Please Me (First in the Cartwright Series)- Complete


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Cover photo by © Creativecommonsstockphoto/Dreamstime Stock Photos and used under the CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) Public Domain License


Copyright © 2016 by Claudia Vann

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at the email listed below:

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Part 1 (edited)

The entire act lasted ten minutes. Kevin’s final thrust happened about 30 seconds before my release, and while it wasn’t a surprise, the part of me holding on to hope ached with disappointment. I was in love with Kevin, at least I assumed I was, but over the last few months, our sex life had taken a drastic southern plunge. We were both busy, but instead of spending the time we did have together tangled up in sweaty, twisting limbs, our relationship had switched gears. Dinners at trendy restaurants had turned into casual meals at home, and social outings with our friends were now less appealing than nights in front of the TV where, more often than not, we fell asleep.

"That was great, babe."

His conclusion was predictable and wrong, but I nodded. “It was.”

The words were automatic and toneless, but Kevin gave no sign he noticed. Then again, maybe he was past caring. We had been together for two years, and now that the initial intrigue had ended, I suspected he was just as bored as I was. Most of the time we got along and had fun, but at the ripe old age of 28, my experience with the opposite proved sexual chemistry was nothing more than a short-lived biological need sensationalized by Hollywood for profit's sake.

“I’m going to shower.” Kevin shifted his weight onto his side, and I pulled the sheet across my breasts. My skin already missed the heat of his body, and my thighs twitched from his absence between them. “When are you heading into the city?”

The muscles in his legs flexed as he stood, and I watched him make his way toward the bathroom. “Later,” I replied.

“It must be nice to work for someone who doesn’t give a shit if their employees show up or not!” The door muffled Kevin’s words, but his disgust came through loud and clear. “Seriously, Amanda, that company won't last much longer if he keeps prioritizing his ego over his business. When will you smarten up and leave?”

I stuck my tongue out in the direction Kevin’s commentary. He had never liked me working for Cartwright-Bridgewater Industries and cited a distrust of ‘rich kids playing at big business’ as the primary issue, but after the company’s partnership blew apart and left Benjamin Cartwright sole owner, Kevin’s negative opinion became a permanent thorn in our relationship. The circled Help Wanted ads next to my morning coffee were cute when they first appeared, but the longer I ignored them, the harder he pushed. I was silent until the third less-than-subtle resume request from someone in his building, and that's when I demanded he stop. There was no reason to quit because although I didn’t love my job, there were perks. I collected a decent salary, had friends in the office, and there was the ever-valuable lack of supervision. In fact, once I realized my boss never arrived before 10 a.m., I stopped killing myself to get there on time. Boston's rush-hour traffic wasn’t worth the elevated blood pressure if the one person I needed to impress didn't notice. 

Kevin excused his behavior by claiming I wouldn’t know good business sense if he wasn’t around to point it out, and I retaliated by accusing him of having a chauvinistic and overbearing attitude. Our arguments escalated until our emotions peaked, and after hours of swearing and tears (which I have to admit led to great make-up sex), he promised to quit pressuring me. It didn’t put an end to his comments, but at least I could stop flinching every time I wanted a cup of coffee.

“It is,” I called back, "but I’ll need to stay late. I won’t get to see you tonight."

Water falling against the ceramic tiles sounded like rain, and my shoulders relaxed against the mattress. I had a good fifteen minutes before Kevin got out of the shower, and that gave me plenty of time to finish what he had started. The steady pulse of heat between my legs was distracting, so I had no choice but to extinguish it myself.

After one more glance at the closed bathroom door, I trailed my fingers across my stomach and over my hipbone to the swollen skin between my thighs. Kevin was the one who asked me to shave, and I did despite the fear of a razor being near the most sensitive part of my body. After removing the dark curls my reflection embarrassed me, but Kevin became hard the moment I showed him my handiwork. He took me right there against the bathroom wall, spinning me around and entering me from behind with one thrust. After only a few strokes of his cock I shook with an orgasm so strong tears fell from my eyes, and from that point on, I kept my pussy shaven. The sensitive flesh was smooth to the touch, and even when I slipped my own fingers inside the wet folds to circle my clit, the burst of arousal reached all the way to my toes.

A mental image of Kevin took shape in my mind. I loved how his mouth dropped open when he climaxed, loved witnessing that moment of pure abandon, and I reveled in the knowledge his orgasms were in response to my body. Blood coursed through my veins, and I sucked my lower lip between my teeth. With my free hand I squeezed my left nipple, then rolled it between my fingers until the soft flesh rose into a peak. My back arched, and I rubbed my palm over the sensitive tip in time with my other finger.“Ohhhhhh.” A groan escaped, and my head dropped to the side. The pillowcase cooled my cheek, but the fire between my legs raged as my hands worked their magic against my swollen flesh. I wanted to stop my fingers from moving, wanted to prolong my release, but the heat raging deep in my stomach urged me to move faster, harder, rougher.I slipped a trembling finger inside myself. “Yes,” I whispered. I slid another finger in alongside the first and pushed against the throbbing bud of my clit. “Yessssssss.” My fingers twitched and my hips rose off the bed again as flashes of white light sparked behind my eyelids. I strained against my hand while I moved my palm from side to side, panting and pressing against my clit harder as the blood surged through my veins.It wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

A shirtless Benjamin Cartwright replaced Kevin in my fantasy, and I increased the speed of my plunging fingers. I had little use for a person who believed the earth rotated on its axis for them alone, but I couldn’t deny my boss earned every single stare and breathless comment from the women around him. The perfect combination of physical traits had come together during Benjamin Cartwright’s conception, so I couldn't be faulted for what my brain conjured.

My pelvis jerked and thrust upward in time with the new rhythm. I fucked myself while imagining him between my legs, first using his tongue and then his cock to make me cum. My hips swiveled and rocked forward, the change in position causing my fingers to sink even deeper, and the sensation switched from simple pleasure to something bordering on erotic. “Like that! Yes!” I tickled my clit with the fingers of my right hand, delicious shocks running through my thighs and around my calves. “Fuck!”I concentrated on the sound my fingers made as they moved through the wetness of my cunt and recalling one of my favorite fantasies, the one where my boss thrusts against me, his big cock sliding in and out, his balls slapping against my ass... I slipped a third finger inside myself. The fullness made me gasp, but I was still teetering on the brink of what promised to be an amazing climax. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me!” I pushed my fingers deep and twisted them side to side until my thighs shook, and then, with one last, desperate flick of my clit, I tumbled over the edge.

My hips slammed up to meet my hand as thousands of sparks exploded in my bloodstream. I continued stroking my clit while nerve endings sent electric currents shooting across my skin, and my body trembled with the release. “Ahhhhh. Oh yes. Mmmmm….” I plunged my fingers inside one last time and then stilled, the pulse changing to a gentle throb around my fingers,the waves of my orgasm softening into caressing ripples of content.

I hovered between total relaxation and a state of unconsciousness,  and somewhere among the random thoughts sliding through my head, the silence registered. My heart lurched, and I mentally prepared a handful of excuses for my behavior. The threat of being caught had sweat popping out along my hairline, but after scanning the room, it was obvious I didn't need to worry. I was still alone, thank God. Shaving body hair was one thing, but self-pleasing existed in a category I didn’t want to explore with Kevin or anyone else.

I lifted my arms over my head in a well-deserved stretch. My sex life wasn't perfect, but that was okay. Heat between couples fizzled out over time, but if we loved and respected each other, I could handle the lackluster action in the bedroom. I could give myself great orgasms, so why ruin a good relationship to search for one that probably didn't even exist?

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Part 2 (edited)

The elevator doors opened to reveal an empty hallway. I was later than usual, but if the Cartwright Industries employees continued the Friday tradition of deserting the office by 2 p.m., I would have a few hours of silence to finish my reports and still make it to happy hour. Kevin was in Washington until Monday, and I planned to honor his absence by having a drink or three. I hadn’t been out with my coworkers in weeks, and the opportunity to nurse a Saturday morning hangover without the accompanying long-winded lecture was too good to pass up.

I dropped my bag onto the floor by my desk and peeked over the cubicle’s partition. The walls were low for normal-sized people standards, but since I had been late and grabbed flats instead of heels, I had to stand on my toes to get a clear view. The hems of my pants pooled around my feet in an annoying black puddle even with my calves stretched at far as they would go, and I cringed as the fabric brushed against the sensitive skin of my feet. I wouldn't have time to go home and change either, so I'd have to go to the bar looking like a kid playing dressup. As if I needed help looking younger than I did!

I scanned the room and caught sight of my best friend with our new male coworker. She had one curvy hip propped against his desk, and despite our three-cubicle-apart distance, I could see his Adam’s apple bob. He loosened his tie, and Sierra, always ready to pounce, chose that moment to drop her shoulders forward. It wasn’t an obvious change of position, but I knew what she was doing, and the poor guy’s cheeks reddened in response to the Double-Ds now at eye level. His eyes widened, and with a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, he leaned back in his chair so far I thought he would topple over.

Sierra’s smile grew, and a small twinge of pity gripped my stomach. Everyone in the office was used to Sierra and her antics by now, but the new guy didn't understand who he was up against. She was relentless. He didn't stand a chance.

I picked up my desk phone to dial her extension, and after a seductive wink in Carl Murphy’s direction, Sierra slid from his cubicle to answer the call. “Sierra Burke. How may I help you?”

Her voice oozed through the phone like a seductive mistress, and I shook my head with a laugh. “You can’t help me, but you could help that poor man by stepping away and giving him a second to catch his breath.”

She responded with a giggle of her own. “He seemed to be breathing just fine, Amanda.” Her voice dropped, and I had to strain to hear her. “I’m not sure about this one, so I’m just playing with him for now.”

“Yeah, like a cat with a mouse. Why don’t you put him out of his misery, Sierra?” I tried to keep my tone light while still getting my message across, but I wasn’t successful.

“There's no reason for me to stop pursuing my options just because you’re out of the game. I’m still entitled to a little fun even if you’re happy at home with Mr. Wonderful.”
The veiled accusation of my abandonment came through loud and clear, and I hurried to start damage control. “You are,” I assured her, “I just want to be sure you’re having fun and not doing something because it’s, you know, expected.”

She groaned before answering. “I am having fun, and no, I’m not doing it to keep my Office Slut reputation alive. This guy is nice and I like him, so who knows? It might lead to something. I haven’t found my Mr. Right yet, so give me a break, okay? If I screw up tonight, you can lecture me on Monday.”

It was the perfect opportunity to change the direction of our conversation, and I jumped on it. “Now that you mention it, I thought I’d tag along tonight. I haven’t gone to happy hour in a long time, and I could use a drink after the past few weeks I’ve had.” I held my breath, and the heavy silence following my statement stretched so far past the point of comfortable, I looked down to make sure the red ‘in use’ light was still lit on my phone. “Sierra? Tonight? Happy hour?”

“You’re coming to happy hour? Tonight?” She paused. “What part of hell froze over?”

Neither her comment nor incredulous tone surprised me. If the arguments I had with Kevin over Cartwright Industries were battles, the ones we had about my friendship with Sierra were the World Wars. He stopped coming to our weekly Happy Hour excursions after a few months of dating, but that hadn’t stopped him from criticizing my desire to go. He constantly called me while I was out, and after losing countless weekend to endless questions about who had been there and what we had done, and attacks on Sierra’s behavior, I gave up Happy Hour for quieter, albeit much more mundane, weekends.

I was probably breaking all kinds of unofficial office protocol by tagging along after all this time, but I would handle a few hours of tense conversation if it meant hanging out with Sierra and the gang again. “I am, and before you ask, Kevin will not be with me. He’s out of town.”

“Ahhhh. It makes sense now.”

I swallowed the snarky comeback on the tip of my tongue. “Yes, I rose from the relationship grave and see if my ability to function around single people still exists. I think I can still do it.”

“This will be interesting,” she replied. “I’ve forgotten what you were like before Kevin.”

Ouch. That stung, and she knew it. “Okay, so, let’s do it. C’mon, Sierra. Where do the cool kids from Cartwright Industries hanging out on Friday nights?”

Her exhale rang loud in my ear. “Well, we went to Mystic Palace a few weeks ago. It can be a nice change from the usual bar, but it depends on the night. Sometimes we have too many uptight business-types there to make it worthwhile, so if that’s the case, we head back to the old stand-by.”

“Mystic Palace, huh?” I twirled a strand of dark hair around my finger. “That's s bit more upscale than Charlie’s. You guys have moved up in the Happy Hour world.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve run into a few of the executives from our office, and that makes for an interesting evening. We’ll stay for a little while if one of them comes in, but if Mr. Cartwright shows up, we pay our tab and scram. It’s just too weird.”

My stomach dropped. Bumping into Mr. Cartwright after a few beers was not on my bucket list, and I was sure it wasn’t on anyone else’s, either. “I’ll bet. No one wants to drink with the owner of the company.”

“Well, not ‘no one’, just us minions. The leggy brunette he was with didn’t seem to mind.”

Gross. I did not want to hear any more about Benjamin Cartwright, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss his latest bimbo. “Okay, Mystic Palace. I should be there early, but text me if you change locations before I get there.”

“No problem.” She cleared her throat, and I put the phone back to my ear. “Um, Amanda? I’m glad you’re coming with us. You have no idea how much I’ve missed our nights out.”

I smiled and hung up. She was wrong. I had a good idea, because I missed them too. I was the one responsible for breaking up our twosome of trouble, and while I didn’t regret my relationship with Kevin, he could never fill the Sierra-sized hole in my heart. He tried like hell, but it was hard pretending he had ever come close.

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Part 3 (edited)

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Part 4 (edited)

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