9. Sawyer
Chapter 9
Sawyer
In the morning, after disposing of the extra corpse in the incinerator, I ended up at the New Host Library a few minutes past the opening. Fiona wasn’t scheduled to start her shift for hours, and yet I wanted to be there when she arrived. But I knew exactly how Fiona was doing. I had followed her home. Made sure she switched off the light and went to sleep. I had men checking her apartment every few hours to keep tabs on her. But now, I couldn’t stop myself.
Erica waved hello with one hand and a stack of books in her other. I grabbed the books before they fell and helped carry them to the staff room. Then I escaped to my office. At noon, Fiona knocked on my door, then entered my office with a stack of paperwork. Tight pants around her hips, a button-up shirt, her nipples perking.
“Hangover?” I asked.
Her eyes widened for a moment, like she had forgotten what had happened. “I chugged a sports drink before bed. Thanks for asking? ”
I headed toward the exit of the staff room. “Come with me.”
She tilted her head. “What?”
“Come. With. Me,” I said. I faced Erica and the part-time employee. “You two can handle the library for the afternoon?” They both nodded. I made eye contact with Erica: “You’re in charge.”
Fiona’s mouth gaped, but I quickly pulled her out of the building and into the luxury SUV, then closed the privacy partition separating us from the driver.
“You have a driver?” Fiona gawked. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?”
The engine rumbled underneath us as the driver took us to my actual office in the center of Pierce. Though the Feldman Farm didn’t need the front of the office space, the twenty-fifth floor of the building helped to lend an air of legitimacy to our more hesitant clients. A guard at the front door scanned his own card, then let the two of us inside. I shoved a hand in my pocket, running my thumb over the dice and the diamond-encrusted clamp. We passed a line of desks filled with workers pouring over computers, people paid to find out as much information as possible about the livestock orders. Some had even used our services before applying to work for us, all of them earning their loyalty. And the ones that weren’t loyal?
We had a way to take care of them.
“Research assistants,” I explained.
“Good morning, Mr. Feldman,” my secretary piped up.
“Morning. We’re not to be disturbed,” I said.
I scanned my fingerprint, then opened the door to my office, holding it for Fiona. She stepped through. Our business office resided on the twenty-fifth floor of a major office building in the middle of the city, with a floor-to-ceiling view of Pierce to the grassy fields of Crown Creek. A coffee and liquor bar stood in one corner of the room next to a landscape painting. A slate velvet u-sectional was positioned to the side with a pillow and blanket on top.
Fiona’s eyes landed on the pillow.
“You sleep here?” she asked.
I headed to the bar, filling the portafilter with finely ground coffee. My phone buzzed in my pocket; Wilder flashed on the screen. I stowed it. Once I was finished making our drinks, I would call him back.
Fiona tucked hair behind her ear as she sat down on the sectional. Her hands skimmed the fabric of the blanket, then fell back into her lap. I waited for her to question me, but she was quiet. She studied the room, trying to use it to figure out more about me.
I brought her a cappuccino. She thanked me and we sipped in silence. And yet, with Fiona in my office, a lightness fell over my chest. In this space, it was like we had the world to ourselves. The double doors were locked. No one could see inside my office from that side of the building. But we could see the world out of those windows. It was almost like admiring our kingdom together.
“Humor me,” I said. I put my mug down on the side table. We could try this again. “What do you want?”
“Huh?” Confusion rippled across her lips. “My own library. I told you that.”
I crooked my head. “You’re obsessed with books?”
“I like the sense of community, actually,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who you are. People from out of town, people who have nothing, people who need a quiet place to study—everyone can use the library, and no one polices you. It’s one of the last public spaces we have. ”
It was the same sentiment she had repeated at the restaurant, but right then, those words hit a different chord in me. She didn’t seem arrogant enough to think she could save the world, but she did obviously want to protect a safe place for others.
I gave her a casual nod. “I’m not talking about that.”
“No?”
“You, Fiona. What do you want?”
She sipped her drink, her eyes falling down to her lap. “I don’t understand.”
“You can talk all day about your dream library and how it will fulfill you. But that doesn’t come close to what keeps you going, what suits you, that need that perpetually fills you.”
Her knees parted slightly. “Are you talking about last night?”
Last night, while lying on that same cushion she was sitting on right now, I had stroked myself to that memory of her pressed up against the wall, molding to my touch.
I could give her a hint.
“Your needs. Your desires, Fiona. What are they?”
“Do you mean sexually?” she asked. I nodded deeply. Her eyes blinked. “I don’t know. I guess I like the stuff everyone else does.”
“I’m not talking about everyone else. I’m talking about you. Tell me what you want.”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
I dipped my chin, staring down at her. “Your knees,” I said. “Every time a bolt of energy runs through you, they part further, opening yourself to me. The same with your lips. Your hand twitches when you’re nervous, but it’s your eyes that give you away.” Our eyes locked then, her gaze glossy and hungry. “Your pupils dilate. And like many passionate people, you only focus on what you want.” And right then, her attention was on me. “But the best part? When you’re nervous, your eyes blink until you can focus again.” I leaned in closer. “Do I make you nervous, Fiona?”
She sucked in her breath, her eyes blinking.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Do you want me, Fiona?”
She blushed, touching her cheek. Her answer was almost inaudible: “Yes.”
Warmth pumped through my veins, surging to my cock. “Spread your legs.”
Her lips parted, her eyes cast on me.
“Don’t think,” I instructed. I moved an ottoman in front of her, then sat down. I gripped her knees, forcing them apart. “Act. Do what you want.”
Finally, her knees parted more. She arched her lower back. Her pussy lips rubbed her pants, rocking on the couch.
“Does that feel good?” I asked. “Letting yourself go like that?”
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes flickering, but she met mine once again. Her nipples pebbled under that thin button-up shirt, teasing me.
“Unbutton your blouse,” I ordered.
Her lips closed. She glanced at the office door. “Sawyer, I?—”
“They can’t see you.” I smiled, then; she had said my name. I motioned toward the window. “And if anyone can see you down there, they won’t be able to tell who you are. It’s thrilling, isn’t it?” I rubbed my cock through my pants, my eyes focused on her. “Letting yourself be my little plaything. ”
“Sawyer,” she murmured, both full of embarrassment and desire.
My eyes moved to those black buttons. “Do it, Fiona,” I said in a low voice. “Before I do it for you.”
She paused, her tongue flickering over her lips. Her movements were clumsy, hesitant over that first button, getting stuck over the next, but then she picked up speed, not giving herself a chance to think.
Good. She was learning to give herself over to her desires, then.
My phone buzzed again. I ignored it.
The fabric of her shirt hung down at the sides, exposing the space between her breasts, each heavy curve ripe. I salivated, caressing the bulge of my dick through my trousers.
“Take off your pants,” I said.
She closed her eyes, then her palms clenched the fabric of the sofa.
“Sawyer,” she murmured again.
She needed more encouragement then.
“We’re playing a game,” I whispered. “That’s all. And trust me when I say that this is me playing nice.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “You’re my sister’s brother-in-law,” she whispered.
As if that meant anything to me. I was the one who had put her sister on my family’s radar in the first place. I pulled the ottoman forward, then gripped the back of her head.
“And you kissed me last night,” I said. “As far as family love is concerned, you’ve already broken that rule.”
She bit her bottom lip, then puffed out her cheeks. “You’re my boss.”
“You know what, Fiona?” I breathed down onto her. “I don’t care. ”
She licked her lips again, then finally stood, unbuttoning her pants, easing them down over her hips, showing me those soft thighs. As she settled on the sofa again, her sensitive skin pressed against the fabric, my cock twitched, growing for her.
“Spread yourself,” I said. “I want to see your cunt.”
Her knees stretched wide, her pussy lips glistened with need.
“If you don’t know what you want, then you’re going to learn.”
“You’re going to touch me?” she asked.
It was almost a request.
“All you have to do is ask,” I said, stroking her ear like a pet.
“Please,” she whispered, her whole body curling inside itself, like she couldn’t believe she was actually asking me.
She had figured it out, then. Saying ‘please’ would get her what she wanted, but saying ‘Mr. Feldman’ would stop me.
“Good girl,” I said. I reached down, pressing my fingertip into her slit, but not inside of her yet. She was sopping wet. “Look at how desperate you are for my cock,” I growled. “Tell me, little pet. What would you do for me to slide inside of you right now?”
She stammered, unable to find the words, her pussy grinding on my finger, eager for the penetration.
I chuckled; I knew she wouldn’t be able to answer.
“Such a wet little slut,” I said, finally coaxing my finger in and out of her, her walls tightening, begging for me. “You want more, don’t you?”
“Yes, please,” she murmured. I abruptly stopped, pulling the diamond-encrusted clamp from my pocket, the jewels shining in the light. Two small chains dangled from it with weighted dice, diamonds in place of the dots. Fiona’s eyes flickered to it, then stopped in a daze. Perfect for yanking off of her tender clit.
Her pupils dilated, rounding out. I opened and closed the clamp on her clit. She sucked in a breath but kept writhing on the couch, her pussy soaking the cushion.
“Look at the mess you made on the sofa,” I laughed. She momentarily froze. I waved her on. “Don’t stop, slut. You can’t help but stain my couch, can you? It’s so hot. What will the cleaning staff think when I tell them what you did?”
“Sawyer—” she moaned right as I pinched her nipples, twisting them hard between my fingers.
“I love the way you say my name,” I growled.
I picked her up, her wet pussy straddling me as I gripped her ass, carrying her to the desk. I swiped the contents off of it, then sat her on top, spreading her legs as far as they would go. Her pretty pink folds were splayed out on my desk, her juices already gathering on the surface. I kneeled down, my face closer to her pussy. The jeweled clamp on her clit, swollen and red, glistening with arousal.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” I murmured.
“Please,” she whimpered.
I ignored her, playing with her folds, inching her forward until I could press a finger inside of her. Her tight walls gripped around me.
“Please,” she moaned, louder this time, “Fuck me.”
Her words were close. I could win the game and make her surrender to me: all she had to do was put those two words— please, Sawyer —together.
“Say those two words for me and I’m yours,” I said in a low voice.
Her lips pressed together, her eyes flicking back and forth like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do. She wanted to prove herself, wanted to win, wanted her library more than she wanted to give in to me.
But it was tempting her.
“My stubborn little slut,” I said, grinning. “Kneel.”
She stuttered, unable to move, so I picked her off of the desk, moving her to her knees, forcing her head down.
“Good girls get fucked in the pussy,” I said, unzipping my trousers, my cock springing from my boxers. “Bad girls get their mouths used.” I shoved my dick down her throat until her nose was against my skin. She pushed back, but I kept her head in place. “Lick my balls. Show me how badly you want to be good.” She stilled, but like a good plaything, she stuck out her tongue, trying to reach my sack, gagging herself as she did.
I growled, grabbing her cheeks as I rammed into her mouth. “Touch yourself,” I commanded. “Show me you’re my good little slut.” She cried out, her moans muffled by my cock, but she fucked her fingers. And when I could see that final twitch bucking inside of her, I removed my cock and ripped the clamp from her hood, the blood rushing back to her clit and intensifying her orgasm. She vibrated, her moans bursting out, and I shoved my cock back in her mouth.
She was so damn hot. I came, filling her throat.
My phone vibrated again. Two more missed messages from Wilder. Fiona sighed, the redness in her cheeks deepening as she covered her chest with her arms, as if that could shield her from the depravity. I pulled her arms until she was showing her tits to me.
Still on her knees. Messed up hair. Red, tender skin. Puffy lips.
She was a gorgeous sight .
Finally, I opened the secure messaging app.
Call now, Wilder had texted.
The next message: Where are you?
Then: Kyle’s dead.
I stood, quickly dressing, then ran to the door. My scalp prickled, blood throbbing in my forehead. What was I doing with her here in the first place? It was supposed to give me a clear mind to be able to do this to her, to show her how desperate she truly was.
But she was still stubborn as hell. And now, I had missed what was truly important.
“Sawyer?” Fiona asked.
“Work,” I said. I unlocked the door. “My secretary will find a driver to take you back to the library.”
“Wait!” I paused, looking back at her. She crossed her arms again, trying to hide her body from my employees. “Can I come with you?”
I considered teasing her for her request, but I had to get out of there right then. I had to leave her there, for now. Would she snoop through my office? No—she wouldn’t. She was a good girl. And good girls didn’t look where they weren’t supposed to. She was far too trusting.
And perhaps I was too trusting of her.
I shook my head, then raced to the SUV, heading back to the Feldman Farm. In the Dairy Barn, Wilder’s face was red and blotchy, a vein pulsing in his neck. He flexed his shoulders, about to punch me.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“The office,” I said.
“I called you. I texted you three times.”
“Get to the point,” I said. “What happened to Kyle?”
Wilder pointed to the tarp. Wrapped inside of it, Kyle’s head poked out, a bullet in his shoulder, another in his forehead.
The wounds were the indicator, their usual mark. “Hatchcom Focus,” I said.
“They attacked in the middle of a livestock order, right after Kyle had taken down the target,” another rancher explained.
“They’re starting a war,” Wilder said.
“They’re not starting a war,” I argued.
Wilder growled. “That was one of my best men.” Kyle was good, but he wasn’t perfect. He had times where he lost his touch, like when I had to do the final blow for one of his recent Dairy Barn kills. “Like hell they aren’t?—”
“They’re losing a war,” I explained. “Where’s Roth?”
Wilder stilled. The anger still hammered through his veins, but my words had appeased him for now. It wasn’t normal for Wilder to be upset like this. But he shouldn’t have been. I wasn’t going to let our family business be destroyed by Hatchcom Focus.
The silence told me what I needed to know. They had searched for Roth, but couldn’t find him.
I stepped off to the side, dialing Roth for the first time since our meeting at the anniversary party.
“Roth,” he answered.
“I see our teams were acquainted,” I said. “But you seem to have mistaken how we run our business in Crown Creek.”
“Your brother killed our original owner,” Roth said. “It’s lucky that it wasn’t you on that mission, Feldman.”
I laughed. Our war was on. “Get ready, Roth.”
I clicked off my phone. Wilder jutted his chin forward, waiting for an explanation. His left hand twitched, his wedding ring shining in the light. He wasn’t pissed about the war; he was angry that his wife was potentially in danger.
Perhaps I understood that anger now. If Hatchcom Focus had been the ones to leave Fiona that message on her car, then this war was personal for me too. No one could mess with Fiona. She was mine.
It was time to figure out our next move.