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“Jesus, you’re such a fucking killjoy.”
“That’s what you pay me for as well.”
“Really funny, Joyce, you should’ve been a comedian instead of a lawyer.” She starts replying, but by the time the words get out of her mouth, my mind has already drifted off again.
I can’t stop thinking about Penny, about how it felt to brush my fingertips over her smooth (and oh-so-very-naked) skin—my hands on her hips, my cock deep inside her tight pussy, the warmness of her body, the strawberry flavor of her kisses. I want that again—no, I fucking need it, even more than I need air to breathe. Even though I know we shouldn’t have crossed that line, I can’t stop myself from wanting to do it again.
You must think I’m a terrible guy, huh? To go around fucking my stepdaughter and all that. But you saw what she did; Penny’s not innocent in this whole affair. I should’ve resisted, maybe … but fuck, I’m only human.
“Magnus? Are you even here?” I hear Joyce’s voice again, her words cutting through the fog that’s clouding my mind, and I turn to her.
“I’m right here, babe.”
“I told you already, don’t call me --”
“Yeah, yeah, Miss Political Correctness, I got the memo. Anyway, it’s Sunday, what are you even doing at the office?” Joyce’s a hard worker, but sometimes she crosses the border and veers into workaholic territory. You might think I’m an asshole, but I actually care for the people around me. And besides, being one of the main pillars supporting my company, I consider Joyce to be family. Oh no, don’t even think about making a fucking joke, alright? Just because I fucked Penny, it doesn’t mean I’ll go on a rampage and start fucking all the women in my life.
“I just came in to work on some of the paperwork on the Equinox deal… And then I saw the article about the gala and came to check up on you,” she suppresses a yawn, trying to hide how tired she is, but there’s no hiding the bags under her eyes.
“Yeah, that was fucking glorious, wasn’t it? I don’t really like bragging about my donations, but I gotta give it to you… It fucking worked.”
“Of course it did,” she tells me, pride making her swell up.
“But seriously, go home now. Don’t make me fire you.” She gets up with a tired smile, picks up the news
paper from the desk and tucks it under her arm.
“You’d be lost without me,” she says, turning around to leave. She walks all the way up to the door, but then stops and looks back at me. “You should rest too, you know? Like you said, it’s Sunday.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“When have I ever done anything stupid, Joyce?” I tease her, but I feel a stab of guilt in my heart, memories of Penny’s naked body flashing behind my eyes. I lean back against my chair as Joyce leaves, closing the door behind her, and I close my eyes for a moment.
Penny’s moans bubble up to the surface of my mind, and I grin to myself as I remember how it felt to be inside of her, her pussy lips wrapped tight around my cock. I don’t think I’ve ever been that hard for a woman. But, then again, Penny’s not just any woman, is she? There’s something special about her, something that draws me in just like a moth is drawn to a flame.
My fingers twitch as I remember how it felt to squeeze her round breasts, her hard nipples between my fingers, and I feel boiling blood rushing to my cock once more. I become hard in a matter of seconds, my shaft straining against my boxer briefs, and I sit up straight. I reach for my phone, grab it, and scroll down my contacts list until Penny’s name is on the screen.
Maybe I should call her. It’s Sunday, and she’s probably free. And Joyce’s right, I need to take a fucking break.
I’m about to press the Dial icon, my thumb hovering over it, when I stop myself. What the fuck am I doing? I’m not the kind of guy who calls a woman after fucking her. I mean, we were together Friday night, and it’s only Sunday… I’m not some fucking desperate dweeb. That’s just not my style.
Still, I need to see her.
My cock needs her, and who am I to deny my cock anything?
Penny
“I’m very, very disappointed with you, Penny,” my mother says, rubbing her temples. I purse my lips, staring at her image on my laptop, and then Laurel joins the chorus.
“Very disappointed, Penny,” she repeats after my mother, a small square with her picture popping up next to my mom’s. “This is not what we agreed on.”
Sunday night and here I am, sitting in front of my laptop and being grilled by my mother, the editor in the chief of the NY Daily Journal, and the New York City mayor. This is not how I expected to finish off the weekend.
“Look, I’ve just started this investigation and, besides --”
“What the hell are you talking about Penny?” my mother cuts me short and leans into her computer, her face appearing on my laptop like a bad dream. “Have you even read the article you wrote? You were supposed to destroy him, not help him build up his savior image!”
