by Jenna Rose
“Fuck…”
I’m almost disappointed with myself. I knew I was attracted to him, but I didn’t realize just how much. It was the most I’d ever seen of a man before. Rick and I have made out, and I’ve even felt his dick through his pants before, but I’ve never actually touched or seen it before. I tell myself that the image that flashes through my mind of Bobby wrapping his arms around me and kissing me is just a reflex, like when someone says cake and you picture one in your mind, but I’m not so sure.
I grab my phone and dial Charles. He picks up on the last ring.
“Hitchens!” he says jovially, sounding a bit buzzed. “How’d the Brodeur story go? Get the scoop?!”
“There is no scoop, Charles,” I tell him angrily. “There is no story. I’m done.”
“Done?” he replies. “What are you talking about?”
“The guy’s a jerk!” I spit. “That’s all there is to it! He tried to talk to me while he was naked! Can you believe that!?”
Charles laughs, which just makes me more upset. “That doesn’t exactly surprise me.”
“Okay, well there’s your story,” I tell him. “I’ll write a personal piece on how I tried to interview the infamous Bobby Brodeur and how poorly it went. I’m sure some other girls will write in with their own personal experiences and we can publish them—”
“No, no, no, no,” Charles replies, sounding more like my boss now. “We’re not printing a hit piece because you don’t like the guy.”
“Okay, well I’m not going.”
“Going?” he asks. “Going where?”
Shit.
“Uhm, never mind—”
“No, not never mind,” Charles interrupts. I’ve got his full attention now. “Did he invite you somewhere for an interview?”
I sigh. Part of me wants to just crash the car into a lamp post. “He invited me on a date,” I tell him. “Tonight at the Revere.”
“Well, you’re going,” Charles replies simply.
“Charles—”
“Have fun!” he says loudly. “Make it good!”
He hangs up.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath as I stuff my phone into my purse. This is just what I need—having to cover a story with a guy who my brain despises but my body seems to adore. Rick is not going to like this.
“Babe! Are you kidding me?”
I’ve just told Rick I can’t make any of the formal tonight, as I have to go back out to cover the Bobby Brodeur story.
“I wish I was,” I tell him, half meaning it. “But Charles is adamant about me getting this story done. I’ll call you tomorrow, 'kay?”
I turn to go, but Rick grabs me and pulls me back to him. It’s an out of character move for him, and I see a timid, but excited look in his eyes. For a brief second, I wonder if he’s about to propose to me.
“Nat…I had something special planned for tonight,” he tells me.
“Sp—special?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I thought we’d both have a couple of drinks and then…you know…”
“You know…?” I repeat.
“Finally consummate this relationship of ours,” he replies.
“So you want to get me drunk so I’ll sleep with you?” I ask. “Nice, Rick.”
“That’s not what I meant, Natalie!” he protests.
“I—I think I need a break, Rick,” I tell him. It’s not the first time we’ve done something like this. He’s asked for one before too when he first realized I wasn’t going to just jump into bed with him. In fact, he’s done it a couple times.
“Natalie, wait!” he says, but I’m already gone, pushing through the rest of the dressed-up dudes and girls and out the door headed for my car. This night is already going to be bad enough; the last thing I need is a fight with Rick.
I honestly can’t believe he’s still trying to push me into having sex with him. I know it’s probably ridiculous that I’ve been holding out on him this long, but I just don’t feel ready. I’ve seen his ex-girlfriends; they’re hot. Hotter than I am. Honestly, I don’t even know why he’s with me.
Becky, his last ex, looked like a model. She was 5’11’’ with perky little boobs and a tight, athletic butt that I’d kill for. She played field hockey. The one before was Claire, who was a typical blond bombshell who wore bright green bikinis and trucker hats and loved to party, and before that he was just single and going through all the hottest girls on campus. What’s he going to think when he gets me naked?
Just thinking about it has me feeling super self-conscious as I drive to the Revere; that is not what I need to be feeling going into this interview. Bobby is going to be a pain in the ass, and I need to be on my A-game.
When I get to the hotel, I can tell the party is already in full swing. I park, and as I’m heading up the steps to the lobby, I see a cloud of bubbles and suds floating down from the roof deck. I duck out of their way, slip inside, and head for the elevators. I’m stopped by a big man wearing a black suit.
“Excuse me, miss,” he says. “Are you a guest at the hotel?”
“I’m a reporter,” I reply. “I have an interview with Bobby Brodeur.”
“One moment please.”
He turns and steps away from me while whispering something into his walkie-talkie, then turns back to me and nods.
“You’re good to go.”
“Thank you!” I say, a little snippily, as I step into the elevator and thumb the button for the roof. My stomach lurches as the lift moves, and I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. By the time the doors ding and open, I’m back in control, but when I see the scene in front of me—one of complete and utter debauchery, I wonder if I’m going to actually be able to go through with this.
4
Natalie
Bubbles. Bubbles everywhere. It’s like I just walked into the world’s largest bubble bath, only instead of it being a cute scene with a mom and her baby boy, it’s a bunch of jocks and a horde of screaming, cheering, giggling naked girls.
“Woow, ya, girl! Get it!” one of them screams as the other twerks the suds off her butt while standing on a table drinking champagne from a bottle. Three girls cheer and another joins her on the table, flashing her suds-covered fake-boobs around for anyone to see.
Fuck. I should just get out of here.
No, Natalie. You’re a professional! You can do this! And I can. I just have to find Bobby, get him to spill his guts, and get the hell out of here to write up something passable for Charles so I can get him off my back. But as I step out of the elevator, I realize it’s not going to be that easy.
“Wooo, more meat!” I hear a girl shriek and glance to my left just in time to see a completely naked blonde leap onto me. She’s soaked, covered in bubbles, wraps her legs around my waist and dumps a glass of champagne all over my head.
Sputtering, I stagger to the side and brace myself against the wall, but it’s not enough. She’s waving her arm in the air like a cowboy riding a bull, and my legs give out from under me. I brace myself for the impact, but it doesn’t come; instead, I feel a set of strong arms grab me beneath the arms, and when I look up, see Bobby Brodeur grinning down at me.
“See?” he smirks. “I knew you were a wild chick.”
“She jumped on me!” I protest as I get to my feet and wriggle out of the blonde’s grasp. My hair is completely ruined, and I thank God that I’m wearing black and not white. I shrug out of Bobby’s grip and spin around to face him. He’s not naked this time, but he might as well be; he’s wearing a man-thong with little eyes on it that make the gray fabric sheathing his dick look like an elephant’s trunk. It’s absurd, completely not classy, arrogant as hell and every feminist, independent-career-woman impulse me knows I should be repulsed by it…but am I?
“Do you know about the Kingsley scale?” he asks, throwing me off guard.
“You mean the Kinsey scale?” I correct him. He smirks and points a finger at me.
“That’s the one!”
“Yes, I know it,” I reply. “Why?”
“Well, what it says, is that girls are much more fluid with their sexuality than guys.” He grins.
“Yes…” I say. I know where he’s going with this.
“So if you want to lez it up with Barbara over there, feel free!” he replies. “No judgment here!”
I couldn’t roll my eyes harder if I tried. I do, and I make sure he sees it. But he seems completely unfazed and reaches out to give me a hearty pat on the arm.
“I’m just messing with you,” he tells me. “Relax. I’m not as bad as you seem to think I am.”
“I know,” I reply. “You’re obviously a lot worse.”
“Come on,” he protests. “You don’t like Derry?” he asks as he points down to his thong. “He’s an elephant.”
“Cute,” I reply sarcastically as I check inside my purse. Thankfully, I had it zipped up and the contents are still dry.
“Want somewhere to put that?” he asks. “Come on. I’ve got a private room over here.”
Before I can reply, he has my hand in his and is pulling me through the mayhem. Bodies slide up against me—both male and female—as we thread through the suds, lights flashing and EDM music blaring all around. It’s like a whole different world to me; Bobby lives like a rockstar—a king with the world at his fingertips.
My foot catches something and I trip and fall to my knees. Bobby never lets go of my hand, and when I look up, get a full view of his…butt. And even though my heart is racing and I’m more uncomfortable than I’ve ever been, I have to admit that it’s a nice booty.
He’s wearing a thong—a legit thong—so his sculpted glutes are fully visible. It’s plump and athletic, with those little muscular divots on the sides. It’s not a bubble butt really; it’s just a nice tight butt, and as I get to my feet, I realize I’ve never even analyzed a guy’s body like this before.
“Squats and hockey,” he tells me.
“W—what?” I stammer, brushing wet hair from my eyes.
“That’s how you get a booty like that.”
He winks at me, causing my heart to flutter, then continues to pull me through the crowd until we reach a simple black door framing a panel of fogged glass. He waves an ID card attached to his thong, the door beeps and opens and he pulls me inside.
It closes, and the sounds of the party are instantly muted into the background. We’re in the dark; I can barely make out his muscular outline in front of me. There’s a click as Bobby turns on a soft paper lamp that bathes the room in a soft yellow glow. He’s smiling at me like a prince.
Shit…
“So,” he grins.
“So,” I reply.
“Want to rinse off?” he asks, raising an arm in the direction of the bathroom. I can’t help but notice the rippling muscles and bulging bicep vein.
“No thanks,” I tell him. “I don’t need you spying on me while I’m in the shower.”
I’m totally joking—just giving him some shit—but he seems to take me seriously.
“I’d never spy on you,” he replies. “I’d just tell you that if you want to shower, you have to do it with me.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough. Between being forced to come here by Charles, to having a crazy naked girl jump on me, to my hair and outfit being ruined by having champagne poured on me like I’m some ratchet chick out of a rap video, to Bobby Brodeur being…Bobby Brodeur, I’m about to lose my shit.
“You really are a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
There’s not even a single flicker of anger in his eyes. In fact, what I just said seems to please him.
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
“Natalie,” I reply. His eyes don’t waver; in fact, a light seems to shine within them.
“What?” I ask, feeling suddenly off kilter.
“You,” he replies simply.
Hmm… “What about me?” I ask. Bobby moves right in, slides a hand around my back and pulls me close.
“Everything.”
And then he kisses me.
5
Bobby
I may be cool on the ice, but I’m on fire as I crush my lips against Natalie’s. The warmth of her body against mine has my cock throbbing with lust as I wonder how she’s going to moan when I claim her.
The way she’s been trying to resist me all day just makes me want her more. Her hard-on-making curves are just the cherry on top. Natalie is a mouth-watering sundae, and it’s time I get a taste.
Despite all that shit she’s been talking, Natalie kisses me back—hungrily. Her tongue slides into my mouth and I cup her ass and squeeze—and what an ass it is. Baby got back! Instantly I wonder just how she’s going to look bent over while I take her from behind. I can’t wait to make those cheeks clap as I fuck her without mercy. Like the guys who face me on the ice, she’s not going to know what hit her.
I’m not used to this—being flattened by a girl, but Natalie’s knocked me on my ass. I have no control. My cock is so hard that Derry’s trunk is sticking straight out like my hockey stick when I’m holding it up in victory after a win. I pull her close enough that she can feel what she’s done to me, but as my cock presses against her thighs, she breaks away and takes a quick step back.
“No,” she says softly, almost to herself. She places a hand to her lips and looks away. Fuck she’s adorable. Even now she is trying to act like she doesn’t want me to fuck her. “I’m here for the story. Not this.”
“Imagine what a story this will be,” I reply. I move closer to her, but she backs away and holds up a warning finger.
“No,” she repeats. She’s trying to convince herself. “I’m not going to be another notch on your belt.”
“How about being the last one?” I ask her. She looks up at me and I hold her gaze, keep my eyes steady. I can see her brain spinning. She’s processing.
“What did you just say?” she asks. “Does that work on all the other girls?”
“There won’t be any other girls after you,” I tell her. I move in and put my hands around her waist. This time she doesn’t move away. “You’re one of a kind, Natalie. I can already tell.”
“Already, huh?” she asks, not convinced. “How do you know that?”
“How do you know that chocolate cake is your favorite?” I reply. “You just know.”
Natalie frowns. “Cake? You’re comparing me to cake?”
I reach around and give her a nice spank on her plump behind. “Oh, you’ve got cake, baby.”
Natalie starts to smile, maybe even laugh, but forces it away with a scowl. Again, she raises a finger to my face and acts like she’s about to scold me.
“You…” But her voice fades as she fights to suppress her smile.
“Me what?” I ask as I grab the hem of her skirt and pull. She puts a hand on mine and applies a bit of resistance, but her eyes blaze with excitement, so I keep going—and she doesn’t stop me.
I don’t stop until I feel the resistance of her baby-making hips. It’s nothing I’ve even thought about until now—having a baby. It’s like Natalie’s cast a spell on me. A quick tug and her skirt’s up over her curves and bunched up around her waist. Using both hands, I grab her ass and squeeze as hard as I can. Natalie yelps and tries to pull away from me, but I hold on tight.
“That hurt!” she squeals.
“That’s nothing,” I whisper as I lean in. “Just wait until you feel my cock slide inside your tight little pussy.”
I feel light-headed. Her eyes and curves are a deadly combination. I run my hand across the curve of her ass, down to where it meets the thigh, and then probe inside. She’s wearing a thong—a thin one—and it’s soaked. So this is the innocent reporter who doesn’t like bad boys? Yeah, I don’t think so.
“Bobby—” she starts to say, but stops when I press two fingers against her pussy and apply pressure. Her eyes close and a moan falls from her lips. I lean in and suck them gently as I go deeper between her legs. With one finger, I
pull her thong aside, and with the other, find her clit.
Her moan turns into a gasp and she braces herself with two hands against my chest. I lean right into her, supporting her like I always will, and begin doing circles around her little pleasure button. She isn’t shaven or waxed, which makes me smile; she must be single if she’s not maintaining for anybody.
Not that I would care if she wasn’t; she’s mine now.
“Bobby, I—”
I apply more pressure and Natalie’s body shakes. She moans again and I reach up and grab her hair with my fist and bend her head back. I drag my lips down her neck. She’s really shaking now. She’s close, and I’m not stopping until I give her that Big O.
“Wait…” she trembles in my arms. “I—I can’t.”
“You can,” I purr. “And you will. I want you to come, Natalie. Come for me.”
She takes a deep breath and buries her face in my chest. My finger traces a perfect circle around her clit and she goes over the edge.
“Bobby!”
“That’s it, baby,” I whisper as her orgasm hits her. Her plump ass shakes in my hand as her body quivers. I stop the circles and simply apply pressure to her clit, watching her face as it twists with pleasure. Fuck she’s cute. Cute and sexy. She’s got a bangin’ body with a brain to match. This girl is the whole package and then some.
She’s too embarrassed to look at me when she comes back down. Her cheeks are blushing rosy red and she looks away as I slowly remove my finger from her button. But I’m not done yet; I’ve only gotten started.
My fingers are nice and slippery with fresh wetness, and I slide two into her pussy. How could one girl be this tight? It’s like she’s never been penetrated before. I can’t even imagine how she’s going to feel once I have my dick inside her. Will I even be able to last?
“Oh my God…” Natalie whispers as I start finger-fucking her—delicately at first. I have to break her in. I’ve never felt a pussy this tight. Is it possible that she’s actually a virgin? Natalie’s hips move against my hand. She tried pretending she wasn’t into me, but there’s no denying it now.
