Jamieson
Glaring at me hard, Carli shakes my shoulders. “Where were you? You said you’d be there, James! She needed you!”
Sitting up in bed, the dream of Carli telling me off for not being there for my sister, seems so real. And there was China, wearing an orange jumpsuit, being walked away by the transvestite she’d had the pleasure of bunking with for a short time. His purple heels were clacking on the floor, and he was wearing his own orange jumper which was pulled low and wrapped around his waist, with the T-shirt ripped and tucked up in a tankini.
Raking my hands through my hair, I breathe out heavily to calm my overactive mind. “I’m such a fucking asshole.”
With everything going on, I couldn’t even be there when she needed me the most. Neither could Wyatt, but he has an excuse. Did I tell him about my meeting? No. Will I? Yes, later. For now, we have bigger issues. It seems China’s under house arrest, and the police officer that arrested her will be staying at the house alongside her. Does it make me feel better or worse? Fuck. I’m truly not sure.
Looking at the time, I see it’s four in the morning. There’ll be no going back to sleep after that.
With the early sunrise peeking through the blinds, I lay back hard against the pillows. Noticing the light blankets tenting, I talk to my cock like a friend, not a member of my body. “Well, guess I’m not the only one awake early. Might as well start the day.”
Throwing off the blanket, I flick the side table light on. The brightness of the room is shocking. Pulling back the wooden blind, I stare out at the ocean below, not caring that I’m naked. No one is up yet, and the windows are tinted. Even if they weren’t, if someone’s ballsy enough to take a picture of me and my morning wood, they’re welcome to it. I’m not shy.
Thinking on that dream isn’t calming me. That dream was so surreal. Having Carli remind me wasn’t necessary, but truthful. My subconscious is telling me that once more, I wasn’t there for a family member when they needed me. I’m such a fuck up for failing my sister. Hell, I’ve failed every family member I hold dear in some way.
Smacking a hand against the glass, the sound reverberates through the room. What I need to do is man up and tell Wyatt why I wasn’t there for China yesterday, and I need to tell him what the lawyers have in mind. We need a plan to deal with this before they plan it for us, or before Crown Industries does.
Then I’ll tell China. It will affect her, too, but less than it does Wyatt or myself it seems. And why was Carli mad at me in the dream? Why was she in my dream? Looking down at my stiff morning wood, I know who’s thinking of her still. That woman baffles me in her reactions to me, and there are so many things I think about doing with her. Then there’s that pink fucking vibrator. It causes me further sexual frustration as I think of her using it to give herself a release. Not that my own hand hasn’t received callouses from my own harsh workouts, but that woman is who seems to end up in every vision.
Since I saw her beating out her own orgasm in her car after our kiss, I can’t get it out of my mind. And what a lovely look that was. Ecstasy suits her. The color that rushed her cheeks. The goosebumps that rose on her skin. The shivers of her aftershocks. It was beautiful. I want it to be me making her that flushed all the time. The thought of someone else deep in her at any point pulls on a jealousy bone I don’t own, but it’s there for her.
Looking down, my morning wood is still standing proud at the thought of sinking deep into her pussy. Grasping it, thinking of Carli sucking it deep, the muscles in my arm strains as I pull it hard. In my mind, her cheeks are sucked in, holding me tight as her teeth lightly scrape along the length. Her tonsils riding the top edge of the head, and the curve of her throat closing off her air for a moment of time sends shivers down my spine and into my gut.
I’ve never thought of just one woman, ever. They’re disposable. They use me, so I use them. Tits for cock, tease and please. We all get what we want, and I’m okay with it. Picturing Carli in those fuck me heels, bent down in front of me, arms strapped behind her with her jet-black hair wrapped around my knuckles, I can literally feel her smile around my cock as I yank her hair tighter. Watching her back bow and her eyes dance with joy, I feel the end coming forth. My legs become weak as the pressure builds in my balls, and I want the image to continue just a bit longer. What I want is her trussed up like a Christmas turkey as my cock pounds into her soft folds over and over. With that last vision burned into the back of my eyelids, I fall apart.
When I open my eyes and the dream dissipates, my release coats the window.
“Well shit.” Laughing to myself that I just did what countless others have in this room, I head off to gather a wet cloth. I may have made a mess, but I won’t make the cleaning lady deal with my spudge. I’m an asshole, not a fuck stick.
After the remnants are gone, I toss the cloth in the towel bin and start the shower. How Carli has gotten this far under my skin is insane. Meeting her at my father’s funeral, then seeing her the other day, she’s ingrained in my thoughts. Yeah, I’ve had more than my share of one-nighters, but nothing that made an impression on me long-term. She does.
Fuck it. I doubt I’ll see her again anyway. She was flying out to her job, so I bet she’ll be tied up for a while. The governor she works for seems like a handful, and that’s saying something coming from me. The man is a habitual cheater that she’s made out to be a dream boat. My PR is a nightmare, so his must be like trying to cover Al Capone’s true body count.
Carli is a master manipulator.
As the water pummels out of the shower head at skin peeling speed, I clean off my grime and the dirty thoughts of her. What I have planned for today will take every ounce of control I own, and she can’t be on my mind.
I’m about to tell my brother how our lives are about to get considerably more fucked up.
Carli
Handling Chris is easy. Dealing with his boy toy having a hissy fit this morning, that was not what I had in mind when I woke up.
What did I want? I wanted a double espresso, one pump of sugar free vanilla and a touch of steamed lactose free milk. What do I get, though?
“You don’t appreciate me!”
“Of course I do…”
“Kyle! My name is Kyle!”
And that’s when I woke up. I dressed quicker than a runway model, tossed on mascara, pulled back my hair into a messy ponytail, then stomped out to the kitchen to Chris and his teenager in the midst of a mood swing.
“You know I’m bad with names. That’s why I’m in politics. I don’t have to remember names.”
“That’s my job, Kurt,” I say. Yeah, I changed his name. Fuck him for waking me up after my jet lag.
“Kyle!” he snaps back.
Waving off his request to call him by his right name, the espresso bliss maker calls my name louder than his attitude.
“She doesn’t care about you, Kurt. And honestly, all I cared about was the sex. Your name didn’t matter.” And that’s when Ken punches Chris in the jaw.
I set the machine to brew before having to deal with this shit. Big Dick Rick walks to the door with his jacket and shoes in hand. Ignoring the outburst, and most definitely ignoring my boss, I concentrate on the consistent drip of my much-needed liquid. With the slam of the door, Chris’s toy leaves in a huff.
Hearing Chris walking toward me, I speak without turning. “Don’t talk to me yet, manwhore. I’m not ready for your shit yet.”
“I didn’t speak,” he says, almost cynically.
“Yeah?” Turning, I finally look at him. He’s wearing that smirk that makes me want to hit him, again. “Asshole, you spoke. I heard it.”
I laugh inside, because he’s afraid to laugh at me out loud. “What did I say then?”
“You said this, in a whiny tone I might add. “Carli, what did I do wrong? I sucked his cock, he beat my ass for hours and I gave him my soul. Why didn’t he love me?’” Laughing, I shake my head at his silly neediness. Chris wants love. He wants a man that can accept his whoring ways, and he wants his political status to stay perfectly intact. He wants to announce he’s a goalie net, not the stick delivering the pucks. He wants this with acceptance, without suicide by media after he dumps his wife on the street corner, penniless. She’s been a great beard, but I feel bad she doesn’t even have a man on the side to fulfill her needs. How she’s lived without sex for twelve years is beyond me. I wouldn’t have lasted twelve days. Money aside, his political stature might take him further than Governor of Indiana, but with the shit I cover there’s no way he’s hitting the Oval Office.
Would I gloat that I could take a closeted gay whore to the highest position in the free world? Fuck yeah, I would. But there’s no fucking hope of that ever happening. There’s a better chance of Aussie rule football becoming the American national sport.
Reaching into the freezer, I pull out an ice pack—because we keep them in stock—and hand it to the idiot holding his jaw. “Here. Don’t be such a fuck up. At least write their name on your wrist or something.” He’ll never do it, so I’ll just keep ice readily available.
Taking the offered pack, I hear Chris snapping it open.
“You want a coffee?” I ask, feeling slightly sorry for him.
“Yeah, you do those so well, Car. Thanks.” Pulling my drink off the machine, I set up one for Chris.
“What’s the plan today?” he asks absently.
“We have shaking babies and kissing monkeys at the zoo. Mark will pick us up in forty.”
Huffing, he pulls at the tie and loosens his buttons. “Couldn’t think to tell me to wear a cheap shirt beforehand?”
Turning with his drink, I scowl. “Why? You didn’t worry about waking the woman in charge of your affairs with moaning gorillas at three-thirty this morning, or with diva hissy fits—”
“Yeah, got it. We were loud.”
“No,” I mock. “You were so quiet that Mrs. Mackle in penthouse five should be outside the door with a waving finger as we exit.”
“Got it, Carli. So, next time—”
“Muzzle the bitch.” Sipping my caffeine, I smirk into my cup.
With me back and forth to see Circe, this is the usual banter between us in the wee hours after his sexual escapades. He doesn’t ask about mine because I won’t fucking tell him. You won’t find us sitting around, braiding each other’s pubes and talking about cock sizes. We have a clean, simple, and easy boss / employee relationship. I just happen to know more about his life than I feel I ever should, and that’s exactly why he pays me an exorbitant amount of money. Not to ignore that the governor pays for my flights back and forth to Cali, my apartment there, and my cars that are there and here...oh, and my clothing expenditures.
Yeah, I’m spoiled.
Kato was wrong. I haven’t touched family money in close to five years. It’s still dropped into an account every month, but I will never touch a penny of that blood money. And he wants to threaten me with the lives of my sisters? It’s true, I haven’t seen them in years, but they don’t want or deserve the position thrust upon them any more than I want it. Will I accept it to save them? Sacrificing everything I’ve built to care for them? That’s the real question, I guess.
“You ready to go, Car?” Chris asks, yanking me from musings about family.
“Yeah, I’m good. What do you say we go get monkey shit and baby throw up on us?”
“Sounds pleasant,” he quips.
I give him a tight smile. “That’s my real charm, finding the direct happiness in disgusting endeavors.”