Irish Luck (5 page)

 His thumb stroked her tuft of curls at the apex of her pussy. He couldn’t sleep, but not because Kenyatta had not told him she loved him. The excitement and thrill of having fed his fantasy kept him alert and awake. She was his dream girl. Not every day was he awarded an opportunity to watch Kenyatta sleep. So petite she looked engulfed in the sea of blue blankets. Her warm chocolate skin bled into the darkness, but he knew her body. He dropped kisses on her shoulder. Desire flared inside him as she stirred. 

“Mmmm, that feels nice.” Kenyatta rubbed her naked ass against his growing cock.

His hand traveled up her torso and over to cup one of her breasts. Fondling it, he pinched its tip, rolling the tightened flesh between his thumb and forefinger. She arched in yearning, pushing the roundness of her butt against him more. With her back to his front, he leaned down and dropped more kisses along her neck, up the nape and around to her ear, while simultaneously teasing her nipple.

“That feels good,” Kenyatta mumbled, becoming more conscious. “This is how you wake up every morning?”

“Aye, lass, it isn’t morning,” Doran said softly. “But only for you. You do this to me.”

She giggled in the shadows and lifted her leg. Draping it over him, Kenyatta reached behind her to touch his nakedness. “You are so hard.”

“For. You.” With her hand on his cock, he struggled to remain focused. She could derail all his logic—turn him into clay in her hands, when she stroked him like this. The fascinating thing was she could also do it with a look, a kiss, or a batting of her eyes. She let go of his rod.

“I can go for a midnight snack.”

“I’m more than a snack,” Doran said, moments before sliding into her slickness.

Once again, the overwhelming pleasure stole his breath. So hot and wet, Kenyatta welcomed him once again. Tingling shivers raced through him. He plowed deeper into her core, and like before, peace erupted inside him. A calming effect as if he could spend the rest of his life, right here, nestled deep inside her, stroking her with each thrust and plunge of his shaft.

“So good…” Kenyatta reached behind and wound her hand into his hair. “Oh, yes!”

He slowed his tempo because he didn’t want her to arrive at her peak, yet. They had all night and he intended to use it—every hour if need be. Kenyatta met his thrusts in an ever quickening pace. He thought he’d have all night to savor her deliciousness, but she obviously had other plans. Rotating her hips, she took his cock further into her tightness. Again and again, their bodies slapped loudly in the quiet room. Only his grunts and Kenyatta’s groans for
more
interrupted the hush. Furling faster to their goals, Doran gripped her tighter to him. With one of his hands, he held her leg up, giving him more leverage to plow deeper. Damn, he loved her.

As the pleasure and soft pain of her climax arrived, Kenyatta’s entire body became rigid and her pussy clamped down on his cock.

“Doran! Oh! SHIT!” Kenyatta purred.

Doran plunged in more, slamming deep inside her. The pressure of her orgasm milked his shaft.  Kenyatta’s shuddering around him pushed him over the edge. Sputtering and jerking, Doran hit his pinnacle. Panting, he gently placed her leg down and held her close to him. His pulsating cock still rested inside her.

After a few minutes of catching their breaths, Kenyatta leaned up on her elbow. He couldn’t see her clearly in the darkness, but he could hear her smile in her voice. He nuzzled her neck. She giggled and spooned closer to him. Doran used his free hand to toss a blanket over their nakedness.

“Wow. That was just… Wow.”

“Surely, you’ve made love before,” Doran teased, and slapped her playfully on the ass.

“Yes. But not like that. Not with you.”

“From now on, it’s only
me
.”

“Yes, Doran. Only you.”

Chapter Seven

Monday arrived with chilly winds and overcast and moody clouds that bullied their way across the sky. Few cars filled the CAKE parking lot. Upstairs in the employee break room, Kenyatta stood in front of three boxy, square vending machines that wouldn’t satisfy her craving. The hottie
beside
the last vending machine—well he could do the trick. Doran.

“You enjoy the party?” he asked.

“I really enjoyed it,” Kenyatta said politely, noting his eyes were locked on her chest.

Alone in the break room, she and Doran sipped coffee. The oatmeal and blueberry yogurt didn’t settle in her stomach. Each time she met his gaze, everything tightened. The memory of him ghosted across her skin. Swallowing a moan, she took another big sip—admittedly her caffeine vice didn’t quell her new one—loving Doran. Now each day of work would be eight hours of foreplay. She wasn’t sure she could take it.

“I hate making small talk. All I want to do is kiss you.”

“That would be nice. It’ll also wake me up in ways this coffee can’t,” she said.

Doran laughed. “You’re right, lass.”

Se liked the horny husk his voice became when he was aroused. They inched closer together. The break room faded. He leaned in close to kiss her. With her heart on automatic, she closed her eyes, gripped her travel cup hard, and waited for the electrifying shock of his kiss. An eternity came and went, but the kiss didn’t come.

“Good morning to you, Brice. How’re sales?” Doran said.

“Good. I might get the Thomason account,” Brice answered.

Kenyatta paused. Brice Middleton used a word she’d never thought she’d hear him say:
might.
The usually overly confident Brice had always been the most despised salesman at CAKE. The most successful too.

Then Kenyatta’s eyes snapped open. Sugar! She almost kissed Doran smack dab in the center break room! She had her back to the door.

“You pick something, Kenyatta?” Doran added, a hint of humor in his tone.

She blushed as she caught his eye. His casual attempt to explain why she stood at the machines made her feel warm all over. But this was one of the reasons she didn’t want a workplace romance.  Sure she feared the feedback, but she didn’t regret it.

“Thank you,” Kenyatta said to Doran. “Nothing here is any good.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Doran replied. The blazing intent rolled around each word.

Kenyatta suppressed a sigh. She nodded at Brice. Top salesman for CAKE. He sold more ads and landed more clients than anyone outside of Stephen Silver himself. The man looked like a god—Apollo—all golden tan. Tall, blond with hazel eyes, Brice often landed a whale of female clients. She had no idea why, for a man so fair and golden, Brice carried a very somber cloud over his head. Brooding Brice people called him. The guy had a GQ physique but he had more than enough women telling him too. She shrugged and then saw Doran turn to the door.

Shepherd Lewis’s mop of maple brown curls appeared seconds before the wiry man. His equally brown eyes widened as if surprised to find people there. Shepherd went to the vending machine and inserted his money.

“Morning,” Shepherd said, his gravelly voice bowling through the break room.

“Hello,” Doran replied.

Kenyatta waved.

“Yeah.” Brice pushed by him. The door banged after his exit.

Great. Brice was sunny as usual Shepherd mumbled.

Doran laughed. “He’s saving it for clients.”

Shepherd bent and claimed his packaged honey pastry.

“Oh, yeah. Doran, Jill said for you to come to Silver’s office.”

Doran frowned, but Kenyatta saw him erase it quickly.

“All right. Thanks, Shep.”

“Later,” Shepherd mumbled before vanishing through the doors.

Alone again, Kenyatta and Doran closed the distance between them.

Fear gripped her heart. “Surely, he isn’t angry? I washed the blanket and the sheets before I left.”

Doran took her hand and squeezed. “Relax. Everything will be fine.”

He kissed her forehead quickly and left.

Kenyatta swallowed her anxiety and followed.

Doran walked by Kevin O’Bryan’s vacant desk and sighed in relief. Not yet 9:30 a.m., his cousin came in at ten. The door to Mr. Silver’s office stood ajar. The scent of coffee and cloying perfume came out to greet him.

“Mr. Silver?”

“Come in, Doran,” Mr. Silver called out.

Jill Graham sipped her customary coffee and stared at Doran over the ceramic mug’s surface. He’d been summoned to Mr. Silver’s office first thing. On his boss’s desk, pictures of Cree showed what his boss really cared about. Images of them loving each other, Doran couldn’t agree more. Women meant the world. They love and they give so much of themselves. Men were truly lucky to be graced by them. That was how he felt about Kenyatta. The Irish knew family meant everything.

“We called you here, Doran, because we have an offer to discuss,” Stephen Silver announced from behind his desk.

Dressed in an immaculate suit, crisp pale blue shirt, and tasteful tie, Mr. Silver’s solemn face caused Doran to pause. Surely, he wasn’t about to be fired. Saturday night had been heaven with Kenyatta. Sunday morning, Cree had quietly crept to their room, left towels and soaps, and washcloths. Kenyatta and he enjoyed a light breakfast and kisses before they went home. He slept most of the day. They talked on the phone, but today was the first time he saw her.

“Doran?” Jill inquired.

He blinked back to the present.

“An offer?” he asked.

Standing, he looked from Mr. Silver to Jill. She sat in the caramel leather seat. With a nod, she gestured. “Relax yourself. You look like someone stole your last cookie.”

 She broke into laughter.

“Jill,” Mr. Silver warned.

Doran bit back a retort. Jill was the accounting supervisor. Despite her crass and sometimes cruel comments, Jill had meant him well. So, he turned to his boss.

“Sir?”

The soft ruffle of the heat disturbed the quiet.

“Sit. Relax. We’re waiting for one more to join us.”

Doran sat in the remaining chair. Who else? What was going on? He glared at the window.

Silver grinned. “You seem different, Doran. Did you have a good time Saturday?” Mr. Silver tapped his pen on the desk. He smirked.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Silver nodded, but a twinkle of knowing was in his eyes. Jill cleared her throat and stifled a laugh.

“I apologize,” came the harried voice of a man. Doran noted the extremely immaculate suit. The tie alone cost the price of a car. Tall, like Stephen Silver, the man had dirty blond hair.

Mr. Silver rose and shook hands. “Not a problem.” Then he turned to Doran. “Doran Richards, meet Carte Seay.”

“Nice to meet you.” Doran had heard of the famous attorney, had glimpsed him as he visited Mr. Silver, but had never met him.

“The same.” Carte pinned his unflinching gaze on Doran. “Now to business. I want you to come work for me.”

“Am I being fired?” Doran asked Mr. Silver. “Because, I got a job here at CAKE, right?”

Mr. Silver nodded. “You do. Your work had been superior. We are not firing you. You’re an asset.”

Jill chimed in. “Yes, I can attest to it.”

“So…” Doran had no idea where this was going.

“So, I need that level of quality,” Carte added.

“Our finance department needs an overhaul. I’d like to hire you as senior accountant.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Jill will you excuse us?” Mr. Silver said.

“Sure.” Jill left.

Doran steeled his nerves.
Here it comes.
He stood up.

Mr. Silver moved from behind his desk, joining Carte Seay and himself. His shoulders relaxed. Carte’s body also relaxed. It was just the three of them. Guys.

Doran smiled.

“Let me be frank,” Mr. Silver began. “I love my fiancé, and she loves her baby cousin…”

“So, this is about Ken,” Doran nodded.

“Yes and no,” Carte answered. “I had already spoken to Stephen about my need for an honest accountant a week or so ago.”

“And when Cree told me about Kenyatta’s, uh, concerns—”

“You thought moving me would get me out of your hair?”

“Uh…”

“Well, it won’t work! I love her and I know she loves me. I’m not going to stop seeing her. Not for you or him or…” Doran realized he was shouting and fell silent.