by Dani Wyatt
She’s not tall, but not short either. She’s filled out in a way that feels as though her body was created just for my hands to cup and discover. Curves top above her waist like a Hollywood starlet from the golden age. Her hips balance out below with just as much soft wonderment as my mind can take right now.
I stutter out more words of apology. “I am so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. But I should go.” With a frantic swivel of her head, I’m suddenly filled with anger because I’m sure she’s looking for Travis.
Even with her power still draining the blood from my brain, I manage to think of how to keep her with me longer. “I was just walking over to watch my student.” I raise my cane in the direction I know she needs to go. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you some ice?” I need her to stay with me for at least a moment longer, so I move toward the open doors of the indoor area toward the outside where the hustle and bustle of spectators, grooms, trainers, riders, and horses make for a hectic energy.
I’m more aware than usual of my limp and the weight I place on my cane as I step forward.
But, I’m lost her eyes which remind me of blue glitter, and when she raises them to meet mine with a soft curve on her full, pink lips, I’m sure my heart stops. My dick’s been taking a decade-long sabbatical, but he’s back with a vengeance and walking with an erection the size of mine takes concentration.
Mine.
That word hits me with its new meaning.
Mine. I need her to be mine.
That thought slams around inside my head, making it hard to breathe. No woman has ever affected me this way, and I still don’t even know her name. But I know her scent. Something primal is going on because her smell has imprinted itself so deep inside me already, she’s becoming part of me.
My brow knits together, and an inner caveman surfaces. I scan the crowd, making sure no other man is looking at her. My lips are tight, ready to bare my teeth and lash out at anyone that comes too close. It seems I’ve been asleep for a very long time. A vampire in a darkened coffin. As though the fresh scent of virgin blood is in the air, and I’ve awakened with a need thumping so deep I’m scaring myself.
“Yes, I need to get out there and find my trainer. I’m up in the next level seven group. Travis hates when his students aren’t where he wants them to be.”
My trainer. His student.
I hate those words. They are my new least favorite words.
The muscles in the back of my neck ache with the tension so thick between us, but I step forward with her. She stands just to my shoulders. I’m close to six foot five inches, so I’d guess she’s about five six herself. Perfect size, with curves up top and an ass that has me ready to speak in tongues. It’s full and ripe, and the way she flutters her eyelashes when she looks at me, then just as quickly looks away, has this new, inner, dominant beast in me ready to guide her onto her knees.
My cane keeps time with our steps as we snake our way through the crowd, making steady headway through the throngs of other humans and animals. I squint at the bright sunlight. It’s a stunning day. Puffs of white clouds slowly make their way from west to east over the late summer sky here in Michigan. Announcers on loudspeakers fill the air; the hooves of horses clomping by mix the buzz in the air which is no match for the buzzing inside my body.
She flips her head to look at me and finds me looking back at her. Her eyes questioning, then focusing, and her lips drop open slightly. She draws a quick breath then just as quickly lets it go and I want so badly to feel it against my skin.
She pulls her lips to the side, and I count the seven freckles that dot the middle of her swooping nose. Her face reminds me of a Romanesque marble statue. Breathtakingly beautiful and round in all the right places. Cheeks like ripe peaches fill as she smiles. “You’re Reed Sawyer.”
It’s not a question, but the sound of my name on those lips reminds me that my heart's purpose is not simply to move blood through my veins.
“Yes.” Immediately I feel like a dolt for not introducing myself properly. This little angel has me forgetting my manners when I need them the most.
Her fingers come up to cover her lips, a shy, sweet awe spreading over her face.
Her hand lowers from her mouth to tug at the high collar of her white shirt. “Wow. The great Reed Sawyer almost broke my nose before my first international competition. I think that’s good luck.”
The crowd thickens around us; pushing in as we walk the worn grass path to where my student Nancy is ready to mount up and enter the ring.
Before I reply, a man’s voice shouting through the noise of the crowd and I flip my head around to see Travis flapping a hand in her direction with an irritated scowl.
“Ugh, see? He’s very particular. I need to go.” She jogs forward a few steps, and I’m losing her. A lump forms in my throat as the space between us increases.
A new sensation courses through me. Jealousy. Something I don’t ever remember feeling before. My fingers turn to fists, tightening with every step she moves closer to him.
“Wait, what’s your—“ I manage before she cuts me off with a disarming smile that sends drops of cum soaking into my underwear. Thoughts of pushing my face between her legs and breathing in her scent for hours on end tumble through my addled brain.
“It was nice to meet you.” She says as she scurries forward. “Maybe you’ll get to see my ride. Might be good luck. You want to be my good luck charm?” She crinkles her nose again and rubs it playfully between two fingers before turning and skipping away from me.
She breaks into a run, turning fully away, so I only see the back of her... The sound of Travis’s shouting at her to hurry up from down the grass track has the hairs on my neck on end. I want to go lay him out, shove my cane down his fucking throat for speaking to her like that.
For knowing her at all. Why him?
I shake my head and grip the top of my cane so hard my knuckles crack.
She’s out of earshot when I finally answer her last question. “I don’t want to be your good luck charm; I want to be your everything.”
AVAIABLE NOW ON AMAZON
ANGEL
Chapter One
_______________________________________________
MAGNUS
“You are wound too fucking tight, man. When’s the last time you got laid anyway? Go find some fucking chick and just get it done!” Erik smirks at me as he spreads his fingers on the polished birch. The desk used to be mine, and it was big even for me. Erik isn’t small, not by everyday standards, but he looks like a toddler playing like he’s some big shot behind that desk.
He’s wearing a fucking idiot grin, and I have half a mind to wipe it off with a quick shot to his jaw.
What he doesn’t know is I get laid a few times a day. In my mind at least and by my own hand. I got laid a couple hours ago. Laying back in my bed, my fist around my rock hard shaft, trying to talk myself out of jerking off for the second time before six a.m. as I thought about my angel.
I lost that battle, just as I’ve lost hundreds exactly the same over the last few months. As I gripped myself, squeezing and jacking up and down with the sheets tossed off my body, my thoughts had drifted to what her lips would taste like, the way they curve and stay full when she smiles. Thinking of that gorgeous smile as I would sink my tongue so deep inside her I become part of her fucking DNA. The image of myself placing her on her knees in front of me, her willing eyes looking to me for reassurance...
My fantasy unfolds with the first brush of her tongue on the slit of my cock, drops of pre-cum seeping out just for her. The things I would say to her. How she would smile when I told her she was my good girl... The weight of her magnificent tits in my hands.
The taste of her pussy. Her legs spreading willingly for me. Then that smile again.
Every time it happens, I imagine teaching her, guiding her, showing her everything I want her to know about sex. About how I was made to please her and her
me. Making her mine in ways most men would think perverse, but it’s not. The ways I want her are beautiful. The ways I wish I could have her. Take care of her. Possess her beyond anything most rational men would understand.
My Angel.
My babygirl.
But it’s what I need. It’s what I’ve always needed, I just didn’t know it until I met her.
I would tell her to open her legs for me, order her to play with herself so I know exactly what she likes, how to reward her when she is a good girl. Fuck, I gripped my cock so tight, thinking of how her pussy would feel. My stroke sessions are more fits of lust-filled anger than pleasure. I want her so badly it hurts. I need the release because I’m sure I will never truly have her and that is my own private torture.
Pulses shoot up my cock, thick and hard simply from the memory of my morning fantasy, and I shift in the chair where I sit facing the front of the desk, hoping my brother won’t notice the hard-on that is beginning to fill the front of my pants.
That’s never happened before at the mere thought of a woman. Hell, I haven’t gotten hard for anyone in so many years I don’t even bother to count anymore. Until three months ago, and my cock seems to be eighteen years old again. Wiley and half hard twenty-four seven.
I rub an open hand over my jaw and mouth, unconsciously grooming my beard in an attempt to regain control of my pulse. I twist my neck and let out a huff as I try to shake away the endless fantasies of her, a girl who shows absolutely zero interest in me. A girl I can’t get out of my head.
My angel. My Cassie.
The four words out of her mouth that first day I met her told me I was a goner. You would have thought they were more provocative than, ‘Can I help you?’ But that’s all it took.
“I even have a few girls in mind.” Erik soils my daydream. “My cast-offs, shall we say. I’m sure they would be happy to take one for the team.” My baby brother doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up sometimes.
“Fuck you, Erik.” I point a meaty finger in his direction. “Getting laid is not the answer to everything. And those women should kick your ass not sleep with you. You need to learn to treat them with more respect.”
I turn away so that I won’t see his reaction. This is the exact same room I walked out of last year. Nothing has changed, and everything has changed. Erik has managed to turn what was my center of organization, my control room, into something more chaotic than I could ever find comfortable. But it doesn’t matter. He’s the Chief Executive Officer of Foundation Demolition now.
Right or wrong, that chapter of my life is over.
“I just think getting laid couldn’t hurt but okay, bad joke.” He scribbles on a yellow legal pad in front of him then his eyes snap up to me with something I think might be pity. “Look, you weren’t wrong about letting the demo go forward that day. You did everything right.” Erik puts down the pen and drums his fingers on the desk, watching me as I avert my own line of sight from his. He knows me well enough to realize I’m still stuck on that fucking day but him bringing it up every time we see each other pisses me off.
He’s ramping up for another lecture on how I should come back to the business. With a thrust of my chin I set him straight. “Well, I clearly wasn’t right either. I don’t want to talk about it.” My fingers squeeze my knees and I shake my head. “We’ve run circles around this and it’s better this way. You’re doing a great job and I’m not bringing unnecessary attention to the business.” I shift back and forth in the chair, bring a palm up to run a few hard strokes over my head and as belly twists tight. I want to be somewhere else.
Erik’s upper lip twitches the way it does when he’s nervous. “You were the best though. No one knew how to rig a building like you did. It was almost magical, how you just knew where each impact should go. Every detonation in the right order. Like you were conducting a symphony of destruction. Dad taught us both well, but you had something else. Like Rain Man for building implosions.”
“Except being the best didn’t save that girl, did it?” The harshness in my voice reminds us both how fresh the pain is for me.
Pain. I shake my head thinking of the word, trying to clear it, wondering how I can think what I’m feeling equals pain. I’m fucking alive. This isn’t pain, it’s just emotion. I’m an asshole.
Erik’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath and he rolls a pen back and forth under his fingers, but I’m done here. I shoot him a look that says “no arguments” as I grunt and push off on the chair, rising to my feet.
My foot, I should say.
Singular. My constant reminder of that day’s error in judgement.
“Do you need anything else?” I clasp my hands together, rubbing them until the friction creates heat. My forehead draws tight as the sun assaults my eyes looking out the window so that I don’t have to see his concern. We’re on the seventh floor of the Foundation building, looking across the Detroit River to the Canadian Club sign. Somehow it helps settle me. That sign has been in my memory since Dad had his first office on this site. Seems like a thousand years ago.
Foundation Demo’s first location was nothing more than a single story, brick square, with bars on the windows and no running water. Two more office buildings were added to the group after that first one, then seven years ago we built this glass and metal monstrosity to house the new, international team of demolition experts. We’re the best, no one doubts that.
“No, I don’t need anything else. What I still fucking need is for you to let this other stuff go.” Erik has a habit of thinking he’s right about everything and he’s the one that needs to learn to let stuff go. We’ve gone a few rounds over the years because he refuses to see things any way but his. “I mean, fifty thousand to another rehab? Fifty thousand? Do you even know how much that is?” He rubs the back of his neck as I shift my weight off my prosthetic as I move behind the chair. The new one they just fitted me with is still a bit stiff and it’s digging into what’s left of my calf muscle.
I do know how much money that is, and it’s not like I don’t have the cash. He’s just pissed because he sees it as a waste. Never mind he’s the one that has a garage full of vintage motorcycles, a Porsche 911 Turbo and two Aston Martin Db5s. He fancies himself the James Bond of building demolition. Somehow those trinkets are worthy of the expense in his mind, but not my spending money on trying to fucking help people out of a death spiral.
“What the fuck do you care? It’s my fucking money. My percentage of the profits, Erik, this is what I want to do with it. Don’t cock-block me man, you’ll lose. You know I won’t fucking back down.” I suck my lips against my teeth with a quick crack of my neck. I love my baby brother, but we’re not too old to throw down if need be. He’s sandpaper on my nerves right now and he knows it.
If Mom was still here, the only thing she’d say to us is, “Take it outside, boys. Supper’s at seven.”
“That’s enough, man. Come on.” Erik cracks his palm against the desk, toppling the picture of Mom and Dad sitting at the corner.
I reach over to right it and he’s drumming his fingers again, making heat start to rise from my core. God, I miss my parents.
He should know he’s pushing for a brotherly beat down, but he keeps going anyway. “Some junkie broke into your demo site. You didn’t do anything wrong here. Fucking tweakers looking for a place to squat for the night. One dies and it’s her own fault and now it’s your responsibility to save them all?” He throws his hands up and his voice hits a high note.
“Do you fucking think people want to be addicts? You think they enjoy that fucking life? ‘There but by the grace of God go I.’ That’s what Mom used to say. You should think about it.” I point at the photo, then raise my hand up to cover my eyes and pinch at the corners of my forehead. The pressure from my fingers somehow relieves the pressure inside my head.
Erik huffs a dramatic sigh as I rub my temples. I’m thinking about her, the woman they found in the rubble. Thinking maybe if someone had given he
r a chance, showed her they cared, maybe she’d be alive today.
I know Erik doesn’t want to hear what I say next but I don’t care. “Do you know Sarah Templeton had been on her own since she was fifteen? Ran away from home because her mother’s boyfriend thought she was his personal sex toy? Then she found a new ‘boyfriend’ who promptly beat her ass until she went to work for him. He also made sure he got a needle in her arm, so by the time she was sixteen she’d already been arrested eight times for prostitution and four times for possession. But, yeah, I guess she just needed to pull herself up by her bootstraps, right?” My nostrils flare as I stare him down.
He’s the baby, and sometimes he needs the hammer between the eyes because he can’t see things from any perspective but his own. “Not everyone has the same foundation as we had, Erik. Keep that in mind.” After the accident I wanted to know everything I could about the woman that died. Sarah Templeton. Even then I hated how the company lawyers tried to paint her as a low life. They wouldn’t even use her name.
Like somehow her life mattered less because of her background. I didn’t notice it before this all happened, but people assign a different value to women when they sell their body. When they have an addiction. It was so clear to me during the investigation and the case that somehow to most people, the human that was Sarah Templeton didn’t matter all that much and it infuriated me.
My brother stares right back at me, calculating whether it’s in his own interests to keep poking the bear.
Erik, my sister Cindy and I had an amazing childhood. Even when we were dirt poor and supper was the one meal you could count on, we were happy. Erik doesn’t seem to grasp the trauma some people go though in their lives. Most of the addicts I’ve gotten to know since the accident have something horrible in their past. Something that finds their weakness and turns them to the dark road. He has no fucking idea how lucky he is.