ScarI try to do some work. I force myself to concentrate for an hour, but every time I find myself getting into a groove, she pops back into my head.Rita. My assistant.I didn't think much of her when the recruiter, a woman named Janine I met in college, brought her to me. "She's smart and really needs a gig, but she's young. Will that be an issue?"I didn't think so at the time. The interviews went well, Rita was poised and intelligent, and I really needed a new assistant. I couldn't keep scaring them away by being too demanding.So, I hired her. I took it easy in those first few weeks. I didn't push too hard, just to make sure she didn't panic.Look where that got me.Fucked, no two ways about it.I knew she was trouble the second she waltzed into my office looking like heaven in heels. I can't deny I find the girl attractive—she has the kind of body she clearly works on—but I try to make it a point not to get entangled at work. My job is my life, and I prefer to keep everything n

ScarIt's been a long time since I shared my space with another person.Since college, over ten years ago now.Even back then, I got my own apartment as soon as it was feasible. I loved my Atlas brothers, but they were messy as hell, and I couldn't handle it.Now, I wake up to find half-finished glasses of water left around the apartment. Mugs of coffee with two sips perched on end tables. Dishes lying on the counter, not rinsed, not put in the dishwasher. Drawers hanging open. Cabinets with fingerprints. Keys tossed on the entry table with no attempt at organizing the chaos.She's Hurricane Rita.Throw pillows appear. Colorful blankets. Some attractive art prints on the walls. Coffee table books tastefully spread out. None of it is my style, but I told her to make the place her own.There are perks. Like Rita in a pair of tight yoga pants and a sports bra lounging on the couch, reading a novel. Or Rita working out, sweat dripping down her stupidly gorgeous body. Or Rita in an old, ra

RitaWe run close to each other, shoulders touching for a few paces before we're forced apart by an old lady walking her little fluffy white dog.When we come back together, he tells me about his friends. Carmine and Ford, both in the area with their wives; Eros, out in Chicago; and Lanzo, somewhere overseas. "They have unconventional jobs," he says, frowning straight ahead.I decide not to follow up on that, though I file it away for future questioning later. "My best friend lives out in Kentucky, and most of the people I knew in high school either moved out of state or are out in the suburbs still. It's been hard the last year.""I can see why you're such a wreck."I glare at him. "I'm a wreck because my apartment burned down, you asshole.""Right, of course, I shouldn't have suggested otherwise.""You got into a lot of fights as a kid, didn't you? I can imagine people are constantly trying to beat you up.""Not since I hit six foot," he says with a smirk. "All right, wife, come on.

Rita"Did you think I fantasized in soft core?" he asks with a sigh. "Help me up."I give him a hand. We stand side by side in front of the wall again, looking upward. I'm trying not to think about him touching himself, touching his pierced cock, and thinking about me.But a strange thrill of pride runs down my spine.This man, this handsome, closed-off man, finds me so attractive that he touches himself to daydreams of me."How come you haven't had a serious girlfriend in a while?" I ask suddenly as I walk forward and start to make another climb."You know that's a borderline insulting question, right?""Come on, seriously. Do you work too much?""Yes," he says. "But that's not it.""Why not then? Just haven't found the right girl?" I glance down and he nods slightly, but he's looking off in the distance, at the far end of the gym."I had a bad experience. Let's say she broke my heart, like I told you before, and leave it at that. Now, I want to try again. Double or nothing?""You ha

ScarThe Oak Club is the most exclusive invitation-only club on the planet. More exclusive than Bohemian Grove. More exclusive than the nuclear bunkers under the White House. It sits at the end of a long, private driveway, hidden behind high concrete walls lined with crushed glass and dotted by security cameras. Men in dark suits wander the scrubby grounds between the public world and the private oasis beyond. The scrubland gives way to a gorgeous ocean of green grass, shrubs, flowers, and trees, with the club itself in the center of all that gorgeously manicured plant life.The building is a massive marble beauty, like a temple to an ancient god. Huge ornate doors sit at the front surrounded by columns at least a story tall. Luxury vehicles are parked in a small lot off to the side, and a valet meets us as soon as I pull around front."I haven't been here in a while," I murmur to Rita as she takes my arm. We head up the steps and in through the main front door. Security knows me alre