Feathers and Thorne Series Books 1 - 3: The Complete Collection

Chapter Seven

Carter

I lean back into my desk chair at the office, the blinds closed around the glass walls that surround my desk and workplace. The girl on her knees gasps at every inhale, her eyes the murkiest shade of green I’ve ever seen, and I hate looking at them.

My fingers curl into her hair, forcing her to focus on sucking my cock and not trying to taunt me with her hideous eyes and untamed brown curls. She looks nothing like the prize I really want, the features of Isabella Julis stuck in the back of my mind all day and night.

The whore on my floor isn’t worth the effort it would take to get me off—I don’t think I can after the look my prey gave me at the park. Her lips were quivering in some form of confusion, of fear, and all I could picture was them wrapping around the base of my cock while I pumped harsh thrusts wildly into her throat.

Tristan comes into my office while I’m trying to picture my prize on her knees where this startled slut sits, my fist in her hair, yanking her off the middle of my shaft and shoving her to the floor at my feet. She pants and wipes the drool on her chin, my sneer enough of a command for her to get the fuck out of here.

She bumps into Tristan as she runs out of the office, ashamed, but my closest friend has seen worse out of my sexcapades, especially in my office. He takes a seat on the leather couches across the room, and I press my unrelieved erection back into my pants, trapping it behind my zipper.

“You didn’t have to stop on my account,” Tristan says, rifling through a magazine on the table by the couch. “She was cute.”

“She was fucking trashy,” I snarl, flexing and relaxing my fists in a rhythmic, frustrated cycle. “I can’t get that damn receptionist out of my head. I don’t think I can come until I put her on her knees and have her suck my cock until it’s dry.”

“Easy tiger,” he jokes. “You’re getting a little carried away, aren’t you? First the supermarket, then the park—now you’re picturing her on her knees? I think you have bigger problems to worry about than coming down the throat of Jacob Lacey’s whore.”

I can’t decipher why, but I snarl at his choice of name for her. He recognizes my warning and drops the magazine, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Carter. I didn’t know you were so interested in the receptionist.”

Interested is a loose term.

Moderately obsessed would be more appropriate, but I don’t dare mention that to him.

“I needed to come by and update you on the campaign of our favorite mayor,” he snorts, attempting to soften the mood, but it’s too late for that mood enhancer.

“What’s going on now? More news stories about how he is a horrible mayor?”

“Worse than that,” he claims, handing me a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket.

I unfold it accordingly, staring at a scratchy image of Frances Johnson nailing his blond secretary in the elevator that is clearly at his office. It is easy to make out that it’s my chosen mayor, his face evident in the otherwise grainy picture, along with the black stripe that serves as his wedding ring.

“Dammit,” I groan. “Please tell me this didn’t make it to publication anywhere.”

“Not yet,” Tristan says, shaking his head in aggravation. “But it will soon. Page Eight Magazine has a mockup of a cover ready to publish any minute now. They sent the photo to Jacob Lacey first, asking for a quote on how they could sponsor an adulterer as mayor.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I snap, tossing the picture into the trash nearby. “How are we going to run a good-faith campaign on a wholesome man when there’s probably endless videos of him fucking that bitch all over that office?”

“Think they have a video of me fucking her in the break room? I’d like a copy,” Tristan mutters under his breath.

I shoot him a cautious look of warning.

“What did Lacey respond back to the request for a quote?”

Tristan leans back in his seat, reaching for a cigar from the dehumidifier nearby and lighting it up. “He said he would call them back in two hours, and he called our office instead. I didn’t think you’d want to take a call while being serviced, but I guess it was a lost cause either way.”

“Damn right about that,” I snort. “A waste of two-hundred dollars too.”

“You’re a rich, eligible bachelor, Carter. Find a girl, fuck her for free on the side, and focus on the problems at hand. It would make my job a lot easier.”

“I’m not good at repetition,” I point out, a fact we have both been aware of for some time.

I never fuck the same girl twice. I’m never interested in the ones who tap out of my pain-play at home, let alone the useless attempts to suck my dick under my desk when it’s not from the lips that have been stuck in my mind for three days straight.

“Let’s handle Frances, and then we can circle back to my dick and where it goes later,” I snap.

It’s a lie. I won’t bring this topic up again with Tristan if I can help it, but he needs to hear something now to make it sound like I’m not obsessing over the receptionist at Lacey Construction LLC.

“I’ll go talk to Jacob Lacey,” I bark, standing to adjust my suit jacket while Tristan nurses his cigar. “You go find the editor at Page Eight and see if he can be persuaded to stall on this story.”

“Stall? I could just beat him until he burns the idea altogether.”

“And risk everyone wondering why we are so worried about the mayoral campaign? No, Tristan, we need to let his sponsor handle this problem at the face. Just talk to the editor, don’t rough him up yet, and throw in a free pass to the Blackthorne club for now. I’m sure he could use a good time after watching Frances fuck that secretary in the elevator.”

We break apart, and I’m glad Tristan doesn’t mention my plan to go speak with Jacob Lacey. It’s a work visit, an important one, too, and if I get to look at that little receptionist one more time, then it’s an added bonus.