by Banks, R. R.
I picture Connor's face between my thighs, his vibrant green eyes locked onto mine as he licks and sucks on my clit. I moan as I imagine him burying his tongue inside of me, fucking me with it. I rub my clit harder and faster as I picture him eating my pussy with the same sort of forcefulness and zeal he fucks with.
I slide my sweatpants down to my thighs, giving myself a little more room to maneuver. I start rubbing my clit softly, sending small shockwaves of pleasure rolling through me.
In my mind's eye, I see Connor bending me over the arm of the couch. I feel him grab my hair and pull it back roughly. I stifle a cry as I picture him smacking my ass while driving that long, thick cock into me.
“Fuck me, Connor,” I murmur.
As ecstasy explodes within me, I squeeze my eyes shut and push the back of my head harder into the cushions of the couch, losing myself in the fantasy. Connor continues to spank me as he relentlessly drives his thick cock into me. I hear our skin slapping together as he fucks me with a hard, steady rhythm.
“Beg for it,” I imagine hearing his Irish brogue in my ears. “Beg for it, Zoe.”
“Yes,” I moan, my voice trembling.
I rub my clit with one hand, sending the fingers of my other into my dripping wet pussy. My soft cries echo around my condo as my body is rocked with sensation. I'm close. I’m so close.
My entire body tenses as imaginary Connor gives me one last, hard thrust with that long, thick cock of his, and sends me tumbling over the edge.
I cry out as my pussy begins to throb, electric shocks of ecstasy running along my every nerve ending. I draw in a deep, shuddering gasp and feel my body burning and trembling as my orgasm tears through me.
Slowly, my breathing returns to normal and my heart rate slows. I feel satisfied – but not completely. I only scratched an itch. What my body really wants more of is Connor. I want to feel him inside me. I want him to use me. I want to feel the way I did the morning after we slept together.
I want to be truly and thoroughly fucked by him.
Yeah, except we can't do that. Not now. I can't see him anymore. I told Izzy that. I know I shouldn't see him for so many reasons. And yet, as the glow of the orgasm fades from my body, I begin to think of a few reasons I should see him again.
~ooo000ooo~
The following morning, I slink into the office earlier than usual, doing my best to slip in without being seen. A few people are milling about, and the lights are on in my father's office. I hoped to get in before him and barricade myself in my office.
“Damn,” I mutter.
I'm sure by now, Bryant has told my father all about last night. In fact, he probably called him last night to cry on his shoulder and tell him what a mean, horrible, evil monster I am.
I walk down the hallway, keeping a watchful eye on my father's door, ready to dive and hide in the first unoccupied cubicle I can find if it opens. My luck seems to be holding out as I make it down the hallway and stand before my door, ready to go inside.
My stomach lurches violently when my father’s office door is thrown open. It bangs into the wall behind it, the loud crack reverberating like a gunshot in the hushed office.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob and look over, my pulse racing, expecting my father, red-faced and pissed as hell, to come storming out. Instead, two men I've never seen before walk out. They're both large, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes. They're dressed in expensive, well-tailored suits, but look like thugs to me. There is an intimidating air about them that makes me take an involuntary step back.
Both men look over at me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. They walk by me without a word. As they march out of the office, a heavy, ominous air is left in their wake.
I turn back to find my father standing just outside his door, staring at me intently. His eyes are slightly wider than normal, and he looks a little pale. I've never known my father to be intimidated before. And yet, something about those two men clearly has him rattled.
My father looks at me and quickly composes himself. He clears his throat and shoots me a withering look – he’s obviously spoken to Bryant. Rather than berating me, however, he disappears back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
I stand there, unnerved, for a minute or two, as a dark dread settles down over me. Of what exactly? I have no idea.
Chapter Thirteen
Connor
I park in an underground garage below the office building that houses Nichols and Associates – Zoe's father's firm – and climb out of my car, heading for the elevators. I decided to wing it here. I don’t have a plan. All I know is that I woke up with a raging hard-on and couldn’t get her out of my head.
So, after jerking off to her in the shower again, I got dressed and decided to come down to her office. I want to see her. Need to see her. The need is powerful, and the craving is overwhelming.
The elevator doors chime and slide open, revealing a lobby with marble flooring, beautiful artwork, and a few well-padded, comfortable looking armchairs. The place doesn't scream money so much as whispers it. Everything is tasteful and understated, and totally not what I expected for a firm of sleazy ambulance chasers. Zoe excluded, of course.
Instead, it's upscale and classy. Based on the refined decor alone, I imagine they tend to cater to a wealthier, high-class clientele.
“May I help you?”
I look up to see an attractive redhead smiling at me from behind the reception desk. Ordinarily, she's the kind of woman I'd be angling to get in the sack. As I look at her right now, however, I don't feel any compulsion to get her into a closet with her skirt up around her waist. That’s usually my default setting when it comes to a good-looking woman. All I care about right now, though, is Zoe.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I walk over to the reception desk, trying to clear my head a bit.
“Yes, love. Connor Grigson,” I say, flashing her a smile. “I'd like to see Zoe Nichols.”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
I shake my head and give her what I hope is my most charming smile. “Do I need one?”
The redhead smiles. “Ordinarily, yes you do.”
I nod. “Well, I'm at bit of a loss then, love,” I say. “I really need to see her though. If there's any way you could sneak me in, I'd be very, very appreciative.”
She looks at me, batting her big green eyes, and a flirty little smile. I could have this girl if I wanted her. Yeah, this tells me just how well and truly fucked-up in the head I am right now because although she's a beautiful girl, there is absolutely no desire there.
“Are you her boyfriend?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Not at all. I'm here to discuss a proposal her father made.”
A look of relief flashes through her eyes and she turns that dazzling smile on me once more.
“Well, that's good,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine. “In that case, let me just give her a call and see if she's available.”
“I'd appreciate that...” I say and take a quick look down at the nameplate on her desk, “Tabitha.”
“Tabby,” she says.
“Well, I'd appreciate that a lot, Tabby.”
She picks up the phone, and I take a step back to give her a little privacy. Thirty seconds later, she sets the phone down and gives me a smile.
“Ms. Nichols has a few moments for you between meetings,” she says.
“Excellent,” I reply. “Thank you for checking.”
“My pleasure,” she purrs.
Tabby stands and crooks her finger at me. “Follow me please, Mr. Grigson.”
She leads me down a hallway, swishing her hips to draw my attention to her ass. Tabby looks over her shoulder at me and gives me a sultry smile.
She stops in front of an empty conference room. “Wait right here and Ms. Nichols will be with you in just a moment,” she says. “In the meantime, is there anything I can get for you? Water? Tea? Anything at all?”
“I'll be fine, thanks, love,” I say.
She licks her lips suggestively and presses something into my palm. Glancing down, I see it's a business card with a phone number and a heart written upon it. I slide it into my pocket and give her a wink.
Tabby closes the door softly behind me, and I drop down into a seat, letting out a long, pained sigh. I look down at my crotch and shake my head.
“You're really not helping me out at all here, buddy.”
A couple of minutes later, the door opens, and Zoe walks in. She's dressed in a dark blue pencil skirt, white blouse, and blue blazer – looking every ounce the career-woman. Her long raven-black hair is neatly braided and pulled to the side. As always, she looks utterly flawless.
Zoe avoids making eye contact as she moves around the table and takes a seat across from me. She flips open the notebook she's carrying and clears her throat. An awkward silence fills the room, a sense of expectation hanging heavy in the air between us.
“Mr. Grigson –”
“Connor,” I say, cutting her off.
She looks at me evenly. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Grigson?”
“To be perfectly honest, I don't know,” I reply. “All I know is that I needed to see you.”
Her cheeks flare with color as she looks away. Zoe takes a minute to compose herself and I wish like hell I could read what's going through her mind.
“About the settlement,” she says, still not meeting my gaze. “You needed to see me regarding the settlement?”
A low chuckle escapes me. “Oh, I think we both know that's not the case now, don't we, love?”
“Please stop calling me that,” she says, though her voice lacks conviction. “You may call me Ms. Nichols.”
“I can't stop thinking about you, Zoe,” I say. “It's the damndest thing. I've never had a –”
“This is entirely inappropriate,” she says.
Zoe looks at me and I see something in her eyes I didn't expect – hope maybe? Maybe she's flattered? I don't know, but it doesn’t match the unmasked hostility in her words. She shakes her head gently and I see her try to put her lawyer mask back on.
But she can't fool me.
“Mr. Grigson,” she says, “if you're not going to take the settlement – and I think we both know at this point that you're not – then you need to formally reject it and let the matter proceed.”
“Have lunch with me, Zoe,” I say. “Or dinner. Maybe even breakfast. I don’t really care which.”
She looks at me, dumbfounded. “Did you hear a single word I just said?”
“Every last bit of it,” I reply. “Have lunch with me.”
“I don't think that would be appropriate, given the circumstances we’re in,” she says.
“If I took the settlement and we put the whole matter to rest,” I say, “would you go have lunch with me?”
“That's thirty-million dollars,” she gasps.
I shrug. “It's just money.”
She lets out a long breath, an inscrutable look back on her face. She looks torn. Zoe opens her mouth to speak, but the door to the conference room opens, and her father steps through it, causing me to grumble to myself.
Zoe quickly closes her mouth and looks down at the notebook on the table in front of her, a dark look crossing her delicate features.
“Mr. Grigson,” he says, his voice a low, rumbling baritone. “I heard you were here.”
“And here I am,” I say. “Your sources were correct.”
He gives me a smirk that's half-amused, half-irritated. “I hope this means you're ready to sign the settlement paperwork.”
I look at Zoe, who seems to be doing her best not to glower at her father. There's definitely some friction between the two of them. The last thing I want to do is get involved in family drama. Got enough of my own, thanks. As I look at the two of them, an idea pops into my head – an idea Zoe might kick my ass for.
“Actually, I wanted to discuss some of the details with Ms. Nichols here,” I say. “I thought if we went to lunch, she could explain some things to me. Assuage any concerns I might have, and all that.”
Zoe looks at me, her eyes impossibly wide, and I just give her a little smile. She opens her mouth, undoubtedly to protest, when her father's loud, booming voice cuts her off.
“That sounds like a good idea,” he says. “I think it best that you feel comfortable before signing anything.”
“I have a meeting in twenty minutes with Mr. Arias,” she says quickly – too quickly.
Her father waves her off. “I'll have Simmons talk to him and get the details.”
“Well, right after that, I have to meet with –”
“I'll have Simmons cover for you there as well,” he says, casting a dark look at her. “Honestly, Zoe, this place isn't going to fall apart without you.”
She lets out a long sigh of frustration, obviously out of viable excuses. The look on her face is one of pure defeat.
“Great,” I say and look at Zoe. “It's a date, then.”
She looks flustered and her cheeks are an unnatural shade of scarlet, but she manages to pull herself together pretty quickly.
“It's a business lunch,” she clarifies. “A business meeting.”
“Sure thing,” I say.
“Great,” he father says. “I'll leave the two of you to it then.”
He leaves the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. Zoe rounds on me, absolute fury in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak but then closes it again – knowing it's likely not going to do any good anyway. Her father has spoken and for whatever reason, she doesn’t seem capable of standing up to him.
Or rather, she does but doesn't know how to tap into it yet. This woman is strong. I can see it in her. But, when it comes to her father, for some reason, she seems to lose that strength.
“I'm happy to drive,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and lets out a derisive snort. “Fine,” she says. “Let me get my bag and we can get this over with.”
~ooo000ooo~
“This is a nice place,” I say. “I haven't been here before.”
“Yeah, that's great,” she replies without looking at me as she scans the menu.
She'd picked a little hole-in-the-wall, Mom-and-pop Mexican food joint. Admittedly, I’ve never been a huge fan of Mexican food, but when we walked in here, the smells wafting out of the kitchen made my mouth water and my stomach grumble.
“What are you having?” I ask.
“Lunch,” she says, her tone curt. “You?”
“You later, if I'm lucky,” I say, partly just to irritate her enough to get her to talk to me.
She slaps the menu back down on the table and stares at me, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. Irritation is etched into her every feature. Mission accomplished.
“Yeah, that's not going to happen,” she says flatly.
“Never say never,” I tease.
She leans across the table and stares at me. “Look, Connor,” she says. “What happened that night in San Francisco was great. It never should have happened, but I don’t regret it. I'm not going to even try to deny that I enjoyed every second of it. But, that was then, and this is now. Those two worlds can't and won't come together again.”
I lean back in my seat and nod as if I understand. But then, I give her a slow smile. The harder she fights it, the more it feels like she's in denial about something. Maybe I'm cocky, but I get the feeling she's trying to convince herself – unsuccessfully – that she doesn't want me.
What happened between us that night in San Francisco was tangible. It was real. I felt it, and I know she did too.
The waitress stops by the table, drops off our sodas, and takes our order. I didn’t even bother to look at
the menu, and just said I wanted whatever Zoe was having. The waitress smiles and heads off to put our orders in.
“You feel it too,” I say. “Don't you?”
“Feel what?”
“That connection between us.”
“There is no connection between us.”
I give her a laugh. “That so?” I ask. “Then how do you explain what happened at my house? Do you typically kiss and grope men you don't feel something for?”
“Maybe I do,” she says, trying to put a note of haughtiness in her voice.
“Yeah, that's bullshit,” I say and laugh. “And we both know that.”
I see her blush again, but whether it's because I called her out or because she's remembering the kiss in my house, I don't know. I certainly remember the way she'd kissed me and how it felt to have her hands on me – as my now stiff cock can attest to. I'm just glad it's under the table where she can't see it.
I clear my throat. For better or worse, it's time to lay my cards out on the table.
“Zoe, something about you has stuck with me. I don't know what in the hell it is, but I can't get you out of my head,” I say. “I haven't been able to since that night in San Francisco.”
She looks at me wide-eyed and swallows hard. Her normally pale face seems to have lost even more of its color, and in that moment, I know for certain that she feels it too.
“I – I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that information,” she finally says, looking away from me.
“Admit that you feel the same way too.”
“What if I don't?” she asks. “Feel the same way, that is.”
“I know you do, Zoe,” I reply. “I can see it on your face.”
“That's pretty arrogant, Connor,” she says. “Just because I slept with you –”
“And grabbed my cock in a completely separate encounter,” I cut her off and grin. “Let's not forget that.”
She sighs. “Regardless, that only indicates that I may feel a certain sense of – lust – toward you,” she says. “It doesn't mean we have any sort of emotional connection.”
I shrug. “Maybe not,” I reply. “But, isn't it worth exploring?”