by Mia Ford
She could see it in my eyes, though, everything I wanted to do to her, and she grabbed me by the cock and led me deeper into my own penthouse, as if she was leading a stud bull by the horns.
“This place is almost as impressive as the other one,” she giggled.
“Wrong,” I said, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her against the couch, bending her down so that her ass was sticking up and ready. “It’s better.”
I pulled her panties down, her scent so strong I knew that I would slip inside her without any trouble at all. She pushed her ass up higher and spread her legs, wiggling her butt at me invitingly. I smacked one cheek, then smacked it again when she yelped in excitement.
“Come on,” she pleaded, wiggling her ass at me again. “Take me already.”
I pulled off my shirt, grabbed her by the waist, and pushed inside her with even more ease than expected. She threw her head back in a loud moan of approval, and looked over her shoulder at me, eyes half closed, tongue tracing the lines of her lips.
I waited, let the width of me fill her up, and when she clenched down on my cock, I began to slam against her. My hips smacked against her perfect ass, and I squeezed her cheeks as I fucked her, ramming her from behind, turning her moans into screams. Within seconds I had her begging me to go faster, to fuck her harder. She had even begun to throw her ass back against me, pushing me in deeper with every stroke.
I reached my hand around her waist and began to finger her clit, and before I knew it, she was screaming with an orgasm that shook her so hard, her legs began to wobble, and I had to hold her up for balance.
“Don’t stop, Chance!” she begged, turning and grabbing my cock, pumping me as she moved us to the front of the couch. “Don’t you fucking stop!”
She pushed me onto the couch, straddled me, and slid me back inside her. She immediately began grinding against me, and I reached behind her and undid her bra. Her breasts fell free in all their glory, and I sat back and watched them bounce as she rode me. She leaned in, pushing her breasts against my face, and I sucked hard on one nipple while pinching the other. Her moans echoed in my living room, loud and animalistic as her hot breath tickled my ear. My hands wrapped around her waist, and I brought her down harder against me. She threw her head back, screaming in pleasure, and rode me even harder when I took her nipples into my mouth again.
“I’m going… to… fuck… cum…” she screamed. “Yes, yes… oh fuck… yessss… right there… yessssss…”
I felt really close to cumming myself, and quickly threw her off me and onto the couch.
“No!” she growled, immediately reaching for me, and I had to grab both her hands and push her down to stop her. I wasn’t ready to cum just yet, not even close to being done with her, and she wasn’t going to fucking dictate how this night played out. I was Chance Ridder. I was fucking in charge. Or in charge of fucking. I playfully pinned her down and slipped two fingers inside her, pumping my hand as she giggled and wrestled to break free of my hold.
“Stop fingering me and fuck me!” she moaned, but I could see my fingers were having the desired effect. Soon enough she was gushing out over my hand, her body curling as she came, her legs shaking as her orgasm rushed through her.
“Had enough?” I asked, smiling wickedly as she tried to roll away from me. With her arms pinned down over her head, she had little room to move.
“Not nearly enough…” She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths, her breasts like twin towers of worship. She smiled at me, bit her lip and shook her head. “Come on, cowboy, let’s see you ride.”
I climbed on top of her quickly, positioned myself at her pussy and slammed inside her with one powerful thrust, forcing her to scream out in surprise. Her legs quickly wrapped around my waist and her nails dug into my back as she pulled me to her.
“Fuck me with that billion-dollar cock,” she gasped. “Show me what you can do.”
Billion-dollar cock… seriously?
There it was.
The real reason she was here banging the shit out of a guy she just met.
She wasn’t fucking me.
She was fucking my reputation.
My bank account.
Well then, if that’s what she wanted, I’d give her my fucking money’s worth.
Her screams rocked the penthouse, loud enough that I could have sworn the windows were shaking. At one point I thought the neighbors would start knocking on my door, wondering if maybe I was killing someone in here. But she took it like a champ. Every stroke. And each time I slammed inside her, she begged for more, urging me to give it to her harder and faster.
I fucked her until I felt the couch would collapse underneath us, and she only pressed her legs against me harder. Her nails scratched my back until I could feel them tearing at the skin, the wildness of it all only turning me on even more.
“Come on, baby,” she begged between screams. “Come on, harder, come on.”
I gave her what she wanted and more, and soon enough she couldn’t put two words together between her gasps and moans. She must have cum at least three times in the midst of it all, her pussy clenching down on me hard and bringing me closer to the edge. I tried to make it last as long as I could, relishing the moment, feeling more alive than ever as I fucked her brains out.
I pulled her up to me, and thrust in one last time before I exploded inside her. I groaned loudly, my eyes closing and my head spinning as I emptied myself deep in her cunt. She milked my cock with her pussy, squeezing hard on my cock until it felt like she might tear it right off. When it was over, I collapsed on top of her, and we rolled off the couch and onto the floor, gasping for breath, the two of us spent.
I closed my eyes, washed in an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction, and waited for my breathing to settle. I could feel her hot body against mine, her limp hand lying gently on my chest, her breath against my shoulder. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but when I finally opened my eyes, she was fast asleep on the floor, hair disheveled across her pretty face. I pushed myself into a sitting position and let my eyes take her in, the nakedness of her making me want to turn her over and do it all over again.
I got up, leaving her on the floor, and made my way upstairs to my bedroom. I quickly jumped into the shower, turned on the hot water and closed my eyes. I felt my muscles slowly start to relax. Go slack. There was a short burst of pain in my chest, quick and piercing, that made me cringe, but I quickly shook it off as the water fell in waves down my body. With a fuck like that, it was no surprise I’d be this spent.
I stood there for what seemed like forever, then stepped out and dried myself off. The bed beckoned me to it, and without a second thought to the girl sleeping on the floor downstairs, whose name I had already forgotten, I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes.
I’d let Pauline deal with her in the morning.
Chapter 3: Chance
“If you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Ridder, you look terrible.”
I looked at Miles’s eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded. “I feel like crap, Miles” I said. “Thanks for noticing.”
“Long night?”
“Aren’t they all?” I asked.
The piercing pain from the night before hit me again, and I winced, my hand automatically reaching for my chest as if it could somehow pull the pain out and relieve me from it. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head spinning. The car had pulled away from the curb, and when I opened my eyes again, Miles was watching me instead of the road.
“Sir, are you…”
“Eyes on the road, Miles,” I said, gritting my teeth against another burst of pain.
“Mr. Ridder, are you sure –”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My vision blurred, and I felt like the world had somehow dumped me in a large carousel that was going a little too fast. I blinked, trying to regain some sort of focus, and was greeted by shifting images and bright spots. The heaviness against my chest only intensified.
Am I having a fucking heart attack?
I laid my head back and gazed out the window, the buildings looking like silhouettes of varying shades of gray. I felt the car pick up speed and turn sharply.
“Miles, what are you doing?” I croaked.
“I’m taking you to the hospital, Mr. Ridder.”
I didn’t protest. The hospital sounded like a very good idea.
* * *
I felt better. Not much, but enough to wish I could light a cigarette and maybe get a drink. The walls around me were surrounded by posters of the human body and motivational quotes telling me that my health came first, everything else second. I scoffed when I looked at the fake smiles of the models in the pictures, the frozen “jumping in the air” glee that was a little too happy for my taste.
I need a drink. And a smoke.
The door opened, and I shifted on the bed as the doctor walked in, holding a chart in his hands and flipping through the pages with great concentration.
“Mr. Ridder,” he mumbled, frowning as he looked at my stats.
That can’t be good.
“How old did you say you were?” the doctor asked, looking at me from over the top of his glasses, his gaze making me feel like I was twelve again and being scolded for playing where I shouldn’t have.
“Thirty-two,” I answered. “Isn’t that in your chart?”
“It is,” the doctor nodded, flipping through the pages again. “The thing is, according to these reports, you should be fifty.” He looked up at me again. “Or dead.”
“That’s great, doc,” I smiled. “Not much for bedside manner, huh?”
The doctor placed the chart down on his desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Mr. Ridder, from what I’ve seen, bedside manner shouldn’t be your main concern at the moment. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and please try to answer them as truthfully as you possibly can.”
As I possibly can? Really?
“How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?”
I shrugged. “Two packs, maybe three.”
“And how much alcohol do you drink?”
“I have no idea,” I replied. “In my line of work, there’s always some event or the other, and there’s always drinking.”
“What exactly is your line of work, Mr. Ridder?”
“Seriously?” I chuckled. The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. “I’m founder and CEO of Ridder Technology.”
“I see,” the doctor said, jotting down something in the charts. “Do you get out much, Mr. Ridder?”
“I’m always out and about,” I said.
“Exercise,” the doctor stressed. “I meant exercise.”
I wondered if sex counted, and was about to say that when the look on the doctor’s face made me think otherwise. Whatever this guy’s problem was, he was making me uneasy, and right now I needed to know what was in that chart.
“No,” I said. “Listen, can you tell me the results of all these tests you made me do?”
“In a minute,” the doctor said. “How about your diet?”
“Steak and pussy,” I answered with a grin. He shot me a look that told me he was not impressed or amused. “Listen, doc, I appreciate the tough love antics, but I got enough of that growing up from my old man. So, let’s just skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck’s wrong with me.”
The doctor looked at me for a beat, sighed, took off his glasses and blew out a long sigh. “Hypertension, high cholesterol, beginning signs of serious atherosclerosis, high levels of liver enzymes.” He stopped. “Should I go on?”
“Yes, please do, only this time in plain English?”
“You’re a step away from a heart attack or stroke that will probably kill you, Mr. Ridder,” he said, setting the glasses back on his thin nose. “Is that English plain enough?”
* * *
I ignored my calls.
For most of the day, I sat in complete shock on my couch, staring out at the Austin skyline, an unlit cigarette in one hand and the doctor’s words rolling over and over in my head.
A heart attack.
A stroke.
Fuck, I’m only thirty-two.
I couldn’t believe it. I remembered the warning signs, subtle but there, enough for any man to take notice if he didn’t have his head so far up his ass. Dennis had told me the drinking would kill me. Alice had tried to get me to quit smoking over and over again. Even my mother had commented on the stress I was under, telling me that it was the stress that had taken my dad away.
Funny, I always thought it was his good nature and care for others.
My mother hadn’t thought that was funny, and right now, neither did I.
I laid my head back, rolling the cigarette between my fingers as I rubbed at my chest. Dying was not on any of my to-do lists. To say I wasn’t ready for it was an understatement; it fucking terrified me. Not that I didn’t have anything to show for my thirty-two years. I was a multi-billionaire. I could roll tobacco in hundred-dollar bills and smoke three dozen of them a day for years, and still I wouldn’t see a dent in my bank account. I was on top of the world, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, partying and fucking every night. Whoever said money couldn’t buy happiness didn’t have the money I had.
Much good your money’s doing for you now.
I frowned, suddenly angry at the doctor who tried to convince me to stay at the hospital for more tests. What the fuck did he know? I could buy good health if I wanted to. I could pay the best doctors in the world to turn all these test results around. I could pay the fucking angel of death to leave me the fuck alone!
I snapped the cigarette in half and threw it angrily at the window. I felt my entire body shake, and my heart began to pound in my chest. I felt the beginning of sweat beads collecting on my brow, and there was a sudden crushing weight on my chest. I closed my eyes, took in deep breaths and let them out in long exhales. Slowly, my heart’s beating returned to normal, and the weight on my chest lifted.
You’re going to kill yourself.
I knew that, but had no clue what I was going to do about it.
My phone rang, and I turned my head lazily to see who was calling. The word MOM flashed on my caller ID, and at that precise moment, I knew what I needed to do.
* * *
“You’re kidding, right?”
Dennis stood angrily at the threshold of my bedroom door, watching as I packed my bags. I had called him right after hanging up with my mother, and he had wasted no time driving over and trying to talk some sense into me.
“Nope,” I replied. “I’m serious as a heart attack.”
“You can’t just fucking take off,” Dennis said. “Not now. Not with everything that we have going on.
“I can,” I said. “And I will.”
Dennis threw his hands up in the air and finally stepped into the room, grabbing my arm and stopping me in the middle of packing. “You can’t leave,” he said, stressing on each word as if he were talking to a lunatic. I thought it was sweet, if he didn’t look like a complete moron doing it. He reminded me of the kid I spent four years of college with.
“I’m not leaving forever,” I replied. “It’s a break. I need a break.”
Dennis shook his head quickly. “You don’t need a break, you need a second opinion,” he said. “You said it yourself, the doctor was an ass. Who knows what he would say just to scare you a bit. He probably has something against rich and successful people.”
“So if I was poor he wouldn’t have told me I was killing myself.” I shook my head and went back into my walk-in closet to get a second pair of jeans.
“Chance!”
“I saw the results, Dennis,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat. “It’s not a lie. It’s not a trick. This whole thing.” I paused, gesturing around me. “This is getting to me, man. It’s going to kill me if I don’t ease up a bit.”
“Then stop the drinking, quit smoking, and do some fucking exercise,” Dennis suggested.
“Just don’t leave Austin. You can’t leave the company in the middle of what’s going on. We have shareholders breathing down our necks, clients constantly asking for updates and sending in requests, and three new products hitting the market in the next few weeks.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t because I didn’t know what else to say.
“Chance, could you just stop and fucking listen to me?” Dennis shouted.
“I am!” I yelled back, slamming my fist into the wall.
Dennis winced and took an involuntary step back. I felt my heartbeat pick up tenfold, and I gasped for air. I leaned against the closet door, closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing.
“Okay, fine, I’m sorry, Jesus,” Dennis said.
I waved his apology away. “Forget it,” I said. “Listen, I get it, okay? I know you’re worried, but that’s why you’re here. You can do what I can do, and you know everything there is to know about the company. Keep the ship afloat until I come back, and then we can think about my future life changes. But right now, I need to get away from everything if I want to hit that restart button.”
His voice softened a bit as the reality of the situation set in. “You actually think this is going to help?”
I shrugged, feeling my heartbeat return to normal as I took a few deep breaths. “All I know is that the company’s stressing me out. It’s probably why I’m drinking the way I am, why I’m smoking the way I am. I just need to get it out of the equation for just a little bit, and maybe I can kick everything else. Just a few weeks, that’s all I’m asking. Nothing too serious.”