Chapter 18

“God damn it to hell! That stupid motherfucker!” After storming into his office, Caleb slapped a rawhide-wrapped tablet onto his desk and marched to the towering glass windows. “Fucking idiot!”

Hands clenching his hips, he glared out across the city. Terry had one job. One simple fucking job. Be out of town while Caleb fucked the living shit out of his wife.

“But no,” he hissed.

Somehow, Terry had managed to screw up. Miyamoto had oozed back into Wan’s grip. Adding insult to injury, he’d not shared that fact until briefing Caleb that morning. His slutty whore wife would pay.

“While I send his dumb ass back to fix it,” he muttered to his reflection. “Then Singapore. Gonna keep the horny little bitch for a week. Chain her ass down this time.”

But the next trip wouldn’t be soon enough. Apologetic, Terry had a bunch of shit to tighten up before launching again.

“Fuck!” He yelled as a hand skimmed the tightening in his trousers.

Needed pussy. Amina? No, she’d caught a head cold. Bad one.

“Café bitch?” he murmured, then snarled, “That teasing cunt? Fuck, no.”

Just then, Cindy’s curvaceous silhouette appeared beside him. With the world a smearing blur of crimson, he growled, and as her finger tugged downward, the universe blinked.

Even as it flashed, he spun, and a much louder growl tore from him as his fingers mashed hers, yanking the zipper to her midriff. Amid her gasping, he reached inside, shoving under her bra to grip one heavy globe. At the firm squeeze of his hand, she bucked and slipped away. Bared pale tit dangling from the crumpled lace, she gaped at him.

“Sir!” she warned in a low, tremulous tone. “Mr. van Dienst! No, that’s not...”

“You know what, Cindy, Mrs. Non-fucking Boulanger? Fine.” While tracking her shaky backward steps, he clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. “I don’t give a crap anymore,” he growled. “Tired of everyone fucking teasing me. Especially you. Pack your shit. Get out.”

“Um, sir—”

“Now, Mrs. Boulanger!” He pointed to the open door. “Get the fuck outta here. I’ve had enough—”

“Your father—”

“—is not here anymore, remember? I’m in charge. Should never have kept you. My mistake. Boom, corrected.” He again gestured at the exit. “Go away.”

After a swift spin and a rapid upward tug of the zipper, she dashed from the room, sniffling. Despite her leaving the door open, he returned to the window, and the sounds of her packing and quiet sobs serenaded him as he sneered at the...

“ ... useless fucking city,” he murmured. “Call Steve. Go on a pussy hunt? Yeah, that’d be fun.”

They hadn’t done that in a while. Find some hot-bodied coeds. Easy to impress. Clubs were full of them. Spend a few bucks. Get ‘em good and liquored up.

“Add a little coke and Molly”—he chuckled while rubbing his stiffening crotch faster—”and the tight squealing cunts’ll be cockriding all night.”

At quiet footfalls, he hissed and focused on the reflection in the window. Mrs. Boulanger stood in the doorway. Neither sniffling nor—he gulped—armed. When she eased the door shut before walking closer, he began to brace for her final dressing-down, which, to be honest, he deserved.

Instead, a trembling hand went to the zipper, and as he turned to her, she lowered it until both halves hung from her shoulders. With a quick shimmy, the dress tumbled to her ankles, and after stepping free of it, she reached behind her to unsnap the still twisted bra.

Right as he stepped towards her, it too fell to the carpet, and his pulse soared. After so many years of imagining, and all the flirty peeks she’d permitted, there they were. Magnificent, larger than mom’s, but about as firm, with an upward tilt to their darkened tips.

At the quick swivel of her hips and lace tumbling along her shaky legs, he lowered his glance. Amid a triangle of pink, only stood an angry red spike, guarding the top of a glistening darker-pink seam.

“Bare? Nice,” he murmured before stopping before her, but after lifting his hands toward her, he halted them. “Why now? To save your job?”

“No.” She eased her head from side-to-side. “You need me.”

“Um-hmm, I do.” He smiled when his fingers settled on the silken warmth of her waist. The sudden tremor racing through her sent his pulse skywards. “You need me, too, don’t you, Cindy?”

“Y-Yes,” she whispered before moaning as he turned her towards the desk.

As she lowered her amazing chest to its smooth, hard surface, he tugged at his zipper. Glossy high-heels dragging on the carpet, her legs slid wider, and at her slim pelvis lifting, his nostrils filled with the sweetness of her need. If there’d been any doubt, after she swirled long auburn tresses clear to stare at him over her shoulder, it evaporated. Those brown eyes blazed at him as he aimed his pulsing cockhead beneath her shaking rear.