KENNEDY

On my way into New Jersey, my father calls me for our weekly chat about how I should get a real job, quit wasting money on Sports Buzz, and find myself a news anchor position. Because Lockwood’s are winners. And winners don’t waste their time on silly things like online newspapers that don’t even break even each month.

“Dad, I understand what you are saying, but this is my paper, and I will do what I want with it,” I say into the speakers of my car, a dark blue BMW coupe my father had bought me before the shit hit the fan.

“You are spending a lot of money to travel and maintain the paper, sweetie. I am trying to look out for you and your best interests.”

“Thank you for your concern.” I check the GPS, making sure I am heading in the right direction as I cross the bridge. “I can handle myself. If it becomes too expensive, I promise you I will shut it down.”

Funny how he squandered his own money and allowed his corrupt business associates to talk him into deals that bled his companies dry, forcing him to sell them off to the highest bidder. That bidder was Rinaldi Holdings, a global company with their headquarters in downtown Philly. Savannah, my younger sister, had tried to weasel her way into getting information on the people who had bought the company. She had found out that the Philadelphia Mafia had their hand in the entire thing.

Since then, my sister and I have been playing it off as if we still have money, mostly because of our clothes and accessories. But that charade will soon die off, and people will realize whatever money my father had is almost gone once we’re forced to offer our Fendi and Chanel bags on consignment just to pay rent. Not that anyone would feel sorry for us.

My mother still hasn’t accepted that we are soon to be broke, drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a wine glass until the bank comes to throw them out of the house I grew up in off the Mainline, an area outside Philly where all the wealthy Philly suburbanites live.

I was hoping my father was one of those tycoons who was smart enough to hide money in offshore bank accounts. Nope, my grandfather was the real brains behind Sentry Publications, and after he had died, my father was in over his head and desperate for help. Too bad he sought the wrong help. His business partners somehow squeezed every penny from not only our accounts but also those left in a trust from my grandfather.

“Have you spoken to Savvy?” My father sounds more upset than normal. “She hasn’t been answering my calls. They go straight to voicemail.”

“She’s fine, Dad. Just give her some time. This transition is not easy on any of us. She will come around.”

“You were always the tough one,” he says with pride. “Your sister was too spoiled and wanted everything handed to her, but you…you were always a hard worker.”

Irritated, I spit back. “Then why don’t you believe I can turn this paper around and make it a success? A little more faith in me would go a long way. It’s bad enough Savvy and Mom think the paper is a joke, but you, of all people, should understand what it’s like to try to make something from nothing. You’re starting over at sixty years old.”

He sighs, his heavy breaths carrying through my car, the speakers creating an echo. “I named you after a great man, Kennedy. You have never disappointed me. I’m sorry if I have been too harsh on you. I don’t want to see you fail the way I did. I am trying to protect you.”

“The only way to succeed is to let me try, Dad. If I never try, then I won’t know if I can make it work.”

“You’re right, sweetie. Well, your mother is calling me for lunch. If you hear from your sister, please have her call me. I am worried about her. Ever since graduation, she has spent most of her time in Europe or in New York, charging up her credit cards, and I can’t afford to cover her expenses anymore.”

“I’ll let her know, Dad. Like I said, just give her time. At some point, she will come to terms with everything.”

Following the navigation prompts, I turn down an empty street that appears to be a dead end, assuming the car is wrong until I see the monstrosity of a house on the corner, situated next to an even bigger house. Can I even call it a house? These mansions make the one I grew up in seem small in comparison.

“Have a good night, Dad. I have to run. I’m meeting a hockey player for the paper. Tell mom I say hi.”

“Will do sweetie. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” I say, before hitting the end call button on the steering wheel.

After I pull through the tall, wrought iron gates and drive up and around the spiral driveway, I have no idea where to park. Situated near the back of the house is a four-car garage, but without a single car on the property, I almost wonder if I am at the right house. It’s too desolate for anyone to live here.

The grounds are cared for, the lawn pristine, the hedges trimmed and sculpted, but it’s missing the personality that comes with the owner of a house. Every house has its own character. This one has…nothing. For someone full of life, Tyler sure lives in a sad house, despite its many architectural charms.

I park in the circular driveway, closest to the front of the house, sucking in a deep breath as I prepare myself for what may turn out to be a very long afternoon. Sydney had insisted I keep up the charade of dressing as if I rolled out of bed. So, I threw on the first outfit I could find that looked frumpy enough to wear for the interview.

Man, I’m slumming it today in this oversized jumper dress and matching black leggings. That part of my outfit is semi-normal it’s just not the boho chic look most people would expect when talking about a jumper dress. The pink and multi-striped UGGs are what make this outfit a real train wreck. You can spot me a mile away in these boots. I even paired it with a hot pink jacket with fur around the collar that was part of Sydney’s pimp costume for Halloween one year.

After seeing that Tyler had commented on my blog post the other day, I was afraid to write about our little experiment out of fear he would figure out that I’m testing this theory on him. I cannot have him back out of the interview. I need the money that could come from an exclusive too much to screw this up. My one-on-one with Dane Fisher saved my ass for the next few months with all the ad sponsors he drew into Sports Buzz. But that money will run out in no time.

Walking up to the door, I slide the messenger bag up higher on my shoulder and think of all the questions I want to ask Tyler so I can make this as painless as possible. If I’m lucky, the interview should last no more than an hour, and I’ll be home in time to eat takeout with Sydney and plot our blog posts for this week.

Before I can knock, the front door swings open. Looking hot and well put together, all ripped muscle and broad shouldered in a fitted gray tee and black track pants that hang from Tyler’s narrow hips, he is fucking perfection. I hate myself for thinking of him in any way other than a subject I am here to write about, but he is so damn sexy without even trying.

As our eyes lock, he smiles wide, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. His gaze lowers and travels down my body, a frown crossing his lips as he appraises my body. I feel exposed with the way he stares at me, not speaking a word until he takes in every inch of me.

“I have to say I’m disappointed you didn’t wear the bandage dress you promised. Instead, you chose…” He doesn’t even finish his thought, the disgust evident in his expression. “Somehow you still look kind of hot in this.”

I fold my arms across my chest, annoyed. “Are you going to let me in or stand there like a jackass and ogle me all day and make stupid comments about my clothes?”

The corner of his mouth turns up into a cocky smirk. “I like it when you’re mean. I’ll consider this foreplay for later.”

Moving my hands to my hips, I sigh in frustration. Tyler makes everything so much harder for me. “How about you just consider it me being mean and let’s get to the reason I am here. Sound good?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” He steps to the side, holding out his hand and allowing me to step in front of him and into the monstrosity of a house.

Tempted to yell something to see if it will echo off the vaulted ceiling, I hold back my childish instinct. I used to do the same thing in the house where I grew up all the time. My mother hated it, and once I started, my younger sister would join in on the fun, the two of us saying random things just to hear our voices reverberate through the house.

Tyler shuts the door and escorts me down the long white-and-gray marble hallway, the house as cold on the inside as it appears from the outside. No one lives here that much is clear.

“What do you need such a big house for when you live here by yourself?”

“Who says I live here alone?”

We walk into the living room, the open space light and airy with an enormous flat screen TV hung above a brick fireplace. Several sets of couches and lounge chairs are scattered throughout along with a few tables containing electronic devices on them. It’s the ultimate bachelor pad.

“Considering we already established that you do not have a girlfriend over coffee, I assume you live here alone.”

“Well, you assume wrong. If you recall, I also mentioned Roxie lives with me.”

“Oh, right.” I nod and take a seat on the black leather couch closest to me. “You have a puppy.”

“Roxie,” he corrects.

“Where is she?”

“In my bedroom.” His eyes drift over to the black, fluffy doggy bed on the other side of the room. “I wasn’t sure if you like dogs.”

“I love them.”

“Wanna come up to my room and meet her?” He says this with a snicker.

I roll my eyes at his comment. “Um…no. Stop trying to trick me into sleeping with you.”

He moves closer, his body blocking my vision. “Is it working?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Shame,” he mutters under his breath.

Setting my purse on the floor, I dig through my messenger bag for the tape recorder, notepad, and pen before looking up at Tyler who has decided to position himself in front of me.

Until now, I hadn’t had a good enough look at him, because, in these pants, I can see the outline of his dick, and it’s resting against his leg.

Does he wear underwear? Jeezus.

I am almost wet in anticipation. Scratch that. I am fucking wet from the sight of his massive bulge, which means I need to rush through this interview as fast as possible and get far away from him.

Why do his pants have to be so damn tight? And why does he have to be so fucking sexy?

I swear he did this on purpose. He wants to kill me. I might die from lack of oxygen to my brain if he doesn’t move.

When was the last time I even had sex?

The thoughts running through my mind are driving me insane. I write about sex all the time for the blog, but I have been so busy with work it must be at least six or seven months since I broke up with my ex. And now, I have some serious man candy with the stick to match, shoving his manhood in my face and loving every second.

“Could you move? Is there some reason why you are hovering over me?”

In answer, he plops down on the couch next to me, his big body taking up way too much space. He slides around to get comfortable, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, drawing my attention to every movement he makes. Tracing the lines down his arms with my eyes, I think about reaching out and doing the same thing with my finger. I bet his skin is soft, smooth. Oddly enough, I want to touch him, explore his body with my hands and mouth.

“See something you like?” He says with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I was just thinking about something.” I try to play it off, nonchalant as if I wasn’t two seconds away from licking him.

“I’m sure you were.” He scoots closer to me, our bodies a few inches apart, the heat from his limbs making me all too aware of how close we are to one another.

Gripping the pen tighter, my hand hurts from squeezing it so hard, crushing the bones. My pain makes me more aware of my sexual desire for Tyler and how wrong it is for me to have such thoughts. I shouldn’t want him. But he makes it so damn hard when he oozes sex, shifting his weight so that his leg is propped up against the cushion, my gaze seeking out the giant cock in his pants.

If you could bottle up his sexual appeal, women could orgasm for the rest of their lives without ever needing a man. He runs a hand through his short blond hair and licks his lips. This motherfucker is trying to torture me. Someone with his looks, talent, and money has had his share of women eyeing him up, and I am no different from those women. Tyler doesn’t miss a beat, all too aware of my physical response to his closeness.

“You should take a deep breath,” he whispers against my lips, “because you look like a fucking corpse right now.”

His laughter snaps me out of my trance. Now awake from my sex daze and afraid to make direct eye contact, I squirm in my seat and flip open my notebook, needing a distraction from Tyler.

“Why don’t we start the interview? I’m sure you have other plans for today.”

“Nope. I was planning on doing you, but otherwise, my schedule is wide open.”

I keep my eyes on my book and flip through until I find a blank page. He will not deter me from my mission. I came here to get the story no one has on Tyler Kane, not hop into bed with him.

“I’m glad you don’t have a life,” I say, scribbling the date at the top of the page, “but I have things to do later, and no, they don’t involve you, in case you are wondering.”

“Damn, babe. That was harsh.”

“Don’t call me babe.” I glance up from the book for a brief second, his eyes slicing through me with one look. “You should get used to disappointment. Not everyone will hand you life on a silver platter just because you’re wealthy and famous. Sometimes, you will get a dose of reality and have to learn how to deal with it.”

He opens his legs wider as he leans in to me, the heat from his breath on my skin going straight to my core. “So, now that we established my bedroom is out of the question, how about I show you another part of the house? I have lots of rooms. We can do something in each one, and you can write a story about it.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I try to keep my shit together, forcing myself to hate him, so I don’t make the mistake of brushing my lips against his. He’s way too close to me and putting me out of my comfort zone.

“You do realize that makes you sound like a child when you ask questions like that, right? I mean, what’s next? Are you going to ask me if I want to jump on the bed with you or see your game room?”

“You are an interesting woman, Kennedy. I like you.” His fingers travel up the length of my arm as he speaks almost against my lips. “What did you want to ask me?”

My panties are soaked, dripping fucking wet. Afraid my juices might slide down my thigh any minute, I close my legs. Of course, Tyler notices and clamps his other hand down on my knee, his palm still cupping my shoulder.

“What are you doing, Tyler?” I don’t even have the willpower to move away from him.

“Giving you something to write about.” He slides the bizarre pink jacket off my shoulders, exposing my bare arms to the cold room, sending chills through me. The jacket bunches at my elbows, and instead of helping me out of it, he runs his hand across my skin and bends forward to kiss my shoulder, making his way to my neck.

My skin pricks with goose bumps, and although part of it so from the temperature inside the house, the other half is from Tyler.

“Tyler,” I moan, having trouble controlling my breathing. “We can’t do this.”

“Give me one good reason,” he mumbles as his lips travel up to my neck.

“It’s unprofessional,” I spit out, unable to concentrate.

He slides my dress up, still kissing my neck. My ovaries are ready to explode. There’s too much happening between us without it actually happening. He either needs to do something about the aching between my legs or get the fuck off me and let me go home and take care of it myself.

“We don’t work together.” His voice is low and sensual. “So, I don’t see how this is unprofessional.”

“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to report the news. What would people think of me if you gave me an interview because I had sex with you?”

“Who said you’re getting an interview? Maybe I just wanted you to come over so we can play.”

I cover his hand with mine, and that gets his attention enough to stop kissing my neck to look up at me. At this moment, I don’t care about the interview. I care about having the hottest hockey player in the NHL getting me off. It’s not like I haven’t watched him tear it up on the ice over the years and think how hot it would be to have my own puck bunny moment with a guy like Tyler.

Spreading my legs, I place his hand on the inseam of my thigh. “If you’re not giving me an interview, then you better make me come, or I’m leaving.”

His wicked smile reaches up to his eyes. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Before I can say another word, his lips are on me, and his tongue slips inside my mouth, tangling with mine. Our kisses are animalistic, rough and hard, like two enemies trying to fight each other off. I want him, but I don’t. I should leave, but I won’t. I’m an idiot for not resisting him. My head spins from the passion behind each kiss, unable to get enough.

Once he has my dress pushed up my thighs, exposing black lace panties, he glances down and licks his lips before looking up at me beneath his brows. “You were hiding these under this ridiculous outfit.”

“What’s wrong with what I have on?” I whisper, still trying to catch my breath.

“It just doesn’t match you at all. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were wearing this on purpose to distract me. Sort of like how girls will wear an ugly sweater to break up with a guy just so they don’t want to fuck them when all we can think about is what’s under the fucking sweater. So, if that was your angle, it didn’t work. You’re sexy, and I still want to fuck you.”

Gripping his shirt in my hands, I pull him to me, our lips almost touching. “Then shut up and fuck me already.”

He pushes my legs together to slide my panties down to my ankles and throws them behind him. The look in his eyes is primal, devouring every inch of my semi-naked body. I’m still wearing my dress with the jacket bunched at my elbows, but I feel so exposed with my dripping pussy on display.

Without another word, he tests my slickness before he plunges two fingers inside me. “So wet,” he groans. “I can’t wait to fuck your tight pussy.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle my moans. At first, Tyler starts slow, his pace quickening with each second. My mind spins into a frenzy of sexual bliss, consumed by the high that Tyler has given me as my muscles tighten around his fingers. I am so close to finding my release, and I think he knows it, because without stopping, he lifts my leg over his shoulder, leaving a few kisses on my skin, before he bends down to suck on my clit.

I. Could. Die.

Tyler’s lips, his mouth, the tiny bit of stubble all rubbing against my pussy, feels so good I want it to last forever. Tyler Kane is as good with his hands and mouth as he is on the ice. Not that I ever doubted that. I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I never should have let him kiss me. And I should not have let him finger and lick my pussy. But…and this is a big but, I don’t want him to stop.

“Tyler,” I scream, gripping a fist full of his hair in my hands as my entire body trembles, the heat spreading from my cheeks to my toes.

After my body stops convulsing and my moans die off, he slides his fingers out of me and looks up at me, his lips covered in my juices, looking sexy as fuck. “Damn.” That’s all he says but the cocky smirk says it all. He owns me now, and I want him to own me—or at least until after he fucks me.

“I just gave you some new material to write about,” he says, playful, “and we haven’t even started.”

Then he stands to take off his shirt. He raises it over his head and drops it on the floor. I can’t stop staring at his eight-pack abs, tracing the curves of each muscle. But the real muscle, the one that makes my mouth open wide and my pussy do a happy dance is the one in his pants. Because when Tyler pushes his track pants over his hips that he had on without any underwear and drops them to the floor, I need to wipe the drool from my chin. As if I thought I knew how big it was from the outline I saw earlier, my mind did not do it any justice.

He steps out of his sneakers and pants, kicking them behind him. I bite down hard enough to draw blood as I stare at his massive erection, giddy but somewhat nervous. Will the whole thing even fit? I guess we will find out. That could be another blog article. Instead of How to react when his stick ain’t all that, I should write How to react when his stick is so big you want to scream, cry, jump up and down, but are scared to death that you may never walk straight again.

My ovaries are like yeah, bitch, ready to give me a high-five because they are going to be on overdrive tonight. Giving himself a few strokes, Tyler stalks toward me and lowers himself between my legs. But for whatever reason, I don’t want to have sex with him on his couch even though I had no problem with him going down on me a few seconds before. It makes me feel…cheap, which confuses me even more.

I write about one-night stands and every type of sexual encounter imaginable, most of which I have experienced for myself or vicariously through Sydney or our viewers. With Tyler, I want this to be right—no, perfect.

“Do you think we can move this to your bed? The couch isn’t all that comfortable.”

He shoots me a confused look and sits back on the sofa. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, I understand. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready to do.”

I hold out my hand to him. “Oh, I’m ready all right. Lead the way, handsome.”

Jumping up from the couch, he pulls me up and into his chest in one swift scoop and wraps his arms around me. I think how nice this is for a second before I realize his massive cock is digging into my stomach. It needs its own zip code.

He bends down to kiss me on the lips, softly this time. I almost miss the rough kisses, but the sensual, passionate ones cause my toes to curl just as much. After he releases me from his grasp, he catches me from falling forward, my body and mind too disconnected to function at the same time.

“Take me to your lair,” I say, laughing.

“You’re such a smartass.” He shakes his head and pulls down my bottom lip with his thumb.

I stick out my tongue to lick his skin. He does something I least expect and picks me up like a ragdoll and slings me over his shoulder, smacking me on the ass as he walks out of the living room.

“This ass is mine,” he says, pushing up my dress and biting my skin.

I smack him in the arm, still feeling the sting from his teeth on my ass. “You’re a bad boy, Tyler.”

He laughs as we descend the stairs. “You have no idea, baby. I’m about to show you just how bad I can be.”