Perpetuate

by K. C. Ale

  “Mr. Hawkes? Is that you?”

  With a mental curse, I tear my mouth away. Why the fuck are we always getting interrupted? I might need to look into buying a vest with Do Not Disturb in bold, reflective print on the back.

  Gemma blinks, disoriented.

  I turn in place to make sure the view of Gemma’s goods is limited and face the heavyset man in a standard issued getup. His inquisitive gaze darts from me to over my shoulder, then drops to the eager protrusion at the front of my jeans.

  Shit. Forgot about that.

  His eyes quickly shift away, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I um… I received a message that you would be stopping by.”

  Nineteen

  Gemma

  We were only there for about an hour. The guard left us alone after unlocking the gate. Not all construction sites had security, Brad explained while showing me around. That one happened to capture a lot of media lately, and it was better to be safe than regretful.

  Brad proceeded to change out my footwear, sliding socks on and wrapping the long laces around the ankle of the boots before tying them. In that hour or so I learned the significant role procurement played in the grand scheme of the project. I listened and processed, feeling the bubble of excitement at starting my new job tomorrow. Maybe it was Brad’s enthusiasm, his obvious passion for building things. It was clear Brad was made for this, to run a company that’s changing landmarks and ways of life one brick at a time.

  Or perhaps it was the way he brushed his palm against my back, my arm, my shoulder at every opportunity that left me breathless with delight.

  And that kiss… oh my ever loving… God, just the thought of it has my toes curling again.

  I don’t know how long I can do this. Brad Hawkes is a force of nature, plowing down my resistance and resolve.

  Would it be so bad, a part of me wonders? He’s thoughtful, generous, and caring. Would sharing my virginity with him be so wrong? I’m sure I can do worse. I’m not saving it for my husband. That’s not something I’m even thinking about. School, a career, dad – who has time to fantasize about a husband? I’m not even saving it for the “perfect” man, not when I’m fully aware he doesn’t exist.

  Brad would be kind, patient, and as gentle as possible with me. He’s already shown that the other night.

  After washing off the dust from the jobsite, I throw on a tank top and shorts. The bruises on my neck don’t look too bad, turning a greenish yellow shade, and can likely be covered with make-up.

  Perhaps I’ll seduce Brad Hawkes today. The idea has me giddy with anticipation. What’s the big deal, right? Countless girls my age – and younger – have sex with men they barely even like. That’s not the case for me, though. I like Brad Hawkes, enjoy spending time with him. To top it off, he’s crazy hot.

  I wasted a whole day yesterday hiding in my room, wondering what he was doing, if he was even home. He periodically checked on me, but it wasn’t the same.

  No, being with Brad, giving him my virginity, it wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather share the unique experience with.

  With that in mind, I make my way downstairs. The weak screeching of door hinges from Brad’s office has me changing course and heading in that direction.

  “… not doing well as expected. He’s dehydrated and is refusing to eat.” Carlson’s deep voice is low, weary. “The counselors try to engage him, but it’s like he’s only physically there.”

  My feet slowly halt, quietly lingering just outside of the office. The door is mostly closed, but there’s a crack that allows me to make out most of the stifled conversation if I listen really hard.

  “How long has this been going on?” asks Brad.

  “Since day one.”

  “What does the staff recommend?”

  “To wait. They tell me it’s not unusual. He’s going through withdrawal, probably doesn’t even have his full mental capabilities.”

  They’re discussing my dad.

  “They can’t let him starve to death, for God’s sake.”

  “They’re not going to let that happen,” Carlson reassures indifferently. “The medical staff deals with this all the time. He’ll be fine.”

  Deals with this? That’s my father he so callously brings up like some medical experiment. A small black nose is trying to poke through the gap, and I try to shoo Bull away.

  “Gemma isn’t going to like this.”

  “So don’t tell her. There’s nothing she can do anyway, and it’s best if she’s not involved.”

  Without giving myself time to consider, I push through the door. Bull dances around in excitement as two pairs of startled eyes swing my way. Brad is immediately out of his seat, but I only have eyes for the giant who thinks my only family needs to be dealt with by aloof professionals.

  “I want to see my dad,” I demand with finality. “Take me to him.”

  “Gemmy.”

  I whirl on Brad. “Don’t Gemmy me. I need to see him.”

  He stills, jamming his fists in his pockets. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I’m sick of your ideas.” I slash my gaze back to Carlson. “My dad needs me,” I attempt to reason. “Can’t you see that?”

  Carlson’s stoic face briefly flashes to his boss. Seeming to see something there, he says to me, “I’m sorry, Miss Warton. I cannot take you to your father.”

  I never wanted to hit someone like I want to bash Carlson right this moment, but I jerk back like he took a swing at me.

  “If you won’t take me, then I’ll go myself.”

  I don’t remember storming out of the office, racing up the stairs and slamming into my bedroom, but I know I did. All I need are shoes and my purse. That’s it. I’ll find my dad on my own. I don’t need Brad Hawkes and his coldhearted, overgrown driver.

  Except I don’t know where they took him. Arizona is a big state. He can be anywhere from Tucson to Flagstaff.

  I pace around the room, lost and bewildered. What am I doing? What’s the plan?

  I’ll drive up and down the state if I have to. That’s the plan.

  Shoes. I need shoes.

  I whip around and crash right into a solid chest.

  “Get out of my way!” Stupid man! To think I was going to sign over my v-card to him. Ugh! “Why are you always in my room?”

  “It’s my house, Gemmy,” he reasons calmly.

  “Fine. You can hang out here all you want. I’m out of here.”

  “You don’t know where Peter is,” he points out the very thing I was agonizing over. “How are you going to get to him? Besides, your car isn’t here, not that the clunker can make it there.”

  “I don’t care. I have to try.”

  He nods as if agreeing with me. The patronizing dickhead.

  “That’s going to require money, Gemmy. Money you don’t have.”

  “I have money,” I retort smugly.

  A dark brow arches. “You do?”

  “Yup. Thirty-five hundred dollars.” I told Craig and Jamie not to bring it with them when they last visited, and now I can kick myself for that last minute decision.

  The other brow joins the first. “You sure about that?”

  I eye him suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?” I abruptly wave it aside. “You know what? I don’t care. I’ll get money somehow. A girl has her ways,” I vow and stomp towards the closet for shoes.

  Grabbing the sneakers and my purse, I circle around Brad for the door.

  Only he snatches them right out of my hands and hurl them in the general direction of the closet. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me, Gemma Warton?” He leans in, face contorted with freshly suppressed fury. “You are my charge, and you will stay where I put you.”

  His charge?

  I’ve never seen Brad Hawkes angry. Not really. Upset? Yes. Exasperated? Definitely. Disappointed? Once, when Carlson put his ogre hands on me outside of my dad’s house.

  But this? This red-faced, fir
e breathing, smoke shooting out of his ears man? We’ve never met. It morphed in a blink. One second he was coolly composed, even humoring me. The next he was throwing the ultimate tantrum worthy of the Hulk.

  Strangely enough, I’m not scared.

  No, not scared.

  Furiously galloping heart. The dense, hurtling breaths. Every cell and nerve ending attuned to the vibrating man in front of me about to detonate.

  This is something else entirely. Something that changed within a racing heartbeat, like Brad’s curt mood. From terrified for my dad to…

  “Brad Hawkes,” I choke out, letting my purse drop from my restless fingers. “I want you to fuck me.”

  His brows furrow, not able to compute. He shakes his head once. “What?”

  I lift my chin. “You heard me.” Then I’m wiggling out of my tank top and tossing it aside. Livid male eyes instantly zoom down to my naked breasts. “Fuck me, Brad Hawkes, and make it good. I only lose my virginity once.”

  “What am I missing here?” His voice is gruff, but his heated gaze is zipping from my face to my breasts. “You were ready to run out of here a moment ago. Now you want to fuck?”

  Lifting my hands, I cup my breasts, the tips stiff against my palms. The blistering green eyes glow. “Are you in?” I didn’t know eyes can slobber.

  That just makes me want to climb him like he’s the monkey bar and I’ve got a fuzzy ass.

  “I knew you were trying to kill me.”

  “You’ll die with a stupid grin on your face.”

  “Deal.”

  I leap on him. My legs anchor around his lean waist and I’m all over him, attacking him with my lips, my fingers fisting his hair until I’m sure he’s feeling the sweet sting on every abused follicle.

  His big hands clamp my ass, kneading the flesh while caveman-groaning into my mouth. He tastes like coffee and cheese strudel and cake pop and every amazing thing on the Starbucks menu.

  Pulling back, I frown at him. “Did you go to Starbucks without me?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of going to Starbucks without you,” he assures with choppy breaths, rolling with it. “You want to ask me more questions, or do you want me to pop that thing stuck on you?”

  Finally! “Ooh, a romantic,” I mock. “Pop it, big boy. Wait,” I stall when he dips his head. “Condoms?”

  If he has a free hand, he would’ve smacked it against his forehead. In the next minute he’s carrying me across the room and out into the hallway. There’s a beat of panic when I remember Carlson and I’m naked except for the shorts, but we’re already in the master bedroom before I can voice a protest.

  He tosses me on the huge bed and watches me bounce with devouring eyes. Yanking off his shirt, he lobs it over his shoulder without taking that hungry gaze off me. Every burning inch of me.

  I gulp. And gulp again.

  There’s no hair on his chest. All smooth skin and toned muscles. His arms are molded with a blade and perfected with hard work. Like he has a sledgehammer and knows how to use it.

  “Do that again,” he says in that rough, sexy voice.

  “Do what?” But I know, because he’s eyes are branding my breasts. “You mean this?” Instead of cupping them like I did a few minutes ago, I push them up with my hands. The tips are so achy that I’m afraid to even graze them. “Or this?” I squeeze the soft mounds together and watch his eyes glaze.

  Then his mouth is there. Oh yes. Such talented mouth.

  I keep my hands in place as he alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking. He needs the extra hands, as it turns out, because his are sliding down my sides and pushing at my shorts and panties. They seem to fly off and land somewhere with a limp plop.

  This is happening. This is really happening.

  His mouth takes mine, takes it for all it’s worth, his tongue foraying in and out in a luscious mimic of what he’s about to do to me. My palms, not entirely steady, roam his back, his firm ass, but I groan a protest when they come into contact with fabric.

  Lips pressed on mine pull back into a smirk. “You want them off?” he asks against them.

  “Only fair.”

  “Then take them off.”

  I do, urgently shoving them down. He helps by chucking them the rest of the way once they’re beyond my reach.

  I have zero experience with this, but I am curious. Easing him off me enough so I can take a look, I marvel at the amazing physical differences between us. His body is taut, unyielding. Where he’s hard, I’m giving. The ripples and contours are stern, yet smooth enough to invite touch.

  Reaching over, I take him in hand. It’s rigid but velvety, an unexpected and wonderful contrast. His eyes are on me, avidly watching me explore. My fingers find their way lower, my nails rasping against the sacs. He jolts but doesn’t stop me.

  “Am I hurting you?” I want to know.

  He chuckles, a sensual rumble. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

  “Not when your balls are literally in the palm of my hand.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that but fumbles for the drawer next to the bed and pulls out a string of foil packages.

  I eye the warehouse supply. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I like to be prepared.” Separating one from the bundle, he uses his teeth to rip the package open. “Put this on me.” He grabs my hand. “Like this.”

  He’s so hot, I don’t know how the rubber doesn’t melt. With some fancy wrist actions, Brad shows me how to protect us both.

  My inhale is loud and a little shaky. “I guess this is it.”

  His eyes soften. “Are you sure about this, Gemmy?”

  I nod. “It’s you I want to do this with. Right here, right now.”

  When he lowers his lips to mine, I’m thinking that’s it, my stiff body bracing for the brusque penetration. His mouth doesn’t stop there, though. It cruises down, tasting my skin and the nerves practically bouncing off of it. The soft lips worship my neck, my breasts, before drifting down my side and nibbling my stomach.

  Down more to the apex of my legs. My mind goes back to that night we were together, to where he played my body so expertly, and I shiver in anticipation. He doesn’t make me wait but part my thighs, savoring a part of me I’ve never shown to another man, much less have him sip and lick and suckle with relish.

  My heavy, panting breaths are the only sound I hear. His confident, damp tongue and prickly jaw the only things I feel.

  “Oh my God.” Fingers I didn’t remember having roughly fists his hair while one of his slides inside me. “Oh… God.”

  He’s doing that thing. That thing where he’s gently thrusting his finger right at that spot.

  And I’m coiled so tight I’m going to blast right off this bed.

  “Brad.” A moan-cry. “Oh!”

  I go blind, deaf, and stupid. That’s the only explanation for the intense explosion in my body.

  Hazy light. Foggy brain. Limp body.

  This is a good feeling. Oh yes, this is an excellent pastime.

  Something much too thick and hard is prodding me. My lids fly up and I’m clutching Brad for a completely different reason.

  “Relax for me,” he murmurs in my ear. “Relax, okay? This will only hurt for a few minutes.”

  A few minutes? That long?

  He hooks my knee over one arm, opening me up further.

  And plunges.

  I yelp. Or scream. I’m not sure, because I think I just split in half. A man continues to murmur to me. Frantic, worried.

  “Gemmy.” Lips on my stiff jaw. My stinging mouth. “Gemmy, talk to me.”

  “Am I dead?” I mutter. “Did I die a virgin after all?”

  His forehead rests on mine. “No, baby. You’re not dead. And you’re not a virgin anymore.”

  Well, there’s that then.

  He gives me time to adjust, though I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to ever get used to this delicious sense of fullness. When he starts moving, the pace is slow a
nd measured, and I decide it’s not too bad.

  Brad wants me to come, he says, but I can’t. This first time is too raw, too achy, and that cannot be isolated for my body to enjoy what he’s doing.

  With a long, vibrant groan, he drives into me, and I watch with fascination how much pleasure he takes from my body.

  Worth every pinch and throb, I decide a moment before his full weight collapses on top of me.

  Twenty

  Gemma

  I don’t blame them for their dubious and at times probing looks. After all, I’m the new blood. A part-time employee with no relevant experience or a degree, yet here I am on my first day at HC given, from what I can see, a prime workstation by the large window with a view of the infinite sky.

  Procurement isn’t a big division and shares the open space with IT. There is one other procurement specialist besides me, and Tiffani is at the other side near the men’s restroom.

  Ouch.

  Tiffani isn’t exceptionally approachable. In fact, after our obligatory introductions where she basically muttered a hey, she disappeared behind her desk. I haven’t heard or seen her since.

  I shift in my new chair – a heavenly weaved contraption that worships my ass – but end up wincing at the tenderness between my legs. Brad Hawkes is a beast in the bedroom. And in the shower. I willingly went into this thing with him, I remind myself. No regrets or second thoughts. One minute I was livid and panicking over what was happening with my dad, the next I was naked on his bed.

  Who knew fury can be an aphrodisiac?

  Afterwards, Brad had promised my dad was being taken care of with the utmost attention. In hindsight, I was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Where would I have begun looking for him? Jamie and Craig had gently warned me for years that I wasn’t helping my dad by always being there for him and that I was probably hindering him. Now Brad, in his way, is forcing me to see that maybe they had a point. My dad not eating? I find that hard to believe. He’s up to his old tricks, trying to wring attention or sympathy or whatever it is he feels he needs. He’s done that plenty of times with me over the years. The manipulation doesn’t stop just because he crossed a state line.