Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3) Page 6

  “Kennedy, God, I can’t.” There was no purpose to my words, delivered on a pant. I was nothing but an arrow drawn tight, ready to be shot skyward. “I want it.”

  He squeezed my clit between his index and ring fingers, stroking across it with his middle finger as he did so. He sped his finger, playing me as I held my breath. “Come for me.”

  His rough voice lit the powder keg and my orgasm burst through me. My hips seized, my pussy clenching as I came. He kissed me, hard, stealing his name from my lips as I cried out at the waves of pleasure. I scratched down his chest, my nails scoring his dress shirt. He sank his tongue inside me, fucking my mouth just as surely as his fingers had done to my pussy. Moving his fingers lower, he shoved them inside me again and groaned as my pussy spasmed with the last throes.

  He gripped up on my spot, drawing out the final drops of bliss. Slanting over me, he drew his fingers out and ground his hips into me, his cock hard and ready in his pants. Then he broke our kiss and brought his hand to his mouth, licking and sucking every last bit of me from his fingers while staring into my eyes. I had never seen anything hotter in my life.

  He dropped my thigh and backed up a step before yanking my skirt back into place. The outline of his cock was stark against his pants, and I wanted to feel it inside me. It was foolish, and wrong, and stupid. But I still wanted it. Snap out of it.

  “This was a mistake.” I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “No, it wasn’t.” He peered down at the nail marks along his shirtfront.

  “This won’t happen again.” I stood a little straighter, though my clit was still off in outer space somewhere, buzzing with aftershocks.

  “It will.” He grinned and adjusted his dick with a slight grimace. “Well, maybe not quite like this. Next time, I’m going to give you everything I’ve got. And you’re going to take every last inch.”

  I bristled at his cocky attitude. “Taking two inches isn’t really a feat, Mr. Granade.”

  He stepped toward me again, and I backed into the wall, a thrill rushing through me at his aggression.

  Taking my hand, he ran it down his cock. “Does this feel like two inches, Scarlett?”

  I closed my eyes and stroked him through his pants. Definitely more than two inches. He jerked against my palm and put his hands on the wall on either side of my head.

  “If you keep doing that, I’m going to fuck you right now.” He nipped at my jaw. “And we have Carey waiting for you to flirt with him some more to seal the deal on finding Fluffy.”

  The case. Right. I dropped my hand. “You need to go. Now.”

  He eyed my lips. “Give me one more kiss and I will.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I knew you’d say that.” He leaned closer and sucked on my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before kissing me fully and then backing away.

  “See you at the table.” He pushed through the door and strutted out of the restroom. As soon as he was gone, I walked out and sank onto the fainting couch.

  What just happened? It didn’t matter. I would see to it that it never happened again. I was a professional. Kennedy was just a hired gun. And a cocky asshole. And a great kisser. And, fuck, his fingers.

  I stood and went to the vanity, making sure my appearance gave nothing away. Other than the extra rosy tint on my cheeks—which I could blame on alcohol—nothing seemed amiss.

  Well, nothing other than the mind-blowing orgasm Kennedy Granade just gave me during a business dinner. Nothing other than that.

  Chapter Six

  Kennedy

  I sauntered into Stone & Porter at one in the afternoon on Friday, my hangover still pulsing through my head to the beat of my heart. When I awoke in the usual world of post-alcohol hurt that morning, I had a smile on my face. Scarlett Carmichael, reserved and well mannered, had come as I finger-fucked her against a bathroom wall. And I was determined to get another shot at her sooner rather than later. Like a heat-seeking missile, my dick said “target acquired.”

  She’d surprised me. Or, more accurately, I’d surprised myself. When she’d been flirting with Carey, I barely managed to keep myself under control. Even though I knew she was only playing a part to ensure Carey’s cooperation on the Fluffy front, I still wanted to yank her into my lap.

  She’d gotten to me, more than any other woman I’d known. And then my bathroom stunt. Just the memory of her pants and moans had my dick trying to embarrass me by pitching an unwanted tent. Even so, I couldn’t stop the smile that overtook my face as I walked into the conference room. She was fire under my touch, and I’d always enjoyed playing with matches.

  Scarlett was standing behind Carey’s chair, both of them staring at something on his screen.

  “What’d I miss?” I held my hand up against the glare from the sun pouring through the wide window.

  She didn’t even give me a glance.

  “I found Fluffy.” Carey clicked a few things and spun the laptop around to face me.

  A news story in an Italian newspaper about a suicide named Giuseppe Florentine sat front and center. Carey had translated it to English.

  “Fluffy? How do you know it’s him?” I squinted at the too-bright screen.

  “I had enough information from the old days to track him. But I didn’t want to approach him in the real world unless absolutely necessary.”

  Scarlett peered at the stark black and white words. “When did this happen?”

  Carey pointed at the laptop. “Two days ago. He was found hanged in his apartment.” He ran his fingers along the two spider bite piercings in his bottom lip. “This is so fucked up.”

  Scarlett squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. He was a nice guy.” He rested his hand on hers and shook his head. “And that’s not all.”

  “What else?” I sank down into a chair, my back to the garishly sunny window. From this angle, I could see down Scarlett’s top as she bent over. She wore a black bra. For me? I licked my lips.

  “I got this via express international delivery this morning.” Carey held up a USB drive.

  “What’s on it?” I asked, watching as a single tendril came loose from Scarlett’s bun and floated to her forehead.

  “To the casual observer, nothing. To me, lots. I’ve already copied its contents, and I’m trying to crack the encryption.” He pointed to a piece of computer equipment. “I’m using the server to run a complex algorithm that will eventually figure it out. Once the encryption is broken, I’ll be able to see what’s on the drive.”

  “How long will that take?”

  He shrugged. “No way to know. The algorithm is playing a guessing game at an exponential rate that we couldn’t possibly comprehend. Could take two more seconds, could take two weeks, could take the year. Fluffy hid whatever is on there under layers and layers of security. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence he mailed it to me only days before he died. I know it wasn’t a suicide.”

  I leaned forward and read the brief article on Carey’s laptop. Scrolling down, I saw a photo of Florentine. He was young, Carey’s age, and smiling in a photo with his arms around a couple of friends. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just know. This is Discord or something to do with them. It has to be.”

  “But why? I thought he was one of them.”

  “I don’t know. Discord is usually protective of their own. It doesn’t make sense.” He pointed at the USB lying next to his laptop. “But something tells me if there are any answers, they’ll be here.”

  “So now we just wait?”

  “No.” Scarlett finally looked at me. “We party. Greenwood execs will be at the ball tomorrow night. We need to hope they slip or, possibly, we can help them to open up.”

  Carey whipped his computer back around and ran his hands across the keys. I stood and walked around to their side of the table, watching him work.

  When he was done, he’d pulled up a list of names and faces, the top br
ass of Greenwood. Only one caught my eye, a woman in her thirties with long dark hair and piercing eyes. Greenwood’s public relations officer.

  “That one.” I pointed at her photo. “I’ll get the info from her. If she knows anything about the Rhone break-in, I’ll know it, too, by the end of the night.”

  Scarlett breathed hard out her nose. “Scroll down more.”

  Carey did as asked, showing us the smiling faces of various executives.

  “Stop.” Scarlett held out a long, slender finger. “The CFO. Brandon Leatherwood. He’s mine.” She threw a devious look over her shoulder. “I should be able to pump him for information. I met him at one of my debutante balls when we were younger.”

  I examined the man she’d indicated—blond hair, blue eyes, model smile, early thirties. I dug my fingers into the back of the leather chair. The unfamiliar burn of jealousy rushed through my blood. I stared at her profile, but she ignored me, so I let my eyes wander down her straight back, ample breasts, and round ass.

  We’d just see who was pumping whom before the ball was over.

  Chapter Seven

  Scarlett

  Music swelled and rushed out into the cool night air as I walked into the hotel. The masked attendants took my jacket, and I adjusted my own mask before striding through the ballroom entryway. People milled around—talking, laughing, and drinking. I smiled, the black mask embellished with silver scrollwork hiding the top portion of my face.

  I wore a crimson gown that draped on each shoulder, the back open almost down to my ass and the front dipping between my breasts. I’d worn it two years earlier to my parents’ ball. A faux pas to wear it again, but I assumed no one in Mr. Porter’s krewe would recognize it.

  Scents of spicy seafood colored the air, and a buffet beckoned in the hallway. I took the few steps down to the ballroom, a live band playing in a back corner and a bar set up to my left.

  Alcohol was in order. As I waited for the bartender to mix my lemon drop, I eyed the partiers, wondering if Kennedy was already here. We’d agreed to arrive separately and work our respective targets. With any luck, by the end of the night, we’d have enough information to file suit.

  Grabbing my martini glass, I turned and spotted Mr. Rhone standing and speaking to my boss, Guy Porter. Guy had returned from his sailing trip lean and tan. I cut through some of the dancers and walked up to the men.

  “Mr. Porter. Mr. Rhone.” I dipped my head in greeting, the feathers alongside the edge of my mask flowing in the slight breeze.

  “Scarlett.” Mr. Rhone eyed me up and down, his face painted in stripes of gold and black. “You look amazing.”

  I smiled. “You two are also quite handsome. Nice tuxes.”

  “Good to see you again.” Guy clinked his glass to mine and took a swig. He wore a gold-and-purple half mask that covered his forehead and half of a cheek.

  “How was your trip?” I asked, and gazed at the crowd, wondering where my mark was.

  “One of my best. The winds were perfect. Caught some amazing fish. I would go on for hours about it, but I hear we’re out to catch more than fish this evening.” He lowered his voice. “The Greenwood contingent is here. The four of them are huddling near the back corner next to the atrium.”

  “Has anyone spoken with them yet?”

  “I greeted them, but they played dumb. Acted as if nothing were amiss.” Mr. Rhone sniffed and shook his head.

  “Well, there’s no point letting this dress go to waste. Let me see if I can go chat them up.” I took a sip of my drink, the alcohol bitter but crisp on my tongue. “Wish me luck.”

  Guy’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t naysay my plans. I turned and walked toward the atrium, my long hair free and swinging against the bare skin of my back.

  “Scarlett?” A man grabbed my elbow, his dark eyes shining through a gold mask. “It’s Eric, from Rhone.” He smiled.

  “Oh, hi.” I glanced toward the atrium. Four people stood huddled next the glass doors, chatting despite the mass of dance and music all around.

  “Want to dance?”

  “I can’t.” I gently pulled my elbow away. “I’m working.”

  “Later, then?”

  “Sure.” I nodded, but hoped I didn’t see him later. He was nice, but the way he was openly perving on my breasts at that moment sent a chill over my skin. Then again, if Kennedy were the one perving, I didn’t think it would have been a problem. The thought made me take another swig of my lemon drop.

  I continued my beeline toward the Greenwood group and was almost to them when I saw a man in a perfectly fitted tux and silver mask stroll up to them. I edged over to one of the Roman columns lining the ballroom and stood, watching.

  The woman in the group took to him quickly, placing her hand on his arm. He had them laughing within moments. He shot a glance over to me. Kennedy. He’d beaten me to them. Had he been watching me?

  After a few more moments of conversation, he peeled off with the woman. They took to the dance floor, moving easily to the live band’s rendition of some Top 40 pop song. I could have sworn Kennedy smirked at me every time he came into view.

  Not to be outdone, I threw my shoulders back and walked over to the group of three men. They quieted as I approached. Brandon stood with his back to the windows, the outside of the venue lit with sparkling overhead lights.

  “Brandon?” I asked, and intentionally stumbled a bit in my heels. “Is that you?”

  He smiled and gripped my arm before I faux fell. “Do we know each other?”

  “Oh, I thought you were Brandon Leatherwood. I’m sorry. Too many drinks, I guess.” I held up my now-empty glass, most of the contents watering one of the interior plants next to the column I’d hidden behind.

  “No, that’s me. I’m just not sure who you are.” He reached around me, his fingers grazing the bare skin at my back as he pulled me into his side. “Though I’d really like to know.” He smiled and glanced to his companions.

  They laughed and split off to talk amongst themselves.

  “You are?” He peered at my eyes behind the mask.

  “Gloria Templeton.” I stole a name from my debutante days. I could only hope Brandon didn’t keep up with her.

  “Right, Gloria.” He nodded. “We danced once, didn’t we? Did we kiss?” He ran his hand under my dress, gripping my waist.

  I smiled and leaned into him. “Maybe. I don’t remember. It’s been a while.”

  “You’ve certainly aged well.” He rubbed his fingers along my skin, inching them lower.

  I fought the urge to back away. Maybe my plan was working too well.

  “Want to dance?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He leaned down into my ear. “But I want more after that.”

  I giggled and fought the urge to roll my eyes. He pulled me onto the dance floor as the music slowed to a slow song I knew—“Fade into You” by Mazzy Star.

  “This is an oldie.” He pulled me to him, one of his hands at my back, the other casually holding mine.

  I needed to get him talking. “So, what have you been up to since the debutante days?”

  “Just work. Nothing important or even worth talking about.” He pressed me into him, forcing me to appreciate his toned body. He worked out. A lot.

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” I affected my best pout.

  He pulled back and stared into my eyes. “Why’s that?”

  “Work talk from powerful men always turns me on.” Please be dumb enough to fall for this.

  “Powerful men, huh.” He slid his hand down to my ass and squeezed. “You came to the right place.”

  “So anything interesting in your world?”

  “Hmm.” He spoke in my ear as we swayed to the music. “Some big deals on defense contracts. Millions of government dollars. Does that do anything for you?”

  “A lot, actually,” I breathed. Defense contracts made possible by Rhone secrets?

  He slid his hand even farther down my ass, rubbing the silky fabric of my dress
. “No panties, Gloria?”

  “I hate panty lines.” I fake-giggled again.

  “I do, too.” His lips grazed my ear. “You smell amazing.”

  “Mind if I cut in?” Kennedy snatched my hand from Brandon and pulled me to him.

  “I do, actually.” Brandon bristled and took a step toward us.

  “I do, too.” I tried to push Kennedy away but he locked his forearm at my back.

  “Gloria.” Brandon held his hand out to me. “Come.”

  I opened my mouth, though I was unsure which one of them I wanted to excoriate—Kennedy for screwing up my plan or Brandon for treating me like a pet.

  “Gloria.” Kennedy snorted. “I told you it was a bad idea to see strange men when you’re having a flare-up.” He shook his head.

  My cheeks heated and I dug my nails into Kennedy’s ribs through his jacket. He grunted but didn’t release me.

  “Flare-up?” Brandon took a step back. “You know what? Never mind. There’s plenty of pussy here. I don’t need this shit.”

  He disappeared into the crowd.

  “What the fuck are you doing? I was getting information.” I kept trying to harm him through his clothes, but it wasn’t working.

  He pulled me farther into the middle of the room, surrounded by other couples dancing to the smooth, low voice of the angsty song.

  “I already got what we needed.” He ran his hand down my back, his touch sending tingles through my body.

  “Oh, really?” I sneered. “I already got it, too.”

  “What have you got?” He splayed his fingers on my back and swayed me back and forth.

  “You first.” I stopped fighting him and put one hand at the back of his neck. If he really did have the information, then I was verging on grateful that I didn’t have to deal with Brandon’s roving hands any longer.

  “You look amazing.” His lips curled into a smile beneath the silver mask.

  “Thank you.” My response was automatic anytime I received a compliment, even if it came from a cad like Kennedy.

  He was larger than Brandon, his shoulders wider and his arms stronger. But he didn’t manhandle me like my former dance partner. Instead, he moved with me, our bodies melting into each other as the music ruled our movements.