So Long: Bad Boy Next Door

by Kelley Harvey

  Ha. Yes, I suppose. And it’s all right. The whole point of writing like that is to turn on my readers, so I guess you’re my reader as much as anyone. Hmmm…I’ve had women tell me they have to get their vibrators when they read my stuff. Hearing that usually makes my fucking day. Really shouldn’t be much different if it’s a guy. Right?

  Right. Now tell me about you. I want to know how you like it best.

  I rub my cock, waiting in anticipation of learning more about how Kelsey likes to get fucked. Because I will fuck her. I have to.

  But, she doesn’t reply.

  I’ve about given up when my email notification dings.

  Like? With sex? You mean you want to know what position I like or what turns me on? Wow. This went off the rails really fast.

  This time, I was afraid I scared you away. Yes. What turns you on? What makes your panties wet and your pussy throb?

  No. I’m not scared. I wasn’t sure if I should answer that question. But…in for a penny and all that shit, I guess—I like all kinds of fun stuff.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but step it up. Play a little.

  How about having your pussy licked? You like that, don’t you?

  There’s another long pause before her answer comes through.

  Damn. I’m not sure how far I should let this go. But…what the hell, you and I will probably never meet anyway. Right?

  I chuckle.

  Ah, Beautiful Girl. Even if I didn’t already know you, I’d find a way to make it happen.

  Who knows? But, I’m enjoying this. So if you’re game, I am.

  You like having your cock sucked, don’t you? No different for women.

  This is true. What else do you like? Talk to me. Tell me how I could please you if we were together right now.

  Another long pause, but eventually, her answer pops up on my screen.

  I like it doggie style, but with a little twist.

  Doggie is good. Twist? Care to elaborate?

  My erection twitches in anticipation of learning her twist.

  Wonder if she’s freaky. And if she is, just how freaky?

  Her reply finally comes through.

  It may not be a twist for some…but I like a little ass play. His thumb pumping at the back while the guy drives into me.

  I tighten my hand around my shaft.

  Fuck yeah—and I’m going to be the guy pumping her from behind. And she will definitely get my thumb while I drive into her slick pussy.

  Damned dog.

  I grab the leash hanging by the front door and head outside, hoping he’s not stolen more of Kelsey’s food—or worse.

  It’s too early for this shit.

  The one good thing about him pulling this crap first thing in the morning is that I can follow his tracks in the dew-covered grass.

  Low whining leads me around Kelsey’s place to the far side of her house.

  Spike has his front claws firmly dug into the side of a not so sturdy tree, looking up into its leaves. His forehead is wrinkled, and his bobbed tail wiggles almost as much as his ass.

  “Spike, no.”

  He tosses me a glance but diverts his attention to the kitten clinging to a branch barely a foot and a half from the tip of his nose.

  He tries to jump, as though he thinks he too can climb the damned tree. Of course, if he ever managed to catch up with the cat, he’d have zero idea what to do with her.

  I lunge for him, grabbing his collar before he scares Kelsey’s Chloe half to death. “Whoa, boy. I’m the only one chasing pussy around here.”

  After I drag him to my yard, I push him through the gate and lead him to the large outdoor kennel I’ve set up in the corner, under a shade tree.

  I slam the chain link gate before he can escape again. “You’re grounded.”

  It takes a minute to get the kitten detached from the wood she’s dug her claws into, but I manage. As I carry her around Kelsey’s house, a loud cry comes from somewhere inside.

  My muscles tense. I put the cat down. As my heart rate doubles, I sprint to the door and try the handle.

  Fuck. It’s locked.

  There’s another squeal—even louder.

  My training kicks in, and my foot connects with the wood just below the knob. The door frame splinters under the second blow, and I push the door open.

  “Kelsey!”

  No one’s in the living room or the kitchen.

  I rush down the hall, yelling. “Kelsey, answer me.”

  As I barge into her bedroom, she pulls a towel tight across her naked body, her eyes huge.

  My gaze darts around the room, looking for an assailant—the person who must’ve caused her to scream the way she did. But there’s no one here but her, all wrapped up in a fluffy white towel.

  “What are you doing? And what was that sound?” She adjusts the clips holding her hair up in a disaster of a bun.

  Even though my blood pressure is up, there’s apparently still enough blood to fill my cock.

  “I said, what are you doing?” She props her hands at her waist.

  “What are you doing? I heard you scream. Scared the fucking hell outta me.”

  “I wasn’t screaming.” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  But I know what I heard. “You were. I thought someone was hurting you.”

  Her cheeks turn bright red as she cringes. “Oh yeah. That.”

  “That?” I step closer, again taking a sweeping glance around the room. “Was someone hurting you?”

  Her shoulders droop. She shakes her head and closes her eyes like she’s suddenly exhausted. “I was trying to wax.”

  “Wax?”

  She throws up her hands. “A pox on Silky Handsome and all of her descendants to the fifth generation!”

  A pox? Silky who? Fifth generation?

  What the hell?

  “Come again?” Maybe I’ve suddenly slipped into another dimension—or she’s lost her freaking mind.

  “Silky Handsome and her waxing strips. They’re of the devil. Torturous devices designed to make a woman feel stupid. And they hurt like a motherfucker.”

  Motherfucker?

  Damn, girl’s got a mouth on her.

  “Waxing strips?”

  She lets out a huff. “Yes, waxing. You know? Like I’m waxing my cooter?”

  “So, no one was hurting you?” I ask just to make sure I’m not missing something important. All this talk of cooters might be impairing my ability to think straight.

  “Well, Silky Handsome wasn’t helping me.” She takes a giant step into her tiny bathroom and returns with a purple box, shaking it at the ceiling. “And who-the-fuck-ever bought these things to make them America’s number-one selling brand? A curse on them too.”

  A grin overtakes me. She’s going to hate me, because she’s obviously not happy with the situation, and she’ll be even less happy when she sees her door, but damn. “I can’t wait to see what’s under that towel.”

  She frowns. “Trust me, it ain’t pretty.”

  I shake my head. “Betcha I’d beg to differ.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Things didn’t go as planned. Some of that last strip stuck to me—it’s a fucking train wreck.”

  My laugh sneaks out.

  She lets out a huff of frustrated air. “I’m not kidding. I denuded half of it, but the rest still looks like a freaking rainforest.”

  I step to her, tucking my fingers into the top of her towel, and tug at the edge. “I bet it’s still sexy.”

  Her hand covers mine, holding tight and not allowing me to pull it from her.

  “No. It isn’t. It’s anything but sexy. This is the reason people pay big bucks for spa days and all those permanent treatments that I can’t afford. It’s torture—sheer torture, and now I’m just going to shave my peaches, because those are too sensitive to put through this shit.” She pries my fingers off of her towel.

  I let go. “I’m just glad no one was murdering you.”

  “Not
unless I could die from my coochie skin being ripped off with wax strips.” She gives a slight shiver. “And what was that sound?”

  I shrug. “Oh, yeah. I kicked in your door when you didn’t answer.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You did what?”

  THIRTEEN

  I rush to my living room.

  Sure enough, the summer heat floods through the doorway along with the morning sun. Though the door still hangs on its hinges, it swings wide, the wood around the doorjamb a broken mess.

  Chloe basks in the light, laid out on the floor like she’s a queen awaiting her servants.

  My hands fly up to cover my open mouth.

  Adam smooths his hand down over his beard as his eyes dart between the broke-ass door frame and me. “Sorry about that.”

  “Why? Why did you kill my door?”

  He steps to it and pushes it closed, holding it in place with the tips of his fingers and inspecting the damage.

  “Spike had your cat treed. I was bringing her back to you. I heard a couple of really loud and pain-filled screams. I did call out, but you didn’t answer. So I did what anyone would do. I came in to save you.”

  He sounds so convinced that this is normal behavior. Well, maybe it is. I honestly wouldn’t know how most men would react to the sound of a woman crying out.

  Matt was less than heroic—much less than.

  I let go of the image of Matt and push him from my mind as I massage the tension building between my eyebrows.

  “Okay. I appreciate that you thought I was being brutally murdered. Please tell me you can fix this. I can’t afford to pay a carpenter—especially on short notice. And I don’t want to sleep in a house with no front door.”

  His expression says I’ve insulted him. “Of course I can fix it. Real men can fix anything.”

  Real men?

  “Being handy and able to repair things doesn’t make a guy a real man. My ex could fix anything, and he’s a complete ass. Not at all the kind of real man anyone should want.”

  Then again, Marcy wants him. Meh, she’s welcome to him.

  “Well, this is nothing. I’ll have it done before bedtime—unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless you’d like to spend the night with me, and then I can do it in the morning. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  “Yeah. I bet you would.”

  “What?” He holds out his hands like he’s surrendering. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  A black ball of fur grabs my ankle, digging in with her claws. I hop to the side, trying to untangle myself from her grasp.

  When that doesn’t work, I swoop down to pick up Chloe. “You. You and that dog. And now look at my door.”

  “No, the door’s on me. I’ll get it fixed. Let me make a run to the home store. I’ll be back in a little while.” He takes the cat from my hands, scratching her under her chin and eliciting a loud purr.

  He hands Chloe to me and leans close, whispering, “You go fix your train wreck. I want to see what’s under that towel later, and if you’re lucky, I’ll taste your peaches.”

  A flush rushes over me, and before I can catch my breath, he’s gone. By the time I get my shit together, my door swings behind him, and Chloe sits, licking her paw in the open doorway.

  I shake off a shiver of anticipation and do my best to ignore the throb in my lower regions.

  I can’t be with Adam. He’s not at all what I need. And he’s going to bolt soon anyway. Once he finishes the repairs and sells his house, he’s gone.

  No. I need to cultivate a relationship that actually stands a chance of becoming something. No matter how good he feels between my thighs, and no matter how much his arms make me want to curl up and stay in them.

  After I duct tape my door shut, I head to my office and pull up the email thread I shared with Mr. Dirty-flirty, a.k.a. NextDoor. He may or may not actually be interested in a relationship, but at least he doesn’t live next door and isn’t coming over later to work on the door he demolished while trying to save me from imagined murderers.

  My heart contracts.

  Adam wanted to save me. Even knocked in my door to do it.

  Tender parts of me heave a sweet sigh.

  But no. This can not happen.

  I harden my resolve.

  He’s a heartbreak waiting to happen. It doesn’t matter how sweet it was for him to kick in the door and run inside, not knowing what he would face, just because he thought I was in danger.

  Doesn’t matter. At all.

  It can’t.

  So…what now?

  Distraction.

  That’s the name of the game.

  I re-read the last email NextDoor sent…the one I have yet to answer.

  I like the way you think. A little thumb action in the backside is definitely doable. Actually, taking a woman from behind is one of my favorite positions. We might just be made for each other.

  Oh, that’s right. He’d asked how I like sex best.

  Made for each other, eh? Well, I guess that remains to be seen.

  I turn from my desk, but before I get to the door, an email alert dings.

  I want to see you.

  Oh, good Lord. I can’t meet him. What if he’s some kind of sex-crazed lunatic?

  What if he thinks I’m a sex-crazed lunatic?

  And what if that’s what he wants?

  I may not live up to what you expect.

  What do I expect?

  I don’t know. Maybe you just want to see what it’s like to fuck a smut writer.

  Who said I want to fuck?

  No one. I probably shouldn’t have said that.

  So…we can meet then?

  A knock at my taped-up door draws me away from my computer.

  I open the remains of my door. Adam stands there—shirtless, his phone in one hand, a toolbox in the other. He looks like he just stepped out of the television, off one of those D-I-Y shows.

  My mouth fills with saliva. I swallow before I drool on him.

  He holds up his tools. “Hey, I think I’ve got what you need.”

  “Yes, you do.” Oh Lord, did I just say that out loud?

  I usher him inside.

  He winks as he steps through the broken doorway.

  I bite my lip. “I mean, you have all the right tools.”

  He grins and glances down to the bulge in his jeans. “Yes, I certainly do.”

  I clench my teeth and talk through them. “Right. Well.”

  He quirks one eyebrow. “Well?”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m in my office if you need anything.”

  I have to get my girly parts to thinking about something—someone—else.

  I return to the email thread with NextDoor. Maybe he’s still hanging around and wants to chat. At least that will keep my mind off Adam and his perfect tools.

  Yes, we can meet. We can go to dinner…like normal FRIENDS. I’ll be witty. You’ll make me laugh.

  Of course, and don’t worry, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.

  Loud hammering noises knock their way through the house from the living room. I shut my office door to block the sound of Adam fixing the mess he made while trying to save me.

  Me.

  It’s hard to believe he did that for me.

  I have to read the email thread a couple of times before I can answer NextDoor.

  No, you won’t be the perfect gentleman. You’ll crack sexy jokes and make me smile. So you’ll do it again and again, and on and on, until dinner is over and we’re in the parking lot…

  And you’ll ask me to come to your house.

  You’re very confident in yourself, aren’t you?

  You will. You’ll want to cuddle.

  Cuddle, my ass.

  Cuddling won’t be enough for you. You’ll have an itch that demands to be scratched.

  Wow. You have no confidence in me whatsoever, do you?

  I don’t even know him.

  I have no confidence
in men in general. I know which head does the thinking when they’re in the presence of a woman they want. And you already want me, don’t you? Have since the last time we emailed.

  Would you complain if I got that itch?

  Silence steals through the house.

  Is Adam done? Did he get it repaired already? Maybe he finished and left.

  I tiptoe down the hall and peek around the corner.

  Adam has his phone out. The corners of his eyes are crinkled from his smile.

  None of my business.

  I creep to my office.

  It’s not like he isn’t free to text people or read his social media updates while he’s fixing my door.

  I sit and scroll up through the email thread.

  Itch…NextDoor might have a certain itch…he asked if I was complaining.

  I smile as I click to his photo gallery. Sexy man with his t-shirt stretched taut over defined muscles. No. I don’t suppose I would whine. I might even scratch that itch for him if he plays his cards right.

  I’m just stating what I think is true.

  What truth is that?

  Do I say it flat out?

  Why not? I’ll likely never meet this guy anyway. I shrug and type.

  You already want me, sight unseen. Am I wrong?

  I do find you very attractive.

  You just hope I look like my pictures.

  I’m not worried about that. I know you do.

  How does he know that? He’s pretty trusting in my truthfulness online.

  So I’m right. You already want me…

  Of course I do…as much as you want me.

  Hmmm…not so much then.

  “Damn!” Adam’s voice finds its way down the hall.

  I jump to my feet and rush to see what the problem is.

  When I get to the living room, he’s typing on his phone. His shit-eating smile covers his entire face.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  He looks up, and that grin just gets bigger, his eyes sparkling. “Everything is just fine. I’ll be done in a few minutes. Sorry it’s taking so long—and about yelling. I’m…corresponding with a friend.”

  I give him a thumbs-up. “Correspond away—and take your time. I’m just trying to air condition the entire state. No worries.”