Page 2 of Under Her

I’m a total boss at oral sex. I’ve had a lot of practice. I fucking love going down on a woman. There’s nothing better to get me going than that first taste of a woman’s pussy.

I have a perfect setup.

Sex is reserved for weekends because the week is for work.

Work always comes first, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Especially not now that I’ll be taking over the running of the company from my parents.

Maybe, in the distant future—like ten or fifteen years—I’ll meet some girl I want to have a relationship with, but if I’m being totally honest, I just can’t see it happening.

And, really, it would be grossly unfair to the women of Chicago if I took myself off the market. My dick is just too awesome to keep to one woman.

Sundays are brunch with the boys, so we can talk about the escapades from the night before, and then I usually spend the rest of Sunday working from home, getting ready for Monday morning.

“How was yours?” I know she was going to Milwaukee to spend the weekend with her fiancée’s parents.

Yes, fiancée, as in another woman. Chrissy is gay, and she’s getting married to a woman called Wendy. And, no, she’s not your stereotypical butch or porno-hot lesbian.

She’s just a normal, good-looking woman. And she runs my life like a champ.

“Yeah, it was okay, but Wendy and her mom were talking wedding stuff nonstop all weekend.”

She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.

“Anyway, I’ve got this morning’s schedule ready for you, but first, your mom and dad are waiting for you in your office.”

“They are?” I move my eyes in the direction of my office door.

“Yep.”

“How long have they been waiting?”

“Only five minutes or so.”

“And they didn’t say what they wanted to see me for?”

“Nope.”

A mild unease settles in my gut.

Of course, it’s not unusual for my parents to turn up in my office unannounced, but first thing in the morning is unusual.

The last time they were waiting in my office for me this early in the morning was seven years ago when I was in a much smaller, much shittier office, working in the sales department, and I’d just screwed up the Renshaw deal. The big deal that they’d trusted me with.

And, by screwed up, I mean, I’d screwed Mr. Renshaw’s daughter, Amber, a few months prior.

In my defense, I hadn’t known who she was then, and the deal was in its infancy at that point.

But the problem was, Amber had wanted more than one ride on my dick, and when I’d told her—as I’d told her before we boned down—that it was a one-off, she hadn’t been so happy at all.

Like took-her-high-heeled-shoe-off-and-threw-it-at-my-head not happy. I was lucky I hadn’t lost an eye.

Seriously, why is it that some women will agree to no-strings sex, and then once the sex is over, they completely forget the prior conversation?

I know my dick is awesome, but he doesn’t have mind-erasing skills.

I don’t have time for relationships. And I like my life the way it is. Sex with no strings.

But Amber had been at the dinner meeting with Mr. Renshaw, and she had taken one look at me, whispered something in her father’s ear, and that was the end of that. Renshaw had decided he no longer was interested in considering stocking our products in his department stores. Well, he hadn’t exactly put it that politely, but you can imagine what he’d said.