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“Report,” I grunt at Dexter, who’s popped in on his way out to his shift at the garage where he fixes cars.
“Blazing Pistons scouted last night,” he says. “Nothing major. Three of our guys spotted them a mile away and chased them off, but I’ve got a feeling they’ll be back.”
“I’m sure they will,” I say, not looking up from the newspaper I’m reading. “We need to have a full deck for the next few days. Nobody gets time off, full-guard rotations, loaded weapons. What else?”
“There’s a deal going down this afternoon at Nelson and Pike,” he says.
“Why Nelson and Pike?” I ask. “This is with the Oberov family?”
He shrugs a skinny shoulder. “I don’t know why that location, but yes.”
“Seems risky. That’s very near Blazing Pistons’ territory. Anything else?”
“Spree is leading the team,” he says.
“Goddamit!” I snap, pounding my fist on the desk. “I specifically told him to back off until all this business with the girl was done.”
“He says he can’t sit around and do nothing all day,” Dexter says. “And the girl ...”
“What?” I growl.
He gives me a placating hand gesture. “She’s nice,” he says. “That’s all I was gonna say. She’s a good girl, worth keeping claimed, I think.”
“Get the fuck out of my office,” I say. “Stay out of it.”
He mumbles, “Who pissed in your Cheerios?” as he shuffles out. At least he knows how to follow directions.
Thing is, he’s not wrong. I wouldn’t call her nice, per se, but I do like her. More than I should. She’s intelligent, opinionated, sexy as hell ... I’m shocked as all get-out to realize that I do like having her around, and not just for sex. I need someone to challenge me, to tell me to get my head out of my ass.
But fuck. I do not need this. I do not want this. I just want shit to settle down so I can be a dad. Run my business. Spree alone is a bag full of shit right now. Having a woman to deal with just adds a little cherry on top
I rub my temples, a fucking monster of a headache brewing. I try calling Spree to tell him to put someone else on the Oberov deal. I don’t want his busted ass fucking things up worse than he already has. He doesn’t answer, so I throw my phone against the wall. Just as it smashes to bits, the door opens and Tanzie’s blonde head pops in. Her slim body follows, one hand balancing an obscenely large pile of breakfast pastries.
She kicks the door shut and wanders over to my desk. “What’d that phone ever do to you?” she asks.
“I’ve got three more. I’m apparently known to throw a tantrum or two, every so often.”
She grins, taking a bite of cinnamon roll and then holding out the half-eaten remainder to me. “ I believe that, as the person who woke up to a room full of broken glass,” she says. “Want some?”
I stare, open-mouthed, at this girl who’s literally talking with her mouth full and shoving half-eaten breakfast carbs at me.
“What?” she asks, still with food in her mouth.
I take the pastry and set it on the desk. “You bit off of that.”
“So?” she asks with a shrug, picking it up and taking another bite. “I’m sharing.”
For some reason, I’m turned on by this whole interaction. I adjust my growing dick under the desk. “Need something?”
She sits on the desk, laying the pile of pastries on my newspaper. I eyeball it with one eyebrow raised incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “You just put those on my newspaper?”
She flips herself around so she’s sitting facing me, her long legs stretched out on either side of me. “I thought maybe you could use a distraction.”
“With pastries? Not going to happen. I work out too many hours a week to fuck it up with cinnamon and sugar,” I answer.
“Was that a ... joke?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, frowning. After a heartbeat she says, “You take yourself too seriously. You should lighten up and have some fun.”
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you high or something?”
She laughs. The sound goes straight to my already-alert cock.
“Do you ever smile?” she asks, ignoring my question. “Laugh?”
I consider telling her that’s none of her fucking business. That’s what I would say to anyone else. But instead, I say, “I do. With my daughter.”
Her breath catches. “I ... I suppose you would.”
We stare at each other. She cocks her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a moment, she scoots forward and finds her way onto my lap. She leans in and kisses me.
I don’t respond at first. This is the last thing I need right now. But then again, her mouth is amazing. Her tongue begs for entry and I allow it, my hands finding the hem of her shirt, pushing under the soft material, splaying across her back.
Our kissing becomes intense, feral. I stand up, pushing her back onto the desk, lifting her shirt and finding her gorgeous tits. I meant it when I told her she had the best tits I’ve ever seen. They’re on the smaller side, but damn, so perfectly shaped. Her nipples are pink and hard. I could spend a whole day just enjoying these tits.
She arches her back up, a soft moan escaping her lips. I work her jeans off of her slender legs, slipping them to the floor while continuing my exploration of her chest, stomach and bare mound. My hands on her inner thighs, I push her legs far apart, burying my face in her folds. She moans again, her hips bucking against me. Two fingers go into her cunt, wet and slick and already pulsing, ready to explode.
I’m ruthless in my assault, wanting nothing more in that moment than to make her come. I have this beautiful, waifish young woman naked and open to me, splayed on my desk like a trophy. I feel ... lucky.
Lucky that she was the one bound on my bed. Lucky that she didn’t hate me. Lucky she’s so sexually responsive. Lucky she hasn’t tried to kill me.
And that pisses me off. I should kick her out, tell her to get out of my office, out of my life.
But I don’t, I just pound my fingers into her, bite and suck at her clit, dig my free fingers into her thigh hard enough to leave bruises. And she loves it. She bucks her hips wildly, lifting her legs so I can get more leverage.
When she comes, it’s like a bomb going off, an explosion of energy, and my fingers are suddenly in a vise, trapped by a contracting pussy while she literally stops breathing, stops moving, just rides what seems like an endless wave of pleasure.
When she finally sags back against the desk, she blushes. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed for coming so hard. I hate her so much right now. Only because I want her so badly. I hate her for not making me hate her.
I kiss her again, slow and thorough, pulling off my pants, climbing up onto the desk, mounting her. Right there, on top of cinnamon pastries and newspapers and written reports, I fuck Tanzie Williams, recent virgin and Blazing Pistons princess. I fuck her like my life depends on it, her legs up over my shoulders, her pussy clenching around my cock, her tongue swirling in my mouth, her arms looped around my neck.
When I come, she comes right along with me, our eyes locked, some unspoken emotion blooming between us.
I withdraw immediately. “Fuck,” I snap.
She sits up, her face a mask of confusion. “What?”
“I have work to do. You’re a distraction,” I say. “Get dressed and go find someone else to bother.”
She pinches her mouth to one side, disapproving, but slips off the desk, walking her beautiful, naked ass into my office bathroom. A few minutes later, she wanders back out, pulling her hair into a topknot. She pulls on her pants and shirt and grabs her pastries, smashed as they are.
“You know what?” she asks.
I sigh and give her a bored look.
“You push people away,” she says. “I get it. You lost people you care about.”
“Don’t act like you know a thing about me, sweetheart,” I say. “You wanted to be claimed. You’re claimed. I’ve fucked you good and hard and everyone will smell the wolf’s scent now. But I’ve got to get back to work now, so go find some other way to spend your time.”
“You act like you don’t care, but you do,” she says. “You kissed me. I don’t think you kiss people when you’re just fucking them, when they don’t matter.”
I roll my eyes.
“Nice,” she says. “Be careful or your face might stick like that.”
“Go, go,” I say, shooing her toward the door.
She flips me off and takes a huge bite of pastry. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.”
“No, we’re not,” I say. “Beat it.”
She leaves and I will never admit this to a soul, even on threat of death, but I smile when the door shuts. A real, bonafide smile. And I keep smiling. Until one of my guys rushes in.
“Spree’s been shot.”
*
