by Kim Karr
“I’ll see you,” Keen says as he pushes his chips forward.
Warmth swirls inside me as I put my ace and three of hearts down.
“Not bad,” Keen murmurs, setting his own cards down.
I make like I’m stretching and purr a little. “Mind if I go for my victory lap now?”
Straight faced, he shoves a licorice stick in his mouth and makes like it’s a cigar. “Just hold on.”
He flips the next card . . .
An ace of clubs.
Crap. Crap. And double crap. I am so going to lose that I can feel my shoulders start to sag.
Wait!
The tell.
He called that the tell.
I won’t give him any tell. I’ll bluff instead.
“Oh, lookey-lookey.” I kick my legs up a little and sit back, letting my towel open in the process. “Now that is one great card.”
Chewing on the end of his licorice stick, he glances across at me—more like stares right where I intended for him to stare. “Not going to work.”
“What isn’t going to work?” I ask innocently.
“Your sex appeal. Serious card players are immune to everything around them but the game.”
Honestly, I can’t help myself. I know he prides himself on being one of those super-serious players. He’s played in Vegas, underground in LA, and all over New York. He’s told me so. I think his passion for it is super sexy. So bad boy. Yet, I have to do this. I know exactly what I can do to distract him and I start with letting my towel fall from my body. And I’m just getting started.
Licking my finger, I draw a line right between my breasts to my clit and begin to rub slow, deliberate circles around it.
He’s watching.
Jaw slack.
Eyes gleaming.
Cock springing to life between the folds of his towel right before my eyes. And if I look hard enough, I think there’s some pre-cum on his tip already.
There, I did it, so I stop but leave my hand right where it is so I can gloat. Before I can do that, though, the fun turns serious.
In one fell swoop, he wipes the poker table from the center of the bed and rises up on his knees. “Don’t stop. Keep touching yourself,” he whispers in a voice rough-edged with need.
My gaze meets his as an inferno blazes between the two of us.
I brush my fingertips over my clit again, this time pretending it is his fingers, not mine. “What about the game?”
Soon his cock is settled firmly in his fist, and he pumps it slowly as he watches me with the most intent gaze. “Screw the cards, you win,” he murmurs. “I’ll come out to California in two weeks.”
I hold back my smirk, watching him watch me, way more pleasurable than gloating—right now, anyway.
I want him to fuck me one more time before our time is up. I want him to fill me, and talk dirty to me, and tell me how beautiful I am. I want so much, and yet time is short. Staying up all night didn’t seem to make it any longer.
I want him.
Him.
I fall back on the pillow and open my legs wide, giving him a better view. And then I move my hand faster and faster and faster still.
The bed dips as he moves closer. Every single nerve in my body is alive as I look up at him. He’s still on his knees and his hand is still on his cock. I wait for him to stop. To push inside me and fuck me until I scream his name. Until I have to leave.
“Don’t stop, Maggie,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”
Oh, God, he’s so hot. I move my fingers faster, harder, as I watch him do the same with his fist.
Pumping.
Moving.
He lets his free hand roam to my hip and then down, but not where my hand is, lower still. A place, I have to say, I have never let a man touch.
Slowly, he circles the puckered skin, a little faster as I play with my clit, and even faster as he hand-fucks his cock.
The pleasure is immeasurable. My breath is coming in short, harsh pants, and my hips are moving. Bucking. Thrusting. I’m close. I’m so close.
“Come for me. Maggie, come for me.”
His plea is easily answered as every part of me contracts—my clit, my ass, my pussy—and then pleasure explodes in bursts of colors all around me.
“Yes, fuck,” he cries. “Maggie!”
Hot wetness spatters my chest. It pumps out of him in hard spurts. The scent of him filling me, the sound of him filling me, the very essence of him filling me.
He leans to kiss me in the softest, sweetest way, and then he pulls up the sheet and wipes me clean again in the sweetest way.
It’s unexpected.
Hard and soft.
Falling beside me, he pulls me into his arms. “What is this thing between us?” he asks, his voice low but still audible.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head and look up at him.
He pushes the hair from my face. “We won’t label it. We’ll just see what happens when we see each other next?”
“Yes, who knows—we might hate each other,” I joke.
He laughs. “You’ll hate me if I don’t make it.”
I laugh too, a little ruefully, though. “Yes, I will.”
Grinning, he holds me a little tighter. “I will do my best to get off work and come out to California in two weeks.”
That satisfies me. So much so that I wiggle out of his hold and stand up to cage his chest with my legs. Raising my arms in the air and doing a little dance, I shake my head back and forth.
With a shake of his head, he grabs at my calves and hauls me back down to him. “You are crazy.”
My gaze lowers down his hot body. “No, I’m just excited.”
Noticing, he smirks a little and lifts my chin. “Be as excited as you want, but this stays between the two of us until I can talk to Brooklyn.”
The stern look on his face is to tell me not to tell Cam or Makayla either. It’s just a little unrequited crush that obviously doesn’t really matter, considering the fact that Brooklyn hooked up with two girls last night, but I give him a dutiful, “I promise.”
“Good! Now that that is settled, why don’t you be a good girl and walk over toward the television.”
I eye him. “Why?”
He reaches for the night table and picks up his phone, lifting it. “Just do it.”
So he wants my picture, does he?
I’ll be happy to oblige. I slip into my skimpy panties and sway my hips, walking away from him as I do. No face, of course, but I’ll let him gawk at my body if he wants.
Snap.
Snap.
This thing between us is so easy, and I can’t help but grin like a cat that ate a canary, all the while swaying my hips and even giving him the “hang loose” sign, just because I can.
When the room is too quiet, I look back. His face screams of sin. It makes me want to run toward him and jump on the bed. And as if that isn’t enough, his hair is all mussed up and sexy looking as he leans back against the headboard. It’s not my fault that I’m wondering if we have time for another round. It’s his, and his over-the-top good looks and incredibly obscene moves in bed.
Knock.
Knock.
Panic grips me. “What time is it?”
Keen looks a little closer at his phone. “Eight.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Maggie,” Makayla calls. “You ready?”
I rush toward the bed and wrap the sheet around me before going to the door and cracking it open. “Hey,” I say through the small opening. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Give me five minutes.”
Looking really peaked, she starts to open the door. “You want me to help you pack?”
I close it a little. “No, I’m good. Meet you downstairs.”
“Okay. Cam is meeting Keen for breakfast. It’s just you, me, and Brooklyn,” she says, rather relieved I don’t need her help, I can tell.
Hung over—obviously.
I close the door and lean against it
. Keen is gathering his things that are scattered all over the room and I wish I could stay. But I can’t. I start my new job tomorrow and he has to work today anyway. Geez . . . he works all the time, from what I can tell.
Looking up, he catches my eye. “Remember what we decided.”
“I do,” I answer resolutely.
Promise.
Maggie
Date: January 1
Time: 11:11 a.m. EST
Big Dick: Make it to the airport on time?
Me: Who is this?
Big Dick: How many big dicks do you know?
Me: Enough to make me wonder.
Big Dick: How about the last big dick that was in your bed?
Me: Keen, it’s you. Sorry :)
Big Dick: haha! Glad I made such an impression.
Me: By the name you gave yourself in my phone I assume you think it was a big one.
Big Dick: With the way you were screaming my name, I didn’t think there were any complaints.
Me: bahaha! I didn’t realize you’d changed your name after we exchanged numbers last night.
Big Dick: Did it while we were exchanging numbers. You were too distracted by my big dick.
Me: Was I? Don’t remember. Do you see stars when you come?
Big Dick: Ummm . . . no. Do you?
Me: Sometimes.
Big Dick: Did you see stars when I made you come?
Me: A girl never tells. They’re telling us to turn off our phones.
Big Dick: Way to leave me hanging.
Me: By the way, I’m changing your name to Best Lay Ever.
Big Dick: You weren’t half bad yourself, Maggie May. Have a safe flight, bedwrecker.
Date: January 1
Time: 9:12 p.m. PST
Me: Made it home. I smell like you.
Best Lay Ever: Wish I could smell you.
Me: Me too. What are you doing?
Best Lay Ever: Working. What about you?
Me: Lying in my bed.
Best Lay Ever: What are you wearing?
Me: OMG! I knew you were going to ask me that.
Best Lay Ever: What guy wouldn’t say that when a gorgeous girl says she is lying in bed, haha.
Me: You’re so full of compliments. Because of that I’ll tell you. A camisole and your black boxer briefs. Did you miss them? haha
Best Lay Ever: You’re sneaky . . . bedwrecker. I looked all over that room after you left. Had to meet Cam going commando.
Me: I’ll keep them safe for you until you get here.
Best Lay Ever: When I get there, you will not be wearing my boxers though.
Me: What do you want me wearing?
Best Lay Ever: Not a goddamn thing.
Me: That can be arranged.
Best Lay Ever: Good. Just so you know, I’m going to book a room for that weekend at the Montage Resort.
Me: :( You’re not staying here with me?
Best Lay Ever: You’re staying with me. With as loud as you are, the last thing I want is my brother hearing you scream my name all night. And it will be all night, Maggie.
Me: Changing your name to Mr. Arrogant.
Mr. Arrogant: Sir would be better, but I preferred Best Lay Ever.
Me: I’ll be dreaming of you. Sweet Dreams. :)
Mr. Arrogant: Sleep well, Maggie, but my dreams will be anything but sweet.
Date: January 2
Time: 5:06 a.m. PST
Mr. Arrogant: To answer your question, I don’t see stars when I come, I don’t see anything. It’s more of a feeling.
Me: What kind of feeling?
Mr. Arrogant: Like everything makes sense in the world, for that short time, anyway. Like I can see things so clearly.
Me: You are awful philosophical for so early in the morning. If I weren’t so tired I’d change your name to Socrates.
Mr. Arrogant: I’m pretty sure he had a big dick.
Me: See, your mind always goes to sex.
Mr. Arrogant: So does yours. After all, you asked the question. I thought about it and gave you an answer.
Me: Much appreciated. I like the stars better.
Mr. Arrogant: haha! Later.
Date: January 2
Time: 9:02 a.m. PST
Mr. Arrogant: Booked my flight.
Me: Well aren’t you efficient today!
Me: Now that I’m awake, I can tell you that I dreamt of you last night.
Man of My Dreams: Hold that thought. Headed to a meeting and can’t be sporting wood when I walk in.
Me: So this is a bad time to tell you my dream was about my mouth all over your big dick?
Man of My Dreams: Fuck me, Maggie. You’re killing me here.
Me: That was the goal. See ya ;)
Man of My Dreams: I wish . . . then you could take care of this massive hard-on I have now. Have a good one.
Date: January 2
Time: 7:24 p.m. PST
Me: Got your flowers.
Rod Stewart: ?
Me: I know it was you. The card was signed by Rod Stewart. Clever. They are beautiful. That was really sweet.
Rod Stewart: You got me. And I’ve never been called sweet.
Me: There’s a first time for everything.
Rod Stewart: There is, and some firsts I wouldn’t mind trying out when I see you.
Me: Does your mind always go to sex?
Rod Stewart: Always. Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking, my little bedwrecker?
Me: I’m sure it has something to do with sex . . . and firsts. Well I hate to break the news . . . but I think you already know I’m not a virgin.
Rod Stewart: Oh, you’re wrong.
Me: (smiley face with a laughing tear)
Rod Stewart: . . .
Me: Okay, I give! What are you thinking about?
Rod Stewart: Knew you’d want to know. I’m thinking about how I’m going to take that sweet virgin ass of yours. Soon. And then I’m going to come all over it.
Rod Stewart: It’s been over a minute. Nothing to say?
Me: I have to run.
Rod Stewart: Yeah, more like run scared.
Me: Never.
Date: January 2
Time: 7:52 p.m. PST
Me: I’m home. Call me.
Rod Stewart: Give me a couple of hours.
Me: Where are you?
Rod Stewart: Work.
Me: This late? You really are a Wall Street wolf.
Wall Street Wolf: Yep. Gotta run. I have houses to blow down.
Me: Or teeth marks to leave behind.
Wall Street Wolf: Only on you, bedwrecker.
Me: :)
Date: January 2
Time: 10:49 p.m. PST
Me: Tell me what you think about when you masturbate.
Wall Street Wolf: Right now, you.
Me: Holy fuck, you’re masturbating right now?
Wall Street Wolf: Got me all excited earlier, couldn’t help myself.
Me: Are you really touching your big dick?
Wall Street Wolf: I should say yes since it has you all hot and bothered, but no, I’m still at work.
Me: It’s almost 2 a.m. there!
Wall Street Wolf: Yeah, working on something big. Good news is no one is around, so if you want to help a guy out, I’d be happy to repay favor later.
Me: . . .
Me: Did you get my picture?
Wall Street Wolf: Hell, yeah, I got that picture. Fuck me, Maggie. Those tits are gorgeous. See what you do to me?
Me: You know I have a weakness for suits?
Wall Street Wolf: It’s not the suit you should be looking at.
Me: Can’t help myself, your hand inching into the waistband isn’t enough to get me off, but the suit, now that has me wet.
Wall Street Wolf: How the fuck am I supposed to work when I’m constantly hard. Gotta go before I really do have to jerk off in the office. I’ll call you in an hour when I get home.
Me: I’ll just be touching myself until then.
Wall S
treet Wolf: FUCK ME.
Me: I hope to. :)
Keen
The fight for shares among investment brokers is ramping up into a full-blown war.
Don’t bother to pick a side, though, because who the winners and losers are is something you’ll never know.
Our weapons of choice aren’t bullets or bombs. They are buys and sells. That doesn’t mean the fight doesn’t get dirty, though, because it does.
Right now the social networks are dominating the market, and with more than 400 million employees on their payroll, their share of the pie continues to grow at one of the highest rates in history.
We all want them.
Every single one of us.
Fuck, who wouldn’t?
And that is why their businesses are the halos high in the sky that our pitchforks can’t seem to poke deep enough, hard enough, fast enough.
Every day more and more just like them enter the market. No matter, though, because with tech giants such as Google and Apple taking the lion’s share of those upper tiers of the market as of late, to win the war, each and every Wall Street firm has had to adjust their strategy.
Buy fast.
Dump even faster.
Move on to the next big thing.
And fast.
Did I mention fast?
It’s been insane.
One wild and crazy ride, though, that’s for certain.
It takes all of my concentration to maintain my edge, to move quickly, to react accordingly.
To know when the yen is up, when gold is down, when the SEC is coming after someone so I can back the fuck away.
That’s what sets me apart from most of the others in my firm.
My drive.
My commitment.
The time I spend researching.
The others have families, wives, kids, a house, a yard to maintain—not me. I work all the fucking time.
Night and day.
My job is my life.
My life is my job.
It’s all I have.
And I fucking love it.
The investment firm that I work for occupies the top five floors of a sprawling black-glass office building that rises up forty stories just near the corner of Wall Street and Broadway.
Today, like every day, as the car approaches the office building, I find myself welling with pride. The mirrored black glass gleams brilliantly in the morning sunshine, reminding me of just how far I’ve come in the last five years.