“They haven't told me where we're going, just that we're going to have a lot of fun,” Ariel McDonahue said, in the breathless manner she often adopted when talking about the three cowboys she had fallen thoroughly in love with. “I packed a suitcase this morning so I'm all set to go.”
Angela D'Agastino gave her friend a smile, still finding it utterly astonishing that she had simultaneously fallen in love with three men. Coming, as Ariel did, from one of the wealthiest and most prominent families in Boston, falling in love with one cowboy would be bad enough—but three rough-and-tumble cowboys at the same time? It was unthinkable.
“Just be careful,” Angela said after a moment. She couldn’t help but have misgivings with what her best friend was now doing, and Angela was nothing if not a protective friend. “If anyone figures out that you have three lovers, you'll have to go into hiding instantly. Boston isn't ready for that kind of excess, and North Dakota sure as hell isn't.” She touched her friend’s hand lightly with her fingertips. “I’m serious. It’s got to stay a secret.”
“Yes, I know. I wish that weren't the case because I'd love to shout to anyone who'd listen just how great my guys are, but you're right. There's no way people around here could wrap their brains around a menage a quatre love affair.”
The cell phone on her desk buzzed, and she answered it instantly. After a moment she said excitedly, “I'll be right there.” There was an enormous smile on her freckled face. “They're in the parking lot now. I'm off. See you Monday morning.”
“Have a great weekend, and remember, I want details.” Angela sighed. “If I can't have a sex life of my own, at least I can have one vicariously through my best friend.” She winked. “Details. They say the devil’s in the details, and I want to know what the devil you’ve been up to.”
Ariel hurried out of the office, leaving Angela alone in the reception area of the law offices of Anderson, Bryson, and Holmes.
The private office door to her left opened, and Garrett Bryson—one of the three lawyers she worked for—stepped out. He was, as always, immaculately dressed in a suit and necktie from one of the finest clothiers in Minneapolis. For this Friday, he'd chosen a light gray suit with a red necktie. The suit seemed to highlight the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. She thought about this a moment, then realized that all of his suits did that.
As it often did when Angela looked at any of the men she worked for, her heart did a little flip.
He looked at Angela, smiled, and said, “Why don't you knock off early? It's past four. We can handle it from here.”
His smile did devastating things to Angela's long-neglected libido, and she had to immediately remind herself that one of the promises she'd made to herself when she moved from the east coast to the oil fields in western North Dakota was that she wasn't going to fall for any man, particular not a man she worked for. She was here for the money, and nothing more than that.
“Thanks,” Angela said, wondering just how much pleasure the lips that were now smiling at her would give a woman while kissing.
Garrett disappeared into Anson Anderson's office, closing the door behind him.
He looks gorgeous even walking away. Angela closed her eyes for a moment and gave her head a little shake. Stop thinking that way. You will not think about how rich and gorgeous the men you work for are.
Another door opened, and Kurt Holmes stepped out of his office. Like his colleagues, he was in a suit and necktie. Like his colleagues, he was in his thirties and single. Like his colleagues, every time he smiled at Angela, it reminded her that she hadn't had sex since she moved to North Dakota from Boston, escaping from a disastrous relationship that had started out passionate, but devolved into violence, intimidation, and vague threats of “something worse.”
“You can start your weekend early,” he said.
He had rather longish black hair that came over the collar. He combed his fingers through the strands, pushing them straight back from the forehead. Angela decided that combing her fingers through his hair wouldn't exactly be the worst thing any employer had ever asked of his secretary.
“Are you sure?” she asked while wondering whether Kurt was more handsome than Garrett, or if it was the other way around. “I don't mind staying.”
“Nonsense,” he said, the almost boyish glint in his brown eyes causing Angela's heart to do a cartwheel, which she tried unsuccessfully to ignore. “You're young and single. There's got to be a thousand places you'd rather be that in a law office answering a damned phone that rings constantly.”
He put his hands on his hips, simultaneously sliding his coat back. Angela had to remind herself that there was nothing about rich men that she found laudatory. However, when he stood like that, with his arms akimbo, his physique was like a magnet for her eyes. And did his hair have to look sooo perfect when it was a little disheveled, and it seemed like he probably should pay a visit to the barber sometime soon?
“A thousand places I'd rather be?” Angela said, once she'd collected her senses and partially pushed aside the awareness that Kurt was a man who undoubtedly looked good in a tailored suit, but even better naked. Not that she’d seen him naked, but she had thought of it. “In South Williston? Not likely.”
“Knock off early anyway,” Kurt said. “We can handle things until closing time.”
He turned his back and walked into Anson's office. Faintly, from inside the senior lawyer’s private office, Angela heard the sound of their laughter. What were they talking about? Her?
Angela looked at Anson. He had moved forward and was now above her, his body not touching hers except for where his thighs pressed against her own widely parted ones.
“You haven't told me how many climaxes you want,” Anson said quietly. The tone of his voice seemed to vibrate against her clit, adding fuel to the inferno of her sexual intemperance currently ablaze in her soul. “Can I safely assume it's more than six but less than twelve?”
“No buts,” Anson said in a growl.
He took her torn panties and stuffed them in her mouth, effectively putting to an end to any further protests. Angela closed her eyes, simultaneously aroused and horrified at the fact that not only had her panties been ripped off her, but now they'd been shoved in her mouth to prevent her from speaking.
And she could taste the honey of her own pussy. The passionate juices that only seeped from her when she was truly and deeply excited.
In a huff, she told herself that only a barbarian would fill a woman's mouth with panties that he'd ripped off her. The thought was supposed to turn her off, but its effect was quite the opposite.
Angela tried to free her wrists, but Garrett held them securely. She tried to pull her legs out of Kurt's grasp, but he was much too strong or her to escape.
I'm going to get fucked. Hard. Fucked like I’ve never been fucked before.
Angela tried to pretend to herself that the thought wasn't arousing, but she knew what the real the truth was. Having her own panties in her mouth prevented her from having to admit aloud just how desperately she wanted Anson's cock inside her. For that, she was grateful...but it was also a kinky thrill to know that the big man above her, with a cock as solid as steel, had not only ripped off her panties, he'd silenced her protests with them.
This wasn't just a man's man she was dealing with, this was an Alpha male to the highest degree, and knowing this made Angela's pussy clench and moisten in preparation of more vigorous activity. Her body and libido weren’t as inhibited as her consciousness was. Or so it seemed.
Angela clenched her teeth, her molars sinking into the cotton of the panties that moments earlier had been around her hips and against her pussy. No man had ever before ripped panties from her, just as no men had ever before held her to the floor so that they could have their way with her. As much as Angela wanted to tell herself this barbaric behavior was dreadful and abhorrent, the dull, throbbing ache in her pussy, and particularly in her clit, was telling quite a different story.
“Now then, my darling,” Anson said as he slipped down Angela’s body, positioning his hips between her wide-spread thighs, “I think we should come up with a pet name for you. Everyone calls you Angela, but looking into those eyes right now, I’m not really seeing an Angela. Not the Devil, mind you, but certainly not an Angela. And to call you a Fallen Angela just doesn’t seem fair.”
He held his weight off her with his left hand, and with his right, he rubbed the bulbous crown of his erection against her slit. Angela’s eyes opened wider, and she bit down even more vehemently against the evocatively flavored panties filling her mouth.
“I’m sure we can come up with something,” Anson said, putting a little pressure behind his hips. A moment later the head of his cock separated the lips of Angela’s pussy, and he had pressed inside. Not far, but enough for her to tremble, and deliver a muffled moan through the gag that was her panties. “Something appropriate to commemorate”—he thrust in several more inches—”our inaugural fuck.”
Anson began his withdrawal before he’d come anywhere near full insertion. Angela looked at him, wondering what he was up to. She’d never been with a man as well-endowed as he. She had decided—or at least her libido had decided—that if she was going to be wrestled to the floor, held down like a captive, have her lingerie ripped apart or completely off her—the least the bourgeois bastard currently tuning her body and soul on fire could do was give her the full measure of his manhood.
And let’s not forget, she told herself caustically, that he also stuffed the panties he ripped off her into her mouth. Mustn’t forget that little unforgettable and unforgivable transgression. And let's try to forget that it was fucking exciting to taste the honey of her own excitement on her panties. Oh, yeah, there was that little element to the equation that she really didn't want to think about too much, even though it made her juices flow when she did.