and stare out the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking New York City. Truly a beautiful view. I’ve never really bothered to care before. “Did you want me to cancel all your meetings this week?” she asks from behind me.

  I swivel back to find her frowning. I never cancel meetings.

  “Yes, Abigail. All my meetings. In fact, cancel them all indefinitely.” I press my lips into a firm line. Decision made.

  Her eyes widen, her lips parting as she gawks at me.

  “Um, Mr. George, you have a meeting with Senator Wilkins tomorrow. You’ve spent months trying to get this—”

  “Abigail,” I say with a sigh, rubbing my eyes as the muscles in my neck begin to tighten and my head starts to ache. “Cancel the damn meeting.”

  She pauses before coming to sit on the edge of my desk, putting her long legs in her short red skirt on display. It hasn’t slipped past me what a beautiful woman she is. Hell, it was one of the reasons I’d hired her—something nice to look at. And I’d be a damned liar if I hadn’t thought about wrapping her long, chestnut colored hair around my hand and pressing her naked body against my wall while I fucked her for all I was worth.

  Her hand comes out and rests on mine, concern written in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. George? Is there anything I can do to help?” She leans forward, her cleavage flashing me.

  I have six months to live. I’ve never once screwed an employee. Well, not in the natural sense. And it isn’t like I’ll be around for the fallout. Reaching out, I brush the front of my fingers gently down her stocking-clad thigh. A visible shiver travels through her as she leans into my touch.

  “Why don’t you go close the door, Abigail,” my voice is a soft, low command as my eyes meet her lust-filled ones. “Maybe we can find something for you to do.”

  The door clicks softly, and I’m hot on her stiletto heels, pressing her breasts against it before she knows what I’m about. She’s wearing these black hose with a sexy seam sewn up the back, like hookers and strippers wear. My dick goes rigid every time she wears them. I trace that seam with my fingertips from the back of her knees all the way up under that fucking red siren skirt to grab her pert ass cheeks.

  “Oh, Mr. George. I’ve waited forever for you to notice me,” her voice is heavy with lust.

  “Holy shit, Abigail. Are those garters?” I caress the smooth mounds of her ass cheeks, slowly inching forward to her sex until my fingers are wet, and my dick is pointing straight to the North Pole. I drop to my knees and shove my head under her skirt for a better inspection.

  “Yes, sir. Do you like them?”

  “Fuck yes. Now, what do we have here?” My knees nudge her legs wider apart for a better view of one soft, perfectly pink, and hairless pussy with a piercing. “Abigail, you’re a naughty girl.”

  “Yes, sir. I am. It doesn’t hurt if you want to touch…or lick it. Go ahead, Mr. George. You won’t hurt me.” The way her breathless voice addresses me has me ready to spill my load in my pants.

  “Well…I haven’t had breakfast yet, and they say it’s the most important meal of the day.” I snap her G-string in two with my fingers and run my tongue up the seam of her labial lips, flicking that diamond and sucking on her clit, putting a shine on it like it’s on display with the Crowned Jewels.

  Her climax comes quickly while juices that taste like pineapples drip down my chin. Pineapple happens to be my favorite fruit, so I eat like a man harvesting the best pineapple crop ever. I’m so involved in lapping her up, I’m oblivious to her hands pressing and pounding on the door with each orgasm that rakes through her.

  By the time her legs stop quivering, I’m full-blown desperate to be inside her. My dick is aching and pushing on the zipper of my pants so hard, I swear it has teeth marks embedded on it.

  “Abigail,” I growl.

  “Yes, Mr. George,” she purrs like a kitten lying in the sun.

  “My desk. Now,” I command. She immediately steps around me and walks to the desk without another word. She flips her skirt up, flattening it neatly against the desk to avoid wrinkling it, and presses her chest against it, anchoring herself with her hands wrapped over the edge. Her face turns to meet mine. “I’m ready, Mr. George.”

  There’s a knock on the door. “Is everything OK in there?” a female voice penetrates the locked door, causing Abigail to giggle.

  “That’s Lindsey,” she whispers.

  “Lindsey, everything is good. There was a bug. Go back to your desk.” Abigail winks at me as her footsteps fade.

  By the time I reach her, my hands have fumbled through unbuckling my belt and have undone my pants and zipper. I pull myself out of my briefs and stroke my dick a few times, pumping and priming it to ensure a good load.

  Fuck. What about birth control? Do you really want to leave a kid without a father, or have a child who might die like you at a young age?

  “Umm, Abigail, are you on something? You know, to prevent pregnancy?”

  “Yes. I just had a new IUD placed last week.”

  That’s all I need to hear before I kill my own mood. I thrust inside her, slamming her hips into the embossed leather desk pad.

  A loud grunt escapes my throat as her pussy walls clench against my dick. Jesus Christ, I’m done for. I slam into her over and over, gripping her hips and swirling around hitting all the secret spots a woman has. She blabbers incoherently what sounds like “harder, deeper, faster…rougher.” Maybe. I give up trying to make it out.

  The lower part of my back tingles with my impending orgasm, so I slow down. A quick glance at the clock tells me I have thirty more minutes before my meeting. So, I tease her with the tip of my dick. After a few moments, she climaxes, soaking herself and the papers on my desk. Usually that shit would’ve pissed me off but not today.

  My fingers lose their grip on her hips as her orgasm runs over the edge of my desk and onto my carpet. Wanting to see more, I roll her onto her back and watch as she opens her blouse and lets her tits spill from their cage.

  I let out a groan of ecstasy as I push back into her, my hands fist around her luscious creamy mounds. “Fuck, Abigail. You’ve soaked everything. I’m going to have to finish here early just to clean this mess up.”

  I pound her until my balls leave red welts on her ass cheeks. When the tingle in my back travels up my spine, I explode like a rocket into her atmosphere. It’s a full, throttle kaboom without the smoke and flames. Damn, that’s great pussy.

  Wouldn’t you know it? That’s karma getting another laugh in at my situation.

  I straighten my tie and stare at myself in the mirror in my attached bathroom. My dark hair is a freshly tossed sexy mess. I haven’t shaved, so I’ve amassed an impressive five o’clock shadow. Deep brown eyes stare dully back at me. Ugly, bruis
e-like circles surround them, a beacon screaming how sleep-deprived I’ve been. How stressed out I’ve been. How fucking close to death I am. My little death halos. I snort at the thought.

  After splashing water on my face, I quickly towel off and leave my office, ready to face the board members on what could very well be my last day in my own company. Maybe a part of me hopes for a miracle, so I’ve decided not to totally let it go. I’m going to turn it over to my CFO for five months. After that, maybe I’ll be able to gauge my health better.

  Abigail is back at her desk when I walk out. She gives me a sexy smile, her cheeks reddening when her eyes rake over my body.

  Whatever. I’m a one and done kind of man. But man, that pussy had been almost top shelf. Too bad for both of us. Again, karma was a real fucking bitch. I don’t bother acknowledging her past a blank look.

  “Carter, what’s going on?” John Billings, my CFO greets me the moment I walk into the conference room. Concern is written all over his aging features, making his usually bright eyes appear larger.

  “I’ll explain if you’ll have a seat, John,” I say, patting him on the shoulder, back to being all business.

  John Billings is another one of my father’s old friends. He’s probably been more of a father to me than my own father ever was. There’s been more than one time in my life when I’d gone to John for advice instead of my own father when he was still alive. Father would’ve told me to crush my enemy by any means necessary. John would advise to simply think it through to find the best logical, beneficial approach without making a lot of waves. Overall, John is a decent guy. I trust him.

  John surveys me before nodding gruffly and going to his spot among the eleven board members already seated. I move to stand in front of the room, facing them. All of them wear looks varying from confusion to concern. Some of the members I don’t trust as far as I can throw them. And believe me, some of the pricks I’d like to toss from my office window. Money, greed, and time has turned a lot of them into snakes. But John will handle them. It’s what he did.