Once I breeze through the T intersection, I stop at the curb in f
ront of the original location of what is now my chain of Irish pubs across North America, O’Keefe’s Pub. I kick out the kickstand of my bike and slide my leg over, then remove my helmet. There’s a lot on my mind as I approach the front door and enter my pub.
My life had been relatively normal until just over a couple of months ago. Then everything changed. It began with stories about me and my friends printed in the tabloid magazine Gotcha! Stories that had a ring of truth to them. Which immediately raised all of our alarms, because when does that tabloid get anything right?
The following weeks have been filled with realizations. One, someone placed recording devices in my pub to catch our private conversations. While the interest in us might seem strange, it didn’t to me. That’s what happens when you’re friends with the most influential and powerful men in San Francisco. The tabloids hungered for stories about us. We’re all in our mid-thirties, longtime bachelors, and adored by the ladies, making us perfect material for the tabloids.
Usually, I don’t mind the attention. In fact, I like it. I enjoy the way women openly gawk at me. It feeds my ego. What I don’t like is people knowing the truth about my private life and ripping it apart. Some things are private, and who I fuck and how I fuck them is most definitely one of them.
The pub is empty as the door shuts behind me, not that I’m surprised. It’s ten o’clock in the morning and we don’t open for another two hours. But there’s a good reason I’m here today, and that reason is standing behind the bar in a pair of skinny jeans and a tight black T-shirt with the O’Keefe’s logo across her great pair of tits.
McKenna Archer.
I’ve never wanted to bury my cock in a woman more than I do her. She’s beyond beautiful with long blond hair, captivating amber eyes, and she’s got just the right amount of curves to remind me how much I hunger for her.
She’s also the woman who’s selling me out to the goddamn tabloids.
Maybe it’s my anger at her betrayal, but my cock is hard and throbbing. I jerked off twice last night and it did nothing to ease the hardness, driving me mad.
An hour ago I came to the realization that only one thing is going to sedate me and clear my head enough to figure this mess out. Her.
There are boundaries I put up because she works for me. I never pushed how much I want her, because I am her boss. Now there’s nothing holding me back.
I enter farther into the pub, watching her take the beer bottles out of a box and restock the fridge. She notices me then and gives me a little smile, but I won’t fall for her innocent act now. She’s the reason my world’s being ripped apart.
I don’t care what’s right and what’s wrong. I’ve wanted her for months, jerked my cock thinking of her too many times to count, and I won’t be refused any longer.
“Come here, McKenna,” I call, striding by her, approaching the back room where the local folk band plays on the weekend.
She silently follows behind me, but when I turn around to face her, she’s giving me a puzzled look.
“What’s up?” she asks.
I place my helmet down on the table next to me, take a deep stabilizing breath, and then I turn to her. My balls ache at the way her eyes widen and dilate, and how her lips part, her face flushes. Maybe she knows that I want her. Perhaps she understands what’s about to happen between us.
I step toward her, watching her step back until she hits the pool table.
“I want you,” I tell her, barely able to control the desire and adrenaline pulsing through my veins. “Right here, right now, McKenna. I want to fuck the goddamn living shit out of you.”
Her breath hitches, but there’s no refusal, as I knew there wouldn’t be.
For months, I’ve teased her and she’s teased me back. But we’ve never allowed each other to cross that line. It’s been playful between us, but not anymore.
I step in closer, pressing the hardness of my body against the softness of hers. “I’m going to kiss you, unless you tell me to stop.”
Her hands lift to my face, squeezing tight, and then she seals her mouth across mine, as if to strip more control from me.
There are no more barriers between us, only lust in the rawest form, with my red-hot anger fueling the kiss. We’re both breathless as my tongue explores her mouth. She’s keeping up, melting beneath my touch, just the way I want her.
But it’s not enough. I want everything she’s got to give me…and then I want to demand more. Today she’s mine to take until I’m the man I was before she walked into my life and fucked it up.
With a growl voicing all my frustration, I shove my hand up her T-shirt and grasp her breast, massaging it with a fierce grip. This isn’t about her, it’s about me, I tell myself. It’s about laying my need for her bare and absolving myself of it.
She moans against me, and I don’t wait. I flick the button of her pants open, yanking her skinny jeans and black lace panties down to her knees before turning her around. I bend her over the pool table, pressing her chest down, staring at the ass that has teased me for many long months. She’s breathless, gasping her desire, as I reach for a condom that I left in my back pocket, and once I get my jeans down, I sheathe my throbbing cock, determined to shed myself of this damn erection that won’t soften.
I thrust my hand into her hair, and she gasps as I find her slit with the tip of my cock. Whether she’s ready or not, I thrust forward right to the hilt. She arches against me, and I find she’s indeed ready and then some. I reach around us, holding on to her neck with one hand while the other goes to her hip. I hold her tight against me, getting the leverage I need to shed my frustrations and to fuck this woman from my mind.
There’s nothing pretty about how I take her. It’s ravenous and rough and messy, and her screams echo in my ears. I yearn to enjoy the lovely sounds she makes and the way she’s quivering against me. I’m so tempted to revel in how wet she is, and I do want to be pleased that I’m getting her off so easily and her cum is soaking my sac.