Delivering the Virgin(13)

"Where the fuck have you been?" he asked, waving another sheaf of papers  under my nose. "What the fuck? Why did it take you half an hour at this  one chick's place?"

Goddamnit. The technology that was our strength was also a pain in the  ass at the moment because of course my cousin knew exactly where I'd  been, how long I'd lingered at each stop, how long each delivery took. I  growled at him, my hackles rising, but then forced myself to calm the  fuck down. No need to let the cat out of the bag, might as well be  professional, this was a business after all.

"An old lady asked me to help move some furniture around, so I said  yes," I shrugged casually. "Didn't look like she had many options."

Hunter frowned again.

"Wasn't there a doorman or a super or something? Why you?" he whined.  "Tuck, you have shit to do, you know the clock's always running in this  business."

I just shrugged again.

"Maybe cause she lives five floors up," I said helpfully. "And there's  no doorman, it's a pretty run-down place on the Upper East Side."

Hunter just frowned again. But my cousin is a good guy, he wasn't going  to ream me out for helping little old ladies with no options. So he just  huffed again and turned away.

"Well, if this Evelyn Holmes person requests you again, we're going to  say you're unavailable," he said tightly. "Time is money in this  business and we gotta move fast, roll with the ball."

I just shrugged again. Hunter could spout whatever shit he wanted but I  was still the boss and I was coming and going when and where I wanted,  complaints be damned. After all I had even more invested in this  business than him. Not only had I poured a fortune into the company as  start-up capital, but I was also working as a lowly delivery man to  better understand our business, running up and down flights of stairs,  humping heavy packages, my baseball cap pulled low the entire time,  anonymously delivering shit. After all, it's critical to explore every  niche of our business, know exactly what's going on and there was no  better way to do it than as a stealth boss. To understand what kept our  employees up at night, I'd decided to take on the job myself, schlepping  up and down all of Manhattan as a nondescript messenger. Only then  would NYC Concierge be able to optimize on all fronts, truly push the  boundaries of this developing sector, otherwise we'd be manipulating  something that management, at its core, did not fundamentally  understand. And I'd be damned if I was the boss straight out of Dilbert,  giving wedgies with his head in the clouds. So yeah, delivery was our  business, and I was the delivery man sometimes.

I shrugged again. Shit had to get done, and Hunter was right in some  respects, I'd been spending a lot of time with my special customer.  There were reports to read, client data to scrutinize, investors to chat  up, endless lists of to-dos that always got pushed to the back. I shook  my head, getting serious, flipping on my laptop while turning to focus  on my work. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough, I couldn't wait to  taste, to sample Laurie again, but for the rest of today, NYC Concierge  was my baby.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Laurie




Hesitantly, I knocked on the big door. To say I was out of place was  putting it mildly. I stood in a swanky building in Tribeca, a  neighborhood so expensive that the most I could afford was maybe a  pastry at a bakery, and not even a fancy bakery. Oh no, not the ones  with the twee decorations and pyramids of macarons stacked in pastel  colors, that was too expensive. I was talking about a pastry from  Dunkin' Donuts, I'd wandered into one on the way here, treating myself  to a snack before arriving at Tucker's building.

And looking up, I almost gasped. The grey edifice was classic Tribeca  with the huge, cast-iron windows and a grey and green striped awning  over the front door. Even the doorman was fancy, a burly man in a snazzy  bellhop outfit, jaunty cap perched on his head.

"Can I help you?" he said, businesslike. Guess the jaunty cap was just a  prop, there was nothing friendly about him. In fact, he was kind of  like a bulldog brought in to shoo away randoms, his expression  suspicious and impassive at once.         

     



 

And I mumbled before lifting my chin and looking him straight in the  eye. No need to act awkward, be the timid little girl. After all, Tucker  was a delivery guy and there had to be some explanation for these  majestic digs. No way he could afford this on a delivery man's salary  even with generous tips.

So I piped up confidently, "Tucker McGrath please," and the doorman  nodded. With a sweep of his hand, he pointed me towards the elevators.

"I'll let Mr. McGrath know you're here," his voice trailed as the door  closed. I took a deep breath. Okay, I was going to see Tucker again, and  the big man was about to show me his home, show me where he lived. My  cheeks colored, my breath going fast in anticipation. It was exciting to  be seeing a man ever since the disaster of my divorce, maybe even a  little early, but who knows? It's better to get back in the saddle right  away, not lie on the ground and cry when you could be having a ball  with a gorgeous male.

And finally I was at Tucker's floor. I stepped up to the big, mahogany  door and pressed the doorbell, a melodic chime ringing out before the  massive slab opened. Tucker was there and god, he was so gorgeous that I  lost my breath immediately, his massive shoulders almost as wide as the  doorframe, those sculpted arms, the thick thighs.

Before I could even say hello, he'd pulled me into the foyer for a deep  kiss, thrusting his tongue between my lips as the door slammed shut  behind us. I was lost in his arms already, mewling, writhing, pressing  my breasts against that hard chest before we finally came up for air.

"Hey baby girl," he murmured against me, lips soft on my mouth. "You look nice."

And I flushed because I'd taken special pains for our dinner together.  He'd said it was going to be pizza and beer but I still wanted to look  attractive, make it special. So I'd rummaged through my stuff before  reappearing with a pair of designer jeans, the denim flattering as it  lifted and shaped my butt, the pockets on the ass highlighting my juicy  curves. And I'd paired it with a white cashmere sweater, the cable so  fine and soft that it was like rubbing your cheek against velvet.

Except the cashmere was doing me no favors right now. My nips poked out  through the wool like rocks, totally apparent, pointing straight at the  big man like heat-guided missiles seeking their destination.

"Is that for me?" he growled, eyebrows raised. "Or are you just happy to see me?" he said lasciviously, eyeing my hard nips.

And I giggled then, slapping a small hand against a hard bicep.

"Oh you!" I flirted. "That's for the girl to say, not the guy." And in  this case it was true because there was a tent at Tucker's crotch  already, I could make out the curve of his penis, the bulge enormous and  appetizing.

But Tucker was a modern man.

"Hey, we don't have to have defined gender roles," he rumbled with a  wink. "No need to hold back baby girl, if you want to be the aggressor  I'm all for it."

And I looked at him through my lashes.

"Really?" I purred, thrusting my chest out further. "Is that what you want?"

And Tucker's eyes lit up, his hand tracing the shape of my breasts,  weighing them in his palms, savoring their heft, their firm shape.

"It's not that I want it, baby girl," he rumbled, "It's if you want it, then I'm all game."

Biting my lip, I flushed again. I was an untested virgin and yet there  was so much that I wanted to do, so many dirty fantasies to act out and  oh fuck, but playing with Tucker, experimenting with our bodies was at  the top of the list. But as I eyed his big form hungrily, my stomach  rumbled, audience be damned. It was loud enough that you could  practically hear it across the room, the "grrah!" of stomach juices  churning.

And the big man just laughed.

"Fuck little girl, I gotta feed you, don't I?" he growled low in his  throat. "Fuck I love that about you, how those curves need sustenance to  keep going, need food to maintain their bounce. By the way, did you eat  something on the way over, honey? I tasted something on your lips,  something sweet."

And I licked my lips self-consciously, my pink tongue flickering, causing the big man to stare, mesmerized.         

     



 

"Yeah, I had a maple-glazed donut from Dunkin' Donuts," I admitted.  "When I walked past, the smell was so appetizing, wafting out onto the  sidewalk that I couldn't resist. I swear, they must purposefully blow  food smells onto the sidewalk because it was like I was in a tractor  beam, my feet just started walking and the door opened like magic in  front of me."

And the big man laughed harder.

"Fuck baby, I love it. Your verve for life, your appetite for food,  everything bountiful and delicious. In fact, if you put on some weight,  you'd be even more beautiful," he growled, eyeing my frame up and down,  causing my nipples to tingle, hardening even further, a warmth lighting  up deep within my cunt. "Yeah, about twenty pounds would do it."