The Inheritance (7 page)

Wordlessly we pile into the same cab and I give directions to my hotel. Neal repositions his arm around my shoulder and I can feel what’s going to happen next, right at the bottom of my stomach and scratching against my bones.

Room key in hand, we ride the elevator up and up, Neal’s hands in his pockets, mine anxiously hanging by my side. My excitement suffocates me, making it hard to move from the elevator to the hallway to my hotel door. My hand is on the knob when I remember –
eight oh six
. I look up and down, searching for Anthony Serafin or any other reporter who may be lurking around the corner or crouched behind a potted plant. There’s no one but me and Neal.

Neal
who pushes me into the room the minute I crack open the door.
Neal
who slams the door behind him and tugs off his jacket.
Neal
who strides over to me like an animal to his prey, his eyes fixed on my lips before he devours them, mouth against mine, hands cradling my jaw, as he presses our hips together.

At some point, during our ride on the boat, the entire mood shifted, like someone had flicked on a light and all that was weightless became weighed down with lust. York Skinner slow danced with a group of women before he chose two and led them into the cabin. The sound of slow moans filled the air, drugging the rest of us.

The conversation between Neal and I transformed from harmless – What is it like growing up in the city? How did you handle traveling so much as a kid? – to sexually charged. We knocked back another drink and I told him about the night I lost my virginity to Justin, how he kept chanting that I was
so, so wet
and lasted all of two minutes. Neal revealed a list of women he wouldn’t call his girlfriends, but he fucked them long enough they thought they were together. “We weren’t, I don’t…I don’t tend to do the whole girlfriend thing.” It was very matter-of-fact.
I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing
, like,
I don’t care for French toast
.

I didn’t mind.

My days in Chicago are numbered and if there’s one thing I need it’s something without strings, without complications, like Neal’s mouth trailing from mine, dropping a kiss to my jawline and down to my neck.

His hands slide down my back, palms flat against my dress. I tilt my head back, revealing a long stretch of unblemished skin. He cups my ass and pulls me closer, a gasp rushing from my throat as his teeth sink into my neck. My hands find his shoulders, fingers curling and pressing into his shirt as he decorates my skin with small nips, bite marks trailing down my neck and to my shoulder, stopping at the scoop neck of my dress.

Neal’s fingers crawl up my spine, my back arching in time with his touch. Two fingers grip the zipper at the top of my dress and slowly, it becomes undone. Black flaps fall open like wings, the cool air from the room sliding across my newly revealed skin. I leverage myself against his shoulders as I kick off my heels, instantly losing a good five inches of height.

Neal grins as he stares at me, peeling my dress down in the front. “I was wondering how tall you really were,” he says, revealing my bra-covered breasts.

“I’m not that short,” I say, my words barely above a whisper.

He pushes my dress to my hips, leaving the rest for me. I shimmy out of it, discarding the pricey piece of fabric near the window, standing in front of Neal in nothing but my bra and panties.

“No,” he says, taking a step back, drinking in all of me. “You’re not that short at all.”

He steps closer and I undo his shirt, the buttons popping out of their holes, one by one by one, until I’m tugging his shirt out of his pants and he’s undoing his belt. The undressing is less frantic than the last six times I’ve had sex but there remains a sense of urgency in our fingers. Neal slips and kicks off his pants, I push his undershirt up to his armpits and up it goes, over his head, mussing up his hair, until it lands on the floor.

We kiss again, our lips sliding together in perfect rhythm.

We’ve known each other for less than a day and yet this is all native to us, the way my head tilts to the side and his tongue slowly snakes between my lips, gently lapping against my own. The air conditioning kicks on, a guttural noise disrupting the silence, kicking our feet in gear as I walk backwards towards the bed, Neal in front, our mouths connected, my hands in his hair.

Neal removes his lips before he shoves me on the bed. I land on my back, my body bouncing against the mattress, my breasts moving up and down. They catch Neal’s gaze and his tongue swipes against his bottom lip, eyes darkening as he says, “Sit up for me.”

I do as I’m told, back straight and eyes level with his torso. He runs a hand through my hair, the other toying with the strap on my shoulder. He slides his finger beneath it, his other hand dropping to the back of my head, then my neck, the pair of them meeting at the hook of my bra. He snaps it open with ease, the miniscule
pop
, almost loud enough to be heard over the groan of the air conditioning. He tugs off my bra and my breasts spill out, freely resting against my chest, pink nipples hard and erect.

“Open your legs,” Neal says and I part my knees.

He steps in-between them and I lean forward, pressing my mouth just below his belly button, my chin rubbing against his dark trail of hair. I can smell him from here, his musk thick between his legs, surrounding his hard cock that juts out of his briefs, hanging inches away from my breasts.

His hands are in my hair again, fingers running through the strands, before he pushes my head down. He leads me to his clothed cock, my mouth sliding against it through the fabric of his briefs. A low groan brews in his stomach, the vibrations soft against my head as I press kisses up and down his cock. He pushes his hips against me, needing more than the gentle touch of my lips. I release my tongue and lick a wet trail up from the tip of his cock to the base, feeling his balls beneath his briefs, desperate to taste him instead of cotton.

Neal grabs my hands and brings them to the waistband of his briefs, my fingers instantly curling around it, pushing them down until his cock is released. The smell of him grows in my nostrils and my eyes slip close, drowning in his musky scent. Thick, manly and solely Neal.

He doesn’t have to direct me to slide his cock in my mouth, the head passing my lips as I gently suck. Another moan builds in his chest as he watches me, licking the underside of his cock before I pull off. I wrap my hand around the base, generously licking every inch, his cock thick and circumcised, long and pink, glistening in the low light of the room as I take him back into my mouth. I suck in as much as I can, seventy-five percent of the way there, when my hands take over. Stroking up and down, I twist my head to the side, humming lowly as Neal throws his head back.

He pushes my hair out of my face. Our eyes meet and he grins, my hands cupping his balls.

“Oh, fuck, just like that,” he says.

My mouth pulls from his cock with a
pop
, diving in to lick his balls. He thrusts his hips into the touch, his cock against my cheek, pre-cum spreading across my skin. It makes me feel reckless and dirty, like the sort of girl who picks up strangers in bars. I’ve become the woman who picks up strangers at my father’s repass. Handsome strangers with large cocks and deep moans, who pull away from me so he can fully step out of his briefs.

Neal’s gorgeous with his clothes on but off, he stands in front of me like a god. Broad shoulders and chest above a set of tight abs. He’s sporting the dangerous “v” on his hips that drive all women wild. His cock stands proud and erect between his legs. He’s perfection in physical form and I need him to fuck me.

He lays down beside me, legs spread as he lazily strokes his cock. “Please tell me you have a condom,” he says.

I shake my head. “I didn’t think I would end up in bed with anyone.”

His hand tightens around his cock. “I’m clean.”

“Me too,” I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. “And I’m on birth control.”

Neal’s thumb slides across the head of his cock, his muscles tightening as a soft moan passes through his lips. “Whatever you want to do,” he says, locking his eyes with mine.

I know I should be the safe, responsible girl I was in college.
No sex with condoms, I don’t care if I’m on birth control!
But there’s something about Neal that keeps me tied to my hotel room.

I toss my leg over his hips, hovering over him as he removes his hand from his cock. “We’re good,” I say, planting my ass on him, another groan building in his chest. Slowly, I rock back and forth, my ass and my clothed clit rubbing against him. I plant my hands on his chest for leverage. “I’m gonna ride you until you come inside me.”

We kiss, my back curved as his hands run down my spine, towards my underwear, towards my ass. He grabs two handfuls and squeezes, shoving me against him, his pre-cum staining my panties. We share small, steady moans between our tongues and lips, pleasure building in the pit of my stomach like a wet heat.

Neal slides his hands beneath my underwear, palms sliding over my bare ass as my hips rock against him, my clit pulsating with every move. I can get off like this, frotting against him like a teenage girl afraid of too much contact, too much skin on skin.

“Take your panties off,” he says, breathless.

He twists his fingers in the thin band, forcing them over my ass and down my thighs. I push myself to my hands, hovering over him as he hooks them past my knees. I kick them off, pressing my mouth back against Neal’s as my hand wraps around the base of his cock.

It’s like riding a horse
, that’s what Suzanne used to say about fucking.
If you don’t have sex for a while that’s okay, because it’s like riding a horse, you hop on and it all comes back to you.
The last time I had sex was over a year ago, but I have the moves burned into my brain: align his cock with your hole, spread your legs wider, lower your hips, bite back a moan, sink down and breathe.

The second he’s inside me, Neal releases a growl. Deep and animalistic, it makes the blond hairs on my arms stand up. Hands back on his chest, I push myself to a seated position, breasts heaving in time with my breaths as I lift up and down, up and down. His cock stretches me open, filling me up as I rock my hips and tilt my head back, a slow string of moans falling from my lips.

His hands grab my breasts, thumbs encircling my nipples, as I move my hips a little faster. He pinches my right nipple and I laugh, my ass slapping against his balls.

I ride him until I feel an unstoppable heat build between my legs and, licking my hand, I press my fingers against my clit to relieve the pressure.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Neal says, pushing himself to a seated position, my knees grinding into the mattress as our chests press together, our mouths, inches apart, and my clit rubbing against his stomach.

I bounce up and down on his cock, the movement easier now, my hands gripping his shoulders as I go. The friction remains between my clit and his torso, waves of pleasure building like a growing tide. His gaze flickers between my parted lips, my closed eyes and my breasts, happily jiggling along, level with his mouth. I feel his lips wrap around my nipple and another moan carelessly flies from my throat.

We fuck like that, his hands gripping my ass, until it’s all too much. The feeling of his cock, the heat of the room, his mouth against my breasts.

“I’m gonna cum.”

My entire body quivers as my hands find his hair, dark strands wrapping around my fingers as I pull his face into my chest and ride out my orgasm. He comes soon after, his hot stream filling me up, his moans muffled in my breasts.

For a few moments we remain wrapped up in one another. Sweaty, sticky, fucked out.

I’m the first to move. I sway my hips towards the bathroom, closing the door as I clean myself up. I try to be quick about it, a few seconds on the toilet and two minutes in the shower. I’m standing at the sink, surveying the light bruises on my neck when I hear it: the hotel door opening and closing shut.

“Neal?” No response.

I stick my head out the bathroom door, the smell of us assaulting my nostrils but there’s no sign of Neal. He’s thrown on his clothes and left.

Quickly, I tug on my dress and rush into the hall, hoping to find him waiting for the elevator but he isn’t there either.

Neal Dietrich has fucked me and dashed.

That
fucking
asshole
.

It’s difficult not to feel betrayed. I’ve only known Neal for a handful of hours, but I felt a connection to him, which was shattered when he ran out on me.

I’m sure I could find his contact information on the internet, but when I wake up the next morning I decide it isn’t worth it. I needed a good fuck before I went back to Baltimore and I got it.

No strings. No complications. Except why does my heart feel mildly broken?

______

My father’s attorney operates out of his Lincoln Park brownstone, three stories tall with a charming red door and two dogs calmly sleeping out front. His wife answers the door in a bright yellow apron, a glass of lemonade ready in hand. She hands it to me and ushers me inside with a warm hand on my back, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, dearie,” she says, her breath moving through my hair.

She leads me into the dining room, a tight space filled with a long brown table. Gina, Ashleigh, Darlene, a man I don’t recognize, and Martin Simmons – my father’s longtime assistant – are already seated, spaced out far apart from one another, around the table. Gina and I make eye contact. I give her a small smile but she looks away. She’s pissed I walked out of my father’s repass without so much as a word and refused to answer her text messages. I take a seat near the head of the table, a seat away from Martin, and for the first time I feel guilty.

The lawyer, Donald, enters a moment later, drink in hand, glasses hanging around his neck. It’s the beginning of summer but he’s wearing a tweed suit, chocolate brown, with a button down, black tie, and brown sweater beneath his jacket. He looks uncomfortable and very, very hot.