The Intern (10 page)

“Did they even have to Photoshop your pictures in the magazines? I mean, seriously?”

He lets out a light laugh as he shakes his head as if he’s embarrassed. “You’re a grade-A detective, aren’t you?”

I shrug unapologetically. “It’s not the first time I’ve been told that.” And it wasn’t. I was always good at finding out the information I needed. And I was hoping that snooping around Leighton Enterprises wouldn’t be any different.

“Is that right?” he asks as he begins crawling on the bed and right over my body. I lean back as his body presses into me. I can feel his hard cock pressed against my thigh and then up against my pelvis, begging for entrance.

I panic as I soon realize he’s not wearing a condom. “You should know I’m not on birth control,” I blurt out and my eyes immediately shut tight with embarrassment. I can’t even believe I just said that.

His head falls loosely on my chest in surrender. “Seriously?”

“Sorry,” I say softly. This is so embarrassing.

He brings his head up and smirks at me. He lays a playful kiss on my lips. “So you’re saying all this time you’ve been using condoms without any other protection?”

If I were a twenty-one-year-old college girl, hell yeah, I’d be on birth control. But I wasn’t. I had just turned eighteen, and there was no way I was going to have
that
conversation with my mother. I had planned on going to the clinic to get on the pill before I left for college.

“Yeah, my mom—”
oh shit, shit, shit.

Fuck me.

“My mom,” I continue as I try to think of something to save my slip up. “Never allowed it while I was on her insurance. But I just got my own, actually, so it was on my to-do list.” He looks at me as if I have a third eye. “And now you think I’m crazy.”

He laughs. “No, not at all. I was just thinking I better start buying condoms in bulk.” He flashes one of his infamous smug grins.

“You are overly-confident.”

“And you are overly-cocky. Sounds like we’re a match made in Heaven,” he teases.

I begin laughing but am soon gasping as he drives inside me suddenly—with no fucking warning.

Bentley pushes through my tight walls. Inch by inch, his thickness breaks through, and suddenly, my body relaxes giving into exactly what I want.

“Shit,” he growls. My back arches to push him further inside me, but he pulls back out and drives back in again. “Fuck, Ceci. You’re so tight. I want to fuck you, so bad...you have
no
idea.”

“I-I think I can
feel
how bad,” I pant out. My arms wrap around his neck pleadingly, not wanting him to stop.

“That’s a problem, Ceci. I need to get a condom on.”

I watch as he walks to his dresser and quickly grabs one from the drawer. He smoothly rolls it on. I enjoy the view again as I take in his rock hard body and messy golden locks. He looks like more of a rocker than a CEO’s son, and I think that’s what I like best about him. He’s not what you’d think he’d be—he’s better.

He strides over to the bed and clasps my hands, pulling me close so we’re chest to chest. He looks into my eyes, and I swallow as I take in his intense stare.

“Ceci...” he says slowly. “I need to be able to feel you,
all
of you...” One of his hands slides down and grips my waist. “I want to be able to fuck you anytime, anywhere, and I want to be able to feel you throbbing
directly
against me...”

I nod in understanding and he grips me a little tighter. I feel his hot breath vibrate against my flushed skin. I can hardly concentrate on my own breathing as I take in every soft gasp that escapes him.

He brings his face to mine and gently kisses the corners of my mouth. It’s sweet and soft, and soon I’m lost in his touch again.

It doesn’t last long. He whips my body around, so I’m facing away from him.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he growls in my ear.

I do as he says, clenching my hands to the mattress. He grasps my hips as he plunges back inside me. I gasp at the contact, clenching the sheets in my fists. It takes a moment for my body to stretch open for him as he fills me again, inch by inch.

Once he’s fully inside, he controls the rhythm—rocking my hips against him harder and harder. I moan and whimper as he goes from fast to slow and slow to fast. He’s filling me completely, stretching my walls with every demanding thrust.

“Mm, yes, Ceci...” he moans, as he’s close to his release. I can feel it because he tenses up as he controls the movements. I open my legs wider to give him better access. It feels so damn good. I’d do anything for him not to stop. The rhythm, the pace, the way his head slams against my g-spot has me going over the edge.

“Oh, my god...oh god...yes...” I moan over and over. “Just like that...yes.” I clench my eyes tighter as I feel my climax approaching. He slams into me harder as he feels my body react.

He leans over me, wrapping an arm around my stomach. His other hand goes to my clit as he begins rubbing relentlessly with each thrust. “I want to hear you scream my name, Ceci,” he demands.

I can’t focus on much as his body is pressed against mine, and his fingers are working my clit. He shifts in deeper, taking me over the edge for several seconds.

“Oh, god...Bentley...yes...” I pant and moan at the same time. He doesn’t slow down. He continues harder as another one builds up inside me. “Fuck, Bentley...oh, god...” I can barely make a coherent thought, nevertheless a coherent sentence.

“That’s my girl...” he whispers in my ear as he waits for my breathing to calm down.

He backs off me and pulls out without his own release. He twirls me back around to face him and slowly drops me on the bed. He bends to his knees and spreads my legs. He brings his mouth to my pussy, licking and sucking up my juices. His tongue plunges hard inside of me hitting my sensitive spot. I can hardly take it as I’ve barely come down from the first two.

I grab fistfuls of his hair to stop him, but it only makes him work harder. He grabs both my wrists and pins them to the mattress all while his tongue continues its tortuous play.

“Bentley...stop,” I beg. “I can’t take it.” He shakes his head, and I know I’m fighting a losing battle. “Ah, god. Ah, Bentley. Yes...oh, my GOD!” I scream with no embarrassment or shyness. He licks and sucks up my climax once again. My body is shaking from the hardest orgasm I’ve ever had.

“My name sounds good on your lips,” he muses as he finally rises and towers over me.

I swallow as I even my breathing. “That was...intense.”

He grins as he grabs both of my legs and places them on his shoulder. “Don’t surrender on me now, Ceci. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.” He winks as he positions himself over me with both of my feet in the air.

I chuckle as he plunges back inside me. “I use to be in gymnastics, Mr. Leighton. There isn’t a position I haven’t done.” His eyes widen. “I promise I won’t break.”

It’s all the permission he needs to hear. He rapidly speeds up the pace as he bends my body in half, taking everything I’m willing to give.

We moan and pant together, barely able to contain the inaudible sounds that are forced out. He thrusts hard inside me until he finally releases.

“Oh, god...Ceci...fucking amazing.”

He holds us in place for several seconds until he’s released every last drop. He slowly puts my legs down on each side of him. He leans over and captures my mouth, kissing me into an oblivious bliss.

“Better than I ever fucking imagined,” he says into my neck as he lays soft kisses. “So much fucking better.”

Cecilia

Memories

I
could still smell the popcorn when I woke up in the middle of the night. Friday was always family movie night, and Nathan, Casey, and I had all shared a bag. We snuggled on mounds of pillows and blankets on the floor as our parents snuggled up on the couch watching some Disney animation movie.

The three of us fell asleep on the floor, and I vaguely remembered Dad carrying me back into my bed. He kissed my forehead and covered me up. “Goodnight, Princess.”

The sound of yelling woke me up hours later. It was still dark out, and my eyes were blurry, but I rubbed them open as I got out of my bed.

I crept to my door and slowly opened it. The hall light was off, but I could see the kitchen light on in the distance. I tiptoed as quietly as I could down the hall and peeked around to the kitchen where my parents were arguing.

“God dammit!” my mother cursed. Her hands were flailing at my dad as she continued. “How could you spend all that money? How could you when we have a family to support?” she scowled.

He hushed her and went to reach for her, but she pushed back. “Claire, please. I’ll take care of this. I promise.”

I could hear her crying through her hands that were covering her face. I was tempted to walk to her and hug her. I wanted to comfort her and ask her what was wrong, but I could tell it was something that my dad had done.

“How, Brock? How the hell do you plan to pay back seventy-five thousand dollars? We don’t have that kind of money!”

He fell to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist. I could see she was trying to fight him off, but after a few seconds, she gave up.

“I’ll ask for an extension. It’ll be fine,” he promised. “Ramiro will get me some extra time.”

My mom’s hands finally released her face. Her eyes were red and blotchy. I knew it was something really awful if mom was crying like that.

“We’ll have to sell the house,” she deadpanned. “There’s no other way we’ll come up with that money.”

“No...we can take out a second mortgage or something, Claire. We can’t sell our house.”

“And how are we going to pay on that steep of a mortgage, Brock? With one income and three kids?” Her face was stern, and I knew that look meant serious trouble. “You gambled our life savings away!”

“I’ll get back in the business. I’ll get more money.” He stood up and promised her. He cupped her cheek and kissed it softly. “I’ll do anything.”

I wake up rattled, draped in Bentley’s arms. My mind quickly analyzes the dream I just had.
Ramiro.
A name I don’t remember ever hearing. But it gives me something I didn’t have before.

I look over to Bentley. He’s breathing quietly next to me, as we both lay naked in his bed. He looks relaxed as he sleeps, not a worry wrinkle in sight.

I carefully wedge out of his grip. I grab one of the loose sheets that had landed on the floor and wrap myself in it. This was my chance to snoop around for anything I could use. If his dad worked on my dad’s case, it’s likely that the information is somewhere.

I walk to the door and slowly open it. I quickly look behind my shoulder to double-check he hasn’t woken up.

I creep down the hallway to look for his office. I find a linen closet and bathroom before I spot the door that opens to a desk and filing cabinets lining the walls.

I close the door behind me and sit at his desk behind the computer. I move the mouse and his home screen pops on. I have no idea where to look or how I’m going to get in, but I have to try.

I browse his files and one pops out at me:
Dad’s Cases.
I double click and a password code box pops up.
Shit.
Password.

I try
Leighton.

Denied.

Bentley.

Denied.
Too easy.

I tap my fingers restlessly as I try to think of possible passwords. This is Bentley’s personal home computer, so I imagine it’s something closely related to him—something he’s passionate about.

I can tell from the pictures and articles I found on him online that he was very passionate about one thing. The one thing he’s unable to do anymore
—modeling.

I try again.

Denied.

Shit.
I’m running out of time. I shuffle through the papers on top of his desk for any kind of clue.

Nothing.

I open up the first drawer and spot a bunch of magazines.
Men’s Fitness.
I move them around and look underneath for anything and then as my fingers brush against the glossy pages—it hits me.

I grab the magazines and flip through them.
Men’s Fitness
is a fashion and health magazine—
models.
Bentley use to model for a variety of magazines and photographers, but he was only represented through one agency—the most popular agency in the US—
Elite Storm
.

With nothing to lose, I try one more time.

E-L-I-T-E S-T-O-R-M

Access granted.

I squeal quietly to myself as I gather myself back together and begin searching.

Docs, files, and scanned images pop up in the folder. There are hundreds of them. They are all organized from month and year. I look for the month and year of my dad’s death.

My heart is racing as I spot it finally. I double click and browse through the names on the folders.

Anderson.

Easton.

Hunts.

Rodriquez.

West.

I double click the last one and up pops all of my dad’s information on his case. I’m so stunned. My fingers are shaking as I move the mouse around.

The folder marked police files is the first one I click on. The police report basically says what I already know from the newspapers and from the little of what my mother told me.
Drive by shooter. No helpful witnesses. Found six bullets.

I try to think of how many times my dad was shot and how many shots I remember hearing. He was hit twice, which means four were missed—one grazed my shoulder, but I was nowhere near my father, which means the shooter barely slowed down as he drove past our house and shot out his window. He didn’t slow down as I originally thought—he could’ve cared less that there were three kids outside and in the way of his target.

It makes sense as to why my sister only partially saw the license plate and how the neighbors hadn’t seen anything. Drive by. No stopping to make sure they even hit their target.

I exit out and click on the witnesses’ folder. I know they spoke to my mother a few days after I was home from the hospital. She was a sobbing mess, but tried to keep it together for our sake.