Chapter 5
5
JJ
A sound reaches me. I glance up from the spreadsheet I was studying. Did it come from outside the study? I pull out the drawer on my right, grab my gun, and slide it in the waistband of my pants. The fire my housekeeper built up earlier has all but died down. The glow from the embers fills the space with a warm orange light. What time is it, anyway? I rise to my feet and creep to the doorway. The corridor is silent. I pause, my muscles tensing. The hair on the back of my neck rises. There’s someone out there. I pull out my gun and cock it, then keeping close to the wall, I prowl down the corridor—past the living room and the conservatory, the dining room, and toward the kitchen. The sound of someone moving around reaches me. I curl my finger around the trigger of the gun and move forward, reach the kitchen, and slip inside. I point my gun in the direction of the sound and freeze.
She’s bent over, taking something out of the fridge. Her perfect pear-shaped bottom stretches the shorts she’s wearing so I can see the plump cheeks of her arse. As I watch, she wriggles it to one side, then the other, then the other way again. The sound of her humming reaches me. A tune I can’t identify. She continues to bop that fleshy backside, swinging to a rhythm I can’t hear. Then she straightens, and bursts into song, "Whenever, wherever, hmmmmmm, mmm, I’ll be there, you’ll be here... and mmmmmmm—" She arches her back, thrusts out her butt, and shimmies it.
The blood drains to my groin. My cock thickens. I watch, fascinated, as she launches into a full body sway, doing some kind of action that has her arse wriggling around like it has a life of its own. Sweat beads my forehead. Heat flushes my skin. My thigh muscles harden and my stomach clenches. The crotch of my pants is suddenly too tight for me. I take a step forward, then another, until I’m halfway across the kitchen. I can’t tear my gaze off that luscious backside.
"Tada tedium, ahahahah, tada, tadum. I’ll be there and you’ll be—" She turns around, holding a bucket of ice cream, with a spoon in the other hand.
I jerk my chin up to her face in time to see her gaze widen. Liquid gold eyes. Like the most expensive whiskey. No, like melting chocolate and— She screams, the spoon slips from her hand and crashes to the floor. I blink, follow the direction of her gaze to see I’m still holding the gun. I instantly engage the safety and pocket it. I glance up just as the bowl of food tips over.
I close the distance between us, slip on the patch of ice cream on the floor, and lurch forward, crashing into her. The bowl of food upends its contents on me, then crashes to the floor. The tub of ice cream slips from her hands and bounces off my shoe. That unbalances me more and I lean further into her. The world tilts as we hit the floor. I twist my body at the last moment so I take the full weight of her body. My back hits the floor, and she falls on me. Her elbow wedges into my stomach and I huff. Her breasts flatten into my chest, her pelvis pressed perfectly into my crotch. I bring my palms down to grip her hips, and hold her in place. It’s pure reflex, I swear. By the time I realize I have her fitted into my now completely aroused cock, it’s too late. The warmth of her pussy sinks through the thin fabric of her shorts and envelops my cock.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. My entire body goes on alert. My biceps turn to steel. All my senses hone in on her. She stares down at me, and flickers of silver flash deep in her golden eyes. Her breath hitches, and a pulse flares to life at the base of her throat. Our gazes clash. Something primitive stirs inside of me. Something I didn’t even think existed. A chill runs through my body. My grasp on her hips tightens, and she shudders.
She lowers her head slowly, slowly. Her hot breath sears my cheek, and her nose bumps mine. Her mouth is right over mine. All I have to do is lean up and—something creaks. I glance past her to see the refrigerator door slam shut. The sound ricochets through the space.
I blink. So does she.
The next moment, she pushes against my shoulder. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spill all of my food on you. It’s just, you scared me and?—"
"It’s fine. I forgot there was someone else in the house."
"Wha—?" She gapes.
"I thought I was alone." I flip her over on her back, then rise to my feet.
"You forgot Isaac and I were under your roof?" She huffs.
"It would seem that way." I hold out my hand to her.
She ignores it and scrambles up to her feet. We stand there with assorted foodstuffs on my jacket and on her T-shirt. Her very skimpy T-shirt which is currently sticking to her tits. They’re nice breasts, too. Supple and firm, and just right to fill the palms of my hands. As for her nipples? They are diamond hard and currently poking through the fabric of her top. She’s not wearing a bra.
Fuck. She’s not. Wearing. A bra. If I thought I was hard earlier, the sudden clenching of my guts, and the thickness that tents my crotch and threatens to poke through my pants, tells me I was wrong. I resist the urge to adjust myself.
"What were you doing in my kitchen?" I ask in a hard voice that is totally unnecessary and meant more to divert attention away from the blood that seems to have collected between my legs.
"Why do you have a gun?" she retorts.
"I need it to protect myself."
"How many enemies do you have?"
"I am in a position of power, where sometimes even a friend can turn out to be a foe," I murmur.
"That was almost poetic," she murmurs, then blinks. "I’m sorry I spoiled your clothes."
I’m not sorry I got to see your tits. "For the purposes of decorum, I suggest you wander around dressed a little more appropriately."
Her gaze widens. Her features flush further. "I’m dressed appropriately enough." She scowls.
"Not going to debate this with you. My house, my rules. I’d prefer you be fully clothed next time the urge to have a midnight feast strikes you."
She stiffens. "Do you always sound like you’re reading from a Victorian text?"
"Do you always sound like you have a problem with authority?" I snap.
She raises her shoulders, then lowers them. "I’m sorry. It’s been a lot to take in. And seeing you with a gun completely took me by surprise." She yawns, then claps a hand to her mouth. "So sorry."
"Stop apologizing, it’s bloody annoying. Also, let me not keep you from your bed," I say through gritted teeth.
"Oh, but the mess." She glances around her. "I need to clean this up." She begins to lower to her haunches. The wet T-shirt pulls tighter across her tits. Her shorts hitch up those thick, gorgeous thighs. My cock twinges instantly. Fuck, I need to get her out of here and take care of this urge.
"Just go to bed." I grab her arm and haul her to her feet. A sizzle of electricity seems to shoot out from the point of contact. A wave of emotion slams into my chest.
She gasps, her eyes so wide they seem to fill her face.
What the—? What was that? I drop her arm and take a step back. "Leave." I jerk my chin toward the entrance.
She heads for the doorway, then stops. "Just so you’re aware—" she glances at me over her shoulder "—the name’s Lena."
She waits a second as if waiting for me to introduce myself. When I glare at her, she huffs, then pivots on her feet and flounces away.
Don’t look at it, don’t. I track her lush curved behind as it twitches and swings as she sashays out the door. I draw in a deep breath, then another. What the hell just happened?
I pull out my phone and shoot Craig a message, knowing he’ll take care of it right away. Then, I walk around the spilled mess on the floor and out the door. Thankfully, the girl is no longer in sight. Hopefully, that means she’s back in her room and in bed.
I head up the steps, past the second floor where Isaac and his girlfriend are staying, and to the third floor toward the double doors that lead to my room. The doors swing shut behind me and I walk directly toward the bathroom. Stepping inside, I peel off my jacket, my shirt, toe off my shoes and my socks, then along with my pants and boxers, I dump my clothes into the laundry basket. I walk directly to the shower, flick it on, and step under the warm spray. I slap my palms against the wall of the shower and glance down at my angry cock jutting up between my legs. My fingers tingle to squeeze myself from base to head, but I resist. She’s your son’s girlfriend. Younger than your daughter. That’s a new low, even for me.
I’ve been attracted to women and bedded them at will. Most throw themselves at me wherever I go. The position of power I hold, and the fact that I’m still attractive—only stating a fact—is a combination most can’t resist. Still, I pride myself on sleeping with women closer to my age. I’m not one of those men nearing fifty who acquire eye-candy in the quest to rejuvenate their mojo. I’m still virile. I have no trouble keeping pace with women half my age, which makes them twenty-four years old. She has to be younger, considering my son is only twenty-three.
Fuck, this… is crazy. I can’t possibly be entertaining these thoughts. It’s probably because I haven’t been with a woman in the last month. A combination of work, and then being called on by Massimo Sovrano to help him track down his kidnapped wife, has kept me busy. Still, I delivered, didn’t I? I helped him find his wife, and in return, I earned their loyalty. Now, they’re my partners, ready to invest in my business and partner in my latest venture, an exclusive gentlemen’s club designed as a meeting ground for the most influential, most powerful, and those who are exceptional. Membership is based not only on how much money you have, but on what value you have contributed to the world.
Ambitious, maybe? Idealistic, definitely. Clearly, I’m getting old if, for the first time, I'm putting my ideals before money. But it seems after building an empire, then legalizing the more illicit companies into tax-paying entities, and making enough money to benefit not only my heirs but their heirs, assuming either of them ever have children, I need a different kind of rush. Mental stimulation. An impulse to give to those who most deserve it. Oh, I still want to make money, don’t get me wrong, but I want the payoff to be more than monetary. Exactly what that is, I’m still trying to define, but the club is the first step forward in that direction.
I thought I’d found a way to fulfill the ache that’s lodged in my gut in the past year, but meeting her, and that reaction to her, seems to indicate otherwise. I need more… excitement, I need to feel more motivated. Maybe I need a bigger challenge. Perhaps I’ll pursue the takeover in LA I’ve been putting off for so long? Yes, that’s it. But first… I need to take care of something more urgent. I drop down on the bench in the shower, spread my legs, and grab my cock.