The Naughty Boxset

by Jasinda Wilder

  She shoved away from me, stumbling backward, wiping at her mouth and staring at me in disbelief. “I can’t believe myself. Fuck—fuck.” She leaned against the table I’d just laid her down across. “I cannot believe I just—goddammit—”

  “Dru, what’s the problem? I thought you wanted that. It felt like you were into it, babe.” I moved closer to her, mainly because I couldn’t help it.

  The woman was fucking magnetic. I was drawn to her helplessly. I had to be closer, had to get my hands on her again, in any capacity I could.

  She skittered away, putting out her hands as if to fend me off. “Stop, don’t, Sebastian—don’t touch me.”

  I stopped, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, hands off, but I gotta admit I’m a little confused.” I watched her carefully, watching a river of emotions flicker across her features too fast for me to read any of them.

  She shook her head. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have done that. Not with you, not now. Not at all. Jesus, I’m just so fucking mixed up, and I—” She seemed like she was close to panicking, like last night, but this time she was sober, which meant it would be worse, because it wouldn’t be sloppy drunk girl cute, but sober emotional woman messy. “I can’t—I can’t—”

  “Whoa, okay—just take a breath, all right? Why don’t you sit down?” I pulled out a chair at the bar for her, and she sort of automatically sat down, breathing hard and scrubbing at her face. I went around behind the bar and pulled her a beer, because if I know anything it’s when someone needs a beer. “Drink, Dru.”

  “I don’t want a drink,” she said, her hands over her face.

  “Yes, you do.”

  She peered at me, then glanced down at the beer I’d pulled—a lightly hopped local ale. “Maybe I do. God, I’m a mess.”

  “It’s allowed,” I said, leaning on the bar closer to her, just so I could smell her intoxicating scent, if nothing else.

  She took a drink, sighed. “You mentioned breakfast? I don’t know if I can handle anything else on an empty stomach.”

  I strode over to the stairs, opened the door and yelled up. “Zane! Where the fuck is the food?”

  “What, I’m supposed to serve your ass too?” Zane shouted back, but I heard his feet on the stairs.

  He came down precariously balancing three plates in his hands. He handed me two of them, paused in the doorway as he caught sight of Dru hunched over the bar, curled around her beer and struggling to calm down…at ten o’clock in the morning.

  He quirked an eyebrow at me. “That’s all you, bro.”

  “Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes at him as he tiptoed dramatically back up the stairs. “Sissy.”

  “Hey, give me a tango with an AK over a weepy female any day of the week.” He shut the door at the top of the stairs, and then I was alone with Dru.

  Who was, yes, crying into her beer.

  God help me.

  Zane might have been on to something. What was I supposed to do now? I had no clue. I wasn’t even sure what the fuck had just happened to make Dru freak out on me like that. All I knew for sure was she tasted like heaven on my tongue and felt like perfection in my hands and I was still so fucking hard in my jeans it was hard to walk.

  I brought the plates over to the bar, pulled myself a beer—because, fuck it, why not?—set a plate in front of Dru and sat beside her with mine. She didn’t openly flinch away from my presence—we were close enough that our shoulders were brushing. She picked up her fork, poked at the eggs a few times, and then dug in eagerly. I followed suit, but spent as much time watching her as I did eating.

  “Not bad,” I commented. “He overcooked the bacon and undercooked the eggs a little, but not bad.”

  She ignored me, focusing on the food, washing down every few bites with beer. When she was finished, she pushed the plate back a few inches, curled her hands around the pint glass, and stared down into the golden bubbling liquid.

  I waited, sensing that she’d start talking when she was ready.

  “I caught my fiancé cheating on me with a bridesmaid on our wedding day. Yesterday, I guess. Feels like a whole other life, in a funny way. Like…the naive girl who thought she was getting married to a man she loved. I was that girl just yesterday, but today I feel like someone else.”

  “Was the bridesmaid one of your friends?” I asked.

  Dru shook her head. “No. I don’t really have any female friends, to be honest. No sisters, cousins, aunts, nothing. Just me and my dad. The bridesmaids were all my—they were all Michael’s friends’ girlfriends. And the one he was fucking, Tawny, she was a friend of one of the other bridesmaids. There were three groomsmen—Michael’s three best friends—and Michael felt we needed a third bridesmaid, so Lisa asked her friend. I’d met Tawny like, twice? Maybe? We’d all get together for drinks, and Tawny was there a couple times. I never liked her. I always thought she came across as kind of slutty. Turns out I was right, apparently.”

  “Apparently,” I agreed. “Think that was a one-and-done sort of thing? Like, he cheated on you just the once?”

  “That’s what I can’t figure out. I can’t come up with any warning signs I missed along the way. So, from that aspect I want to say, yes, it was the one time. But then that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why on our wedding day? It makes literally zero sense. On our wedding day, in his dressing room, in the same building as me. I was literally around the corner and down the hall, getting myself ready.” She sniffed. “I was…I was having jitters, you know? Like, am I doing the right thing? So I put on my dad’s coat over my dress so Michael wouldn’t see me in my dress before the wedding, and went to see Michael. I thought he would calm me down, remind me why we were getting married.”

  “And you walked in on him fuckin’ a bridesmaid.”

  “Not quite. I didn’t actually go in.” She took a drink, swirled the dregs. “His friends, the groomsmen and the bridesmaids, they were all sitting outside his dressing room watching something on one of their phones, laughing like crazy. I was like ‘hey, what’s so funny?’ and they went quiet, like oh it’s nothing. Just a stupid video going around. Then I heard him. I know the sounds he makes when he’s fucking, and that’s what I heard, which made me wonder why they were all so weird about that video. So I made them show me. And it was him, in that dressing room, fucking Tawny.”

  “They recorded it?” I asked, incredulous.

  Who the hell would do that?

  She nodded. “Through the cracked-open door. The funny part was that he had his tux pants around his ankles, right? And he was going at her like crazy, got a little too into it and tripped over his pants and fell backward onto his ass. His dick went flopping all over the place and Tawny was left wiggling her stupid little hips like he was still fucking her, but he was on the floor with his dick out and his pants around his ankles.

  “They were watching this over and over again, cackling, while he was still going at it inside the room, fucking Tawny on our wedding day.” She heaved a sigh. “I just don’t get it. He couldn’t wait till, like, after our honeymoon to cheat on me? He couldn’t even make it through the actual wedding day? Like what the fuck? And me, like…what the hell is wrong with me that he’d claim to love me, that he’d propose to me, plan a wedding with me, and then cheat on me? And that I had no idea? What have I been missing?”

  “He’s an idiot,” I said.

  “Yeah. That’s a given.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But it calls so much into question. About me. Like…why am I not good enough? Why was I not enough for him? It’s not like we never had sex, you know? We did. Pretty frequently. Not every day, but a lot. And I—I always thought it was pretty good between us. But I guess it wasn’t. If he had to go to someone else, on our fucking wedding day, then obviously I’m missing something. There’s something I didn’t give him that he needed.”

  “Now that’s bullshit,” I said. I grabbed her knees and spun her to face me. “This ain’t on you. He’s the cheating basta
rd. One hundred percent of the blame falls on him. Even if you guys had been having trouble, like things weren’t great and the sex wasn’t on point all the time or whatever so he wasn’t getting it from you—that doesn’t give him reason to go fuckin’ around with other girls.”

  “But that’s my point. Sex was good. We both got off, or at least he did every time. I didn’t always, but he did. He got it from me, and he still cheated on me, and god knows who else while we were together. I mean, there had to have been others in the four years we were together.”

  I felt a little unhinged, thinking about some other asshole with his ungrateful hands on this goddess. He’d had her sweet, sexy body all to himself whenever he wanted it…I couldn’t imagine not making sure she went to bed so glutted on orgasms she couldn’t stay awake any longer, so thoroughly fucked she couldn’t walk the next day. I couldn’t imagine not doing anything and everything to please her. God, I’d only made her come once, and she’d freaked out halfway through, but I knew watching her come would be its own reward every single time. Making her come, feeling her come apart, watching that beautiful face twist as she came, feeling that goddamned incredible body buck and writhe, her sweat under my hands, her pussy under my mouth, her cunt squeezing my fingers—Jesus, she squeezed hard, too. I could only imagine how hard she’d squeeze around my cock.

  The asshole didn’t deserve her.

  He didn’t deserve to fucking live if he had this woman, had the opportunity to make her his forever…and then wasted it.

  He gave real men a bad name.

  I was a player, sure. I fucked a lot of different women on a regular basis. There’d been threesomes, and foursomes, and two girls in the same night at different times. The most I’d ever had in one night, but not in my bed at the same time, was four girls and, god, I’d barely been able to walk the next day, but it had been fucking worth it. But I’d never made any promises to anyone. I’d always been up front about how shit was. I made it clear we were gonna fuck and she was gonna go her way. No cuddling, no pillow talk, no seconds. I’d only broken that rule once, for one woman. She’d been a cougar, and had taught me a few tricks; the sex had honestly been good enough that I’d been the one to want seconds when she’d been ready to leave after the first round.

  But Dru?

  I hadn’t even had her once, and I wanted thirds, and fourths.

  And the stupid bastard had given that up?

  Dru glanced at me, and I realized I’d been spacing out, thinking. “What’s that look on your face for?”

  I shook my head. “You probably don’t wanna know.”

  She tossed back the last of her beer and glared at me. “Don’t tell me what I don’t wanna know.”

  I finished my own beer and pushed the glass aside. Took her knees in my hands, slid a little closer to her. “Fine. I was thinking that I’ve never had it good enough with any one girl that I’ve ever wanted to bang anyone more than once. That’s the truth. But you? Dru, if I got you into my bed, I’d never let you out.” I stood up off the stool and crowded her space, stared down into her eyes, let her see the truth in mine.

  “The sex wouldn’t be pretty good. It’d be the best goddamn sex either of us ever had, every single time. I’d make you come so hard so many fuckin’ times you’d be beggin’ me to quit just so you could catch your breath. I’d fuck that tight, wet, sugar-sweet cunt of yours every single night and every single day so hard for so long you’d be walkin’ bowlegged. And no matter how much we fucked, Dru, I wouldn’t ever get enough. And I damn sure wouldn’t so much as think about another woman for as long as I had you. Shit, all I’ve gotten is one little taste of that pussy, and I can’t think of anything else.”

  She blinked up at me, eyes wide, chest heaving, fingers clenched into fists on her lap. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

  I cupped the back of her neck and leaned in, brushed my lips across hers. “That is what I was thinkin’.”

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  I moved my lips on hers, not quite kissing her, more teasing her with the promise of the kiss. “Yeah,” I whispered back. “Oh.”

  She gazed up at me, torn. She wanted the kiss. Hell, she wanted everything I’d just promised her. It was a promise, too, and not an idle one. But she was still fighting whatever hang-up she had about letting go, and giving in to this thing between us.

  She was quivering, shaking, barely breathing. Her lips trembled against mine, and her hands stole up to rest on my chest.

  Bingo.

  I pressed my lips against hers, traced her mouth with my tongue. She slid off the stool, pressed her body against me. God, those curves crushed against me, it drove me nuts. I’d sort of gotten my hard-on to go away, and now she was staring up at me with those absurdly blue eyes again and her tits were squishy against my chest and her hips were in my hands and her lips on mine were soft and warm and wet—

  “Goddammit, Sebastian!” She wrenched herself out of my hands, knocking over a stool in her quest to escape. “Stop doing that to me.”

  “Doing what?”

  She backed away from me. “Kissing me like that. Touching me like that.”

  I followed her. “See, your mouth says ‘don’t do that,’ but your body and your eyes say ‘do it again. Do it again and don’t fuckin’ stop.’”

  She bumped against the front door. “I don’t want to use you as a rebound.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I mind,” she snapped. “Yeah, I want you. That’s obvious. But I’m not in a mental or emotional place to be wanting anyone.”

  “I can make you feel good, Dru.” I pressed her up against the door, palmed her hip, touched my forehead to hers. “You deserve to feel good.”

  “It’s too much. It’s too soon.” Her hands were fumbling behind her back.

  “Not enough, and not soon enough. Let me erase it all, Dru.”

  “I don’t want to forget it all.”

  “Not what you said last night.”

  “I was drunk. I made a fool of myself. I said a lot of stupid untrue shit.”

  “See, I think what you were sayin’ last night was the truth. Embarrassing? Nah. And not stupid, either. Just the truth.” I was rocking a monster erection, and I ground it against her core. “You feel that? It can be inside you. Making you feel incredible. Making all the bullshit go away. You want it. It doesn’t have to be complicated, Dru. It can be simple, and real, and good. As long as you want it.”

  She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut, and shook her head. “Goddamn you, Sebastian. You’re so bad. So bad for me.”

  “Spell it with two Ds and you’ve got it right, honey.”

  She huffed, because that was a pretty cheesy-ass line, but it was so bad it was good. Or…so Badd it was good.

  Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night.

  She shoved open the door she’d unlocked while I was running my mouth, and ducked out into the storm.

  I followed her out. “DRU!” I shouted, over the hammering rain and crashing thunder.

  She stopped a few feet way, already soaked to the bone. “What?”

  I pointed at a small sailboat docked a few slips away. “That’s mine. Hang out there until you’re ready to come back.”

  She nodded, and jogged toward my boat, hopped onto the deck and vanished into the cabin.

  I let her go.

  She’d be back.

  I hoped.

  7

  Dru

  * * *

  Good goddamn and holy motherfucking hell, that man was potent.

  Once he closed in, once he got those big strong hands on me…I was just lost. The way he kissed me, those soft lips brushing against mine, teasing me with the kiss, drawing it out of me, making me crazy. I couldn’t handle him once he got close. And if he put his hands on me? Shit…I was gone. And his mouth? God, god, god. I’d never in my life felt anything like how Sebastian made me feel, spread out for him on that table.

  I’d never been taken like
that, just…claimed. He sensed that I wanted him, sensed that I’d been willing, and he just took me. No apologies, no requests for permission or is this okay? He just made me his, and made me feel fucking incredible, brought me to orgasm within seconds. Michael could make me come, but it took a lot of work, took a lot of direction and no, slow down, not there, don’t stop don’t stop, goddamn it I said don’t stop! And then he’d usually stop, or slow down or speed up just when I was getting close, which would ruin it. And yes, sometimes I’d fake it just so I could give myself an O later, my way, no fumbling. Other times he’d get it right and we’d both get our Os, and it would be great. We’d feel close and in love and it was…nice.

  Sebastian set me on fire.

  There was not a single second of hesitation or fumbling. He knew exactly how to make me come, found my G-spot with unerring accuracy, slid those thick strong fingers inside me and licked my clit and tweaked my nipples—and god, the way he’d jerked my pants down was so fucking hot.

  It wasn’t nice with Sebastian. It was…nuclear intense.

  He made me come like it was his only mission.

  I remembered how hard and how thick his cock had felt behind his zipper, both when he’d pressed me up against the door the first time, and then again just before I’d escaped. He’d probably been fighting the hard-on the whole time, the poor guy.

  He made me come without expecting anything in return.

  I mean, obviously he wanted more. But when I’d freaked out, he’d backed off. He’d talked me down, fed me, comforted me. And then he’d gotten me all worked up and whispered those dirty, beautiful promises in my ear, and I’d run out on him again, leaving him with what had to be another aching erection.