Out of the Storm(4)

Closing my eyes, I rest my head against my desk, the vision of her long, brunette curls cascading over her olive-toned shoulder filling my mind. That fucking dress. I only saw the top of it, but I could tell by that strapless top and the way it hugged her breasts, the way it fit her curves, and how I wanted to trace her shoulder with my tongue that I'd be more than just screwed in her actual presence. Jules isn't just attractive like the girl who got off the elevator. No. I don't even know what to compare her to. I don't find runway models attractive because they are twigs. I mean, this woman, she's in a league all by herself. 

Sitting up and twirling in my chair, I open my eyes and stare out the window at the Amberton City skyline. How could they bet on something like Katrina? Anything they win off that is blood money. And they opened a firm so they could multiply it. Shaking my head, I rub the stubble growing on my chin, then squeeze my bottom lip between my fingers.

Swiveling around in my chair, I grab the phone and dial Marco's number. It rings a few times. Tapping my fingers on the armrest of the chair, I nibble on my lower lip. C'mon, man. Pick up.

"This is Marco. Leave a message."

"It's me. Call me back as soon as you get this. Bye." I hang the phone up, then open my laptop back up, typing my password back in to gain access. The first thing that pops up after that is that stupid fucker, and my nostrils flare. But then I see her again, and I nearly choke on my breath. I can't help myself this time. As pissed as I am at what they did, I have to just look at her a little while longer this time. Swallowing, I shake my head. No. Looks can kill, man. She's trouble. A temptress. Stay focused.

My phone rings.

Instead of closing my computer, I stare at her as I answer it. "Yeah."

"What's up?" Marco asks.

"Who was in charge of your account? Hawke or Hemingway?" I ask, my eyes never leaving hers, like it's not a picture, like she's in the room, breathing in front of me, waiting for him to answer me.

"Why?"

"Just answer the fucking question, man."

"I don't know."

"How can you not know who was handling your account, Marco?"

"I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't remember?" I grab the strands of my hair and yank them. "I mean, it's simple. One of them is an overweight pansy douchebag asshole son of a bitch-"

He bursts out laughing. "Have you met Charlie already?"

"Yeah. And the other is a fucking … " I stare back at her as my cock comes back to life. "She's … "

"She's fucking beautiful, isn't she?"

"That's not adequate, Marco. So how could you not know which one was in charge of your money?"

He sighs in the phone. "They were always both in the room. I never paid attention. They were always so nice to me."

I roll my eyes. Is he serious? They were nice to him? They preyed on him the same fucking way they preyed on the tragedy of the people of New Orleans, and I'm a bull seeing a matador waving a red fucking cape. My hooves are kicking in the sand, and I'm getting ready to charge, so they better be ready to fucking run for their lives. When my horns hit them in the asses, they aren't going to know what came over them. "Go look at your paperwork, Marco."

"I'm not home."

Inhaling, then calmly exhaling, I close my eyes then open them. This isn't Marco's fault. This isn't Marco's fault. This isn't Marco's fault. "When will you be home?"

"I have a date. Not for a few hours. If I get lucky, not until tomorrow."

"Fuck, Marco. This is important. Screw the date."

"Didn't you hear me? I intend to."

"Cancel. The. Fucking. Date. Marco."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm hanging up now, Theo."

"Don't you dare-"

The phone goes dead. I slam it down. Jules is staring back at me. Her lips curved in a sly, teasing smile. Like she knows everything. And I'm going to fucking kill Marco.





Punching my fist into my desk, I grimace. "Son of a fucking bitch." I bite down so hard on my lip, I stick my tongue out and lick it. The metallic taste lets me know I chomped down a little too hard. Get a fucking grip on your temper, Theo. Taking a cleansing breath, I pick the phone back up, and press redial.



       
         
       
        

It doesn't even ring. "This is Marco. Leave a message."

"Seriously? You cut your phone off?" Shaking my head, I stand up, kick my chair away, and run my free hand through my hair as I look out at the setting sun over the Amberton skyline. "I need you to understand how serious this is … how important it is that we get this figured out as soon as possible, Marco." Blowing out a breath in the phone, I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm tryin' to help you, but I can't do that if you don't take this seriously. So, please call me back as soon as you get this." Turning around, I glance at the computer screen. She's still staring back at me, that cheeky smile on her face. "With the one and only thing I've asked of you. With which one of those fu-" I can't even put Jules in the same class as Charlie, as much as I want to. Not yet. Everything in me wants to. I open my mouth and try to say the word again, but it won't come out. Shit. "You call me back with which one was in charge of your account. All right? Hope your date goes or went well depending on when you get this. Okay, buddy. Bye."

I don't really give a rat's ass about his date. In fact, I still wish he'd called it off, but honey gets more bees than vinegar or some shit like that, right?

Glancing down at my hard cock, I'm wondering what the hell is literally up with me and my sudden infatuation with Jules. This is not good. I can't possibly help Marco if I'm thinking with my dick instead of my head. I have to get her out of my system.

Maybe I just need to get myself off. Not in here, though. Not with wide open windows where anyone could see with a pair of binoculars. I almost lost control earlier. The bathroom. Because there's no way I can wait until I get home. Slamming my computer closed, I snatch my keys from my desk and shove them in my pocket, locking the handle of my door, and hustle down the hall. The ache from my swollen cock not being relieved is growing with each passing second.

Opening the door, I rush into one of the stalls. This building is beyond opulent. It's costing me a small fortune. Out of all the shit for Marco to get himself involved in, he'd have to choose this. It's not enough that the building has its own gym and shit. But the bathroom has fucking marble floors and instead of just regular stalls like a normal place because this is where we come to pee and take a dump, it has these floor-to-ceiling rooms. I mean, I'm not complaining, because if I ever wanted a private place to fuck someone, or my own hand, there's a ton of privacy, but it's a bit overkill for a bathroom. And I'd rather spend my money on other stuff than fancy bathrooms, which I'm sure some of my lease money is going to support this insanity. 

Locking the stall door, I lean back against the dark, cherry, wooden door and free myself. As soon as I buck my hips, the door makes a rattling sound. Fuck. That's not going to work. I push myself off the door and stand in the middle of the stall, spreading my legs a little, closing my eyes. Jules is all I can see. Her in that little red dress that hugs her body in all the right places. The way her cleavage pushes up because the top's so tight, and I pretend I'm tracing my tongue across her neck, her collarbone, all the way down to the mounds of those tits. My hand starts to move up and down. Yeah. That feels so good. If she were in front of me, I'd turn her around against that door, and I'd lick my way down until I freed those tits from that red material so I could take them in my mouth, swirling my tongue around her pert nipples. She'd suck in a breath as she threaded her fingers in my hair, begging me for something, anything, what she'd have no fucking clue. My lips curve up in an evil grin, and my hand speeds up. I'm getting close. My pulse is racing. My cock is throbbing, begging for release.

"That Theo dude is a fucker."

Everything in me freezes. My hand, my heart, my breathing. I'm a fucker all right. And I'd really like to finish fucking my hand, Charlie. What's he doing here?

"Something's off with him. Do you think Castiglione sent him?" Charlie asks. Who is he talking to? Why is he on my floor? I made sure to get my office on a different floor than Hawke and Hemingway. And everyone's is on a different floor than the gym.

Who the fuck is Castiglione?

Silence.

Do they hear me? Do they know I'm in here? Shit. I don't want to act like I was using the bathroom. I don't want them to know I was in here, but I also don't want to be caught with my pants down. Think, Theo, think.

"Don't be paranoid." Angelo. Right.

"He said he was Greek."

"Lots of people are Greek, asshole."

There's no sound of peeing. The sinks aren't on. They're not doing anything. What the fuck are they doing? Why do they care what I am?

There's a rustling around. "Are they still planning to do that to Jules tonight?"

"As far as I know."

My eyes widen. Thank goodness they don't make noise when they do that. "Good," Charlie says. I can hear the smugness dripping from his voice, and I want to wrap my hands around his throat, pin him to the wall, and slowly push him up while he dangles, begging me to put him down.