The Super: A Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

“You taste so good. You’re better than anything,” he says, taking his mouth away from my pussy and kissing the insides of my thighs. He wraps his hands around my ankles and holds my legs open, exposing me for him. His tongue swirls around my clit, my pussy hotter than it’s ever felt.

He lets go of my ankles and positions himself between my legs, pulling a condom out of his back pocket and sheathing himself, rolling it down to the base quickly.

“Do you always have a condom with you?”

“Do you want me to always have a condom with me?”

“I’m not sure,” I say.

His arms make a cage around my face, his hands propping himself up above me.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I reach down and take Drew into my hands, guiding him between my legs. His dick reaches my opening, and slips into me easily, rocking and moving inside me as his chest heaves above mine.

Any ounce of tameness and restraint he showed before has now flown out the window with any sense of propriety I possessed.

He pulls away from me and flips me over onto my stomach, placing a firm hand down on my ass.

The heat inside me radiated from my stomach and into my limbs, and the fear I felt just moments ago is melting out of my body.

“What the hell was that?” I yelp, looking back at his face, his signature grin growing across his face and his eyes sparkling.

“You’re just so spankable. You think that cute little ass isn’t going to be spanked?”

I wiggle it in response and giggle, but I what I really want to do is bury my face in a pillow. I don’t understand how it’s possible that he is doing this to me, and how good it feels. It’s freeing.

He flips me over again, onto my back, and teases my opening with the tip of his dick.

“Come for me, Molly. I need this from you.”

He drags his dick across my clit before sinking into me once again.

“Drew, I can’t believe this happening.”

I don’t want to show him all of what I’m feeling, and I’m just happy something more didn’t slip out.

Like,
Drew, you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever met.

Drew, I know you’re bad for me and I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t do cocky guys. I don’t do arrogant. You’re going to grow bored of the simple girl from Brooklyn.

Drew, your dick feels incredible inside me
.

I’d never let that last statement just slip out. I’d be utterly mortified if I ever said anything like that.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t let me fuck you on the first night we met,” he says, pushing himself deeper inside me.

“Is that really the kind of girl you think I am?”

“No. Not at all.” He grins and pushes my hair away from my forehead. I run my hands up and down his chest, his chiseled body moving above me and inside me like nothing I’ve felt before. He’s so deep, so hard, so big.

“I don’t think you’re that kind of girl,” he adds. “But I’m that kind of guy.”

“Too many one night stands for Drew Anderson, huh?”

“Not too many,” he says. “Come for me, Molly. I told you to. Come all over my cock. Your juices feel so good.”

His mouth collides with mine as my eyes grip shut tightly, my vision turning black and then white as my body writhes beneath him in pleasure. It’s too much to stand any longer, and I feel my body rising with pleasure as he works it with exquisite expertise.

He groans as he explodes inside me, rocking his hips back and forth between my legs as he comes.

I come down from what just happened, panting and smiling like a crazy person. Maybe option one wasn’t such a bad idea.

I know what I know about Drew. There won’t be any surprises. Even if I never see him after today, it’s fine.

Anyone who can make my body feel like he does deserves a chance.

I’m on cloud fucking nine as I leave Molly’s apartment.

She’s incredible. She’s funny, smart, gorgeous, and self-assured. After what just happened, I’m no longer surprised it took this long for us to screw. She’s not like any of the try-hard girls who just want a taste of the fame and want their picture to be taken. They want to get in the paper, heaven only fucking knows why.

I’m okay with being in the paper and on the blogs. It’s fine. But it’s not something I would seek out. In fact, I’m starting to think it’s getting a little bit old.

That’s not what Molly wants. She dodged it. The fact of my wealth and reputation was an immediate turn-off for her. I could see it. Most of the time, the girls in that bar would do anything with any guy with my level of status.

Again - not that there’s anything wrong with that. But after Clarissa?

Molly is exactly what I need.

No, fuck that. She’s what I need in my life because she’s as gorgeous as she is smart, motivated and driven.

There is no fucking comparison between her and any other girl. She’s in another category.

Molly looks for the real me. Maybe it took her a little bit longer than I wanted for her to warm up to me, but now that she really sees me for who I am, I’m going to show her my best.

She’s already shown me her best - that’s her default setting. She’s the best without even having to try. She’s real. She doesn’t have to switch the way she acts, ever.

I think she and I have that in common.

She gives it to you straight.

Fuck, she’s good. Beautiful.
Perfect
.

I’m nearly whistling as I make my way down to the apartment where I’m staying. I hear the voices of a few men, and they’re talking shop. I stay on the landing I’m on so I can get a better read on what they’re discussing. All I can make out over my thoughts is a cloud of random words. I lean against the wall on the landing above them and peek over.

It’s Lee and a few other guys from his firm. It’s bizarre, seeing them here. It’s like seeing a fucking polar bear on the moon.

Or something. I’m not the writer. Molly is the writer.

Whatever it looks like, it looks weird. But I know immediately why they’re here. There’s really only one reason why a bunch of random finance dudes in Gucci loafers would be in this neighborhood. This is their stupid idea of dressed-down. Gucci loafers. Unbelievable.

I’m at least wearing my Varvatos boots. I blend in. I don’t stick out like a sore thumb like these guys.

These guys. They’re here because they want to buy the building. It’s so obvious. It’s in a good neighborhood, up-and-coming, and I don’t need to pull the comps for the area to know that the market can bear rents two or three times higher than what I’m sure the tenants here are paying. Rich is a good guy, and I’m sure he knows what the fate of the building will be if he sells.

If he’s anything like Mom, he doesn’t want that for the building. If he’s anything like Mom, he wants a place where people can call home. Not a place where some dickheads can knock down a few walls and pour in some money and make a profit on the place over a short term period.

He doesn’t want the building to be a quick investment. I already know that. It would change everything about the place.

I just had no idea Lee was interested in taking his firm in this direction.

Maybe they’re trying to diversify a little. Nothing wrong with that.

I’m sure Rich has had offers before. And he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would gather multiple offers and try to leverage the best deal for himself. He’s a guy who likes being an owner. The fact that he stays here a few nights a week is proof.

We could put an elevator in, make the top two floors a duplex penthouse
.

Okay, now I have absolute fucking confirmation of what these guys want to do.

I wonder if Molly knows. She’s relatively new to the building and might not know what’s going on here.

The guys on the floor below me continue down the stairs and make their way through the front door and the storm door, letting it slam shut behind them. I continue down to stairs to the cellar now that the coast is clear.

The absolute last thing I need right now is Lee knowing where I am. I’m staying here to get away from everything. Not to get more involved in something that doesn’t concern me.

I flop down onto the pull-out couch in Rich’s apartment and check my phone. I have 40 unread emails, twice as many texts, and half as many missed calls.

Of course, most of them are from Eric, so I call him back.

“Good god, man. Where the hell have you been?” he barks.

“You mean Mom didn’t tell you? Sarah didn’t say something at the office today?”

“Yeah, Sarah told me you lost your damn mind and decided to take a little vacation.”

“I highly, highly doubt Sarah said that about me. She’s loyal. She supports me in my decisions. Which is more than I can say about you right now.”

“I support you. I think that if you want to disappear for an entire two days, stay somewhere else, go crazy and not shave and turn into a total lunatic, it’s fine. Go and take a plane to Puerto Rico. Get whatever the hell happened between you and Clarissa out of your system. But please, please answer your phone.”

I have to hold the phone away from my ear. My brother is shouting, and I don’t want to risk permanent hearing loss.

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Drew, you cannot do this. When you told me you were getting out of town for a few days, I didn’t know it would involve going off the grid and neglecting our firm. Come back to the city. If you aren’t going to answer your phone, we need you here. If you want to be wherever the hell it is you are, it’s fine, but answer your phone. And if you’re not going to do that, you need to come back so I can keep tabs on you.”

“Keep tabs on me?” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Look. I met a girl.”

“So you’re back to your old ways? Don’t tell me you’re in Key West right now. Or Nantucket. Please don’t tell me it’s Nantucket. You’ll never be able to get rid of her.”

“It’s not like that, Eric. I don’t want to get rid of her. Actually, you know her.”

“For fuck’s sake. It’s not Clarissa, is it?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? God, no. It’s Molly.”

“From college?”

“No, not Molly from college.”

“Oh, from your real estate broker license class. That was a long time ago, dude. But I guess if you wanted to double-dip, enough time has gone by that it’s okay that you’re back with her.”

“First, that’s gross.”

“That’s a phrase you coined.”

I shake my head. He’s actually right about that.

“Second, it’s actually Molly from the bar the other night.”

“Friday? But you didn’t hook up on Friday.”

“No, I didn’t, but I randomly met her again. It’s the craziest thing. Wait till we tell our kids how their parents met.”

“So, let me get this straight. You are shacked up somewhere with a girl who showed zero interest in you just a few days ago?” Suddenly, his tone changes. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

I nearly hear his arm go up for a high five, even though I’m not there to reciprocate it.

Not that I would have.

“No. Not shacked up. Taking it slow.”

I don’t want to tell him the full truth right away. She deserves better than that.

“Look. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but if she is preventing you from doing your job, then you’ve got to do what you always do and just move along.”

“I’m afraid that is not going to happen. Not this time. But look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll come back to the city. On Friday. Okay?”

“Fine. But if anything big happens before then, you have to come back sooner.”

“That seems like a good compromise.”

“Good. But you also have to do something else for me.”

Negotiating. I like it.

“You have to answer your phone.”

“Deal.”

It’s been another long day at the office. I’m starting to think this isn’t for me. Have you ever wanted something so badly, but never really slowed down to ask yourself why? I like my job, but I can already feel that my passion for the news is going to be squashed at this job, instead of being allowed to flourish.

Even though it’s only my second day, I’m starting to think that maybe I should start reevaluating things

I’ve already reevaluated my situation with Drew, decided to go for the fling thing. The memory of his lips dances on my mouth. I push him out of my head. For all I know, he’s already gone.

Going over last night’s events in my head is going to do me no good if I’m just going to allow myself to have a fling. A fling implies that feelings aren’t to be involved. Just bodies. It’s just sex. There’s nothing going on between my ears and nothing going on in my heart toward Drew Anderson. Nothing.

So I need to stop thinking about his scent. His strength. Everything I know about him. I need to put it away, tuck it away, deep down, and maybe I can reminisce about it when I’m older and thinking about when I was a younger woman and had this random fling with a billionaire real estate guy.

It’s not for me to think about now. It’s for the girls in the heels, the girls in the tight dresses, the girls who want to be on the arm of a rich guy. It’s not me.

I just need to keep telling myself that. I hope I’ll start to believe it soon.

I slip my key into the lock on my door. I’m looking forward to just taking my heels off and putting my feet on a pillow and drifting off in the early-evening sun streaming through my window. Maybe I’ll check out the leak in my sink and make sure I don’t need Drew to come over and take a look at it.

After all, he is still my super, and there’s no feelings involved in routine apartment maintenance. It’s all mechanical

As I’m about to enter my apartment, I hear three sets of footsteps coming up the stairs slowly. There are only four units on my floor, and I know all of my neighbors personally, and I wonder if it’s those investors again.

Mrs. Martinez, the sweet older lady who always makes the floor smell like garlic and onions and whose granddaughter is about my age, opens her door and shuffles out into the hallway.

“Hello, Molly. How is the evening treating you?”

“It’s pretty good. I’m just getting home from work.”

“Good day at the office? That’s good, sweetheart.”

I don’t want to tell her the truth, that the job is hard and I’m having second thoughts about my chosen career path. That I thought I’d love sitting in a cubicle doing grunt work because I know it will lead to something better. The truth is, even though I do know it will lead to something better, I’m not so sure I want what it’s leading to. And even though I love my boss and coworkers, I’m not so excited about working at a paper that’s gravitating more and more toward being a throw-away gossip blog.

Look at Mrs. Martinez, for instance. She moved here from Puerto Rico in the 1960s, and she was a homemaker for most of her life. When her husband passed away, she decided to go to college, and then graduate school, and became a Kindergarten teacher. She’s currently a substitute teacher a few days a week at the very same school she sent her children to.

I find that much more interesting than reading about Clarissa and her ilk, the adult kids of the wealthy who treat Manhattan like a playground.

The footsteps making their way up the stairs stop, and there are some muffled voices and the scuffle of feet before the footsteps start again, getting quieter as they continue. I tip-toe over to the banister of the landing and peer down between the railings. It’s the suit guys again.

I shift my purse onto my shoulder and walk over to Mrs. Martinez.

“What do you think those guys are doing in the building, Mrs. M?”

“Oh, you don’t know? Come inside, dear. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“I’d love that.” I smile and enter her apartment.

It’s a larger unit than mine - a two bedroom, and I take in the surroundings. A China cabinet boasts a collection of ornate, beautiful dishes, and she has a collection of ladybug dish towels hanging from the handle of the oven. She has a pot of red sauce cooking on the stovetop, and it’s making the apartment warm, but the late afternoon breeze coming in through the living room and the modest dining room are making the space feel like a big home.

“Here, put your bag down. I guess you haven’t seen those men around the building yet.”

“I saw them once. I’m afraid I already know why they’re here.”

She ambles over to the stove and scoops a little bit of sauce onto a plate and tears a piece of semolina bread off a large loaf.

I slip into a chair in the dining room and put my bag down on the table. It’s cluttered with bills and catalogs, and a stack of spelling exams.

“They make you grade the kids’ tests, even though you’re a sub?”

“No, I volunteer for it. I enjoy it. Plus, it gives me something to do. My granddaughter can’t get here as much as I’d like her to. She comes about once a week, and I need things to take up my time.” She sets the plate of red sauce and bread down in front of me, piping hot with steam rising off the plate. I inhale the sweet aroma of chopped garlic, tomatoes and extra virgin olive oil. “There’s only so much Wheel of Fortune and Golden Girls one old lady can watch.”

“Oh, you’re not old, Mrs. M.” I drag the bread through the sauce, blow on it, and pop into my mouth. It’s sweet and salty and just the right temperature.

“That’s great, Mrs. M.! It tastes just like the sauce my grandmother used to make.”

“Is she Italian?”

“No, actually. She’s from Alabama. Daughter of the American Revolution, or that’s what the folklore in my family says. My grandfather was from Sicily, and his mom, my great grandmother, taught my grandmother how to cook.”

“It’s so nice how the generations take care of each other. It’s a very special thing.” She gets up from the table and goes to the refrigerator, taking out a pitcher of iced tea. “You don’t really see that very much anymore. Everyone in New York seems to be from someplace else nowadays. But that’s okay. Everyone needs to plant roots down, and it’s a beautiful thing to be able to start a family somewhere else. That’s what I did.”

“And you think your grandkids will stay here in New York?”

“I think so. My Anna is thinking about going to Puerto Rico to visit her cousins for the summer, but she loves it here too much to not come back.”

She stirs the iced tea with a long wooden spoon and places it gently in the sink before reaching up into a cabinet to grab two glasses.

“It’s a shame about what they’re going to do to the building.”

She makes room on the table, moving the stacks of papers and bills, putting them into a cardboard box, and pours the iced tea into two glasses. The sun is setting and it’s the perfect evening, not very much unlike the ones I used to share with my own grandmother and parents before moving out to get my own place.

“It’s those men who are in the building. They represent some fancy real estate company. They want to buy the building and kick everyone out.” She shakes her head in disappointment and lays her hands down flat on the table.

“That happened to my family when I was younger. I hardly remember it. I guess I’m lucky.”

“They won’t kick us out right away, but I’ve heard that they are planning on converting the building to condominiums. They’ll probably offer buyouts to the tenants who stick around and don’t move right away, and the remaining tenants will have one hell of a headache when the construction starts.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them before.”

“We’ve had other guys here before looking at the building, but this is a new group of men. It’s not really that big of a deal. Especially to young people who don’t have roots where they live. Present company excluded.” She gets up and walks over to her window, pulling back the lace white curtains and peering down at the street below. “But I remember my kids being picked up for school by the school bus right down there on the street. The ice cream truck in the summer, and the cookouts on the terraces. The fabric of the community is going to change.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I know the owner of the building has turned down offers before. He’s never been interested in doing anything like that with the building. He likes having the old tenants who he knows.”

“Present company excluded?” I smile and take a sip of my tea. Even though I may be young, I’m from the neighborhood, and I can appreciate what Mrs. Martinez is going through.

“Anyway, it’s just a rumor. We get people coming through the building every few months. Big shot guys in suits, guys from the city. I hope the owner holds out, but he has to do what’s best for himself, too. It’s what we all have to do.”