2. Anders
Anders
I fucking hate New York.
The fall air whips around my body as I head back to the bougie-ass hotel the department put me up at for the next few weeks. Well, not the department–whoever paid enough money to pull me off desk duty back home and fly my ass here first-class.
I fucking hate rich people.
If it weren’t for the fact that Mom needs help looking after Grams full-time, I would have turned down this job in a heartbeat. Who the fuck flies a retired detective from Los Angeles, California, all the way to New York City for a case? Fucking politicians.
“They requested you ‘cause you’re the best person for the job, whether you think so or not. It’s been six years, Brooks. Stop beating yourself up over it. You should have never stopped being a special agent. You’re too young, barely pushing forty. Go collect a fat check to help your family out and come back rich enough not to have to work a desk anymore. You can spend the rest of your life out on the water.”
My lieutenant was just as surprised when the office got the request, but apparently, my reputation precedes me. That’s what you fucking get for being good at your job. No fucking peace even after you want to leave it all behind. Money talks, and politicians have a more decisive way with words that usually end in you not having a choice but to do as they ask.
Apparently, it didn’t even matter that the last time I was on a job like this, people died, and it was all my fault.
I can’t let it happen again. Get the job done and get out. No distractions, Brooks.
Realizing I need to be over on 5th, I cut across West 45th, passing a restaurant that looks decent for dinner—if maybe a little pricey. Everything is on this rich asshole’s dime anyway, might as well take advantage of it.
Places in New York are deceiving. Everything looks small until you walk in and realize it’s much bigger than its outside appearance leads you to believe. I spent the entire afternoon scoping out various spots around the city, trying to get a feel for the concrete jungle before jumping into this case tomorrow, and almost every place doubled or tripled in size when I entered it.
The dimly lit restaurant is no exception. It gives off more of an old jazz club vibe than a romantic one. Even though the outside is draped in flowers with the restaurant's name sprawled in calligraphy on their sign, the inside has dark red leather booths, egg yolk lighting, and black and white patterned tile that makes up the floor. There’s a bar that takes up the entire left wall when you walk in, and a large staircase that leads to another floor with more tables and booths.
The bartender nods at me as I slide onto a stool next to an empty one. There’s a martini glass in front of it with a napkin over the top to hold the person’s place. “What can I get you?”
“Top shelf whiskey, neat. And a dinner menu, please.” I browse the food—a random selection of seafood appetizers, vegetable sides, and meat entrées—ordering New York steak frites when he slides my drink in front of me.
“Such a man choice,” a female purrs on my right. My gaze swings over to see a fucking vision in a red pantsuit. Long, thick raven hair, olive skin, and eyes so dark I can’t tell what shade of brown they are. Her jacket is open to showcase a black lace top that hugs tits that look too perfect to be real, and her feet are encased in tall, strappy black heels that she hooks around the lower bar of the empty stool as she sits. “You should try the oysters.”
“Not into seafood,” I tell her, angling my body to give her my full attention. She looks like the type of woman I’d gravitate to back home, with a devious glint in her eye that tells me she knows she looks like sex on legs, and I’m already imagining them wrapped around my neck.
Shamelessly, she drags her eyes over my body, her thick lashes fluttering when she catches me watching her do it. “What are you into?” she asks suggestively, tone playful. Her East Coast accent has an edge to it, something else mixing with the sexy drawl of her vowels.
No distractions, Brooks.
Then again, work doesn’t start until tomorrow.
I shrug lazily, sipping my drink before answering her. “Gorgeous women spread out on my hotel bed wearing nothing but me.”
One dark, delicate eyebrow arches. “Bold.”
“Confident,” I clip, my eyes darting down to her breasts.
“Cocky.” She grins, finishing her martini and raising the glass to the bartender to signal for a new one. While she’s looking at him, I stare at her crimson-painted lips and imagine what they’d look like wrapped around my thick cock.
It’s been a while since I’ve fucked anyone. Too long. Only five seconds in, and I think this stunning woman and I are already on the same page. There’s no wedding ring on her finger. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a green light.
“It’s working, though, isn’t it?” I flash her a smirk.
She shakes her head with a throaty chuckle. “You can’t handle me, sweetheart.”
Challenge fucking accepted.
“Baby, when I’m through with you, you’ll be begging for seconds, thirds, and fourths because I handled you so well.”
The bartender doesn’t disguise his snort as he gives her another drink. Okay, so it was a cheesy pickup line. I’m shooting my shot here. That would have worked on a girl back home.
I’m not dealing with a girl here, though. She’s a woman, and she’s completely unphased. “Where are you from, smooth guy?”
“What makes you think I’m not a local?” My food arrives, but I ignore it, now hungry for something else instead.
Huffing a laugh, she eyes me again. “Everything about you.”
I’m wearing jeans and a black shirt, my California tan highlighting all the tattoos on my arms. Guess that’s too casual for flashy New York. “West Coast. In town on business for a little while.”
“What kind of business?” She takes a long pull of her drink, finishing half of it in one gulp. It makes me wonder if she’s got a gag reflex. Barely five minutes, and the only thing I can think of is having sex with this woman.
“What’s your name?” I don’t answer her. The less people who know I’m a detective, the better. If she pushes, I’ll pull a bullshit job title out of my ass.
“Cara. Yours?”
“Anders.” I don’t know why I tell her my real name or, at least, my nickname. Usually, I’d tell a woman my last name because it’s less personal and harder for them to try and track me down afterward.
“Well, Anders. Welcome to New York.” She leans over and grabs a fry from my plate. She smells like rich chocolate with a touch of tobacco and vanilla. Her scent drapes itself along my skin, winding around my organs until it grabs the one between my legs and strokes it roughly. “Be careful. This city will eat you alive.”
Cara makes a show of sliding the fry through her lips, pushing it between them with a pointed, black-painted nail. Then she slips off her stool after finishing her drink. Nodding to the bartender, she tells him, “Have a good night, Danny. Put these on my tab, would you?”
Wait a second. What?
“Sure thing, Cara. Be careful getting home,” he responds while he makes a batch of blue-colored martinis .
She winks at me as she heads for the exit. “Night, smooth guy.”
Too stunned to speak, I watch her leave.
“You’re a fucking idiot if you don’t go after her. That’s as good of an invitation as you’ll get from her, dude,” Danny says.
Quickly, I drain my drink and slap a hundred next to my plate of untouched food. “Keep the change.”
When I make it outside, she’s getting into a cab. Pushing a few people out of my way, I open the other side’s door just as she shuts hers and climb in next to her. “The St. Regis,” I tell the driver.
She blinks at me with wide eyes when I meet her gaze. “Bold,” she says sharply.
Slinging my arm around the back of her seat, I flash her a smile that usually melts the panties off the women back home. “Confident, baby.”
Cara scrutinizes me for a few seconds before humming. “Consider me intrigued, smooth guy.”
It takes far too much time to travel the ten blocks to my hotel. By the time we arrive, my knee is bouncing uncontrollably, and I’m already sporting an erection the size of a baseball bat. All Cara did the whole way was watch me like she was getting ready to eat a bloody steak after fasting for a week. She looks absolutely ravenous, and I’m more than ready to satiate her hunger.
“A suite? Must be some job,” she lilts as we walk into the room, shrugging off her jacket and placing it with her purse on the sofa. Her top is backless, and now that I’m getting a better look at it, I have a feeling she’s wearing lingerie beneath her pantsuit. My cock salutes her, standing at attention. Then I’m hit with the reality that I don’t have any condoms.
“Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”
“I’ve got one.” She rises from unstrapping her shoes, hands going to the button of her pants. As she drops them, I swallow thickly. There’s lingerie, and then there’s lingerie.
Her set is all black lace and satin—the corset top flares out over her hips and connects to a set of garters that are nothing but thick satin bands around her thighs, with a barely there, high-waisted thong.
Usually, I’m the predator. But the way she’s looking at me makes me feel more like prey.
“Are you going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to show me what you’re working with there? Right now, you’re leaning more cocky than confident, smooth guy,” she croons, pulling a gold-foil package from her purse.
It only takes me three strides to make it to her. Without her shoes, her head barely reaches the top of my chest, putting her no taller than five-six. “So mouthy.” I cradle her jaw and tilt her head back, sealing my lips to hers. She tastes like the martini she was drinking—fruity and sweet as her tongue slides against mine. Cupping my hands beneath her bare thighs, I lift her with ease and walk to the bedroom. Our lips never disconnect as I sit her on the end of the bed, laying her back while I continue to ravish her mouth. Her hands run down my shirt, unbuttoning my pants so she can reach in and palm my cock. When she feels along my length, her breath hitches, legs tensing on either side of me.
She breaks our kiss. “This feels promising, but I only have one condom.”
Taking a step back, my eyes travel the length of her glorious hourglass shape. “Guess I better make it fucking count then, huh?”
She leans back on her elbows, spreading her legs wide, revealing that her thong is crotchless and her bare pussy is already glistening. “What are you waiting for?”
Eyes trained on the slice of Heaven between her legs, I peel my shirt off, stalking forward before removing my pants. As I free my cock, she eyes it hungrily, licking her lips. “Good for you,” she trills, holding out the condom between her pointer and middle finger.
“Baby, we’re nowhere near ready for that yet.” My hands look giant as they wrap around her tiny waist, hauling her up the bed to the mass of pillows at the head. She lets out a little squeal as her legs cage my midsection. Pushing her knees out, I spread her legs as wide as they’ll go while scooting back to lay on my stomach. “Keep them spread. ”
“Yes, sir,” she says it like a joke, laughing to herself as she cups her breasts through her top.
My hand flies between her legs to slap her pussy, relishing as she jolts in surprise before her eyes shoot to mine. I’m not gentle, and the hungry look she gives me tells me she likes it like that. “Don’t get mouthy.”
Fire dances in her eyes, making me think of a bonfire under the starry night sky. The urge to disobey blazing passionately in their depths. “Then fill it with something to keep me quiet.”
Fuuuck. This woman.
Changing my mind about eating her pussy, I straddle her chest in the blink of an eye, wrapping one hand around her thick hair while the other guides my cock to her mouth. She takes it greedily, crimson lips parting to swallow every inch of me until I’m hitting the back of her throat. Her tongue swirls around my length as she pulls back to suck the tip of my flushed crown.
Cara’s mouth on me is like the sunset at the beach. Warm as it leaves, inviting illicit trysts to take its place under the cover of darkness. She works my cock like a pro, massaging my balls with one hand while she claws her nails up my chest with the other. Where most women would need to stroke the rest of my length, she chokes on it eagerly as I hold her head and fuck her mouth while we maintain eye contact.
She pulls back with a pop, saliva dripping from my cock down her chin as she rakes her nails back down my chest like she’s trying to scoop out my insides. “Your turn.”
“Fucking gladly.” I get back in my previous position and attack her pussy with my mouth. I’m not gentle as I shove two fingers inside her soaked slit and nibble at her engorged clit with my teeth before sucking it into my mouth in rapid succession.
“More,” she moans, “your cock is thicker than that. Get me ready for it, smooth guy.”
Adding a third, I look up to see her watching me with a mischievous grin. There’s something about the fact that she’s still dressed in all of her lingerie that is so fucking visually appealing, but makes a primal part of me want to shred it to pieces with my teeth. “Yeah? You need another one, baby?” She throws her head back, mouth falling open as I pump her with all four fingers, thumb sliding against her clit with every thrust.
Cara’s making a mess all over my hand, and I rip my fingers from her to smear it all over my chest while I grab the condom. She raises a curious eyebrow at my actions, and while I sheath my cock in the sheer latex, I tell her, “So I can smell you after you’ve left. Your scent is fucking intoxicating.”
Her little giggles are cut off by a gasp as I notch my head at her entrance, pushing inside her to my base in one thrust. She’s so fucking tight, her walls trying to resist my length before they finally welcome and envelop me in a vise grip. “Fuck, you feel good.” She sighs.
Bracing my weight on one arm, I cradle her head with the other, forcing her to look at me. “Cocky or confident?”
I slide in and out of her wet heat as she stares up at me through her thick lashes. Her breaths are coming in ragged gasps, and mine match when she reaches between us and cups my balls as she responds, “Cocky.”
Faster than I can register, she squeezes my sensitive flesh hard before rolling me onto my back. My hands instantly find her hips as she lets go and begins to ride me. It feels like I’ve died and gone to Heaven, though I bet they don’t have vixens like her up there. She jerks her hips roughly, taking me deep and sliding my cock against her G-spot with every pass. “Holy fuck, baby. Keep riding like that.”
“ This is what confidence looks like.” She grabs my hands and slides them up her body to cup her breasts. Pulling down her top, I roll each nipple between my thumb and forefinger. They feel real—are definitely fake—but I have no fucking complaints when she’s riding my dick like it’s a bucking bronco.
“Looks like fucking perfection.” I let go of her nipples and slap both tits, watching as they jiggle.
She leans forward to suck my bottom lip into her mouth, biting the flesh and pulling it between us. Cupping her neck with one hand, I slap her tit again, more harshly this time, with the other. Cara’s little squeals are like porn ASMR as I jackrabbit into her. The sound of our flesh slapping together reverberates around the room as she releases my lip and grabs the headboard, using it as leverage.
“Oh, God, I’m gonna come,” she says with a long moan. She reaches behind her and begins massaging my balls again. I don’t think I’ve been with a woman who pays so much attention to them, but holy fuck, does it feel amazing. It’s like she knows exactly how to handle them to heighten the pleasure.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Come all over my cock. I want you to fucking drench me.” I keep pounding into her as her walls clench around my length, milking my release from me. Her cries are loud as she comes, squeezing so tightly I can feel her ass flex beneath my fingers. With my hands full of her ass cheeks, I grind her against me, making sure to angle just right so that her clit rubs against my pubic bone.
Her eyes squeeze shut as another wave rocks her body. It’s like liquid heat spilling all over me. If I had to rate my sexual experiences on a board, she’d be at the very top with every gold star and A+ I could give.
I’m still emptying myself inside the condom when she starts to come down from her second orgasm. The fact my dick is still going is insane. I’ve never come so hard, for so long, in my life.
“Not bad, smooth guy,” Cara breathes out with a giant smile. She climbs off, and I expect her to fall next to me to rest before trying to talk her into another round after I run out to get more condoms, but she gets off the bed and walks out the door. I can still see her clearly as she begins getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” I pull the condom off and tie it before tossing it in the trash next to the bed.
She leans down, strapping her shoes back on. “Home. Thanks for the ride.” As she straightens, she flips her hair back, flashing me her perfectly white teeth. “I know where to find you if I want another one. Have a good night, Anders.”
“You’re something else, you know that?” If confidence had a picture in the dictionary, her photo would be next to it. It’s alluring and addicting, and I’m torn between letting her go and demanding she stay in bed with me. Though something tells me if I demand anything, she’ll fight me tooth and nail on it, even while I’m buried inside her.
“If you’re lucky enough to see me again, try to put up a little more of a fight, baby . I told you, you can’t handle me. I just made you my bitch.” She blows me a kiss and turns to go.
My grin is so big my face hurts. Shaking my head, I let out an astonished laugh.
Settling against the pillows as she leaves, I link my hands behind my head, satiated and full, even though I never got my dinner. If this is any indication of how my time here will go, I suppose I can allow a little room for some distraction. My last fuck up happened because I was too involved in the case, after all.
She’ll serve as a good way to release any pent-up frustration I run into at work. And she’ll definitely be back for more.
I fucking love New York.