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"Then don't you dare stop." A whimper left her lips as I thrust into her harder. When we fucked, it seemed to rip open every raw emotion the two of us had locked away in our dark souls. But it had nothing to do with passion or an intimate connection between us. Our relationship was purely physical. The pain she craved seemed to stem from a life where things were too easy, so easy that there was never fulfillment. My dad had accumulated nearly as much wealth as Kimberly's family had been pushing along from generation to generation, but nothing came easy for me. The only thing my dad ever bought for me were things I never wanted, like tuitions to pretentious private schools, piano lessons and custom suits. What kid wanted a fucking three piece suit for his thirteenth birthday? I sure as fuck didn't. And just like our vastly different upbringings, Kimberly and I used each other for uninhibited, no strings sex for different reasons. Kimberly always took sex to the extreme because she was looking for that sense of achievement, that satisfied feeling of completion. But my needs had nothing to do with fulfillment. I couldn't pinpoint what they were. All I knew was that I was happy to give it to Kimberly in every way she wanted. It was a sexual release, but I wasn't kidding myself. The pleasure I got from punishing her came from an anger that was so deeply buried in my soul, I didn't always recognize it. Like right then, as the shower heated our skin and my pulse pounded through my veins, I dug my cock into her again and again. There was anger in it. Anger, not at the beautiful and equally dark-souled woman in my grasp. It was an anger that I couldn't define, but it was there. It had been there since childhood.
Kimberly's legs grew shaky. I wrapped my arm around her and slid my fingers along her pussy to her clit. I stroked her gently, the way she liked her clit stroked, the only part of her body she liked me to treat in what she called a 'gentlemanly manner'.
A frustrated moan rolled out from her lips. "You've broken my pussy, you bastard. You're going to need to fuck me in the ass. And don't you dare come first."
"You're asking a lot of me. That tight ass of yours always milks me to orgasm fast." I pulled free of her pussy and gritted my teeth as I pushed into her ass. "Fuck, darling, you're going to kill me this morning."
"I sure—am—if you don't—get this done, Archer." Her words were punctuated with quick, sharp breaths.
"Laser—focus. Ignore the p—pain. Win at all—costs," I muttered between groans. Some kids were told to say their prayers before bed, I had to repeat my dad's chant ten times before closing my eyes.
Kimberly stopped rocking back against me for a second and looked over her shoulder. "You aren't seriously reciting your dad's stupid fucking credo in the middle of ass play. Is that pep talk for you or me?" She faced the wall again and pushed against me, taking my erection in farther and pushing me torturously close to coming.
"For you," I grunted. "Trust me, I don't need a pep talk right now. I'm right fucking there."
I flicked my thumb over her clit and had to concentrate on my hand between her legs to keep my mind off my cock. I was at the brink of exploding.
Kimberly’s legs suddenly regained strength. She rocked back taking in more of me as my fingers strummed her clit to orgasm.
"Fuck! Yes! You fucker!" Kimberly's screams pierced the air.
She stayed braced against the wall as we both caught our breath.
"I never once doubted that you could do it, Archer." She said on a long sigh as she straightened and stepped under the shower head.
I bowed my head to finish the performance. "Just like I always say—failure is never an option."
2
The heavy rain clouds were spitting just enough drizzle to make everyone slow to a snail's pace. Weather was so rare in Southern California, everyone went into full panic mode when the asphalt got wet and the wipers went on.
I slipped my Ferrari into fifth gear. The engine hummed as I dashed in and out of traffic on Pacific Coast Highway. Kimberly had hopped around for ten minutes, shimmying into her tight jeans, sweater and boots and scolding me for making her late to the airport. I threw the blame on her, reminding her that I held off on coming to wait for her to finish. She blew me a kiss and left behind a cloud of expensive perfume and strands of pale pink cashmere as she raced out the door.
I was late too. I'd planned to hop on my motorcycle to lane split and race along the carpool lane, but a rare fall rainstorm had moved on shore. The Ferrari would get me there fast but not nearly as fast as the motorcycle. I had a video conference lined up to finalize the deal, and I only had an hour to go through my numbers for Rad Video. Rad Video was run by a group of highly creative tech people who had come up with a subscription channel that was targeted toward the video game and comic book obsessed crowd. They had set up a booth at the last Comic Con, and the line to sign up for the six month subscription snaked around the building for the entire convention. They had everything but the right capital to make their channel a monumental success. I'd gotten my offer in early and I'd made it one that would be hard to turn down. It was one of my top strategies. When something red hot was on the investment market—move in fast and give them what they want. This was a no-brainer. Rad Video was going to be the new darling of Wall Street by this time next year. And Morris Grant, my boss and the man who owned MG Enterprises, a man, who, much like my dad, had always been married to money, would be handing me that partnership.
