Pu$ Magnet

by Tessa Layne

  But what makes me a pussy magnet, as Sparky so crassly, and without knowing it, perfectly put it — what keeps the ladies begging for more is my tongue. My tongue on their body, and most importantly, my tongue right where it matters most, their pussy. The key to a man’s heart might be through his stomach, but the key to a woman’s heart is definitely through her pussy. Ask any woman, straight up, they’ll tell you a man’s a keeper if he’s a good guy, treats her right, and gives her regular head. A flick of the clit, a lap along her seam, a thrust into her honeyed opening, and they’re dead in the most Shakespearean sense of the word.

  And I fucking love it.

  Chapter Six

  We’re not even halfway back to the hotel when she pukes all over both of us. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry,” she slurs, trying to wipe the contents of her stomach from my pants with a tissue she digs from her jeans.

  “Let’s just get you home,” I say with a dark laugh, because seriously, this night could not be more of a clusterfuck. Pussy Magnet? Baby Daddy? I’m half-worried that Sparky’s three quarters of the way to a nervous breakdown, and our season just started. Our boat’s finally rocking, in large part, thanks to her, and visions run before my eyes of the fallout if she quits. I tip the Uber driver a hundred bucks for his trouble, and give him another two in cash.

  “Oh, no.” Sparky sways and shakes her head when I try to pick her up again. “I can walk b’mysel.”

  I keep my hand firmly at the top of her arm. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” There’s no way she could find the elevator in her state, let alone her room. “Give me your room key.”

  She blinks.

  “Your key. Tell me you have your key…Sparky?” I add after a pause. Her face says it all. She’s going to puke again. I tug on her arm. “Over here sweetheart. Try and aim for the bushes.”

  She lets fly again, heaving out the contents of her stomach. I’m stunned there’s anything left after the way she puked all over the back seat of the car. Sparky turns to me, eyes wide. Fuck, she’s going to cry. “Oh no, sweetheart,” I say, making an executive decision. “You’re not going to cry. Everything’s okay. Everyone pukes at least once in their lives.” I flash her a reassuring smile. “C’mon. Upstairs we go.” I hustle her to the elevator, praying no one steps in with us. We reek.

  She catches my eye in the gilded mirror and cocks her head. “In another time, another place, Steele.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Seriously. What. The. Fuck? She gives me an amused smile, and lifts a shoulder, clutching the railing as she sways right into my chest. “That’s it,” I grunt, sweeping her into my arms again. “You’re in no condition to walk.” I burst out of the elevator, ignoring her protests and hurry down the hall, around the corner, and down another long corridor to the suite at the end. I extract my room key and get her inside, making a beeline for the bathroom. “We’re cleaning you up.” I desperately need cleaning too, but I can wait. “Can you stand while I help you out of your clothes?”

  “Are we getting naked?” She grins.

  “I swear I’m not going to look. You can shower in your underwear if you want, but we’re covered in puke.”

  “We’re getting naked,” she singsongs. Her hand comes to the buttons on her shirt. “Promise you won’t look?”

  “That would just be weird.”

  “Why?” A flirty smile teases the corner of her mouth.

  I pause. Until tonight, I’ve never thought of Sparky as anything other than Sparky, and I’m pretty sure the guys would saw off my balls with a rusty knife if I made a pass at her. Hell, I’d do the same to any of them. But the thought of doing something with Sparky wakes my dick up in a big way. Not. Good. I sigh heavily. “Because you’re my cox.”

  “So?” she challenges, fingers popping the first button. I catch a hint of paler flesh.

  “And the guys would kick my ass if we did anything,” I finish, knowing the answer is a cop-out. Reluctantly, I turn around, fighting the dirty thoughts that pop into my head. I’ve seen Sparky in a uniform, her tits aren’t big, but I can’t help wondering what they’d feel like against my palm. My cock agrees wholeheartedly. Worse, I’m suddenly dying to see her pussy. Because holy hell, she’s a firecracker in the boat, a total ass-kicker. Is she that fierce in bed? Or does she surrender, all soft and compliant?

  Her shirt lands on the floor. “Who says they’d have to know?”

  I bite back a groan. “Fuck, Sparks, you’re wasted. I’d never take advantage of you like this.”

  “Even if you liked me?”

  I hear her stagger and turn just in time to catch her before she pitches into the sink. “Especially if I liked you,” I say through gritted teeth, forcing my eyes to the floor and away from the pink lace bra that flashes in the corner of my eye. “Now, sit down while I help you.”

  I drop to the floor and remove her high-heeled boots. I think this is the first time I’ve seen her wearing something other than athletic shoes. I’m even more surprised by the pink toenail polish. “When did you paint your nails?”

  “I always paint my nails on race day,” she says with a giggle.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Just because I’m in a boat with too much testosterone,” she slurs the word, “doesn’t mean I can’t be girly.”

  “You can be as girly as you want sweetheart,” I answer wryly. “Stand up, so I can help you out of your pants.” She stands, clutching my hair for balance while I fiddle with the buttons on her jeans, averting my eyes when I yank them down her legs. I bite back another groan when I catch a glimpse of matching panties covering a thatch of dark curls. As soon as her pants are off, I sit her back down and turn on the water. “Do you think you can stand on your own?”

  “Nope,” she answers cheerily.

  I let out a string of curses as I strip to my boxer briefs, glad to at least be rid of my puke-ridden clothing. “Okay, let’s get you into the shower.” She reaches around her back to remove her bra. “Why don’t you leave that on?”

  Her eyes scan up my chest, and in spite of her drunken state, there’s no missing the hunger there. “I don’t shower with my clothes on,” she says primly, as if I’ve asked her the opposite.

  “You never make anything easy, do you?” I mutter under my breath as I help her up, looking everywhere but at her. My cock is straining against my shorts, but there’s no way I’m removing them. Someone has to keep their head on straight.

  She gasps. “Is that because of me?” She pulls a finger up the ridge of my cock.

  I freeze. And then I look. Her face is unguarded, perfectly fascinated, as if she were examining a wildflower and not my most precious appendage. Her tits are high and perky, soft round globes punctuated with taut nipples the most beautiful shade of dusky brown. In spite of the fact that Sparky’s as ripped as any of us, there’s still a gentle curve to her belly leading down to an untamed garden of dark curls. I love it. So. Fucking. Much. And the thought of what she looks like when she comes, tortures me.

  A slow grin curves her mouth. “So this is why they call you the Man of Steel.”

  I hate that nickname, even if it’s true. “It’s what I do with it,” I snap back. And my mouth and my fingers.

  She strokes it again, as if she needs to gather more information. “Definitely a pussy magnet,” she mumbles under her breath, swaying into me.

  I grab her hand, even while my dick is yelling at me to let her keep going. “Mariah… please.” My voice comes out strangled. I’m not above begging right now. Somehow, by some miracle, I manage to get her into the hot water without feeling her up. All I can say is I better get an extra cushy spot in heaven for this, because Mariah Sanchez is temptation in the flesh. “Brace your hands against the wall,” I say roughly, wishing I was saying that for purposes other than cleaning her up. I think of my mother, my grandmother, Antarctica, hairy men. Anything to keep my raging boner in check. I squirt a dollop of shampoo into my palm, and work it into her short, dark hair. She moans
and leans into my fingers. “Shut your eyes,” I say, refusing to watch the suds cascade down her spine. My imagination is doing well enough on its own without the added visual. I pull conditioner through, then soap up a washcloth. I scrub as quickly as I can, ignoring her little mewls and shoulder rolls. I scrub until her tawny skin is pink.

  “You missed a spot.”

  I know exactly what I missed. “You’ll be fine,” I say briskly.

  “But-”

  “No buts,” I interrupt, while I quickly scrub down. I hate this. Platonic showers suck. And right now, I just want to get this torture over with and forget it ever happened. I tilt the spray my direction, not trusting Sparky to remain upright if I ask her to move. As soon as the water’s off, I pick her up, ignoring the way her breasts press against my chest, and step out of the tub.

  She loops her hands around my neck. “Mmmm, nice.”

  Too nice. Way too fucking nice, and damn me to the seventh circle of Hell, I’ll be replaying that scene over and over in my mind, wishing the outcome had been different. I set her on her feet and grab the terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the door. “Here.”

  She holds out one arm, and then the other, and I close the robe, tying it securely around her tiny waist. An ache springs to life in my chest, an unfamiliar longing. She looks so small and vulnerable engulfed in a robe that sits comfortably on my six-foot-three-inch frame.

  “Damn you, Sparky,” I mutter, turning around to drop my soaking boxer briefs. My cock springs free, still hard as a spike. I wrap a towel around my waist, then pick her up and stride to the bed. She’s wasted enough, I’m worried she’ll pass out. Or worse, choking if she pukes in her sleep.

  Her eyes soften as she stares up at me once I’ve settled her against my chest. “I always did like you, Steele.”

  Again, an unfamiliar longing comes over me. “Go to sleep, Sparks,” I murmur, pushing an unruly lock from her forehead and dropping a kiss in its place, and inhaling the scent of her mixed with cheap shampoo. It will be the only kiss we ever share. It has to be. Even though my dick wants to throat punch me now for making that call. I doze off, replaying images of Sparky in various states of dress.

  Chapter Seven

  From the perspective of Steele’s dick

  I still have vivid memories of finding my grandpa’s stash of playboys in the garage the summer I was thirteen. I can’t remember why I was in the garage in the first place, but I’ll never forget the first centerfold I looked at. A dark-eyed brunette stared out at me, with parted lips and a half smile, titties full and a little droopy with dark areolas and pink nipples. She pinched one, but I couldn’t look away from her other hand — the way it teased open her pussy, shaved except for a strip of neatly trimmed fur in the shape of a heart. It was pink, and plump, and it gave me an instant boner. My mouth watered. I just stared and stared. Until I heard my grandpa hollering and I scrambled to hide the evidence of my snooping.

  I snuck out to the garage every day that summer, picking a different magazine each time. By the end of the summer I was in love with women.

  Chapter Eight

  Sparky jerks awake with a groan, which yanks me from a deliciously dirty dream. I’m not ready to let go of either. “My head,” she says tightly, face wrinkling in pain. But then her eyes fly open and she scrambles away with a horrified gasp. “Ohmygodwhatdidwedo?” Her pitch rises to an ungodly frequency as she gives me the stink-eye, followed by another groan as she pinches her temples. “Tell me please we didn’t…” her voice sounds panicked.

  I can’t help but laugh. This is the Sparky I know and love. Still, I can’t resist having a little fun with her. “Would it be so bad if we did?”

  “Eww. Awful.”

  “That’s not what you said last night,” I retort, stung.

  She pulls open the robe far enough to look down. “Oh god, I’m—”

  “Naked,” I supply. “As the day you were born.”

  “You didn’t,” she says, clearly scandalized.

  “Nope, but you did.” The corner of my mouth pulls up.

  The color drains from her face and she buries her head in her hands. “What exactly did I do?”

  “Don’t worry, you’d remember if we did. I’d make sure of it,” I can’t resist adding.

  She snorts, shaking her head. “So cocky.”

  I open my hands in surrender. “It’s hard not to be when even you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

  Her head snaps up and she pins me with a glare. “I have standards, Steele.”

  It’s my turn to snort. “And I believe I surpassed them all last night.”

  “You’re bullshitting me,” she accuses.

  Okay, maybe I am, just a little. But I’m irritated as fuck that she’s horrified at the thought of having sex with me. “You called me a man of steel, among other things.”

  “What else did I say?” she asks faintly.

  “Things only a lover would say.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “But it’s okay. I fended you off and your dignity remains intact.”

  She scoffs. “As if. I’d never, not in a million years, rock the boat with you.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  She gives me a look that can only say fucking duh. “For starters, you’re my stroke.”

  “Yes I am.” I grin.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Steele,” she scolds, and continues. “Second. You don’t know me.”

  “Like hell, I don’t.”

  She gives me that look again. “Really?”

  My stomach sinks. It eats at me that she’s right. “I know you,” I protest.

  “What’s my favorite song?”

  Damn. I give her my winningest smile.

  “See? What about my favorite food?”

  “Pizza?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Fish and chips? I saw you eat fish and chips last night.”

  “We all ate fish and chips last night.”

  I madly reach into my memory for any clue of what she likes based on our past team hangouts. I come up with a big fat zero. But I’m determined not to let her win. “Ah-ha,” I cry, pointing my finger to the ceiling. “You paint your toenails every race day.”

  Her eyes go wide.

  “See?” I press. “Besides, I would get to know you.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” she says with a laugh. “You don’t get to know anyone. Not women, at least. They pass through your bed like water through a sieve. You can barely remember their names, let alone important details like when their birthday is, or what’s their favorite flower.”

  I open my mouth to object, but she’s right. The only attention I’ve paid to the women I’ve been with has been to mark their breathing, or the heat of their skin under my hands, or the way their legs tighten around my shoulders just before they come. “I pay attention to the things that matter.”

  “Like what? A woman’s cup size?” Her mockery stings. And just like her brutal morning workouts, she doesn’t let up. “I don’t think you know the first thing about dating. About wooing.”

  “Wooing? Who the fuck woos?” I ask incredulously.

  “Normal men. Men who want to date and settle down.”

  “Well I don’t want to settle down.” Why would I? “Women are like wine. It’s going to take a lifetime to experience them all.”

  She lets out a horrified gasp. “Did you seriously just compare me to a bottle of wine?”

  “Not you specifically. But you know what I mean - why would I settle for just one woman?”

  “Because you’re incapable of maintaining even the most basic of relationships. You might be a machine in the boat with a hot bod and damn near perfect junk, but you only think of where your next lay is coming from.”

  "That is not true,” I protest. “I always think about making things enjoyable — beyond enjoyable — for my partner. That’s my top priority.”

  “Orgasms are your priority,” she states flatly.


  “Sure. Isn’t that the point?”

  She makes that scoffing noise in the back of her throat again. “No, actually it’s not. Orgasms are nice — don’t get me wrong — but I don’t need a relationship for that. What about companionship? Friendship? Intimacy?” She skewers me with another withering glance, but I’m fixated on her implied admission that she masturbates. My mind instantly goes to the dirty place. “See?” she presses. “You can’t even look at me. You can’t have a real conversation with someone you’ve known three years. You have no idea who I am.”

  Now I’m pissed. I’m so frustrated I want to throttle her. Or kiss her silly. I lean forward. “I know enough. I know that your face flushes when you think you’ve been caught saying something naughty. I know that your breasts could fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I know the exact look in your eye when you’re thinking filthy thoughts, and I know for certain that you’ve never had a mind-blowing orgasm. One that shatters you completely.”

  Her mouth drops open, partly from shock, but I also see a flash of heat in her eyes.

  I press my advantage. “I may not know what your favorite ice-cream is, or how you got the scar above your left eyebrow, but I know how to make you pant until you think you’re going to die from the wanting, and I sure as hell know how to make you shout my name. And while we’re at it — you don’t know me either. So who’s the bigger asshole?”

  She rolls her lips together, and for a split second I think she might close the distance between us and kiss me. But it passes as she grins like I just made a deal with the devil. “I think I just made my point.”

  I cross my arms. “And what is that?”

  She arches a brow. “I’d bet all the money in my bank account that you can’t go without sex in the name of getting to know someone. Or letting someone get to know you.”

  “Like hell I can’t,” I growl, chest growing tight at her accusation.

  The corner of her mouth curls up. “Yeah? Prove it.”