by Karr, Kim
Same old. Same old.
Suddenly, my eyes went wide at the same time my dick became instantly hard.
Wait!
They didn’t all look identical, after all.
One girl wasn’t wearing the Jane out-of-uniform dress code of designer whatevers. Instead, she wore Converse and a short skirt with a t-shirt whose words I couldn’t read from here. Her out of control flaming red hair was as long as her legs, and her pursed lips told me she was ready for a little fun.
She was hot as hell.
Christian downed the last drops of whiskey in his glass and slammed the empty on the sill. “Fuck yeah, they finally made it.”
I pointed out the window to the girl who didn’t look like the others. “Who’s that?”
He shrugged. “Never seen her before.”
Grayson piped up. “She’s the new girl.”
Continuing to glance out the window, I played it cool, acting only mildly interested. “Oh yeah? I don’t remember you mentioning a new girl.”
Amusement rippled across his lips. “That’s because I didn’t.”
The warm, muted lights that poured over her from the carriage bulbs illuminated her small, perfect nose and her heart-shaped pouty mouth and then there was that smattering of freckles across her fair skin. “What’s her name?”
“I call her Party Girl, but her real name is Paris,” he mumbled low under his breath.
“The city of love. I like her already.”
Concern crested his brow and his body language screamed with hesitation. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you will for long.”
My senses fired with jealousy, and I ran my hand over the back of my neck to calm myself the fuck down. “Don’t fucking tell me you’ve already had her?”
Seconds were never my style.
The mood was still heightened by all the testosterone flaring between us even as his smug laughter filled the air. “Hardly, asshole. Not my type.”
Had to admit, I was feeling territorial over someone I didn’t even know. So when impatience had me grabbing him by the collar, it was no surprise. “Then why the hell not?”
Grayson snorted and shoved back from my hold, righting himself without even blinking. “Her full name is Paris Elizabeth Hollis Fairchild, asshat.”
Caution played at the fringes of my mind but intrigue took front and center. A diversion. Something different. Reckless. “Fairchild, as in Highway 128?”
A smug smirk crossed his lips. “The very same.”
Cocky bastard.
Interesting. I had no idea there was a girl my age in that family. You see, the Fairchilds were the Hatfields and the Holidays were the McCoys. However, that half-century-old family feud over land had nothing to do with her or me.
Right?
Grayson didn’t like her out of loyalty to me, and if I were a guy who cared about that shit, I might actually be touched. Well, that and the fact that Mr. Albert Dane, Sr., his grandfather and Mr. Albert Dane, Jr., his father, were my family’s attorneys and as such they hated the Fairchilds almost as much as my grandfather had. Me, on the other hand, I had no reason to hate this girl or carry on the family feud.
I scrubbed my palm over my mouth, feeling only a bit like the asshole I was. “What’s her story?” I asked.
Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest, his smugness growing bigger by the second. “She rolled into town about a week ago. Rumor has it she got caught fingering herself in front of her professor at a boarding school in Switzerland, and they both got kicked out.”
Naughty girl.
I whistled low under my breath and gave her a second look. “Quite the rumor.”
“It gets better.”
“How so?”
“It was her first day.”
“And that makes it better, how?”
“Means she’s easy.”
“Or bored,” I sneered.
Standing straight, he set his gaze back on the girls. “Yeah, well, even if she wasn’t your sworn enemy, she needs a serious makeover. Somebody should probably let her know the flower child look went out years ago.”
“Doesn’t bother me.”
“Whatever. If you ask me, she stands out like my dick in the locker room.”
For some crazy reason, I wanted to punch him right in the teeth. “Shut the fuck up,” I growled instead.
He raised his palms. “Chill, dude, if you want the oddball, she’s all yours.”
Damn straight she was.
Wait!
What?
Just then she glanced toward the window. Big mischievous eyes caught my gaze, and when she noticed, she licked those luscious lips. That’s when the strangest thing happened to my body—my balls tightened, and I felt that very familiar rush slink down my spine. Fuck no! I wasn’t going to come in my pants.
I pulled it back.
I was not a lame ass like the others.
I was different.
And it looked like she was, too.
An electric current flowed between us like one of those crazy thunderstorms that carried all the way over the Pacific. The kind of storm that had the potential to rock your world.
Undaunted, she held my stare. I wondered if she felt that strange rush I was feeling. That thrill I wanted to take for a ride. That need I wanted to satisfy. The urge I couldn’t deny. Then she smiled at me with a wicked grin, and I knew she did.
This was so on.
Tonight, she’d be doing more than fingering herself.
Tonight, she’d be doing more than sucking my dick.
Tonight was the night I was going to lose my virginity, and she was the hottest fucking girl I’d ever seen, enemy or not.
She strode toward the house and I couldn’t believe how epic this party was about to become.
“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath.
And I meant it literally.
10 Years Later
Tyler
THE SHRILL RING from my phone jarred me from sleep, and I groaned in agitation.
Cocking one eye open, I peered at the clock. It was early. Really fucking early. Who the hell called anyone at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, anyway?
Grabbing for my phone, I went as far as to turn it to vibrate without even chancing a glance. Desperate to sink back into the depths of sleep, I covered my head with a pillow.
A tap-tap sound had me glaring toward my bedside table. The phone was ringing once again, but this time it bounced around the surface doing a little dance when it did.
I was really starting to get pissed off.
The third time it rang, irritation had me plucking the motherfucker from where it sat and throwing it across the room.
Just before it took flight, I saw her number.
Sure, I contemplated getting out of bed and answering the call. Hell, I even knew I should. When I heard the thud as it hit the floor, I went with the simpler choice and ignored her.
Fucking hoped my phone was in one piece, too.
In hindsight, leaving it there and not answering wasn’t the best decision I ever made.
Yet, at the time, it seemed as natural as deciding if I should drink Jack Daniels or Johnny Walker, fuck the blonde or the brunette, or even if I wanted to smoke one last blunt before calling the party over.
It didn’t really matter which I chose—the end result was always the same—the night would finish with me shit-faced or stoned or both, and with my dick buried deep in a hot piece of ass whose name I wouldn’t remember in the morning.
And much like that, ignoring the call or answering it didn’t really matter either.
The end result would be the same—the disappointment would be there either way.
Yeah, my life wasn’t perfect, but it was one big never-ending party of whiskey, weed, and pussy.
And I liked it that way.
There was no way of knowing the consequences of not picking up would lead me down a rabbit hole I had no fucking clue how to crawl out of.
One where my decisions actually mattered.
For the most part, I was a pretty easygoing guy. There were only two things in life I really despised—complications and Paris Fairchild.
Who the hell knew before the weekend was over I was about to be dripping in both.
I should have just answered the fucking phone.
Tyler
I WASN’T MUCH of a family man.
Then again when your mother practically ran out of the hospital room days after giving birth and your father cared so little about his life that he drank himself to death, the word ‘FAMILY’ didn’t mean much.
Turning twenty-seven should have been a big fucking deal, and by the size of the party I threw last night, it was. Or it could have just been the holiday spirit that cajoled everyone into showing up.
Not that I cared about the reason.
Happy Birthday.
Happy New Year.
Who the hell cared.
On Monday, my trust fund would revert to me and my role in the family business would be revealed. Both of those things meant there were no more strings left for her to pull.
Without listening to her message, I turned my phone off. I knew when I called her back later, she wouldn’t be singing, “Happy birthday to you.” Instead, I’d have hell to pay for not obtaining her permission before acquiring Cliff Star Wines and their superior winemaker.
Hey, she wasn’t available, and I had to act fast. Okay, so I might have lacked the proper signature authority, but it was a deal I couldn’t pass up. And besides, it was my guess that on Monday, her and I would be on uneven ground, and gaining the world-renowned winemaker, Paulo Movado, was going to be worth the hassle.
California Jane needed this—for longevity, stability, and profitability. I knew it, and she knew it, too. Getting her to admit that though was another story entirely, especially since adding smaller California vineyards, with accolades we had yet to possess in our portfolio, was my idea.
The thing was, why wait?
Cliff Star Wines was an accolade we desperately needed. Red grapes grown on the coast possessed something the vineyards at California Jane never could—viscous and dense flavors. These flavors only resulted when salt from the sea air deposited on the oak barrels, helping to accelerate the osmosis process and infusing the flavor. Considering CJ had no red grapes, this was a triumph.
If my dear old step-grandmother had had her way, I’d be a bum soaking up the California sun. Good thing for me my grandfather’s will was full of stipulations. These included sending me to the top viticulture and enology college in the country, and then ensuring I attend the best law school to study entertainment law.
Where his will lacked though was in defining my role in the company until I turned twenty-seven. And his widow used this to her advantage by sticking me in the small California Jane marketing office in San Francisco, far enough away from her and the company’s headquarters that she thought I couldn’t intervene.
Bad assumption.
I was doing a damn good job of semi running the company from here.
And being in the city didn’t bother me. San Francisco was quite the party town, and since my job was a piece of cake, I had a lot of time to party. A lot.
My current role was to set up the legal regulations for the company’s emerging social media so we would be in compliance with the U.S. Department of Treasury’s Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau before advertising on the web.
It wasn’t rocket science.
Gran said it was for my benefit—that all the hoops I’d had to jump through to climb the ladder were for me—to learn, to excel, to become a leader. Don’t worry, I never believed her. I knew all the hoops she put me through was her way of prolonging the inevitable in hopes I’d give up long before that day arrived.
Now, taking over the position my grandfather had once held, and running the company with or without her, was just a matter of time.
I’d finish my work in the city and then I’d go where I belonged—in the God-forsaken small town of Calistoga.
Calistoga was definitely not a party town. With a population of less than ten thousand, it was known for its relaxing environment. Boring shit like hot springs, mud baths, and festivals. Good thing there were lots of wineries.
The only thing that town had going on besides wine was the Old Faithful Geyser of California erupting at regular intervals.
Sure, it had its small-town charm, but it wasn’t a place for a bachelor. Still, I’d have to suck it up and return there.
It was my home.
My legacy.
It was where California Jane was founded.
California Jane was named after my grandfather’s first wife, my grandmother by blood. The woman I never met but somehow, I still felt like I knew.
Her and my grandfather built the winery, implemented classic production methods, and marketed the hell out of it. Together they made producing and selling fine wines an art and not just a science.
The land they’d owned was more than just a business, though. It was also their home. The house they’d built at the bottom of the hill with the circular drive and five bedrooms with fireplaces in every room was something to be proud of.
Mediterranean.
Large.
Charming.
A great place to grow up.
Not exactly like this place.
Then again, this place wasn’t filled with ghosts and memories of both a bad and a good life. Happy and sad. Tragic and endearing.
Since I was a kid, I’d worked the vineyards, from harvesting, to crushing, to fermenting, to aging and bottling. I’d been in the fields, down in the caves, behind the counter in the old tasting room, and out in the warehouse. I knew this business, just like I knew I was more than ready to take my rightful place at California Jane.
Was she ready to have me there?
I highly doubted it.
That shouldn’t have put a smile on my face, but it did. The challenges were over. The chances for failure, gone. The obstacles, extinguished. There was nothing left for her to present in hopes of discouraging me.
Through all of my fuckups in life, I never failed when it came to California Jane.
It was my legacy.
My time.
And I couldn’t wait to take what was mine right out of her greedy claws.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
Tyler
THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE made my eyes hurt.
It was pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows of my San Francisco penthouse and I wanted someone to turn it down. Begrudgingly, I lifted my head. The clock read four.
Shit.
I’d slept half the day away.
I glanced out the window to the sparkling blue water and the iconic Bay Bridge that usually helped break me out of the fog I always woke with, but it didn’t do shit today.
Reaching for the fat blunt I’d left untouched last night, I lit it and thought about today. It wasn’t just another year. This was the year. I tapped the ashes into the ashtray, smoke rising in rings from my mouth. No, it wasn’t just the year, it was my year. I had to clean myself up first though, stop all the partying and focus on what mattered—my family’s legacy.
Finally, the day had come.
With that thought in mind, I stubbed out the joint and sat up. Even with the slight high I was feeling, the throbbing in the center of my forehead told me I would be nursing a hangover from hell all night unless I hurried over to the wet bar and fixed myself a Bloody Mary, or three.
The self-mandated cleanup could wait a day or two.
I stretched with the intention of getting out of bed, but when I did, I spotted the wiggle of pink painted toes next to my pillow.
Right.
I had company.
I’d almost forgotten.
Peering toward the bottom of the bed, I eyed the brunette. She was turned around from our wild night, and butt naked, just the way I liked them.
A drin
k, another smoke, and her pussy—talk about the ideal Saturday afternoon.
Like I said, the sober train could wait.
Just as I was about to swing my legs off the bed, last night’s choice flipped over and sat up. I tossed her a wry smile. In return, she presented me with a flirtatious one before leaning forward and crawling toward me. On her hands and knees, she began singing, “Happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you.”
It was like Marilyn Monroe jumping out of the birthday cake. This chick’s tone wasn’t quite the same, though. Not that I cared because after the final you, she started to lick up the inside of my thigh, as if my dick was a birthday candle, and she wanted to blow it out. “Where are you going?” she purred.
“Nowhere,” I told her, my voice gruff. Hey, I was easy going. I could change my schedule. A blowjob, then a drink and a smoke were more than amenable.
I didn’t have plans until eight, so I had time.
Rays of warmth lapped at my skin along with her tongue. Oh yeah, that tongue, I remembered it well, the way it licked at my balls was going to be hard to forget.
I used my knee to find her pussy and applied a little pressure.
“Oh, my God,” she screeched around licks.
Shit.
How the hell had I forgotten the way she screamed to God, Jesus, and whoever the fuck else would listen?
I cringed as the memory of her blow-my-eardrums-out orgasm came rushing back. I should have called her a cab last night because if this was her getting worked up sober, she was going to be louder than ever when I took this further, and I just couldn’t handle that kind of noise.
With my dick completely protesting my own idea of a cock block, I placed my palms on her shoulders, forcing her to stop just inches from the goal line. “How about a late lunch first?” I offered, lamely, like I was Martha fucking Stewart.
She glanced up at me and blinked in total surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
Taking the opportunity to slip away, I got on my elbows and pushed myself up until my back was against the headboard in one smooth move.
Tossing all of the covers aside, she reached up and grabbed my balls, fisting them, playing with them, and bringing me to the point of no return.