Page 57 of Grease Monkey
Okay, but still, even if he was, Phoenix is a big place with a population of over 1.5 million last time I checked. So if he had moved back, the likelihood I’d accidentally bump into him would be slim.
“I can’t go to Phoenix.”
My eyes widen as the words blurt from my mouth. I can’t go. Something deep down is telling me this is a bad idea, the feeling getting stronger and stronger with every second that ticks by. Victoria purses her lips, a frown lining her forehead.
“And why not?” Her voice is steely, and I instantly regret speaking out. She glances down at my hands, absentmindedly toying with my ring, and then her gaze softens as recognition dawns on her face. “When is the big day?”
I drop my hand to my lap, hiding the beautiful pear-cut diamond ring Richard proposed with nearly eight months ago. Everything had been perfect. Candles, moonlight, a bottle of my favorite champagne on ice…
“Seven months.”
“Perfect. The trip will be for four months. Five tops,” Victoria says with a clap. “I can guarantee you’ll be home in time for your wedding.”
Guilt joins the cocktail of emotions partying in my stomach at my first thought, immediately going to my ex—someone I’ve had no ties to after seven years—instead of the man I’d promised the rest of my life to. Hell, Richard didn’t even factor into my next thought as I panicked with the possibility of accidentally running into Teddy at the mere mention of a city he may or may not be in.
I glance up, lost in my thoughts again, with a look that makes Victoria stiffen. I have no idea what I look like, but I force myself to smile, for my shoulders to relax from where they’ve migrated around my ears, and I look back at the twinkling diamond on my left hand.
“There’s still so much to do… with the wedding. We don’t have a band or a color scheme yet. We haven’t even chosen our menus.”
“The joys of everyone having to find a way to work remotely due to COVID,” she states, pulling her phone from her pants pocket and beginning to scroll. “Pinterest has great ideas for décor, all based on different color palettes. And there’s a great little website for easy access to the best bands around the metropolitan area... Ralph and I used it when we got married… Oh, shoot, I can’t seem to find it.” She looks up and smiles, her posture easing as she waves her hand in the air, like remotely planning a wedding is easy and isn’t a good enough reason to stop me from going. “But not to worry, I will email it to you as soon as soon as I remember. Everything else your fiancé can sort out, can he not? Food is the way to a man’s heart and all. Surely, he’d love a day gorging out on gourmet samples?”
I guess. Except Richard isn’t exactly the hands-on kind of fiancé.I’mnot exactly the hands-on kind of bride either, leaving most, if not all, of the planning to both our mothers. My wedding to Richard Atkinson is fast approaching, and it’s a day I’d rather not happen at all. Not that I don’t love Richard or want to be his wife. I did… do. But this wedding… it’s more of a show, a spectacle where I’m the prized pig brought to market for everyone to see.
“Great. I will have my assistant book your accommodation, travel…”
“I’ll drive,” I interrupt, and Victoria looks stunned for a second. Sheepishly, I say, “I know it’s a long drive, but I’d rather have my car if I’m going to be stu—living in Phoenix for a few months.”
Victoria smiles, getting to her feet. “Of course, very well. You’ll need to be there Monday.”
Monday? That was less than a week away.
“Take the rest of the day off to get organized,” she suggests, like there wasn’t an hour left of the workday. “The partners and I have agreed you should pass all your ongoing work to Brian. He’ll finish anything outstanding. Just send him an email outlining where you have gotten up to.” Before leaving my office, she turns back to me. “Oh, Morgana, I forgot to mention, there will be a twelve percent bonus for you taking this assignment. I trust that will compensate for not being here to finish your wedding plans?”
I nod.
Twelve percent bonus—Twelve thousand dollars to move states for a few months is more than enough compensation... it just might not be enough for the constant turmoil of knowing Icouldsee Teddy again.
After all this time.
After all the heartache, tears, and frustration at wanting to reach out, but knowing I couldn’t.
“Have a safe drive, Morgana. I am sure Phoenix will be great.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Teddy
“Yes,”I groan, my head falling back and hitting the back of my chair. “That’s it. Take it as far as you can.”
The hand I have gripped in her black hair tightens, and my hips buck upward into her mouth as I push farther down her throat, chasing the release that seems to be evading me tonight. I should slow down and take it easy as I feel her constricting around me, spluttering and gagging as spit pools at the corner of her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto my leg, but I can’t. I’m too fired up, too restless. Her nails dig into my thighs, the bite of pain the thing I need to finish me off. Thick ropes of cum shoot straight down the back of her throat as I grunt out a curse, holding her head down so her nose nearly touches my pubes. Not that she cares. She loves rough and dirty and brutal. She looks up, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears, as she swallows everything I give her like the good little whore she is. Pride is evident in her smile as she runs her thumb over her swollen lips, gathering what slipped out and sucking it greedily into her mouth.
“Did you like that?” she whispers, her voice hoarse after the punishment from my cock, leaning back on her knees the same as last week. And the week before that, and the week before that too. The same question falls from her plump lips every damn time. She leans forward to lick the crown of my cock again. I hum in approval as she gazes back at me, all starry-eyed and big smiles. My ass sticks to the leather of the refurbished set of old Corvette seats, resembling lounge furniture. I push to my feet and stand, tugging up my boxers and coveralls to stuff myself away before pulling the zipper high enough to keep them on my hips.
Towering over Sophia, I reach out and run my thumb along her jawline. I make her wait for what I know she wants—what I know sheneedsto hear from me—like the asshole I am. She shifts, practically begging like a dog for a bone, reaching up to trace the contours of my abs.
I grin and grip her chin hard between my thumb and finger. “You’re such a good little slut for me.”
She shudders at the words. I’m not into degrading women, but the endearment she likes to hear comes easy and weightless, and she laps it up every time. I flick my thumb over her cheek, and she nuzzles into my hand, chasing after the contact as I squeeze past her. Grabbing an open bottle of water from my desk, I pop the cap and finish it in one breath, waiting for Sophia to button her two-sizes-too-small pink blouse over her perky tits—the ones her husband bought her for their anniversary last year. Slipping her heels back onto her feet, she leans forward, tits pressed together suggestively as she twirls a strand of that dark hair around her finger. I know what she wants. She got me off. Now it’s her turn.
