Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Dallas
F uck: she’s pretty when she comes.
She was always pretty, but this time, her hair tangled on my pillow, her skin flushed with the heat of a mind-altering orgasm. Her tits rose and fell with every ragged breath, and those dusky nipples drew my attention— and my mouth watered.
While she recovered, I reached over to the bedside table and took out the box of condoms I always carried with me, tore open a packet, and rolled one over my length. She opened her eyes and looked at me, the color of her irises a bare rim with how brown her pupils were.
Leaning in, I slid my hands under her knees and spread her wider. Her slit was glistening and ready for me. “Put your hands on the headboard,” I ordered, and she shuddered.
When she wrapped her fingers around the posts, I kept her hands close together, wrapping my hand around her wrists. “This is not going to go slow,” I warned her, “Or gentle.”
Her back arched. “I don’t need either.”
Thank god she was so wet for me because I was big. I positioned myself at her opening and, with a grunt, slammed into her with one thrust. She arched back, a scream in her throat. Her pussy constricted around me like a vice.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.” I let my hand drop from her hip and moved to my knees.
After catching my breath, I slammed into her, thrusting in and out harder and harder, working out my mingling lust and frustration with her. Lips parted, Blair gripped the headboard until her knuckles went white as I stretched her, filled her inch by inch until we were both sweat-slick and panting.
I fixed my hands under her knees and pushed them up, bottoming out with every stroke. Her skin was slick under my hands.
“Fuck,” Blair gasped. “Right there. Right there.”
I’d hit her G-spot— good. Doubling my efforts, I took her hard. “Next time, I want you above me, riding me, your tits bouncing.” Her belly contracted, and I pushed harder. “You want that? Maybe next time I’ll tie you up, get you on your knees and fuck that sweet ass of yours. Do you want that?”
She rolled her hips. “You’ve got to wine and dine me first.”
Dropping a leg, I flung her left over my shoulder. “I’ll get you drunk.”
“That’s cheating.” She gasped. “Are you scared you’ll not measure up to this?”
I gripped her hips, pumping into her as fast as I could. Sweat beaded my forehead as I fought to keep from cumming. I didn’t want this to end. “Does this look like I’m scared?”
When I expected a smart reply from her, the only sounds that came from her mouth were cries of pleasure. I wanted this— I wanted her to shatter around me, but now, all I could think about was the image of Blair bent over her desk, my dick sliding in and out of her pussy, which was ingrained in my mind forever.
The pressure in my balls startled me, and a warning sizzle shot up my shaft. This was a race to the finish.
I curved over her, my furious shoves lifting her off the bed. Blair’s back pounded against the mattress as I took her with ruthless force; right before she came, my body gave in— I shuddered like a 9.5 earthquake was in the middle of my gut. A hoarse shout burst from my chest, and he exploded inside her, melding us with the heat inside me.
Feeling her pulse and shudder around me, I couldn’t move, not one inch. I felt like I’d run a fifteen-mile marathon in the last five minutes of our fucking, and the high I felt superseded every orgasm I had ever had in my life.
Sucking in a breath, I gently pulled out of her and took off the condom, tied it off, and flopped to the bed beside her. My eyes closed; I sucked in a breath. “I didn’t say you could take your hands down.”
She laughed. “Fuck you.”
“We just did,” I replied, peeling my eyes apart and leaving the bed. My knees were shaky, but I still strode to the bathroom and returned with a cool cloth, caring for Blair like she was the most precious thing in the world.
“You don’t need to do that,” Blair said while I whisked away sweat and cum from the inside of her thighs .
“My code of ethics would disagree,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Just let me do this, and you can bitch at me later.”
Finished, I returned to the bathroom, cleaned myself up, and reemerged in the room where Blair had made herself at home under my sheets. I cocked my head and gazed at her while she punched one of my pillows into shape.
“What?” She asked. “Or is it in your code of ethics to kick a girl out after that?”
Joining her in bed, I folded my hands under my head. “Is this going to be awkward from here on?”
“Only if you make it so,” Blair replied. “Or we can go back to sniping at each other if you want.”
“I’d prefer that,” I replied.
She turned to me. “And you are now my coffee bitch.”
I craned my head to her. “I came two seconds after you.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Blair grinned. “The terms were stated, and you agreed to them. QED…”
“If you dare start talking Latin to me…,” I warned.
“I don’t even have the strength to be talking now,” she said, eyes closed. “But by two seconds or twenty minutes, you still lost. I want a cappuccino tomorrow. Extra foam and mocha drizzle, thank you.”
I eyed her. “You’re not bossing me around.”
“I don’t like you much either,” Blair said. “But you’re still my lackey now.”
Keeping my eyes on Blair, I was close enough to count her lashes. “And what would you like me to call you when I give you your coffee, hm? Your Highness? Your Majesty?”
“Either will work,” Blair said. “Without the heavy dash of sarcasm, thanks. Sarcasm turns my coffee sour.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
After another trip to the building site, now dusted with a layer of melting snow, we finally got to the Riverbend Café, a building that had not been there before I’d left. It had all the makings of Starbucks but was not so pretentious. It didn’t matter because I was sure Miss Bougie was loving this.
“This is awesome,” Blair said, looking around. “Reminds me of some of the smaller traditional shops back home.”
“So, what’s your poison?” I looked around at the glass cabinets and the rows of fancy coffee machines. I stepped aside as a waiter passed by with a tray of glasses and platters of baked treats. “Oh right, cappuccino with extra foam and some drizzle?”
“Mocha,” she said.
“Well, go buy it,” I said.
Her brows shot up. “What?”
I leaned in. “The terms were I would carry your order to you. Nowhere in that did I say I have to buy it. Do I remind you about negotiations? The legal principle is ambiguity in a contract benefits the party that did not draft it, in this case, me.”
She stared at me for nearly twenty seconds before laughing and slapping her hand on the wall, almost curving into herself. We drew a few eyes to ourselves, but I didn’t pay them much attention.
“I guess that business degree is working for you.” Blair laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to jump from corporate lackey to corporate leader? Because I might have a job for you.”
“No thanks,” I replied, checking my watch. “And we need to hurry up. We’re needed at the diner in two hours for this Secret Santa briefing.”
Shifting from her place, Blair went to the counter, ordered her drink, and looked at the artwork on the walls. When the barista called her name, I scooped the drink up and presented it to her with a flourished bow. She snorted and took the drink, sucked the straw between those pouty lips, and for a second— a split second— I thought back to the moment she’d wrapped those lips around me.
I shivered. God, she had a mouth.
A pure orgasmic sound came from her mouth, forcing my head to snap to her as I was heading to the door, almost tripping over the rug on the floor, nearly slamming my head into the glass door.
Blair blinked up at me, as innocent as possible.
She’d done that on purpose; I knew it, she knew it. Hell, if the people around us knew our situation, they’d know it, too.
Huffing, I headed out to the truck and yanked the door open more forcefully than I had to. From the corner of my eye, I saw her smirk— damned blondes with a superiority complex.
We hopped into the truck, and I turned the vehicle around to head to the diner. We drove by the elementary school where the playground, lightly covered with snow from earlier, had a holiday-themed merry-go-round.
I wondered if the town square would start smelling of roasted chestnuts and pine as an impromptu band would come on out for the tree lighting, the voices carrying on the wintry evening. If it got cold enough— and it usually did— the pond in the park would turn into a skating rink, and the teens would have a field day.
“I can already see this place is one of those small towns where people go caroling and have church bake sales and charity runs,” Blair said while looking out the window with a dreamy look. “It’s the kind of place where you can go to your neighbor for a cup of sugar and not get salt instead.”
My heart twisted. “These people will give you sugar, salt, and the whole spice rack even if you don’t need it.” I hazarded a look at her. “Back in Georgia, did you know your neighbors?”
“No,” she said. “We lived five acres away from the nearest neighbors. It was not like we could hop a fence and go and play hide-and-seek with whoever was over that wall. Besides, I had ballet lessons, tennis lessons, dance lessons, and cotillion class from the moment I was five.”
“Christ,” I braked at the red light. “And I thought my extra math lessons and helping with the ranch were tough. Did you have a childhood, or was it pre-adulthood preparation?”
She fingered the plastic cup with perfectly manicured nails. “Coming from the money I’m from, childhood was evenings at the tutor’s, Saturdays at the court or on the yacht, and Sundays at the country club.”
I swore under my breath. “I am starting to feel sorry for you. Kids should be free to play and have cereal with Saturday morning cartoons. Not be stuffed in tap shoes and trotted out like puppets for mama or daddy’s social clout.”
“I’ve never seen a Saturday morning cartoon,” Blair replied.
For some reason, I was more pissed at her parents than I had any right to. A child should enjoy what childhood means, not be a mini adult from day one.
“You’re pissed at my folks, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How badly? ”
“Like what? From a scale of one to ten?”
“Yep.”
“A nine,” I said as we pulled up at the diner. “And a half.”
She was silent for a moment, and I expected her to say something about different classes having different expectations or that life isn’t the same for those in the one percent as those in the working class.
Instead, she asked, “What responsibilities did you have on the ranch before you left?”
“I was on the go from dawn to dusk,” I replied. “Back then, Grandpa had a chicken coop, and we had a couple of sheep. I’d care for them, get eggs, feed them, the whole nine yards. I’d muck out the stalls for the horses, exercise them, and feed them. At fifteen, I shot up two feet in two months, and I was on the ranch, wrestling bulls into place. The smaller ones, not the ones that would stomp your face in half.”
“You did what you had to do for your family,” Blair said quietly. “I think that is the same thing I did with mine. Only mine had us meeting Supreme Court judges and Senators over the dinner table and get-togethers. We never thought it was out of the ordinary. I suppose an ‘ordinary’ childhood is not that ordinary after all.”
And fuck, I had to agree.