Big Bad Boys: A Romance Collection

by Wylder, Penny

  In response, I shove my phone at him. 32 more missed texts while we’ve been sitting here alone. I watch Andy scroll through some of them and cringe. Then his eyes light up, and before I know it, he’s tapping away on my screen.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, nervous, and lean toward him. He pulls the phone away, just long enough to tap a few more times.

  “Taking care of at least some of your problems,” he replies. Then he turns the phone around to show me, and I have to bite back a laugh.

  He just sent dick pics back to all of the creepy dudes sexting me. Not just any dick pics either, but what appear to be the largest dick he could find online, complete with rainbow-dyed pubes.

  I sigh and accept the phone with a nod of thanks.

  Celeste leans over to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Andy’s right. As long as you make sure no more photos leak out…”

  I snort. “Yeah, no chance of that ever again. I’ve learned my lesson.” I groan.

  “Then, this will blow over eventually. People will get bored and forget about it. And who knows, maybe Zayne will do the right thing and tell you the truth eventually.”

  “No chance of that either,” I mutter.

  “I don’t know.” Celeste purses her lips. “He sounds like he’s a decent guy, before all this shit anyway.”

  “But if he doesn’t tell you what the hell is going on, do not give him the time of day ever again,” Andy butts in. “He owes you an explanation, and if he can’t man up and deliver, then you need to move the hell on to greener pastures.”

  “Yeah, but this pasture lives upstairs and works right in my path to work,” I mutter.

  “So? That sounds like his problem, not yours.” Andy shakes his head. “Just rise above it. He doesn’t have to bother you unless you let him.”

  I nod. It’s good advice. Wise. So why doesn’t it sit right in my stomach? Why do I still feel so worried about all of this?

  The topic shifts to work problems, with Celeste and Andy filling me in on all the other boring day-to-day dilemmas that I missed since being sent home this morning like a naughty student headed to the principal’s office. For a while, it’s nice. A good distraction. Normal problems that normal people have, which I’d be dealing with if I didn’t have such a colossal issue weighing me down instead.

  But there’s only so much distraction I can take before I have to face reality again. That moment arrives a hell of a lot sooner than I’d like it to when we all lean around to the bar to pay our tabs, down our last margaritas, and head our separate ways.

  “I’ll see you guys…” I pause, then bite my lip. I don’t even know when I’ll see them next. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed back into the office again, or how long it’ll be before I can get back to my career and the things that truly matter in my life.

  Andy pats my shoulder. “Friday,” he promises. “Happy Hour still stands, no matter what else is going on.”

  I force myself to nod and smile. Right. “Friday,” I agree, even though it sounds like a death sentence. If I don’t see them until Friday, that means I haven’t been allowed to work until Friday, which means that this whole mess is still dragging on. That’s more than I can handle right now.

  But I keep that forced, fixed smile on my face as I bid my friends farewell and catch my train back uptown. Andy is right. There’s nothing else I can do right now but rise above.

  * * *

  Zayne isn’t behind the desk when I get back. He’s standing at the doors, opening them for every person who enters the building. Normally the doormen only do that when it’s pouring down rain or when high winds are whipping along the street, making it difficult for residents to peel open the doors themselves while negotiating heavy coats and umbrellas.

  The reason he’s being so extra nice today becomes clear the minute I step up to the building, and he rests a hand on the doorknob, not opening it for me yet, barring my path.

  “Clove, you’re right,” he says, all in a rush.

  I cross my arms and lean on one leg, catching his eyes as I wait.

  “I should’ve been more straightforward with you. I should’ve warned you right away, and when all this hit the fan, I should’ve explained what was going on. Let me do that now. Tonight. Please?”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “I’ll cook,” he adds. “I’ll do anything you want. Just let me make this up to you.”

  “I don’t know that you can,” I reply.

  He frowns, his face falling, though to his credit, he does step aside and open the door for me, despite the upset on his face.

  “But I guess you can try to start,” I add as I cross the threshold into the building.

  “I finish at 10,” he calls after me, and it hurts to see the bright hope in his eyes, the way his expression transforms from despair into joy. He honestly does seem to care about me, about how I feel. About the mess he’s thrown me into. “I’ll come by your apartment then, if that’s okay?”

  I nod. I don’t trust my voice to work in response. It’s too worn, too frayed. Then I walk past him, into the elevator, and shoot up to my floor. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to collapse in the elevator and let the tears that have been burning at the back of my eyes all day fall.

  Back at home, I head straight for the shower. I need to wash today off of me, need to wash all the sweat and fear and anger off before I talk to Zayne tonight. I’m going to give him this chance to explain. One chance, to be straight with me, honest about what he clearly doesn’t want to share. Then, we’ll see.

  Then, I’ll probably be alone again, my darker side points out.

  I ignore it and climb into my shower. Bury my face in the stream of hot water and let it wash over me.

  But I’m not safe even here. Not protected from my memories. Especially not when that hot stream of water trickles down my chest, my stomach, past my navel, straight over my hips where it sears against my pussy, wet and reassuring and warm.

  My hand strays toward my mound again, remembering the frustration earlier, the way I’d been fingering myself thinking about Zayne, but forced myself to stop.

  Specifically, I remember the memory that made me unable to resist touching myself. The bet I made. The control I lost to him for an hour. One hour only, and yet it felt like so much longer. Like a whole lifetime.

  He’d finished fucking me across the dining room table, and then he stood back, crossed his arms, sized me up as I lay there, too tired and pulsing with the afterglow of my orgasms to move. His gaze felt hot and heavy over my body, judging and lustful all at once.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  I forced myself to my feet, and even though my knees shook and my thighs quivered, and I felt a hot rush drip down my thigh, his cum mingled with mine, I managed to stand in front of him and obey.

  “Tell me something, Clove.” He stepped closer.

  My pussy clenched, and another trickle trailed down my leg. I loved that sensation, strangely. The after-rush. The knowledge that he’d come in me, claimed me.

  “Anything,” I told him.

  He smirked. Gripped my ass in one hand and squeezed tightly. “Has anybody ever fucked that perfect little ass of yours?”

  I shivered then, a full-body motion, goosebumps rising on my skin. “No,” I murmured.

  His smirk widened. “Have you wanted anybody to?”

  I swallowed hard. Met his gaze, which was the only thing that gave me enough courage to admit this. “I want you to,” I said.

  He laughed. Slapped my ass once, not hard, just enough to make my skin sting a little, and my body tense. “Why do you want me to fuck your ass, Clove?”

  “I want you to take me in every way possible,” I heard myself saying. I didn’t even know it myself until I said it out loud, until I admitted it. “I want you to claim me, take your pleasure from me.”

  He leaned in to feather a kiss along the side of my neck, so light that it made me shiver all over again, this time from desire, from
wanting more, more, more. He always did that to me. Left me wanting. “You are a natural at this. It’s unbelievable, how perfect you are…” His hands traced the air in front of me, like he was forcing himself to hold back, not to touch me yet.

  I smiled at him, and for a moment, he broke character. Wrapped one hand around the back of my neck and pulled me against him for a slow, deep kiss.

  Then we broke apart again, and he was back in the character of the poker winner, the man who owned me now, for this next hour.

  “Go into the living room and kneel on the carpet,” he told me. He didn’t need to explain which one. I could guess he mean the fuzzy one, almost a shag carpet. Comfortable enough that it wouldn’t hurt to kneel on.

  I went in and dropped to my knees, turning to look over my shoulder at him. I expected him to come and stand before me, have me lick our combined cum off his cock, clean him while he got hard again. But he was on the other side of the room, digging through the kitchen.

  “All fours,” he added to me, and I bent forward onto all fours, a pulse of desire running through me.

  Then he was back, kneeling behind me, and I felt his cock trace between my thighs, trailing through our juices, soaking up what ran down my legs. He was already starting to grow hard again, thick with desire.

  “I’m going to fuck your tight little virgin ass, Clove.”

  I swallowed hard and felt myself nodding. His hands traced my ass cheeks. Spread them slowly, and when one finger dipped between my cheeks, I gasped, because his finger was wet, slick with lube.

  “But first, I’m going to finger you. I’m going to stretch you slowly until you’re ready for my fat cock.”

  My mouth parted as his finger circled the entrance to my ass, pressing against the opening.

  “Tell me how this feels,” Zayne added. “I want to hear it all from you. Every sensation.”

  “The lube is cold,” I murmured. “Starting to get hotter…”

  In the shower, remembering this, I slide my finger between my pussy lips and begin to move it faster, pressing against the entrance of my pussy.

  “Your finger feels thick, hard.” He pushed against my ass, and I gasped faintly as the pressure built. “It hurts, it feels strained…”

  “That will pass when I’m deep enough inside you,” he promised.

  His finger pushed past my opening with a popping sensation and slid half an inch into my ass.

  “Fuck,” I gasped between gritted teeth.

  “Tell me,” he commanded, and I could feel the hard press of his cock, growing harder with every moment, as he pushed his finger deeper still.

  “It… You feel…” I shook my head.

  “Relax, Clove. Breathe.”

  I forced myself to let my muscles go, to sink back against him. His finger slid deeper, probing the depths of my ass. He curled it inside me, and the pressure increased, but with it, something else. A deep, pleasant, filled sensation. “It feels like you’re deeper inside me than you’ve ever been,” I murmured, trying to describe it. “As though you’re claiming the deepest parts of me.”

  He leaned down, so his mouth was close beside my cheek, his breath hot against my ear. “Because I am, Clove. I’m taking all of you tonight.”

  Another pleasant quiver raced through me, and I arched my back as he drew his finger back, then pressed it deeper again. It wasn’t like being fucked in the pussy. It felt more intense, less sheer pleasure and more pleasant ache. When he drew his finger out of me, I gasped in protest. But he was only adding more lube, and then pressing his finger into me again, joined by a second one this time. I moaned out loud when he pushed the second finger into me, knuckle-deep.

  “You love feeling my fingers in your ass, don’t you, my little slut?” He grinned, turned to lick and suck at my neck, and I arched my neck to the side to let him, to give him access to whatever part of me he wanted.

  In the shower, I push two fingers into my pussy, rock against the palm of my hand until it grinds against my clit, and lean on the shower wall for support as I finger-fuck myself, remembering Zayne’s possessive growl of pleasure as he pushed his fingers into my ass, claimed every inch of me for his own.

  “Fuck, Zayne,” I gasped, and that turned into a louder cry of protest as he pulled those fingers out of me. But the protest didn’t last long, because a moment later, I felt the head of his cock pressed against my entrance, already wrapped in a condom, harder than ever, and doused in a healthy helping of the cool lube.

  This time, when he pushed inside me, I couldn’t help crying out loud. He was thicker than his fingers, and harder, the steel at the core of his shaft intense and thick with pressure as he inched his cock into me. He moved slowly, a few centimeters at a time, letting me adjust to his width the whole time. But with each inch deeper he moved, the stretch increased, and so did the pleasure. When his balls touched my pussy lips, and his hips ground into mine and he’d fully entered my ass, I felt fuller than I ever had in my life. I felt stuffed to the brim, ready to burst, speared on his length, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I wriggled back against him, ground my hips into his as I groaned, unable to articulate the pleasure anymore, unable to explain anything, because all I knew was that I wanted more of this, more of him.

  “Fuck, you feel amazing, Clove,” he murmured, the character broken. I looked over my shoulder and he kissed me, deep, probing, his tongue exploring my mouth the way his cock explored my ass.

  “Take me,” I gasped when we parted, and he did. He slid back out of me, then pushed back in, slow at first, rocking gently against me to let my ass adjust to the sensation, grow used to his cock probing deep inside me. Finally, he worked his way up to fucking my ass fully, and I leaned forward against the carpet, braced on my forearms, my face buried in the rug as I cried out. I was so loud it barely muffled me, but Zayne was just as loud, groaning as he slammed into me, losing control, his hands wrapped tight around my hips as he fucked me so hard I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day.

  I still couldn’t. If I clenched my ass now, I could feel him inside me, the memory of his cock inside my ass. I did it again, felt that bone-deep ache even as I continued to fuck myself with my fingers, leaning into the hot stream of water.

  I come hard, gasping to myself in the shower, letting the pleasure wash through me. I hope on its way through it will wash away some of these memories, stop letting them control me, so I can focus and ask Zayne everything I need to know tonight, instead of just wanting to jump his bones the second I see him again.

  I finish and wash myself off, though I still don’t feel clean by the time I climb out of the shower again. I think it will be hard to feel clean again, not for a long time. Not until I can get all of these dirty memories of the weekend out of my head. Which at the moment feels like it might be never. How could I forget the hottest weekend of my life?

  I dress in jeans and a blouse—casual but not totally lazy. I still want to look hot. Mostly because I want him to regret what he’s missing out on. But still.

  My doorbell rings at 10:02pm. Got to give him that, he’s prompt.

  I answer it and freeze on the threshold, stunned by the size of the bouquet he’s holding.

  “Zayne…” I start, but he’s already handing it to me. It’s a mixed bouquet, made of white flowers dotted here and there with colorful roses, a mix like I’ve never seen before. It smells amazing, and the moment I accept the vase, my whole apartment seems to brighten with the color of the flowers. Still. That’s just one small gesture.

  But I can’t deny that it loosens the tight knot in my chest somewhat.

  “Come in,” I call over my shoulder with a sigh as I set the vase down on my kitchen counter. The jerk is winning me over already and I’ll bet he knows it, cocky bastard. I keep my gaze on the flowers as he shuts the door behind him.

  “Clove, I just want to say how sorry I am for all of this. You were right.”

  I turn to look at him now, and am surprised to find his eyes ove
r-bright, fixed on mine with an expression of pleading in them.

  “I should have told you about all of this from the start. I should have let you know it was a possibility. And I definitely shouldn’t have asked you for that selfie, not when I knew this could happen. It’s just, it’s been years since this has happened, so I thought it was over, I thought we were done with this goddamn dance now.”

  “Dance?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He shakes his head. “Something I used to say with… With her.” He grimaces. “You were right about that too. I should have just told you the truth when you asked me, in the café earlier today. I just… I didn’t want to admit to it. I thought you’d judge me, especially since…” He shakes his head again, harder. “No. No more excuses.” He swallows hard, with what looks like real effort, and meets my eye again. “Remember when you asked me why I’m still single?”

  I nod. Of course I do. “You acted really strange about it,” I point out.

  He laughs faintly, with no real humor behind it. “Well, because it’s a really strange situation. I was… I was dating someone a few years ago. We were together for three years. At first I was really into her, she seemed so attentive, so nice and caring. But things got… Strange. The longer it went on, the more red flags popped up. I realized that things weren’t working out, and I tried to end it.”

  “Tried?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Well. I did end it. Two and a half years ago. But she didn’t… She didn’t accept it.”

  “What do you mean?” I lean against the counter. The scent of the flowers catches in my nose again, and I sigh faintly, distracted by the pleasant smell.

  “She started following me everywhere. To my old job, to home. Any time I went out with anyone else, even just friends, she’d get their phone numbers and call them, harass them, try to get them to tell her who I was with and what I was doing. She was even worse to anyone I was dating. After the first few dates, when she stole the girls’ phone numbers and wrote them on bathroom walls, I cut off all contact with her. Changed my phone number, left my old job, hell, I even moved.”