Unknown Number: Does her pussy pulsate for you with an overwhelming need to be fucked?

Waking up to a text like this one has completely thrown me for a loop. It must be the same sender. A smart arse reply was sent back, but there was nothing in return, only another bizarre message. The woman—at least, I hope it is a woman—won’t answer my questions, but a few days after my message was sent, she sent another.

My Saturday night, which was looking so promising, ended as a big fucking disappointment. Paige never returned and neither did Parker. An hour after they had left the pixie Jax was enamored with told us they had gone home.

Pixie’s name is Lennox, also known as Len, Paige’s pit mechanic. She’s an interesting little woman who has two different eye colors, which were naturally occurring, according to her. Her right is hazel while the left is gray. And she has my wheeled friend completely enraptured.

What’s that?

You want to know how the rest of my weekend went?

I’m glad you asked. Really shows me you care.

After we left the club in the Bangin’ Wagon, we all passed out at my and Jax’s flat. I didn’t wake till noon on Sunday. By then, everyone was gone, meaning I had the place to myself to jack off in the shower to the images of Paige on top of me from the previous night. Her eyes pinched shut in ecstasy, her mouth forming a perfect as fuck red rimmed O, and the cries she made as she reached her orgasm on my jeans and in her panties.

But no matter how hard I came in the shower and then again this morning, it didn’t satisfy my craving. I need to possess the woman.

Fuck her.

Own her body and mind.

Until my dick falls off.

And I don’t see that happening anytime soon, do you?

I know; I know I could have taken someone else home. The leggy brunette I was dancing with before Paige stole my attention would have been a nice lay, but I couldn’t bring myself to search her out and convince her to take me home.

I wanted one woman.

I know! It’s a miracle. The problem is the woman I want to screw doesn’t seem urgent to reach out to me. Len refused to give me Paige’s number, even when I asked her last night while completely sober.

“Paige doesn’t do repeats.”

“Can’t be considered a repeat if we didn’t actually fuck.”

“You got her off? She’s done.”

The tiny woman left me hanging and left with Jax, who was laughing his arse off.

This has turned my otherwise pleasant weekend into the start of another miserable work week. And to add to the massive amount of pissed-off Aussie energy I’m pumping today, Mr. Havre—that’s right, the big boss—is in the office today.

Bright and early this morning, he strolled into the building and went right to his office. He started calling employees up one at a time after making an announcement via email that he would be here all week.

I have been fortunate thus far today. I’ve kept busy with small accounts that don’t need much help. I’ve heard the phones ringing and then the intercom calling for the next person to head up to the dragon’s lair.

I didn’t bother with my lunch break today. Instead, I ate my BLT and chugged a jug of water at my desk while I tried to be as productive and useful as I possibly could.

See? I can be handy.

Throughout the day, I did my best to ignore my phone going off on my desk and didn’t bother to listen to any music. The clatter of productive keyboards and the solemn sounds the boss brought in with him have been the only melodies playing on the entire floor.

I’m almost done with my fourth account for the day when I feel her. And it isn’t a good feeling. You know the feeling you get when you step in something nasty at the public pool or when you pull our sandwich from your lunch pail and it is moist? Yeah, that wonderful feeling grips the back of my neck, but I don’t crane my head up to look at the banshee.

I’m hunched over my desk like a giant trying to sit on a normal person’s shitter, minding my own damn business.

“I see Daddy’s presence hasn’t interrupted you today, Axle.” Her talon drags across the expanse of my shoulders.

Can I rename Candy Chester the Molester?

“Nope.” I continue to look back and forth from the ledger in the center of my desk and my computer screen, transcribing information.

Okay, confession time. Candy isn’t that bad. All right, she is, but she isn’t?

Even though I wised up about staying away from her pussy and not falling for her attempts to help me, Candy still tries to get to me. She may be a shark and banshee bitch who gets her way all the time, but she goes toe to toe with the old man to keep me at the company. It’s all for her benefit. She thinks I will eventually cave again and fuck her in gratitude for helping me keep my job.

Doesn’t mean I can’t reap the benefits of getting to keep my job longer. But for some strange reason, I don’t think she’s here to discuss saving my arse with her father again.

“The meeting Friday could have gone better. Daddy isn’t very pleased.” She sits her arse on the corner of my desk, making herself at home like she always does.

Oh?

Still, I don’t look up. I want to get at least three more small accounts finished today. Thank fuck it isn’t tax season.

“The Bartin twins loved your proposal.” From just beyond my sight, I can tell she is admiring her talons. “They didn’t want me to work with them. They want you.”

She jumps when I crush my pencil in my left hand; broke the number two with an easy snap.

“What?” Finally, I look up at her. “Why?”

Her expression, clearly displeased, tells me she is as shocked as I am. No one ever wants to work with me; with my continual glare, I scare too many.

“I’m not sure. But they said they would only work with you.” She shrugs, standing and wagging her arse in my view as if to tempt me.

Not happening.

“Daddy isn’t pleased,” she repeats. “We are meeting with them tomorrow to discuss a contract.” She smiles sweetly and waves to leave. “I’ll keep you informed, Axle.” Her attempt to purr my name gives me a case of the shits and dry heaves at the same time, reminding me of the trouble those fake purrs got me into.

I’m filled with relief that I am saved for another day because, let’s face it, there is no way the old man will fire me until he gets the Bartin account figured out. The amount of cash flow they would bring in is too much for him to risk.

Standing, I make a quick retreat to the break room for some coffee. It takes less than a minute for the machine to piss out the black nectar, and I’m heading back to my desk. But I’m stopped by a crowd of people. I’ve never really slouched with my posture. My mum grilled it into my sister and me to stand and sit tall at all times.

I’m able to see over everyone’s heads and see Candy, flanked by two security guards, watch as a woman—a newer employee—packs her desk. The poor girl is snarling and glaring at Candy in a way that would make a woman who had a soul shrivel up and die.

But not Candy. She stands proudly with her thin arms crossed under her tits some doctor gave her with a self-satisfying smirk on her face.

Shaking my head, I push through the crowd, ignoring the whispers about the woman threatening Candy after Mr. Havre fired her for being lazy.

“If anyone is lazy, it’s Candy.” I choke on some of my coffee at a man’s remark and slam myself back into my chair, finding complete silence. Closing my eyes for a beat, I take a quick deep breath only to open them when I hear the buzzing of my phone in its drawer.

I think I’ve earned a few moments to check my messages. Nothing from Jax or Levi. And Megan hasn’t been in touch with me since I pissed her off on Saturday. My inbox is full of texts from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Did I make you hard?

Unknown Number: Did you jack off with thoughts of me?

Unknown Number: Because I played with myself thinking of you.

What the fuck?

Who the hell could be texting me?

Unknown Number: You were huge in my hand. I can’t wait to feel you fucking me.

If this is Jax and Levi playing a joke on me, I’m going to murder them. Glancing up, I check to see if the drama is still the main show for my co-workers before I fire back a message.

Me: Who is this?

Setting my phone down, I resume drinking my coffee before I need to get back to work. But my phone has other plans.

Unknown Number: Aw, I’m almost hurt, Oz. Was I not that memorable?

“Holy shit.” My phone falls from my hands and clatters to my desktop as I shove my hands into my hair.

Paige.

Paige “I need to fuck her badly” Bartin is texting me.

Wait, what? How the hell did she get my number? I don’t remember ever giving it to either of them.

Jax.

It had to be him.

Me: You are unforgettable. How did you get my number?

How the hell am I supposed to focus on work now? I’m going to be too tempted to continue my conversation with her now that she is responding to me.

Quickly, before another text comes in, I add her contact to my phone.

Paige: Good to hear. If I told you, I would have to kill you. Sorry, Oz. Girls have their secrets too.

I try and fail several times to formulate a response. But same as if she was sitting here with me, I lock up and can’t find the words I want to write, say, or fucking think.

Paige: Meet me at Liberty Park at the duck pond tomorrow after you get off work.

Me: All right. Why?

She doesn’t answer me right away, and just like that, she goes back to ignoring my questions. I try to get back to work, focusing on numbers instead of the mysterious woman who is quickly becoming too much for me to take in.

The drama on my floor dies out as the security team escorts the poor woman off company grounds and life returns to an almost normal level aside from the eerie quiet now hanging over all of us.

I start to get the phantom thing going. You know when you think you hear your phone or think you feel the vibrations when really it is quiet and no one has messaged you?

Yeah, I’m a nervous fucking wreck because of it.

Every two minutes or so, I’m opening my desk drawer where I shoved my phone with my keys and shades to check it and find nothing. There isn’t even a Facebook notification or anything.

“You’re losing your shit, Ryan.” Shaking my head, I decide to turn some music on, leaving it quiet enough not to cover the sound of a phone ringing or the intercom but loud enough to help me focus back on my work.

The nervous tics leave, and before I know what hits me, it’s five, and I’ve managed to keep my job for another day. Once more, I’m the only one clocking out and leaving at our scheduled time to get off work.

And no, I don’t feel guilty for leaving. I feel relieved. I did damn good working today. I managed to work through nearly eight accounts while others stopped to bullshit, took longer than necessary lunch breaks, and watched the drama unfold.

I still don’t give a shit about the looks I get as I prance my happy arse out of the building and to my truck.

By the time I get home, the sun is still fairly high in the sky. Deciding a run would do me some good, I change and take off. And for the rest of the night, my phone remains silent when it comes to anything from Paige.