Chapter 69
She did.
She got Zander, the mother of all leads.
“Kristal’s father, did what?” Bella sprayed her coffee all over her iPad in the conference room.
Elvie was an ambitious little wife. She managed the workload of two people. And she wasn't even a reporter; she was an accountant, but she did get the lead. Whenever anyone had a contact or a lead they didn’t want to chase—whether they were too lazy, too busy, or simply unsure if it would result in a dead end—they threw it her way.
“My sources had leaked Kristal’s father's compromising emails.” Elvie nodded, typing away on her laptop. “Now people are saying that the old man knew, and they were meant to be leaked. If it’s true, it’s a game-changer. Right?”
“How on earth did you have a source? Is this your payback? I mean, surely, Kristal is a bitch who took your husband before, but really?” Bella raised her brow.
“Are we children here? I am not that stupid; we are professional, Bella, Jesus!”
“How do we find out?” Gerald scratched his head and looked at Elvie and Bella.
“Grill my sources, duh... again and again until he can't take more coffee..." Elvie’s eyes shone.
Zander saw the way Gerald looked at her, and he didn’t like it. It was the same way he did, like a jackpot he was eager to hit—hot, smart, ambitious, and compassionate.
“Elvie, you’re a natural.” Almera drummed on the desk.
Bella squealed next to Matheo, and another male reporter next to Elvie low-fived her. Everyone was rooting for their boss’s wife.
And Zander was the one screwing her—both over and her pussy.
“All right, let’s not cream our pants because Elvie can read text messages and follow simple leads," he said, waving everyone back to work.
Four hours later, they wrapped up one of the most outrageous news shows they’d ever produced, with Kristal’s father's name blowing up on Twitter like he had a sex tape featuring three NFL stars and a circus clown.
Everyone was talking about #LeakoftheCentury.
Coincidentally, the top floor of SBC had never been quieter.
Zander knew Mathias had brought Elvie to his department to stir shit, and in a sick twist of fate, not only had she turned out to be immune to his nouveau riche charm, but she also left mouthwatering news at his office doorstep every single day like a loyal feline.
Granted, knowing Matheo, Zander was positive he had more tricks up his sleeve to try to shit all over his progress at SBC.
When Zander got back home, he scheduled a driver for Elvie. Normally, he didn’t liaise with people, but he couldn’t exactly ask his PA to send his wife back to his building without him grilling some unwanted questions that would irritate the hell out of him. Zander still had time to burn, so he went down to the building’s gym, punched a bag, sat in the steam room, and then had a shower. He slid into a pair of dark jeans and a white V-neck shirt and decided he didn’t want Elvie to be hungry, cranky, or distracted when he defiled her face and ass, so he figured it would be in his interest to feed her before he had his way.
That was his line of thought as he poured out onto his well-lit street.
Chinese? Didn’t feel like GMO breath all over my cock and sheets. Indian? Potential nut allergies. Greek? You could never go wrong with Mediterranean food, he thought to himself but Kristal used to complain that the place took a fucking year to deliver. He briefly entertained the idea of texting Elvie and asking, but ruled that out immediately. The last thing he needed was for her to think it was a date.
Instead, he walked the extra ten minutes to the nearest Italian place and ordered every pasta dish on the menu. He’d seen her eating it last night, in what certainly wasn’t one of his finer moments, so she must not be one of those no-gluten, no-flour, no-carbs, no-joy type of girls. Never mind that he was privy to this information because, apparently, he could add stalking to his list of traits.
By the way, picking food for Kristal was akin to performing heart surgery on a jellyfish.
When he rounded his street carrying the bags of food, Elvie was already standing at the building’s entrance, tapping her foot and nodding to whatever she was listening to on her phone.
What are you listening to, wife?
Zander wiggled his wrist and glanced at his Rolex. Thirty minutes. It had taken him thirty fucking minutes to get food, during which time she’d been waiting outside the building door. He didn’t have to wonder why she hadn’t called. His phone was set to silent. Newspeople check their phones once a minute, so tolerating the added ping of every message and email was pure masochism.
The minute Elvie spotted him, she shook her head and turned the other direction, walking away from me. “You’re a pig.”
Then he hoped she liked bacon because he was on the menu tonight.
Zander didn’t bother defending himself. He was many things, but not a liar. Besides, she was even more gorgeous when she was mad—with her swollen pink lips, dark blond eyelashes, and compact everything. She was halfway down his block when she turned around and waltzed back to him, like she’d remembered something. Her frown melted into a look of astonishment.
He stopped in front of her, his palms facing out, the white plastic bags hanging from his fingers dripping olive oil.
“What’s in the boxes?” She jutted her chin to the takeout.
“Body parts.”
“Always a charmer.”
“Can you ask that again, but dramatically, a la Brad Pitt in Seven?”
Zander expected her to roll her eyes at him like Kristal did every time he teased her for being overdramatic. Instead, Elvie turned around, giving him her back, and then spun theatrically.
“What’s in the boxes!” She pretended to point a gun at him, and for the first time in years—yes, years—he actually laughed. Full-blown fucking cackled. It felt weird on his face, in his chest, and in his lungs.
“Italian.”
“Blech. Anticlimactic," but her smile didn’t waver.
“Really?” She really wanted to be pussy-slapped with all this sass.
He put down one of the bags to punch in the security code. She picked it up like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kristal would’ve died in the hands of sadists before she helped him carry the leaky takeout home.
Speaking of Kristal, as they walked towards the elevators, he considered that his ex-wife might be here, dropping by for another unwanted visit. She knew he was seeing other people, but he never went as far as bringing anyone to his apartment.
Elvie, however, wasn’t just a fuck. She was his wife. And she was the fuck. He could keep her for years if it weren’t for the fact that girls like Elvie would never settle for someone like him. This was a lapse in her judgement. She would come on his dick, and then around, and then realise she deserved so much better.
Upstairs, they tore into the bags and ate pasta and pizza in front of the news, exchanging thoughts and opinions. After she ate her weight in carbs, Elvie asked where the bathroom was. She pointed to the end of the hallway, then gathered all the empty containers and bags, throwing them in the trash. He stared down at his hands. They were still shaking from the taxi incident this morning. He knocked back a shot of vodka, chasing it with an Advil. Then he realised the shower in the main bathroom had been turned on.
What the fuck?
He padded barefoot down the hallway, knocking on the door.
“Everything good?”
“Yes!” she shrieked. “Fine. Great. Splendid. I’ll think of more synonyms in a second.”
“Are you taking a shower?” It was out of character for Elvie to do anything without permission. She was straight as a ruler, which was why bending her over was his favourite pastime.
“Actually…”
“I’ll join you.” There had been a lot of eating and talking and not enough fucking this evening, and he thinks she’d had her quota of wining and dining. He’d been fantasising about shoving his shaft between her legs every minute during their workday. Waiting longer was pointless.
“I’d rather you not.” She cleared her throat.
A slow grin spread on his face.
“Wife, are you…?”
“No!” she screeched, knocking something over. A shampoo, maybe. “Of course not. Jesus Christ. I would never…”
“Take a shit? Yes, you would. Otherwise, you’d die of constipation. Tell me why you can’t open the door, or I’ll kick it down.”
She turned off the water, and he heard her shuffling in the room before she opened the door. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, and she was gloriously pantyless. She stared at him with a strawberry-red face, her Cupid’s bow lips pressed into a scowl he shouldn’t have found so goddamn adorable.
“Need your diaper changed?” he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. She was somewhat younger than him, but not enough for him to give a fuck.
Her fingers looped together, and she stared down at them. “I just wanted to make sure I’d freshened up down there before you…”
It was his second time laughing today, and that must’ve been some sort of record. His body was rejecting the laugh, though, he swore, because he actually coughed. “Carry on. Finish the sentence.”
“Well, in case you wanted to... I don’t know, perform oral. It’s been a long day. I didn’t want to smell bad.”
Zander took a step inside and cupped both her cheeks, angling her face up to look at him. Her eyes were a wild shade of hazel, blue, and suddenly sterling gray. Like the universe had wrapped around her pupils—lizard-like, really. She bit her lower lip and stared up at his mouth.
“I called you here because I want to eat your pussy and fuck your brains out. And I want your pussy to smell and taste like pussy, not like soap.”
Her tongue swiped over her lower lip, pink chasing more and more of her skin as her blush deepened.
“You talk dirty.”
“I fuck dirtier, wife. Now, if you want to take a shower, you’re welcome to. But first, I need my dessert.” He cupped her bare pussy, his palm pressed against her mound, his fingers already grazing her entrance. His other hand wrapped around her waist and jerked her to his erect shaft. She quivered against his body as the rough pads of his fingers dragged along her slit, dripping like honey.
“Dripping…soaked,” he hissed into her mouth, pinching her clitoral area, then plunging three fingers deep inside her and curling them to hit her G-spot. “And delicious.”
“Oh Zeus” she started, then clamped her mouth shut.
He lifted an eyebrow in question. She laughed, biting down on that lip again.
One day, I will bite it off for you, wife.
“I promised Zeus I’d stop using his name in vain when you and I are together.”
“You’re one weird girl, wife.”
“But a good wife?” She winked.
Oh yes, more than good.
She wasn’t going to stick around for long, and Zander knew it. Some asshole who was available, handsome, and not fucking delirious with revenge was going to whisk her away. And he wouldn’t be able to say sht about it because he was promised to another. He plunged his fingers into her pussy again and brought them to his lips, tasting her. “In the shower,” he growled.
She climbed up the elegant, grey stone steps to the glass shower door and opened it. The floor was made of real pebbles, and she wiggled her toes at the weird texture, a snicker escaping her lips. I lived in a three-bedroom apartment in the most expensive part of the city, while she was struggling to make ends meet and pay the bills on her shitty, old shoebox in an up-and-coming neighborhood. Yet this was the first time she’d reacted to any of the fancy sht in his place.
She stared at him expectantly, wondering if he’d join her. Zander tucked one hand into his jeans and leaned against the sink.
“Take off your dress.”
She did. She wore a simple cotton bra underneath it. Her first mistake.
He squeezed his shaft through his briefs lazily. “I said no bra. That’s your first pussy spank. Turn the shower on.”
She did, with quivering fingers. She disconnected the sprayer from its hub and pressed it against her tits and stomach, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm streams of water.
“Lower,” he commanded.
She lowered the sprayer to her navel.
“I wouldn’t test me, wife.”
She groaned, sliding it down and pressing it against her sweet, tight pussy, which was mostly shaved—just a landing strip of fair, blond hair leading to his final destination.
His rod throbbed, aching with primal need, and now he was full-blown stroking himself, fascinated by how different she was in the office than when they fucked.
“Inside.”
The sprayer was less than the size of an iPod because he had eight of them in this shower pointing in different directions. She could easily fit it into her cunt and even take a few of his fingers in, too.
“Zander—” She stared at him defiantly, her nipples puckering into little pebbles. “No,” she moaned.
“That’s your second pussy slap.”
Elvie smirked. He knew she’d be into it, but he’d expected her to be more sheepish about it. At any rate, this playlist-building, dirty-headlines-finding girl was going to get screwed extra hard tonight.
“Put it in now, or you’ll be getting more surprises I’m not entirely sure you’re ready for,” he said, squeezing his shaft until it pushed back into his hand involuntarily, begging for release.
Working on it, junior.