Tyler
THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE made my eyes hurt.
It was pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows of my San Francisco penthouse and I wanted someone to turn it down. Begrudgingly, I lifted my head. The clock read four.
Shit.
I’d slept half the day away.
I glanced out the window to the sparkling blue water and the iconic Bay Bridge that usually helped break me out of the fog I always woke with, but it didn’t do shit today.
Reaching for the fat blunt I’d left untouched last night, I lit it and thought about today. It wasn’t just another year. This was the year. I tapped the ashes into the ashtray, smoke rising in rings from my mouth. No, it wasn’t just the year, it was my year. I had to clean myself up first though, stop all the partying and focus on what mattered—my family’s legacy.
Finally, the day had come.
With that thought in mind, I stubbed out the joint and sat up. Even with the slight high I was feeling, the throbbing in the center of my forehead told me I would be nursing a hangover from hell all night unless I hurried over to the wet bar and fixed myself a Bloody Mary, or three.
The self-mandated cleanup could wait a day or two.
I stretched with the intention of getting out of bed, but when I did, I spotted the wiggle of pink painted toes next to my pillow.
Right.
I had company.
I’d almost forgotten.
Peering toward the bottom of the bed, I eyed the brunette. She was turned around from our wild night, and butt naked, just the way I liked them.
A drink, another smoke, and her pussy—talk about the ideal Saturday afternoon.
Like I said, the sober train could wait.
Just as I was about to swing my legs off the bed, last night’s choice flipped over and sat up. I tossed her a wry smile. In return, she presented me with a flirtatious one before leaning forward and crawling toward me. On her hands and knees, she began singing, “Happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday to you.”
It was like Marilyn Monroe jumping out of the birthday cake. This chick’s tone wasn’t quite the same, though. Not that I cared because after the final you, she started to lick up the inside of my thigh, as if my dick was a birthday candle, and she wanted to blow it out. “Where are you going?” she purred.
“Nowhere,” I told her, my voice gruff. Hey, I was easy going. I could change my schedule. A blowjob, then a drink and a smoke were more than amenable.
I didn’t have plans until eight, so I had time.
Rays of warmth lapped at my skin along with her tongue. Oh yeah, that tongue, I remembered it well, the way it licked at my balls was going to be hard to forget.
I used my knee to find her pussy and applied a little pressure.
“Oh, my God,” she screeched around licks.
Shit.
How the hell had I forgotten the way she screamed to God, Jesus, and whoever the fuck else would listen?
I cringed as the memory of her blow-my-eardrums-out orgasm came rushing back. I should have called her a cab last night because if this was her getting worked up sober, she was going to be louder than ever when I took this further, and I just couldn’t handle that kind of noise.
With my dick completely protesting my own idea of a cock block, I placed my palms on her shoulders, forcing her to stop just inches from the goal line. “How about a late lunch first?” I offered, lamely, like I was Martha fucking Stewart.
She glanced up at me and blinked in total surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
Taking the opportunity to slip away, I got on my elbows and pushed myself up until my back was against the headboard in one smooth move.
Tossing all of the covers aside, she reached up and grabbed my balls, fisting them, playing with them, and bringing me to the point of no return.
Oh, yeah.
Fuck, yes.
Sliding back down under her, I thrust my hips forward. “By lunch, I mean a delicious piece of meat, of course,” I told her with a grin, and then I took my dick in my hand, practically serving it to her. All I needed was the silver fucking platter.
I wasn’t a complete selfish prick. I had morning wood and if she insisted on tending to it, who was I to stop her.
Happy birthday to me.
Besides, it wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t be able to make that much noise.
As if on cue, her mouth hit the broad tip of my shaft and she sucked on it like I was a cherry Popsicle.
Blocking out everything around me, I stared down and watched as she deep-throated me. I wasn’t certain what this chic did for a living; I think she told me she was a yoga instructor. Or maybe it was a physical therapist. Either way, I had to wonder if she wasn’t a closet porn star. This brunette knew how to give head and the thought of dismissing her no longer tempted me.
Small sacrifices for the greater good.
I watched as she slid my cock in and out of her hot mouth.
In and out.
And she was on the mark by playing with my balls at the same time.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” I grabbed ahold of her with my palms to guide her, slowing the pace just a little so I could enjoy the silence a bit longer.
“Oh yeah. That’s it, take me all the way, baby.”
And she did.
In and out.
In and out.
Over and over and yet I felt not much more. When I tighten my grip on the back of her neck, she used her teeth, and fuck yeah, that got my blood pumping.
“Harder,” I told her, my voice heavy.
The fact that I wanted to fill her mouth wasn’t what had her unsealing her lips from my cock though, but rather the undisputed dinging of the elevator door announcing someone’s arrival.
What the fuck?
An uninvited person had used the elevator to my penthouse. This building had a doorman, the elevator a code. I hadn’t cleared anyone to come up, so no one should have been allowed.
The orgasm that should have blossomed fizzled out like a dud firecracker. The brunette had stopped all that tongue-action and was looking up with a quirked brow. “Did you invite someone to join us?”
Now that would have been a great idea.
“Tyler!” The raspy voice crawled under my bedroom door and into the space in my mind I had set aside for this intruder.
Muttering, “Fuck,” I took my time getting out of bed. When I had both feet planted on the wood floors, I grabbed for pink toe’s clothes and tossed them to her. “It’s time to get dressed, baby.”
“Who is she?” the brunette asked, stunned. “Your wife or something?”
With a shake of my head, I grabbed the Hennessy bottle on the dresser and took a long swig, and then another, and another, and one more. Lowering it from my mouth, I sneered, “The Wicked Witch of the West,” and strode toward the door. Then I offered flatly over my shoulder, “And you need to leave, now.”
“Tyler!”
Stark naked, I swung the door open and sauntered toward the railing. Feeling the buzz, I peered down. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Wilhelmina Madeline Fox Holiday might have legally been my grandmother, but she was no little old lady with a nurturing soul and kind heart.
At sixty-eight, she looked more like fifty-eight and wished she was forty-eight. All botoxed, tucked, tanned, and bleached blonde, she glared up at me. “Happy birthday, Tyler.”
My disdain for her was hard to curtail. “You drove all the way down here to tell me that?”
She set her Gucci bag on my never-once-used kitchen table and pranced over to the European coffeemaker I hated. “I tried to call you first.”
Right, that call from earlier.
After another sip of the amber liquid, I offered, “I know, and I didn’t answer. Wasn’t that a big enough hint that I didn’t want to talk to you today?”
“Well, if you would have picked up, you could have spared me the trip to the city,” she said, opening a cupboard to pull out a bag of beans.
I gripped the banister with my free hand. “We don’t meet with the lawyers until Monday at four, and I already told you I’ve arranged to video conference with them, so what do you want?”
“I came here to bring you home.”
Feeling the buzz whisking through my veins, I laughed. “You’ve got to be joking.”
Pushing the button to turn on the contraption she bought for me, my step-grandmother glared up. “No, Tyler, I’m not. I’m dead serious. You have to come home.”
This time my response was as bitter as her favorite espresso. “Wilhelmina, I think you’re growing senile in your old age because in case you’ve forgotten, you don’t control what I do or don’t do. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a kid anymore, either. I make my own decisions now and if I wanted to come back to Calistoga for my birthday, I’d be there.”
Grabbing a cup, she set it on the pedestal beneath the spout. “Yes, I can clearly see you’re not a kid anymore, so how about you stop acting like one and put some clothes on? Then come down here so we can talk in a civilized manner.”
The laughter that fell from my mouth was undeniably wicked. “Civilized, now that’s a joke.”
“Tyler, I’m serious. We need to talk, now.”
“That would mean I’d have to stop what I’m doing, and I don’t really think I want to stop fucking.”
Okay, perhaps I wasn’t exactly being a grown up at the moment, but my rebellious side never could stay quiet when she was in the room.
“Don’t be crude.” With a press of the button, the sleek espresso machine whirled to life, spitting out the exquisite dark fluid that I had no doubt would taste like liquid gold to her. Too bad she’d given the contraption to me and I’d never bothered to get rid of it.
“But, Grams,” I taunted because she hated when I called her that, “I only have you to thank for what I am.”
Over the soft sound of grinding beans, she said, “Tyler, I hate to inform you, but I didn’t turn you into a party boy. You did that all on your own.”
The tension in my jaw released. “Yes, I think for once we can both agree.”
She sighed, and her frustration became evident. “Can we please stop this? I didn’t come here to trade insults.”
“And I didn’t invite you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m busy.”
The disappointment in her glare was all too familiar. “Messing around with some random woman whose name you probably don’t even know really should be the last thing on your mind right now.”
With a lift of my brow, I taunted her. “On the contrary, dear old Granny, it’s the only thing I need to be thinking about today, and her name is—” I stuttered for a moment. What the fuck was her name? “Rita,” I finally said when it came to me.
As if on cue, said random girl came storming out of my room. “It’s Greta. And you’re a real asshole.” She scowled at me as she stomped down the stairs. “Don’t bother calling me.”
Okay, I thought, I wasn’t going to anyway. It wasn’t like I’d asked her to leave her number.
Whatever.
The insult made my grandmother smile in triumph like she’d just won the argument.
She hadn’t.
Still, the whole situation was really pissing me off.
I didn’t give a fuck about that girl or what her name was, and I didn’t give a fuck that Wilhelmina had decided to honor me with her presence on my birthday. It was a little too late for family sentiment.
As soon as the door closed, Wilhelmina slowly pranced over toward the staircase with her cup in her hand and stared up at me with that same fucking expectant smirk on her face.
Beyond annoyed, I pointed to the door. “One slut down. One to go.”
“Tyler, stop the insults right this minute.”
Why did I always feel like I was seventeen again whenever I was around her? “I will as soon as you leave.”
She shook her head, and her voice wavered a tad when spoke. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”
“Do what?” I groaned, hating that I allowed her to pull me in to whatever drama she’d come here to stir up.
Tension managed to line her botoxed face when she said, “California Jane is on the verge of bankruptcy, and I’m here because I need your help to turn it around.”
Now that made me want to put my pants on.