by Lena Gordon
There was the slightest glimpse of a smile on her sexy lips, so I took a step toward her, effectively backing her up against the brick wall. I slid one hand down her side, taking my time to feel every sexy, perfect curve. “You feel pretty fucking good to me.”
She laughed, and I knew that whatever it was that was bothering her, I still had a damn good chance at helping her forget about it.
I tilted her head to one side, kissing down the length of her neck the way I’d come to know she liked. Just as I predicted, she murmured and closed her eyes.
“Have I told you how sexy you look tonight?”
“You’ve mentioned it, yes.”
I used my free hand to slide my hand under the hem of her short skirt. I rucked her skirt up and traced my fingers over the silky panties she wore. As usual, they were already damp. I loved that I had the power to make her wet and crazy so easily.
Just as easily as she did it to me.
“Undo my pants.” I murmured my command in her ear, before returning my attentions to kissing the sensitive spot right behind her ear.
“I really do have to go,” she protested. But between us, I could feel the flutter of her fingers against my zipper. “I have a…a thing I need to get to.”
“A thing?” I pushed one finger beneath the edge of her panties, and slipped it easily into her wet heat. Her knees buckled a little, but I held her firm. “What kind of thing can’t wait a few minutes? Besides, I definitely have something you can take care of right now.”
“Here?”
“Fuck yes.”
I knew the element of risk, of getting caught in the office, pushed her right to the edge of her comfort zone, but this was a different kind of risk. One that made my cock painfully hard. And judging by her juices already dripping down my hand, she was just as turned on.
Her breath was coming faster now. I wiggled my finger inside her just a little, but it was enough.
“Oh fuck.”
“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s going to take good care of you, just the way you took care of me tonight with the Wilsons. You were absolutely perfect. So damn convincing.”
Too convincing, I thought, but didn’t say. I needed to focus on the moment. On the sexy fucking woman I had pushed up against the wall, and how she made my cock feel. Nothing more. Just sex.
Finally, her fingers worked at my belt and my zipper, releasing my throbbing dick from its confines. Her slight hand wrapped around my length and squeezed before starting a gentle stroke.
I pulled my finger from her long enough to tear the scrap of panties from her. I pulled a condom from my back pocket and quickly sheathed myself before I lifted her higher, and settled her back onto my cock. I entered her easily, and just as it always did, the sensation of being inside her took my breath away.
As much as I wanted to take my time and enjoy every second of being with her, I was also hyper aware that we were standing in a public area where anyone could walk by at any time. As soon as I had my bearings, I thrust up into her, hard.
She groaned, her eyes squeezing shut; her legs locked tight around my waist, urging me on. But it was the words that came out of her mouth that spurred me on. “Fuck me, Daddy.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I fucked her hard and fast until we both came together, my eyes locked on her. Watching her the way I did, I saw the passion flash through her as the orgasm rocked her. But I also saw something else, as her eyes cleared.
Sadness?
It didn’t make sense and I wanted to ask her about it, but Brittany slipped away from me, and pulled her skirt smoothly back into place. She stepped over her discarded panties and fluffed her hair, completely faking a smile. “I really do have to go.”
I grabbed her arm, right before she slipped away. With my free hand, I tugged up my pants, letting go of her long enough to fasten my belt. “Where are you running off to?” I asked her. “What’s going on, Brittany? Something happened earlier? Talk to me.” I could have hit myself. Something was clearly wrong with her, and I’d been a foolish ass to think I could fix it with sex. Selfish, too. But I wasn’t going to let her slip away without getting to the bottom of whatever was going on.
“It’s nothing.” Her smile was fake, clearly designed to fool me. But I wouldn’t be fooled easily. “Really, I do have to go. I should have left earlier.”
She pulled out of my grip, and short of forcing her to stay put, I had to let her go.
“Brittany!” My voice was sharper than I intended and she froze. Her back stiffened just a little. But she turned around. “Don’t go.” My voice was softer. More vulnerable, and full of hope I didn’t know whether she could hear. I couldn’t explain it, but there was something about her rushing off to the life she most certainly had outside of the office. It felt final somehow. And when she shook her head with a sadness I’d never seen in her before, the feeling only intensified.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Then she turned and fled through the parking lot.
17
Brittany
I tried not to look at the clock on the dashboard of my car. I was going to be late.
I’d screwed up.
In so many ways that I couldn’t even begin to count them. But I needed to focus. I couldn’t stress about them all right now. Not when I was already late for my meeting with Stan.
I needed it to go well. More than ever now that I’d screwed up my job, and everything with Daddy. It was all ruined. All of it. I couldn’t screw up the possibility of having my own show. I needed it.
It was ten to nine, but it would take me at least fifteen minutes to get to the gallery. That would only make me a few minutes late, which wasn’t terrible. Maybe Stan would be caught up with something and I could sneak in, pretending I’d been there the whole time.
It was a dumb idea, but I would grasp on anything I could.
I would have been perfectly on time if I hadn’t have—no. I wouldn’t have changed that. Even if I could have found the strength to say no to Daddy, I wouldn’t have wanted to. Not ever.
The last week or so had been the best of my life. Never before had I felt the way I did when I was with him. And when he fucked me, it was…indescribable. I knew it was more than sex. At least it was for me, and I just knew I saw it in his eyes, too.
I almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous thought and I would have, too, if I didn’t know it would make me cry because it wasn’t funny at all.
I was such a fool.
Not only had I put myself in a risky situation at work that had cost me my job—a really good job, a job I desperately needed—I had fallen in love with my boss. And that was the really stupid part. I’d risked everything for a man who likely had a woman in every city. A man who didn’t think anything more of me than an assistant. An assistant he could fuck. And now I’d lost my job. Or at least, I would have lost my job on Monday when Wendy, that bitch, had her chance to tell Mr. Grant everything. And Daddy would go back to the East Coast, and I’d be alone.
And broke.
Unless I could get the art show. I just knew I’d sell my paintings given half the chance.
And that’s what I needed to focus on.
I broke as many laws as I dared as I pushed my little car to the limit and pulled up in front of the gallery with a screech. As fast as I could, I jumped out and gathered up my canvases, balancing them as I pushed backward into the mostly dark gallery. Stan was between shows, with the next one opening in a week, so the space was mostly empty. A light came from the back of the gallery where Stan’s office was.
“Hi, Stan,” I called. “Sorry I’m late.”
I put my stack of paintings down on a stretch of tables and began to lay them out. “I brought you a selection of my work to take a look at.” I tried to keep my voice as cheery as I could, forcing all the negativity from earlier out of my head. “I think you’re going to like what you see. I—”
Stan’s hand on my back startled me and I spun around to see him in front of me with two
tumblers in his hand.
“I already like what I see.”
I wiggled to the side, hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he meant, but was looking past me to the paintings. “I’m sorry I’m a little late.”
“No problem.” He held out the glass. “Relax for a minute and have a drink with me.”
I really shouldn’t. But my hands were shaking with the stress of the entire evening and then the race to get to the gallery on time. A little drink would help calm my nerves. “Okay,” I found myself saying. “But just the one.”
I took the glass and pressed it to my lips. The whisky warmed my throat, burning a little as I swallowed, but instantly the heat in my belly bloomed and I could feel the calming effects of the alcohol. I took another sip. “Thank you.”
“There.” He smiled, and it looked friendlier, less creepy than I often thought of him. “That’s better, isn’t it? You don’t need to be nervous, Brittany. We’re old friends. Just having a drink and talking about art.”
I laughed and instantly felt ridiculous that I was worried about Stan in any way. He was really a nice guy. And the more we talked about art, and his recent shows, and some of the artists we both knew and admired, the more I was convinced of it. I’d been silly, and must have taken his friendliness as an advance that hadn’t happened.
I didn’t make a habit of drinking whisky, or really much at all, and by the time I finished my tumbler—which was actually quite a generous pour—I was feeling a little off balance, warmed through and definitely a little drunk.
“Let me get you another drink.” Stan took the glass from my hand and before I could object that the last thing I needed was more whisky, he’d placed a new glass in my left hand.
His eye caught on the ring that was still on my finger and he raised his eyebrow. “What’s this? I didn’t realize you were married, Brittany.”
I stared at the ring. Visions of Daddy—guiding me with his hand on my back, kissing me, fucking me—flashed through my head. The power of the thoughts hit me with a force that took me off balance.
“Brittany?”
Stan’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “I’m not married.” I laughed and hoped the sound came off with a lightness I certainly didn’t feel. “This is just costume jewelry.” I put the drink in my other hand, taking a long sip before I did so, and hid my left hand behind my back. “I’m definitely not married.”
“That’s good to hear.” Stan took my elbow and gently guided me closer to the table where I’d laid out my pieces. “Tell me about your work.”
For the next few minutes, I walked him through my recent paintings, pointing out the color choices, and some of the risks I’d taken. I was thankful for the glass in my hand, as I continued to sip from it to ease my nerves and found the explanations for each piece rolled off my tongue.
“This one here is the piece I did just last night.” I waved to the canvas that was my favorite. With this series of works, I was focusing on abstract flowers and my work had taken on a very sexual feel, with bold colors and strokes. I knew exactly what the influence had been.
I moved farther down the table, forcing thoughts of Daddy from my head. “This one here is my favorite. I think you’ll agree that it has a very—”
“Sensual feeling,” Stan finished for me. I couldn’t tell whether he was looking at me or the painting. Either way, I couldn’t help but think that the look on his face had changed a little. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. My head was starting to feel fuzzy and I was having trouble focusing.
“It is very sensual,” I agreed. “But I was going to say, thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful?” He took a step toward me. “No. Sensual,” he said again. “A true representation of the artist herself.”
“Do you like it?”
“The artist?” He laughed. The sound set an alarm bell off in my head. “Very much. Let’s talk about why you’re really here, Britt.” His tone changed so quickly to one of all business, I must have been imagining he was implying anything else.
I exhaled in a puff of relief. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“I like your work, Britt.” Excitement fluttered in my belly. “And I know you want a show of your own.”
“I do. And I really think my work speaks for itself, don’t you?”
“There are still a few details to discuss.” He easily sidestepped the question. “It’s quite unusual for an unheard-of artist such as yourself to get her own show.”
“I know, but I’m willing to work hard for it,” I said quickly. “I’ve already worked so hard and done everything I could for the gallery.”
“Everything?”
“I really have, Stan. I’ve volunteered as much as I can.”
He stepped up closer to me. The back of his hand stroked my cheek. “You’re very beautiful.”
I didn’t know what to do. I froze. If I pulled away, it would be over and I wouldn’t get another chance. I swallowed hard.
“I think you know how I feel about you, Brittany.”
I shook my head a little. Tears welled behind my eyes, but I would not cry. I couldn’t. I needed this too badly. I racked my brain, but my thoughts were fuzzy.
“Well, let me tell you.” His voice was smooth and soothing and for a minute, I found myself thinking that maybe he was interested in me and that was it. Innocent. “I really like you, Brittany.” His fingers trailed down to the front of my dress and I no longer could deny what was happening. “And I think that maybe we could come to a little arrangement when it comes to giving you your own show.”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t sleep with him. I just couldn’t. Not even for a show. I couldn’t. A flash of Daddy’s strong, handsome face filled my head. No. I shook my head hard to clear the image.
Daddy wasn’t here.
All of that was over. Really over.
I was out of options. I had nothing else. I needed this. With my job gone, I literally had nothing to lose.
18
Trent
I probably shouldn’t have followed her. But I couldn’t help it. There was no way I was going to let her run off when clearly something was wrong.
Hell, even if nothing was wrong, I knew with a fierceness that ran through me, I wasn’t going to be able to let that woman run away from me or out of my life. Not for anything.
She got a head start on me, and by the time I got to my car, I’d lost which direction she’d gone in. Not one to give up easily, I picked up my cell and called Shane.
“I know you’re on vacation,” I said the moment he answered. “And I can’t explain, but I need to know something.”
“Nice to hear from you, too.” There was a lightness in his voice I’d never heard throughout our entire friendship. It had to be the new woman in his life. I made a mental note to ask him about her as soon as things were settled down. But now was not that time.
“I assume you have the ability to track your employees with their phone.” I cut right to the chase. “It’s important. I need to know where Brittany is. Now.”
“Of course I have that installed on every employee’s phone. It’s kind of what MultiTech does.” Shane hesitated for a moment. “But that’s a pretty big ask.”
“I know,” I said. “And I wouldn’t ask if it really wasn’t important, Shane. I need to know where she is. Now.”
“Hold on.” There was silence on the other end of the line but when he came back, he said, “I texted you the location.”
“Thank you. I—”
“Owe me an explanation on Monday morning.”
“Done.”
I ended the call and went immediately to the address he’d texted me. I pulled up the map on my phone and started the directions to Brittany’s location. I would absolutely update Shane, and hopefully by Monday I would have a hell of a lot more to update than what had been happening all week.
My little sports car handled the city streets easily and only fifteen minutes later I was pulling up behind Brittany’s litt
le hatchback in front of an art gallery.
I jumped out of the car and didn’t hesitate as I approached the door. The gallery was mostly dark, but I could easily make out Brittany’s silhouette and that of a man, standing close to her. Very close.
Too close.
Rage and jealousy ripped through me, clouding my vision. I had no right to her and definitely no right to be possessive, but I was. And I wasn’t about to make apologies for it. Especially considering that man now had his hand on Brittany. My Brittany. And she was shaking her head and backing away.
I yanked the door open roughly. It crashed against the wall and both Brittany and the man jumped. “What the fuck is going on here?”
The man, much to my displeasure, didn’t back away from my girl, but instead puffed up his chest and stepped between me and her. “We’re closed, man. This is a private conversation.”
“It’s over.”
“I don’t think so. I’m the owner of this gallery and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re trespassing.”
“Fuck that.”
I crossed the room and stood in front of the man, who was clearly fueled by whatever cheap whisky was in his glass. Judging from Brittany’s glassy eyes, she’d been drinking the same stuff.
“It’s time to go, Britt.”
“I don’t think so.” The man, who was quickly starting to get on my nerves, blocked me as I reached for my girl. “She’s not going anywhere. We were just about to work out a deal.”
“A deal?” I turned my attention to him. “Well, that’s different then. What kind of deal?”
“A deal for Brittany here to show in my gallery. We just need to work out the details.”
Right. The details. Over my dead body would this grimy little piece of shit man be working out any details involving Brittany. “I don’t think so.”
“Daddy.” Brittany grabbed my arm. “It’s a show. My own show.”