Clash (Cal and Macy's Story 1)

She leans in and grazes her lips over my cheek. Damn, her shampoo smells good, and I want to turn my face and bury it in her hair. But she pulls back swiftly and says, "That was fun, Cal. I don't do repeats, but I think I might just make an exception for you. If you want to hook up some time in the future, just give me a call."

I can't even really process what she's saying, because I think I still have mini-orgasms running through my body. I just nod at her, and she chuckles.

Placing her hands on my hips, she gently pushes me to the side. I lean over, pull my shorts up, and take an awkward step to the left.

This allows Macy to open the pantry door and walk out, never even giving me a backward glance.

Chapter 5

From the Diary of Macy Carrington:

Dear Diary,

My old cathartic friend.

I've ignored you for a few weeks but today was a good day, and although you've usually taken the brunt of my pain, I thought I'd share with you some happy tidings. But first, let me make a vow right now that I'll try to write in you more frequently. I know we were introduced by my former shrink, who was a good man and sadly, who I can't see any more since I crossed a boundary and fucked him, but I will always be grateful he suggested I start journaling in an effort to release all the poison inside of me. While my mental soundness is always in question, there is no doubt that I've been feeling more in control of myself since I started writing in you just shy of six months ago.

So, on to my glorious day!

Aaron's birthday party was amazing. Everything turned out perfectly today, except for some substandard caviar, but I've learned that I can't let little things like that stress me out. We know what happens when I get stressed. Some people drink and other people will cut to mask their pain, but I'm the type of person that will fuck a stranger in a heartbeat just to make myself feel good.

The weird thing is that I did get a little anxious about the caviar, but I didn't feel overwhelmed with the need to bounce some random dick. Instead, I ended up taking my frustration out on a friend. Well, he's not really a friend, more of a friendly acquaintance, who I enjoy some good verbal sparring with from time to time. And man, oh man, Diary... did we really let the insults fly today on one another.

But oddly, none of it really penetrated my thin skin.

I didn't feel threatened or belittled.

I didn't feel like I needed to prove myself.

Most importantly, I didn't feel invisible. He could really see me.

Rather than take it personally, I enjoyed myself, and here is where I'll die of embarrassment if anyone ever reads this diary.

It really turned me on.

I call him Saint Cal because he always projects a holier-than-thou attitude around me. I'll admit... he's fucking beautiful. Tall, well built, with dark blond hair that he wears short on the sides with longer spikes on top that point in about a million different directions. I sometimes feel like he looks down on me for being well... you know... the way I am. Had I not found out differently, I'd almost swear the man was a virgin by the stiff way in which he holds himself around me when I let some sexual innuendos fly.

However, I found that to be a complete falsehood.

After I goaded him by calling him a needle dick, which I only did because he said I was frigid, Saint Cal turned very naughty and pressed my hand to his cock.

And oh my God... his cock.

It's massive.

Let me memorialize it because I didn't have my phone on me so I could take a picture.

Beautifully long... eight, maybe nine inches. One of the bigger ones in my experience.

Not just long, but thick.

Thick enough to really sting.

He's well groomed... trimmed and shaved to fashionable perfection.

He's silky soft on the outside, hard as a rock on the inside. When he's erect, it turns a lovely shade of deep rose, with just a hint of angry purple that sort of proclaims he's the type that likes to fuck hard. It has a gently flared head that was a joy to suck on, and he tasted delicious when he came in my mouth. Like strawberries and cream.

I know that sounds like I'm romanticizing this a bit, but honestly, what happened today in the kitchen pantry with Saint Cal has left me equal parts smitten and bewildered.

Not smitten of the heart, but of the body. I offered him a repeat.

Me... Macy Carrington... offered myself up to him for a second time.

Shocking, right?

I wonder what's wrong with me? I mean... something is clearly wrong, because yes, the sex was amazing. I'll go ahead and admit, probably the best ever, and Diary, you know me... I've had a lot of sex in my life. But Cal and I don't like each other. We barely tolerate one another's presence. And yet... as I sit here and pour out my thoughts and try to make sense of it, I know that once I close your pages tonight, I'm going to think about what we did and probably rename my vibrator Saint Cal.

I just giggled over that, and how many times in the past six months have I ever giggled?

ZERO!

Okay, it's getting late and I have to get up early tomorrow for my shift at The Faith Mission. Lots to do!!!

Thanks for listening, Diary old pal.

Love,

Macy

PS... Mac loved the party. She knows exactly why I did it. She knows it was a ridiculous presentation of my wealth and a complete waste of money and time for a one-year-old baby, but she supported me doing it all the same. Before she and Matt left, she hugged me hard, looked me in the eye, and said, "I hope this helped you find some peace."

I told her it did.

It helped a lot.

Chapter 6

"I need your signature before you leave, Cal," my secretary, Janis, calls out to me as I make my way past her office.

Halting mid-step, I give a quick glance down at my watch and huff out a frustrated sigh. Running so fucking late.

Turning quickly, I step into Janis' office and my ever-efficient secretary hands me a document and pen. I don't bother reading it because I trust her work. She's been with me for almost nine years now, and she definitely makes my life easier.

"Don't forget you have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow with Judge Harkins," Janis says.

I nod, scrawl my signature, and thrust the document back at her. "Got it. And will you make sure to follow up on those bank records we subpoenaed last week in the Fremont case? I know those fuckers are holding out on us."

Janis doesn't even blink an eye at my foul language. She's seen and heard it all. "Not a problem. And Mac asked me to remind you to stop by her office before you left."

"Damn," I mutter as I give her an apologetic smile and pull my phone out of my pocket. I shoot a quick text off to Camille.

I'm running late. About half an hour.

"See you tomorrow," I tell Janis as I leave her office and shove my phone back in my jacket breast pocket.

I half trot, half quick walk down the hall to Mac's office. I'm already late and I'm already going to be on the receiving end of Camille's ire, so I'm not sure why I'm hurrying now.

Just as I step into Mac's office, my phone gives a chime and I know it's a text from Camille. I can almost feel the weight of condemnation in it, so I just ignore it.

"What's up?" I ask as I move toward her desk.

Mac looks up from a legal periodical she's reading with a smile on her face. "Thanks for stopping by. I could use your help on something."

Doesn't matter that I'm late to meet Camille. Doesn't matter she'll chew me out for it, because now I'll probably be later than half an hour.

This is Mac asking for my help, and I don't say "no" to this woman. That's because when I've asked her for help, she's never said "no" to me. Our friendship and business partnership is tight. I mean, really fucking tight. We both took a major risk walking away from well-paying jobs to start our firm together, and we've stuck it out together through good times and bad. That makes a bond as close to familial as you can get.

"Sure," I say as I plop down in one of her chairs, setting my briefcase on the carpet. "What do you have?"

Mac leans to the side of her desk, opening up a drawer and pulling a folder out. She hands it across to me. "I've had to draft up a trust assignment for Macy to make a recurring charitable donation. I've never done one before, and you know I pretty much suck at contracts, so I was wondering if you could review it for me."

I snort as I take the folder from her. "Recurring donation? It's a media ploy, right? Something insanely generous that's guaranteed to land her on the front page of The New York Times."

"That's so not Macy," Mac says with censure.

I cock a serious eyebrow at her, and while I don't want to fight with Mac about anything, all of a sudden I feel the need to bash on Macy a bit. I think it might have something to do with the extreme sexual frustration I've been feeling the past several days since my fuck session with her in the kitchen pantry.