Hope I don’t fuck this up.
“No promises, but I can try. I’ve done some computer work in the past.”
She steps aside and invites me in with a sweep of her arm. “All right. It’s back here.”
Kelsey leads me down the hall, past the bathroom where Spike and the cat did their damage, and into the room at the end. She tosses glances over her shoulder, as if she’s unsure she’s made a good decision by inviting me in.
“Everything okay?”
She stops halfway down the hall. “I’m a little embarrass—”
I put my finger over her lips. “About your rump raspberry yesterday? Don’t be. Everyone lets one every now and then. You’re human.”
She bites her lip and then cracks a smile. “Rump raspberry?”
I give her a one-shoulder shrug. “I was trying to say it nicer than ass flapper.”
Her eyes go wide. Then she throws her hand over her mouth as she bursts out laughing.
“Well, my mom always has been one to squeeze the booty belches out of me.” She shakes her head and continues down the hall.
Her booty’s looking mighty fine to me. “You need a more delicate term…something like turd tulip or panty puffer.”
“Panty puffer isn’t bad.” At a large desk, piled with papers and books, she pulls out a chair and offers it to me. “Okay, now that we’ve established that I know how to tush tickle with the best of them, the name of the file I need is Rage.”
“Rage? Damn. Sounds like a book I might enjoy.”
She giggles. “Maybe. But I kinda doubt you’d like the read.”
“Oh, you never know. I like to read. What kind of book is it?”
Kelsey opens her mouth like she might answer, but then she closes it and shakes her head. “Let’s save that conversation for another day. I really just need to get this file restored if possible.”
I shrug. “Okay, but—I might like it. I read all kinds of stuff.”
“Perhaps.” A sly smile plays at her lips.
I turn to her computer and start ferreting through her files. “Did you check your recent documents file?
“I don’t know. I checked all the files I could find with the file name.”
I pull up a couple of the files that look like they might be what she wants and I open them on her desktop. “Take a look at these, see if either one is the one you need.”
I move, and she takes my place, scrolling through the docs. The first one, she shakes her head and clicks on the red X to close it. About halfway through the second, she squeals.
“Oh my gosh! This is it. You found it. How’d you find it?”
“A little talent I picked up here or there.”
She jumps out of the seat and throws her arms around my neck, giving me a big, smacking kiss on my mouth.
I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her to me. “If I’d have known I was going to get kisses, I’d have showered before I came over.”
“Sorry. I’m just so freaking happy.”
I tighten my hold on her and look directly into her eyes. I hold my breath until she starts to fidget, then I say, “Let me take you out—on an actual date this time.”
Her expression goes through a few emotions before settling on something that looks like regret. “Aw, that’s sweet. It is, but I—I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“No. I’m busy. Like super, super busy.” She tries to back out of my arms.
Bringing her hard against my chest, I dip my head until our mouths meet. I nibble her lower lip and slip my tongue along it, silently asking her to invite me in.
She opens her mouth, and her tongue meets mine like she’s been waiting for this kiss as much as I have.
And I have.
Every time I lay eyes on her, I think of her mouth. How soft it is. How sweet she is. How her scent fills me with the need to fill her.
I slide my fingers through the hair at her nape and push her against the edge of the desk.
She lifts her leg and wraps it around my waist. My cock hardens as she lets my erection press into that soft place it wants so badly to get into.
Her hands find my ass and squeeze just enough to make my dick strain even more against my zipper. I lay little kisses from the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, to the pulse point of her neck, and then I bite just hard enough to stake my claim.
She lets out a little moan, so I do it again and then soothe the spot with open-mouthed kisses, sucking softly each time. Kelsey leans her head back, allowing me to—
“Hey, what’re you—Oh. Oh.” As Leigh walks in, her voice works like a bucket of cold water dumped over Kelsey.
She pushes me away and straightens her top. “Nothing. We’re not doing a thing.”
I turn to Leigh and grin. “Didn’t feel like nothing to me.”
Leigh’s eyes shine. “Yeah, and it sure didn’t look like nothing from over here.”
Kelsey steps around me and grabs her friend by the elbow. “C’mon. Adam is just leaving.”
“I am?”
She glares at me, her blue eyes ice-cold and hard. “Yes. You are. I really appreciate your help. Thank you. Have a nice afternoon.”
“Kelsey, that’s not very nice.” Leigh frowns at her friend.
I lean against the doorjamb. “Yeah. That’s not very nice, considering what a huge favor I just did for you.”
Kelsey props her hands at her hips and looks from Leigh to me and then back. Her fake smile quickly fades. “You did do me a favor. Thank you—again. Let me know if I can somehow return the favor by helping you out some other time.”
I wink at Leigh and turn to Kelsey. “Actually, there is something I need.”
She sighs as though she’s exhausted. “And what would that be?”
“I need a date.”
“I’ve already told you—”
Leigh interrupts her. “That doesn’t sound like too much to ask. What kind of date?”
“There’s this thing I’m supposed to attend. It’s a charity fundraiser for wounded vets. You think you’d mind putting on those sassy red heels and going with me?”
Kelsey and Leigh answer at the same time. “Charity?”
Leigh cocks her head. “You can’t say no to that. It’s charity. You’re a patriotic American. You don’t want to be that person—the one who won’t support our wounded veterans.”
I hold up my hand to Leigh. She slaps it for a high-five.
Kelsey’s glare could burn a hole through my forehead. “Fine. One date. To the fundraiser and home. That’s all. I told you, I’m extremely busy.”
Leigh coughs into her hand. “She ain’t that busy.”
Kelsey throws her hands in the air. “Is this a freaking conspiracy?”
TWELVE
Chloe jumps into my lap.
“Nope. Momma’s working. You need to go play somewhere else.”
Not to be deterred, she hops up again and puts her paws on my shoulders, rubbing the top of her head beneath my chin.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I try to get her to lie down by pushing her hindquarters into a sitting position. “C’mon, I have work to do.”
Not that any of it is getting done. The well of words that flowed so freely before my nasty divorce seems to have gone dry.
And Leigh was completely wrong. Getting licked did not fix it.
On that thought, I slide my pointer to the internet browser.
Email is always a good place to find a reasonable distraction.
People have to check their email, it would be irresponsible not to. Right?
I click the one from DATE.COM.
Never know, could be the man of my dreams.
Chloe looks up at me and lets out an extra-vocal meow.
I scratch the top of her head. “Yeah, you’re right—probably not.”
From NextDoor.
NextDoor? As in Boy Next Door? Oh no—if it is, with a username like that, I bet he’s one of those wholesome guys who’d be more th
an slightly offended that in those word-cloud thingies, when applied to my books, the largest word to show up ninety percent of the time is either pussy or cock.
I shrug and open the email anyway.
Hey. How was your day?
Simple. But better than some of the emails I get. At least he doesn’t sound like a creeper.
I hit reply.
Not terrible. You?
I send the email and go grab another cup of coffee.
As I drop into my chair and spin to my desk, my email notification chimes.
It’s another one from DATE.COM.
And again, from NextDoor.
That was lightning quick.
My day’s looking up since I got your email.
I click on his profile name, and his photo pops up.
Oh my.
Damn.
A little déjà vu wriggles around in the back of my mind.
Maybe I’ve met this guy.
But he has a scar across his jaw—a good, strong jaw too.
No. There’s no way I know him. I’d remember a face as good-looking as his, with a scar like that. Too distinctive not to. Must remind me of someone else.
Scrolling through his photos, I sit up in my chair, leaning closer to the screen.
There are only six pictures of him. But man-oh-man—the six he chose—so much better than the crappy bathroom selfies and half-blurry beach photos most of the other guys post.
He poses in a desert, his tight black T stretched across his uber-muscular pecs in one of them. Tats trail down his arms, but from the distance the photo was taken, it’s hard to tell what they are. Another shows him in some kind of fancy dress uniform. Must be military. No hairy chest pictures, which is good because some of those look oddly rug-like.
At least whatever hair he has isn’t all over his face.
Adam comes to mind, but I push him aside. No time to think of a guy who isn’t going to stick around. That’s not what I want, no matter how skilled he is with his tongue or how amazing he makes me feel when he holds me.
NextDoor is more than good-looking, and he’s got enough photos that he’s probably actually who he says he is—I hope.
Let’s see what he has to say about himself.
The About Me page takes a few seconds to load. I tap trembling fingers alongside the mouse. After a minute, I yank them into my lap.
No reason to be so excited, or nervous, or whatever this is.
He’s just a guy.
Granted, he’s a gorgeous guy who is possibly blind, because he did email me. And sadly, this guy’s way out of my league. Light years out of it.
Why on Earth did he contact me?
Finally, his About Me page loads, but there isn’t much to it.
This man doesn’t have the tools to write the perfect romance, but I’d like to try. Help me find the right words, and I’ll help you find yours.
I catch my breath as my heart melts all the way to my feet.
His words. It’s like…like they were written just for me.
I stare at the screen, reading and re-reading the few words he used to describe himself again and again.
Warmth curls into my soul from the screen and spreads to my fingers.
Fuck it. Outta my league or not, I’ll reply to his last email.
I can see if he’s a real guy or some made-up figment of my imagination—or someone else’s.
Aw. That’s nice. Thank you.
So, what do you do for a living? I’m an author.
It takes fewer than two minutes for his reply to come back.
I own a very small construction and re-model company.
Owns his own company? Small or not, that’s got to be a positive, right?
We email a few more times.
I learn that he’s just moved to his new home a few weeks ago. Apparently, he likes dogs and cats. Which is nice, since I have a kitten—a terrorist of a feline, perhaps, but still a cat.
A lot of men don’t like cats. Matt didn’t like cats. Fuck Matt. I don’t even want to think about what Matt did or didn’t like. His likes and dislikes are now irrelevant.
A few more emails go back and forth.
What kind of books do you write?
My stomach sinks.
Fuck.
Do I tell him all of it? That I’m a smut writer? That I spin dirty tales of sexy couples who can’t keep their hands off each other?
Or do I just give him the pretty version I usually share with most people, like my mom’s church group and Clarissa’s teachers or her friends’ parents?
I write romance—love stories. I know, I know…it may seem cliché, but readers like it, and so do I.
There. If he doesn’t like the fact that I write romance, then fuck him too.
So what if I didn’t give him full disclosure? I can always expand on it later, right? It’s not lying, after all. My books are categorized that way—officially.
His answer comes back fast.
Cool job. You must have a great imagination.
I suppose so. ;)
So, can I ask you a question without offending you?
Go ahead. I’m super hard to offend…on purpose. I think people are much too easily upset. Ask me pretty much anything, but be prepared for the bald truth.
Okay, then. We’ll see if he can handle Kelsey—full-tilt.
If not, he’s probably not the guy for me anyway, right? That’s the whole point of this online thing—to find a guy who will like me for me and not waste my time on a bunch of dates with guys who want something else. Isn’t it?
Don’t worry. I can handle anything you dish out, beautiful. My mom used to read some pretty racy romance novels…exactly how good is your imagination?
Shit.
Now I have to put up or shut up.
Okay. You asked for it, buddy.
I have a very good imagination. I describe things in vivid, full-color detail, using all the real words.
My tummy squeezes as I hit send.
He might decide he doesn’t want a woman who writes smutty fiction for horny women. We’ll see if I lose him on this one.
Ha! All the real words, eh? So, porn for the ladies?
I smile. Maybe he can handle the truth.
Ha, ha, ha. Not exactly pornography. My novels do have plots and character arcs and all the things real books have, but pornos lack.
Porn flicks have plots.
A sexy librarian showing up to deliver pizza to a gang of barely legal blondes when suddenly a girl-on-girl orgy breaks out is not a plot.
Okay. You got me on that one. Show me something you’ve written…give me a few lines.
I bite my lip.
Do I dare? I don’t even know this guy.
A wicked, little voice in the recesses of my mind says, “Exactly.”
I pull up one of my contemporary novels from a couple of years ago and pick one of the racier bits.
His hand slips behind her knee and pulls her leg up over his hip. He pushes her back hard against the wall, his cock ramming deeper into her pussy. Over and over. Harder and harder. Until she’s dripping and screaming for release.
I hit send.
Immediately, regret swamps me.
I wring my fingers into knots.
Oh, Lord. That’s it.
I’ve fucked myself on this one. He’s only ever going to think of that passage when I come to mind. I should have waited longer to tell him what I do. I should’ve kept things nice and tidy. I should have gone out with him a few times first.
Now, he’s either going to want to fuck me and run, or he won’t want to fuck me even with someone else’s dick. And he’ll certainly never want to build a real relationship with me.
I return to his profile and stare at his photos.
Damn. He’s fucking gorgeous too.
Barring bad breath or diseased junk, I’d probably do him. And now I’ll never get my chance, and if I do, it’ll probably only be for the fuck’s sake and not because he actually
thinks of me as someone he’d want to take home to his mom—whether she likes racy reads or not.
For real relationships, nice guys don’t want girls with dirty minds.
My hand goes to my engorged cock.
I’ve read her last email at least six times. With each read, the image of her sweet, pink pussy gets clearer and clearer in my mind. Each time, my dick jumps and wants to sink into her slippery wet slit. The taste of her is still on my tongue, even after all this time.
My dick hardens even more, and I unbutton my jeans, pulling it from its confines. I yank and squeeze and jerk it until I just about wear my fucking arm out trying to get off.
Shit. This is never going to work.
I’ve got to fuck Kelsey. Right. Now.
I tuck my shit back into my pants and tug my T-shirt down to cover the zipper that won’t go over the giant bulge. I stalk next door and raise my hand to knock. But before it connects with the wood, I pull back.
No. This isn’t the way to do this. Not if I want more than to just fuck her.
And I do.
I leave before she catches me standing at her door with a giant erection.
Once home, I sit at the computer again and let my hard-on out of his prison to get a little relief from the constriction.
Damn, girl. You’ve got some talent. That’s pretty fucking hot.
I was a little worried I’d scared you off. It’s been a lot longer between emails this time.
Not so sure I should tell her exactly what I was doing.
I had to take care of something.
Take care of something? Oh shit. Were you paddling your pickle? Milking your lizard? Polishing your torpedo?
Are we—are we sexting here?
I didn’t really mean to do that. I was just sharing some of my words.
Well, since we’re emailing and not texting, I’m not sure you can call it “sexting.”
Shit, maybe she’s not up for that kind of chat.
Sorry if it bothers you that I was so honest. Maybe I was too honest. We can talk about other things.
No. No. I appreciate honesty. And I’m fairly comfortable talking about pretty much any topic. Just don’t take anything I say as an open invitation. Understand that I can talk about stuff that would embarrass most women and some men without getting embarrassed in the least. ;)
Good. Glad you aren’t embarrassed. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You turned me on with that, and I was just doing what men tend to do.
So Long: Bad Boy Next Door Page 11
