Hold Me Tight(58)
I tangle my hands in her hair and kiss her desirously, tasting myself on her lips. Her tongue is a determined fighter, sparring with me like she can go for days. She starts to bend her leg and slide it around my waist, but I stop her because my dick is already twitching to life. If I have her spread open on top of me now, I’m a goner.
“I’m so horny for you right now,” she pants, resting her cheek against my lips.
“I know, baby,” I soothe her, rubbing her back. “It won’t be much longer. Then I’ll finally be able to show my appreciation for everything you’ve done for me.” I hold her eyes with mine. “And I can’t fuckin’ wait,” I exclaim, a devilish smile lighting up my face.
“Well, I know that’s all I want from Santa this year,” she responds, clasping my bent knee in her hand. “Sex, sex and more sex. You owe me about three dozen or so orgasms, mister. And be prepared, because I’m gonna want them all in one night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I salute her. “Even if I have to walk bowlegged for the rest of my life. Your wish is my command. Because that was a pretty awesome date night.”
“You think so?” she asks, her eyes shining.
“I know so,” I reply, kissing her gently.
And little does she know I have something even better in mind for her Christmas present.
Chapter Twenty
Lauren
My phone buzzes next to my head, and I feel like throwing it against the wall.
If Lenny has another issue with the Sunday Gazette on that offset printing machine of his, I’m going to wring his neck. This is our biggest circulation day of the week, and the paper is jam-packed with ads for the holiday shopping season. If subscribers don’t get it on their doorsteps before the sun goes up, there’s going to be hell to pay. I don’t know why I ever gave this moron a second chance. His equipment is always breaking down because he’s too cheap to repair it. Yeah, his rates are reasonable, but is it worth the aggravation he puts me through? I was hoping to sleep in today. Looks like that’s not happening.
“What?” I growl into the phone, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.
“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just address me like that,” Conrad’s voice rings in my ear.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, instantly awake as a wave of panic engulfs me. Conrad never calls in the middle of the night. Something terrible must have happened.
“Your stepbrother’s in jail,” he informs me, remaining as calm and cool as ever.
I left New York not knowing where Ryan was. The day after Thanksgiving, he never returned to the apartment. I assumed he must have checked into a hotel somewhere in the city, but when I scoped out his room, I noticed his wallet sitting on top of the bureau next to his phone. Conrad had sent him out there with nothing, no credit cards, not even a dollar to his name. How was he supposed to survive like that? Here we were, waking up in one of the most luxurious apartments in Manhattan, and no one knew where he’d spent the night.
I wanted to send someone after him then, but there was a problem at work that needed my attention and I got distracted. I figured he was just being stubborn and that, if he found his way back and begged Conrad’s forgiveness, everything would be all right. Conrad just wanted to prove his authority over him. They’d had many battles like that in the past, and I didn’t think this one was any different.
“The affairs of my son are turning into more of a headache than I bargained for,” Conrad drones on as my mind scrambles to catch up. “He can rot behind bars for all I care. It’s where he belongs along with all the rest of those lowlife cocksuckers.”
“Is there anything you need me to do?” I ask, always the dutiful stepdaughter.
“Ryan’s antics don’t concern me. That’s not why I’m calling you. If he’s going to rough up some girl, let him pay the price for it. I’m more concerned about the security footage you sent me,” Conrad says, steering the conversation in a different direction. “I only wish you’d sent it sooner.”
“Yeah, I was swamped when I got back. I only had a chance to look at Friday’s feed just before I went to bed, and I was shocked by what I saw,” I respond, furiously backpedaling. “I knew you’d want to see it right away.”
“So our favorite swim coach went over to Eric Young’s house and stayed there for nearly an hour.” Conrad doesn’t raise his voice, but that makes me squirm even more.
Hurriedly, I say, “But we don’t know what they talked about. We—”