She bucked.
She screamed.
She loved it.
“I’m coming,” Jacqueline’s voice squealed. “Warner, yes like that.”
Her gap tightened around his cock, milking him. She orgasmed.
“We’re just getting started.” Using her wetness, he lubed her backside up, spreading her ass-pucker apart with his fingers. He slid his dick in. It was tighter than he expected. The pressure alone could cause him to ejaculate. His dick pounded her ass.
Jacqueline creamed a second time.
This went on for what felt like hours to young Warner. No sleep. No food. No water. He could’ve lasted for several days.
The euphoric smell from her sex drove him insane. He plowed his cock and balls deep—bottomless inside her. Warner pounded her hard through another orgasm. Her nails dug into the windowsill’s white paint.
“Time out, please…stop.”
He laughed and gave her the same nod she’d given him when they’d started. “Say you’re sorry, baby.” Warner demanded respect even as a kid as they stood with their eyes gazing out at Sheep Point Cove. The violent flesh-slapping sounds between them echoed against the walls. When she’d lost count and her body couldn’t take another orgasm, she begged him to lay her down on the bed to rest.
And so he did.
“I love you,” Jacqueline whispered.
Against his family’s wishes, at eighteen, he’d married Jacqueline, and for ten years they shared a life together. With his two hands, Warner remodeled and upgraded her bed-and-breakfast into a boutique hotel. At night, he put himself through college, earning his undergraduate degree at Brown University and eventually an MBA from Harvard. They sold the property and invested in a larger resort, and their empire branched out. He worked hard for his money and harder to keep her accustomed to the lifestyle she deserved.
Together they expanded their empire with hotels from Boston to Miami, and then they ventured into the spa industry. Soon they became sought-after fixtures on the resort social circuit and traveled to Aspen, Coffs Harbour and the Canary Islands together.
Warner grew up quick from a middle-class boy in Newport, Rhode Island, into a hotel mogul. At twenty-eight, he thought the world had become what he’d once dreamed until the doctors at Miriam Hospital diagnosed Jacqueline with bone cancer. She died within the year. When he laid Jacqueline to rest at Island Cemetery, his heart was buried with hers. With his twenties behind him, he dove into his work and made Truman Enterprises the leading hotel and resort company in the world.
* * * * *
Out of the shower, he dried himself off with a soft towel and groomed in his usual quick, five-minute, no-bullshit ritual. After a citrus aftershave dab to his neck, he dressed in a dark-navy Armani suit custom-made for what his personal shopper coined “Mr. Linebacker Strong Side” due to his football-player-type body. A crimson silk tie, festive for the holiday season, was knotted around his neck. He ran a comb through his sandy hair and stepped back into the bedroom.
Kayden had gone.
He walked down the long hallway, which connected his master suite to the living room and then the kitchen.
His brother, Sheldon, drank espresso with a smug look on his face. “Mornin’, bro.” Legs spread wide—Sheldon sat on a barstool in boxers and admired his latest daredevil tattoo. The black ink decorated his forearm. It was his twenty or twenty-first piece of body art. Warner doubted it would be his last.
“Don’t bro me.” Warner shook his head and glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Tribeca downtown view. With no snow in sight, the winter’s sky rose clear and sunny. “What have I told you about having your girls roaming loose around my penthouse?”
“They’re kittens that I should cage,” Sheldon joked. “Relax. They’re asleep in my bedroom. I wore ‘em out.”
“Sheldon.”
“Sorry, dude. I thought your dick could use a little Kayden attention. You haven’t fucked since Rielle.” Sheldon pushed a coffee cup to the counter’s granite edge and stepped forward.
“My dick and I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring her name up. My New Year’s resolution is no more drama.” Rielle Bruni, his ex-fiancée. Fast tricked him to be married until about six months ago when he realized her true identity. She was a professional con artist.
Yes, Rielle courted, seduced and then faked her pregnancy, in essence forcing Warner to propose. He’d fallen for the scam until Warner found Sheldon between her legs. Rage consumed him when he learned Rielle had thrown herself at Sheldon. She’d pulled his pants to the floor and tried to ride his cock. Warner walked in and caught them. Sheldon stood limp, clearly not interested. Rielle’s baby bump hit the floor the second she chased after him.
“I assumed you were over your engagement.”
“Yes, I’m over that.” Warner had grown to realize he’d never really loved Rielle. Rather he loved the idea of her. He’d been baited and then tricked to stay in the relationship with Rielle from the start. It was never real because Rielle wasn’t who she said she was.
“Good.”
“And I’m over you too.”
“Funny.”
When the building they lived in went up, Warner had appointed Sheldon as project manager to oversee every detail. Once the project was completed, he should’ve moved out and gone on to other cities, assignments and people. On the contrary, Sheldon refused, claiming Manhattan pumped in his blood. He couldn’t leave. Sheldon lingering around became a sore spot at the Truman Enterprises office. Warner’s brother wouldn’t budge. The solution could be found in his family. His folks were scheduled to come for Sheldon at Christmas and drag him back to Newport. He didn’t have a clue, but Rhode Island redemption was the Truman strategy. Hence, Warner humored Sheldon as his espresso-sipping, silk-boxer-lounging, downtown four-way girl-screwing days were numbered.
“If I ever fall for a woman again, she’ll have her own money.” Warner swiped a mug, poured himself some java, black, no sugar or cream, and sipped. His attention returned to the outside view. The lot was a great choice for Truman Tribeca. Proud to have developed a modern-day landmark, he enjoyed living in the hotel and condo luxury facility. Built on Greenwich Street and Duane, the thirty-five stories provided exceptional views over the Hudson River.
“New Year’s…what are your party plans?”