Fifty Days 2 Read online

  Fifty Days

  Book Two

  of a hot dirty new adult serial

  by

  Taylor Shade

  Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Taylor Shade

  First edition

  December 3, 2014

  Promotion: Mark My Words Book Publicity (markmywordsbookpublicity.com)

  Cover design: Romantic Book Affairs (designs.romanticbookaffairs.com)

  Editing: Missy Borucki (missyborucki.com)

  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 non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks to Morgan Black, Brina Courtney, Rachel Marks, Missy Borucki, Letitia Hasser, all the amazing bloggers who promote my sordid tales, and everyone who reads my books and cheers me on. I so appreciate you.

  INTRODUCTION

  Now I know you even better.

  I know your smell. I know your taste.

  But you haven’t fully submitted to me yet. You haven’t given yourself completely to my command.

  You know you want to. You want the dirty pleasure of being taken, controlled, dominated. You want to feel my rock-solid cock inside you, moving forcefully in hard thrusts that bring you to heights of pleasure you have never known before.

  You want to gift yourself to me, giving in to inner desires you’ve kept secret for years. You want to scream my name as my nine thick inches pummel your tight wet pussy. You want to finally know the filthy ecstasy a woman can truly experience when she submits to a real man.

  A man like me.

  A man who will push your boundaries, teach you new skills, and open up new centers of pleasure within you.

  It’s only a matter of time before the filthy girl inside comes out to play... giving in to me... setting herself free from her everyday life... journeying to a place where there is only the two of us.

  You crave the sweet sting of torment I provide, riding that fine line between pleasure and pain. You beg for me to explode in you, filling you with the hot milky delight you crave, waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Your hips buck, your head thrashes back, you scream “Oh God!” as you experience a release like you’ve never had before.

  Don’t deny it.

  You want it.

  You crave it.

  You love it.

  Step into my world.

  ONE

  Drake

  “You have fifty days,” says the voice I haven’t heard in years, then hangs up.

  I sit in my office looking out at the random pattern of lights in the skyscraper windows. It’s dark early now.

  But it’s nothing compared to the darkness in that voice.

  She’s back. Why after all these years?

  After being gone for so long, she expects me to re-up with one phone call? Seriously?

  No way. That’s not me anymore. I’m not going down without a fight. Besides, I’m a winner. I always get my way.

  I built this firm from the ground up with nothing but a handshake and a whole lot of iron will. Nobody is going to take it from me.

  It’s funny. All I could think of all afternoon was Sloane Kenner, the delicious new paralegal temp working on the Dawson briefs.

  Natural blonde hair with large curls. Beautiful soft skin. Amazing blue eyes. Thick lips. And a sweet succulent pussy I brought to joyous delirium twice today.

  God how much I want to plunge deep into her, stretching those walls, hearing her yelp in frenzied euphoria as my thick cock rams her hard. Then she’ll scream my name as I make her come harder than she ever has, her ripe body writhing in convulsions of bliss.

  Sloane Kenner. Sweet and submissive. Ready to be taken, trained, and mastered. She wants it. I know she wants it.

  But now I’m faced with a harsh reality from which I thought I had escaped. I had planned to continue my seduction of Sloane this evening, but now I’m forced to focus on other matters.

  “Fiona”, I say into my intercom, “before you leave, cancel all my appointments tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Mr. Concord. Where should I say you’ll be?”

  “In court, gathering evidence, anything. I don’t care.”

  “Yes, Mr. Concord.”

  I open my oak desk drawer and feel for the hidden compartment that nobody at Concord Hamilton Dandridge knows is there. I swore I would never remove its contents unless I truly need to.

  That time may be near.

  I go to my door and lock it, then draw the blinds.

  I return to my desk, open the compartment, and take out the gun.

  The cold feel of it in my hand brings back a thousand memories I’ve tried to forget. I check to make sure the magazine is loaded and ready to fire. Then I replace it and shut the drawer.

  TWO

  Sloane

  My entire second day at Concord Hamilton Dandridge is the complete opposite of day one.

  Dawson briefs, Dawson briefs, and more Dawson briefs.

  The only good part about it is that I’m making some new friends. One is Thanuja, a tall beautiful Sri Lankan girl. We made a joke about Matthew Hamilton at the Keurig machine during the morning break. The other is Kayla, the girl who asked me if I was okay after emerging from the stacks in the library yesterday.

  Kayla and I sit next to each other at one of the tables, stacks of Dawson briefs between us. We both seem to always yawn at the same time, which makes us giggle.

  We end up going to lunch together at Hale & Hearty Soups across the street, gossiping about the firm, the boyish associate Glen who is ridiculously nervous around all of us, and that mysterious and dark senior partner.

  Hale & Hearty is packed like always. When we arrived at 12:02 it was busy. Now, fifteen minutes later, there’s a line out the door and down Lexington Avenue.

  “I haven’t seen him today,” says Kayla as she sips her tomato basil soup.

  “Who?” I say with a blush.

  “That senior partner who kept visiting us yesterday. Drake Concord. My God, is he gorgeous! I even love his name. Drake Concord. I thought I was going to lose it when he walked into the room and did that staring thing.”

  I feel a nervous twitch in my stomach.

  Does she know? Is she asking me this because she saw me get into a limo with Drake Concord yesterday?

  No, Sloane. Relax. That’s ridiculous. She’s just making regular girl talk.

  I sip my mulligatawny. Mmm, delicious.

  “I know, huh?” I say.

  “He isn’t soft like other lawyers. He’s got muscle under that shirt. You can see it in his neck, the way his shirt fits around it. And his hands. They look like they could bend steel.”

  I get a flashback to this exact time yesterday, Drake Concord’s hands tossing me roughly around the back of the limo as his tongue darts in and out of my pussy.

  I feel a flush spread over me.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I can see that.” I adjust myself on the uncomfortable stool and wipe my mouth with my napkin.

  “He gave you the once over.”

  “Oh... no, I don’t think so. He gave us all the once over.”

  “Nuh-uh, girl. He paused on you the longest, then kept staring at you when he left the room.”

  People are crowding around us now, standing with soups and sandwiches in hand. I feel a tingle of sweat forming at my lower back.

  “No,” I say, “I�
�m all about that Matt Hamilton. Nothing I like better than a short guy with no body and hair like steel wool.”

  Kayla laughs so hard she almost chokes.

  “Oh, I know,” she says sarcastically, “isn’t he dreamy? Seriously, though, do you think he’s gay?”

  “I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. I’d put money on virgin.”

  “Yes!”

  We finish our soup, pick up some coffee from Starbucks, and head back to the office.

  Everywhere I look I see no Drake Concord.

  I’m both relieved and disappointed at the same time. While one part of me can’t stop thinking about that luscious nine-inch cock gagging my mouth in the limousine, a wiser part of me is ashamed and repulsed by my actions.

  How could I have let him get to me like that?

  It was like I couldn’t control myself, like he hypnotized me or something.

  I can’t let that happen again. I need to focus on doing my job, collecting my pay, and going home. I’m not going to be some slutty office girl who gets down on her knees for any smooth-talking attorney in an expensive suit.

  Even if he is perfect.

  When we walk back into the law library, we’re the first ones back.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” says Kayla and walks out.

  I put my coffee down and take a walk, taking the opportunity to start my other assignment.

  I feel terrible about this. But that man Ronson assures me that it’s a matter of national security. His exact words were “People have died. This cannot go on. Justice must be served.”

  Even though I believe him, there is something about the whole thing that’s nagging at me as I sneak out of the law library down the back stairwell to the forty-ninth floor.

  I open the door and find myself in the file room. Well, no, room isn’t the right word. More like a file floor. The entire forty-ninth is nothing but an endless cavern of file boxes stuffed full of papers. Harsh fluorescent lights make everything look absurdly bright white.

  I roam into one of the aisles and examine the labels on the shelves. Everything is coded with a series of numbers that make no sense to me.

  If I’m going to find the Meridian file, I’m going to have to figure out the coding system... or have someone explain it to me.

  I can’t just ask, though. I’m only a paralegal temp. I don’t want to raise suspicion.

  Shit, maybe I should call this off. I’m getting nervous here all by myself.

  “Can I help you?!” says a gruff voice, breaking the silence in a sharp roar.

  I nearly jump out of my skin and turn around. A security guard in a blue uniform and cap stands behind me.

  “Oh,” I say, “I’m sorry. I must be on the wrong floor.”

  He eyes me with suspicion. “Wrong floor?”

  “Yes, I thought this was the law library.”

  “That’s one up, miss. Are you part of the temp team?”

  “Yes. I must have gotten off on the wrong floor. Now I feel so silly. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  He squints at me. I look directly into his eyes. He’s about thirty-five, pudgy, and balding.

  “Well... okay,” he says with a smile as he blushes. “But don’t let it happen again because I’m supposed to tell them.”

  “I understand completely.”

  I make sure my shoulder touches him as I move past him to the stairwell door.

  Then I turn and look at him again. He’s just smiling. Yeah, he won’t tell.

  I walk back up to fifty, my heart beating out of my chest. Kayla and several of the other girls are back. We sit and chat a bit before Glen returns and then we get back to our silent boring work.

  The afternoon drones on and still no sign of Drake Concord. That’s good. I focus on my work.

  As I highlight the endless stream of briefs, I make two decisions. Number one, at five o’clock when I get out of here I’m calling Ronson to tell him that I’m not going to do this. I’m no spy. I almost shit my pants when that security guard found me. I can’t do this.

  Sure, I could use the two thousand dollars but I’ll just beg my landlord to give me an extra week on the rent and by then I should have my first paycheck for this gig from the temp agency.

  The second decision I make is that I need to stay away from Drake Concord. He has some kind of weird sexual power, almost supernatural. He’s dangerous. There is something behind his eyes, that while helping make him super-sexy, tells me that he will ruin me.

  While the encounter yesterday was great... fantastic, even... dare I say stupendous?... I can’t let him into my life. I’m just a normal girl and I don’t want to get involved with a man that powerful. It’s almost too scary, too much to handle.

  I need a nice guy, right? I mean a good, nice guy... right? Isn’t that what I want? Isn’t that what my mom always told me I should want?

  Right?

  That’s it. Decisions made. Done. Over.

  At ten minutes to five, Glen says “Okay, ladies. Please organize your stacks. Tim and I will come by for sign off.”

  The two associates stop by each of our stations, carefully piling the highlighted and non-highlighted briefs into separate cardboard boxes. As they each sign off our time forms, we’re free to go.

  Glen signs off on Kayla’s.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says to me with a smile as she leaves.

  “Bye,” I say as Glen approaches my stack. I notice he’s sweating. His face is beet red, almost purple.

  “Um, good,” he says as he puts my stacks into boxes. “Wow, you did a lot today.” He clears his throat and lowers his voice, nervously looking around. “So, um... uh... I thought I might... I mean, I was wondering if... you might want to grab a bite with me.”

  I hadn’t planned for this.

  “Oh,” I say in the kindest voice I can muster, “I’m sorry, but no, I don’t think that’s a good idea, with the firm and all, us working together and everything.”

  I smile at him. He just looks at me, holding his breath. Then he begins to shake a little.

  “I’m... uh... not going to be here after Christmas,” he whispers.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I got another offer. But shhh... I haven’t told them yet. So it wouldn’t be a big deal if you and I–”

  “Oh Glen, I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend.”

  His eyes look like they’re going to bug out of his head. His shaking becomes more pronounced.

  “Oh...” he says, “oh... I mean... uh... great... oh, sure... I’m sorry... I should have asked first... I mean, I should have known.”

  He laughs nervously. I put my hand on his arm. My touch stills him.

  “You’re very nice, Glen. A good guy. I like you. If it weren’t for my boyfriend, I would.”

  I don’t really mean this. I have no boyfriend. I just don’t know what else to say. I feel bad because Glen really is a nice guy.

  Hm. Nice guy. Isn’t that what I was just trying to convince myself I wanted?

  “Thanks,” says Glen.

  I give him a warm smile, pack up my things, and leave.

  As I walk to the elevator, I catch myself looking around again. No tall dark swarthy beast in an expensive suit in sight. As the elevator doors open and I step inside, I sigh.

  Outside on the street, the air is crisp as I hit the five o’clock bustle on Lexington. It’s only November but the Salvation Army bell ringers are already out. I take my change from lunch and drop it in one of the red kettles. Then, I head toward the 59th Street subway entrance.

  Along the way, I take out my cell phone to call Ronson. I’m a little nervous, seeing as I’m going to tell him the job’s off.

  Instead of ringing, I hear three tones. An electronic voice says, “The number you are trying to reach is not in service at this time.”

  Hm, that’s weird.

  I dial again and get the same response.

  Very weird.

  I’m about to head down into t
he subway and take the F train home to Queens, but I stop when I see the man leaning on the railing. His arms are folded, a cocky smirk on his face as his deadly blue eyes penetrate me.

  THREE

  Drake

  I hadn’t planned on this, but I can’t help myself. After the rough day I’ve had, I’m determined to see her again. Sloane Kenner. Those angelic blue eyes with a hint of green around the edges, that peachy ass, those resplendent breasts.

  I feel wood coming on as Henry and my limo get stuck in a clusterfuck of traffic on Madison. I look at my watch. Five o’clock exactly. Damn it, I wanted to get back to the office before the paralegal temps left, but looks like that’s not going to happen.

  “Henry,” I say, “I’m going on foot. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

  “Have a good night, Mr. Concord.”

  I leap out and up three blocks on foot, then one over, figuring she’s probably heading for the 59th Street subway entrance. Her file from the temp agency says she lives in Queens so likely she takes the F train home.

  I smile to myself as I see her coming. I was right. Then again, I’m always right.

  I love the look of pleasant surprise on her face as she approaches the entrance and sees me. My dick twitches in my pants.

  Goddamn, I missed seeing her today.

  “Got you before you go down,” I say, stepping directly into her space. “Not that you won’t be going down, just not down there.”

  As I say this, I hail a taxi. I can read her thoughts. Not only is she shocked by my presence here, she knows she should be offended, that she should run from me, that I’m way over the line.

  But behind those enchanting eyes her pupils dilate with a flash of lust I know all too well, a tell-tale sign that assures me she is my kind of girl.

  “No,” she says as she clears her throat, “what happened yesterday was a mistake. That won’t be happening again.”