Destination Connelly

D
estination
Connelly

Copyright © 2016 by K. L. Kreig

P
ublished
by K. L. Kreig

ePub: ISBN-13: 978-1-943443-16-1 ISBN-10: 1943443165

mobi: ISBN-13: 978-1-943443-15-4 ISBN-10: 1943443157

A
ll 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 noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author.

T
his book is
a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

C
over Art by Yocla Designs

Editing by Nikki Busch Editing

P
ublished
in the United States of America.

T
o Alice
, my inspiration for Barb Colloway. I miss you and hope you would have been proud of me.

N
ora

K
arma is king
.

Karma is a bitch.

Karma is a dish best served warm. Or maybe that’s revenge? No matter. Isn’t revenge nature’s karma anyway?

There are hundreds of sayings about how we each reap what we sow. How we each get what we deserve in the end.

But the one I think fits this situation best is: Karma has no deadline.

And as I run my thumb over the eclectic navy logo on the corner of the pristine linen paper, I know this saying couldn’t be truer.

Wynn Consulting, a wholly owned subsidiary of GRASCO Holdings.

He’s finally found me.

It was inevitable, really. I knew this day would happen; I just hoped to stave it off a little bit longer. Like maybe forever.

I try to stop falling into the past, to the last night we had together—the
only
night we were intimate. But as I sit here and feel memories stare me in the face, I can’t push the brakes hard enough to keep from crashing into them.

“
I
love your eyes
,” I say softly, running a finger down his cheek as we lie side by side, our naked bodies entwined.

Thick, black, lashes that make me envious frame his unique hazel eyes. Eyes I’ve never seen on another human being. Amber encircles his entire pupil and covers the top half of his iris with flecks of bright greens and blues peeking through, but the bottom half has a thick ring of deep blue on the outer edge and is an incredible mossy green color. The contrasts are mesmerizing. Hypnotic. Otherworldly, almost. It’s as if the angels knew this boy was so extraordinary, so multifaceted, so special that a singular blue or brown or green just wasn’t adequate.

They also represent his carefully layered personality perfectly. The one I know he gifts to very few people—just the special ones. To everyone else, he’s cocky and arrogant and confident. But with me—when it’s just the two of us—he’s sweet and loving and vulnerable.

“They’re just eyes, princess.” His gentle smile is full of adoration. I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment, in his arms.

“No…you’re wrong. They’re so much more. They’re like glass windows into your soul.”

“What do you see when you look in them?”

“Me.”

“God, Nora,” he whispers before his lips land on mine. “I am so in love with you.”

My heart does somersaults. We’ve officially been dating for just a couple of months, but I’ve been in love with this man for close to a year. Tonight is the first time either of us has uttered those three oh so important words. “I’m in love with you, too,” I confess, my voice soft.

His magnificent smile steals my breath, lighting me up from the inside out like I’d just swallowed a whole jarful of fireflies.

“Just a sec. I’ll be right back.” Kissing me quick, he jumps out of bed and rummages in his backpack in the corner of the room, letting me admire his fine ass in the process. When he slips back into bed next to me, he gently takes my hand, slides something around my wrist, and tightens it snug.

Tears well in my eyes as I look down at a red threaded bracelet. Sitting in the center is a scarlet ladybug. My watery eyes snag his and I smile. “You didn’t make this, did you?” I tease.

“Hell no. I’m all man, princess.” As if to prove the point, he swoops back down, taking my mouth in a fast, punishing kiss. “I went shopping with my mom the other day and it caught my eye in one of those boutique stores as we were walking by. It made me think of you. I wanted you to have something from me before you left. Something you could look at every day. Something you love. To remember me by when we’re apart.”

I gaze at the first gift a boy has ever given me. “It’s beautiful. I love it. I won’t take if off. Ever.”

“You’re mine now. You realize that, right?”

I tumble into his depths once again. “I was born yours. Only yours.”

“Nora…” Hands frame my face; his lips capture mine once again. His kiss is tender, loving. It brims with promise and hope and the pain we both feel at our impending separation. I leave for Baltimore in the morning.

“Someday you’re going to marry me, Nora,” he whispers in my ear as he easily glides inside me once again on a strangled groan.

I believe him.

“I know.”

I
believed
the words I spoke with my entire self that night. I believed I was born for him. That I was meant to marry him. Share a life with him. But it’s funny how life’s circumstances can completely change the path we have laid out for ourselves. In a blink of an eye, your life can be thrown on its axis and you will spend the rest of your days playing the “what if” game, which doesn’t do a damn thing except endlessly torment you. I had no way to know it at the time, but everything would change for me. For
us
.

Every. Thing.

My entire life would be shattered, derailed, thrown so far off kilter it would take me years to recover. I would become lost, adrift and isolation was how I dealt. It was the only way I could cope, even if it was the wrong way.

One night, a series of events and horribly bad decisions set me on a new path. That one slight shift would change my entire world.

I would be betrayed.

I would be the betrayer.

It would ruin me.

It would change him.

It would tear us apart.

And now, eleven years later, I’m about to come face-to-face again with the first man I gave myself to. The only man I’ve ever let inside my heart. The man whose essence still runs wild and rampant through my blood, even though I’ve tried to exorcise him countless times.

Once again, because life has a fucked-up way of doing that (aka karma), I am thrown into circumstances beyond my control, and I know it’s merely a matter of time before shit hits the fan and I am covered in a stench so foul I’ll never be able to scrub the lingering stink from my skin.

C
onn

“
H
arder
. Fuck, yes. That’s it, doll.” My fist grips her long bleached blonde tresses hard, setting the pace I want her to take. Right now, it’s slow and steady because her mouth is pure sin and I’d let her drag me into the depths of hell as long as she kept it wrapped around my cock the whole way south.

I met Lorna at the gym a month ago in the building where I live. She’d just moved in and hadn’t been warned about me yet, so I took advantage of the situation. I’m a cunning guy like that. As soon as she stumbles across the wrong woman in the locker room shower, she’ll lock her abundant assets down tighter than Fort Knox. Good thing I didn’t miss my chance.

I wanted Lorna the minute I set eyes on her. She’s absolutely fucking stunning and has a rack I’ve contemplated sliding my cock between. Her lips are full and pouty, though, so it was a toss-up. The mouth won. And Jesus, am I glad. She’s sucking me off like a professional. Hell, she should take out insurance on her mouth. It is
that
damn good.

Prying my head from the back of her couch, I look down at the woman on her knees in front of me. She’s beautiful, yes. She has great tits and a smokin’ body, no doubt. She can string a few decent sentences together in a row, so she seems halfway intelligent. Regardless of what my brothers think, I don’t just tap anything with a pussy. I am a
little
more selective than that.

But I already know this first encounter with Lorna, as stunning as she is, will be my last. She’s like all the others. Maybe she has a personality, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she could be long-term relationship material, maybe she’d turn out to be a whiny bitch and eating a bullet would sound far more appealing. Maybe she’s my perfect “Match.com” life companion. Who knows? I don’t, because I won’t give her a chance to get that far. I feel nothing for her other than intense physical pleasure as she works me expertly closer to one hell of a climax.

Her eyes sweep up to mine, looking for encouragement. She doesn’t need it and she knows it. I give it anyway. “You’re doing great, baby,” I rasp thickly. She holds my gaze, trying to see if there’s something there. A spark. Hope. Maybe I changed my mind about seeing the inside of her apartment once and once only? I may be a manwhore, but I am no bastard. Before I let you anywhere near my dick, you know the score, and so does Lorna.

I don’t do seconds. Ever. It’s too messy for everyone involved.

I stare into her doe eyes a second longer.
Nope
. No emotional connection whatsoever. No burn in my gut. No music in my ears. No racing of my heart—other than the fact I’m getting closer to spurting down her throat.

That emotional switch was flipped to the off position over a decade ago when the girl who managed to brand her initials on the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands got on a plane and never looked back. After the way she fucked me over, you would think I hate her. In many ways I do.

But it doesn’t matter how deeply she’s wounded me, I still try to picture
her
face in every woman I take. I still try to imagine the taste of
her
nipples on my tongue and the feel of
her
pussy embracing my cock for the very first time.

Getting the hint, Lorna’s eyes flutter before dropping again, going back to the task at hand. Sensing she wasn’t quite truthful that she was okay with this one-time thing I decide it’s time to reach the goal line. I guide her up and down my shaft quicker, fisting the base so I can squeeze hard the way I like it. She gets the clue, sucking harder, moving faster, running her tongue perfectly around and under my crown until my hips buck. On a growl, my seed is ripped viciously from my balls. Proving this isn’t her first rodeo, she swallows every drop, not spilling a one.

My head is tipped back, eyes shut, my chest still heaving with the effort of the last few minutes when I feel her crawling up my body. She straddles my lap, the warmth of her silk-covered pussy bearing down against my semierect shaft, her bare tits press against my still shirt-covered chest. Scattering kisses up my throat and jaw she latches on to my mouth, thrusting her tongue inside. I taste myself on her and while it doesn’t repulse me, it’s not a turn-on for me either.

Suddenly I’m not in the mood to take this further. The vibe I’m getting from her is like epoxy, Elmer’s glue. She’s trying to fasten herself to me and I am the antiadhesive. I’m a slippery fucker, like glass.

Again, I’m not a bastard. I may not feel like fucking her but I’m not going to leave her with the woman’s equivalent of blue balls either. So I reach between us, her pelvis now writhing, and pull aside the crotch of her white silk panties, slipping my fingers through her drenched folds.

“God, yes,” she moans in my ear. Once I slide two fingers inside, she rides my hand like she grew up spending hours a day on a stallion. Feathering my thumb over her clit, I bring her to a quick orgasm, enjoying the feel of her womanly softness under my fingertips. I let her kiss me and, for not the first time, have a twinge of guilt I can’t feel anything for a woman beyond the physical pleasures they bring me. That part of me has been on lockdown for over a decade.

“Gotta go, babe,” I say as I lift her off my lap. I linger too long on her generous tits. She notices.
Damn
.

Her face falls, her lips turn down, and disappointment is etched over every beautiful feature. Yep…this right here is why I don’t do seconds. Technically I didn’t even do firsts with Lorna, and my spidey senses were spot-on. She wants more than I’m capable of giving.

“But we didn’t get to the good part,” she whines.

Ladies, I’m here to tell you, sticking your bottom lip out like a four-year-old to get what you want is not attractive. Have a little more self-respect than that for God’s sake.

“Have some work stuff I need to take care of.” It’s true—I always have work to do, even though that’s not the reason I’m now anxious to make my getaway. I should have seen the handmade wedding invitations and 2.5 babies floating in her clear blue eyes well before I ever walked into her apartment. But I was too focused on getting her undressed instead. I tuck myself away, zip my jeans, and make my way to the exit. I mean, door.

“I want to see you again,” she says pleadingly, grabbing hold of my arm.

I stop and gently take her face in my hands, enunciating my words slowly so she’ll get the message. “Lorna, we talked about this. It was a one-time thing.”

She looks like someone just ran over her puppy and left it for dead in the middle of the road. It makes me feel like the hit-and-run professional I’ve become. That’s not a great feeling by the way, and I’m not proud of it, but
c’est la vie
, as the French would say. I am what I am and I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon.

Lorna’s actually a nice woman. She’s funny, takes care of herself, and holds an executive VP of marketing position at some local media company, which is more than I want or need to know about her. She deserves to be someone’s special girl. I’m just not that someone.

“But why?”

I know my smile will come across as sad. I’m not doing it to garner sympathy from the woman whose talented mouth was just wrapped around my cock. The one I’m about to heave-ho. It’s a genuine emotion that I try my damnedest to stifle. “I’m simply not capable of more. I’m sorry.” And I am. Sorry. So fucking sorry to leave another victim in my jerky wake but not sorry enough that I won’t do it again and again and again.

Kissing her temple, I drop my hold and, without a word, make my escape.

Lorna lives on the eighth floor. I live on the thirty-fourth. It would be much quicker to take the elevator, but I need to blow off some excess energy and make my thigh muscles burn a little since I missed out on my cardio just now, so I take the stairs instead, two by two. By the time I reach my floor a few minutes later, I’m a sweaty mess, my tee sticking to my chest and back. I feel better, though.

Just as I’m unlocking my door, I see Ella walking toward me with her arms full of bags. I run over to her, taking them from her grip.

“Why didn’t you have Sam help you up with these?” I scold her. She does this all the damn time. It drives me fucking crazy. She’s the most stubborn, independent woman I have ever met. It’s alluring and infuriating all at the same time.

“Because I don’t like to be dependent on anyone. You know that. Now shut the fuck up.”

“Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass, Ella.”

“That’s why you love me, hon.”

“You’re right.” I kiss her cheek and we walk a few steps down the hall until we’re at her door.

Ella is my next-door neighbor. If there were any woman I could remotely envision myself with, it would be her. But I don’t do emotion and I don’t do commitment, much like Ella. We are simply the best of friends, although we’ve almost crossed the proverbial line several times late at night when we’ve had too much to drink and the moon is bright, throwing some sort of carnal spell through the windows.

As if she’s just noticing the clothes sticking to me, along with the beads of water running down my forehead, she teases me. “Make another getaway, did you?”

I laugh loudly. “Along those lines.”

She unlocks her door. I follow. Her condo is identical to mine, except the layout is flip-flopped with the spacious kitchen and open main living area on the left and two bedrooms down the hallway to the right. She has a bay of floor-to-ceiling windows that mirror mine, except I have a corner space, so my windows span two sides.

“When are you going to learn not to shit where you eat?” She shakes her head in mocking disapproval. “You’re going to bang the wrong woman and she’s going to know where you live and go all stalker on your ass. Not smart, Connelly. Not smart at all.”

I shrug. “I’m a slow learner.” I drop the bags on the counter and start helping her unload groceries.

Ella and I have been neighbors, and friends, for the last year. When I first saw her, of course I wanted to do her, badly. I even considered breaking my “one-and-done” rule because this woman is something incredible.

She’s beautiful, both inside and out. Petite, at most, five foot three. Tight, fit body. Average tits, but they’re all natural and I’d rather have a smaller, malleable handful than rock-hard fake ones any day. She’s smart, witty, and successful. You can’t have a three-thousand-square-foot condo in downtown Chicago that overlooks Navy Pier if you’re not doing something right with your career.

But the more I got to know her, the more I discovered there’s just something extraordinary about her heart that I don’t want to ruin. Like we all do, she tucks a part of herself away that should only be shared with that one special person when he comes along. I’m not that guy, so I don’t want to take that away from whoever he is.

I sincerely like Ella and if we cross that sometimes-wavering line, I will lose her as a friend. I don’t want that. Outside of my brothers, she’s one of the few genuine people in my life who’s not after something of mine, whether it be my contacts, my power, my money, or riding my coattails until they find something or someone better. When you are a young, attractive, wealthy, single man, trust me…you have a lot of sharks circling your boat, hungry for what you have, trying to take a bite, no matter how small. Many have tried before in innumerable ways.

“When are you going to settle down?” she asks after putting the last of the fresh vegetables in the crisper.

“When are you?” I retort.

“You know the answer to that.” At thirty-three, Ella is three years older than me. I know she’s been married and divorced, but other than that, she refuses to talk further about that relationship or any relationship for that matter. “Besides, we’re talking about you, now. Not me.”

My lips curl. “This is a tired conversation.” And one we have all too often. Ella thinks by now I should be settling down, having babies, and building a six-thousand-square-foot house by the lake. I wholeheartedly disagree with her hypocrisy.

“Well, someone needs to make you see you have more to give of yourself than just your dick. As impressive as I’m sure it is.”

My smile grows wide. “Impressive, huh? Want a demonstration?” I joke, wagging my eyebrows up and down.

Laughing, she answers, “As tantalizing as that offer is, it has to be a hard pass for me, cowboy.”

“Hmmm. Your loss.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She winks playfully.

This is what I love about hanging out with Ella. We flirt, we banter, we play around and it butts right up to the edge of sinful, but that’s where it stops. As much as I don’t want to ruin what we have, neither does she.

“How’s that big acquisition you’re working on?”

“Almost sewn up, actually. Did you secure that big marketing campaign?”

“Sure did,” she replies with a shit-eating grin on her face. The small digital ad agency that Ella co-owns was going against a big-time, well-known large firm for complete redesign of a multimedia marketing campaign for a Fortune 50 firm. It’s a campaign worth over ten million dollars. Annually. She’s been working on it for months and it’s been an all-out dogfight.

“Did you have to sell your soul?”

Her perfectly shaped brows rise. “Pretty damn close. I had to give up my first-born.”

“I didn’t think you were going to have kids.”

“Exactly,” she winks.

I spy a box that has brightly colored cartoons on the front and after leaning over to inspect it, I see it’s a design tablet.

“Take up drawing?”

“It’s for my niece. She loves photography and drawing. Has a great eye for that stuff.” She offers me a beer. I take it, popping off the top with a hiss. “I need to get it mailed.”

“You have a niece?” I’ve known Ella for almost a year and this is the most I’ve gotten out of her about family.

“What are we? Girlfriends?”

“Well…yeah. I thought so.” I laugh.

She chuckles. “Well, we’re not, hot stuff. You talk about your conquests. I berate you. You ineffectively defend your manwhore actions and then we veg and watch a movie or stuff our faces with your sinful home cooking.”