The Opposite Effect

by Shandi Boyes

  A hiss parts my lips when Clara slithers her hand down the ridges of my stomach and grips my throbbing cock. My balls clench when she matches the thrusts of my fingers stroke for stroke. With the warm water streaming out of the shower head and the silky smoothness of her hand, I could pretend it is my cock plunging into her tight pussy, not my fingers.

  Fighting the desire to replace my fingers with my stiffened shaft, I increase the speed of my pumps. I finger fuck her so furiously, her body jerks up and down with every thrust of my fingers. My race to climax heightens when the generous swell of her breasts scrape across my shirtless torso.

  Her pussy’s clutch on my fingers tightens as the whimpers from her mouth become more winded. “Please. Oh. God.”

  I stare into her eyes when her body tenses, wanting to watch her unravel in front of me, to see her quiver and shake her way through another orgasm I triggered.

  “Give it to me, Princess,” I hiss through clenched teeth as I battle to hold in my own climax, which is rushing to the surface.

  I grip her ass and pull her closer to me, aligning our bodies together so well, my cock brushes past her clit with every stroke she inflicts. Her groans become carnal, and her pussy ripples around my fingers as if she's milking my cock of the spawn it's dying to give her.

  “Come for me, Princess. Come for me now!” I demand.

  Unlike her previous orgasm, this time she comes with a soft moan. Seeing the way her eyes flare during ecstasy sets me off. Hot spawn rockets out of my engorged knob in rapid, quick-fired hits. When the spurts of my cum hit Clara’s throbbing clit, the trembles of her pussy increase, as do her pleasurable cries. I obtain a better grip around her waist when her knees give way to the violent convulsions racking through her body.

  Once her vicious shudders slow, I pull my fingers out of her snug canal and draw her in close to my chest. The harsh pants of her breaths tickle my bare torso as she struggles to secure a full breath.

  “God. That was—”

  “Just the beginning,” I interrupt, my throat hoarse.

  A pleased grin curls on my lips when Clara briefly nods. Her throaty pants switch to a squeal when the water pumping out of the showerhead turns colder than a witch’s tit.

  “Jesus,” she shrieks, leaping out of my arms and hightailing it to the other end of the shower.

  The satisfied smirk on my face morphs to cocky when I notice her steps are shaky and slow as she has yet to regain full control of her quivering legs.

  “It could have been worse.”

  Clara eyeballs me, blinking and confused.

  "It could have switched to cold five minutes earlier." I lock my big-headed gaze with her twinkling eyes. "Before you came for the second time."

  She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms in front of her chest, feigning annoyance. I’m not buying her act. Even if I could ignore the look of bliss on her face only two mind-shattering orgasms can produce, I can’t miss the glimmer in her eyes I’ve wanted to put there for months.

  Clara looks exactly how I want her to look.

  Claimed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My head rockets to the side when someone knocking on my front door bellows into the bathroom. I consider ignoring the interruption until a raspy voice sounds through my ears, "Brax, are you home?" Ryan.

  I shift my eyes back to Clara. "I've got to get that," I inform her, nudging my head to the door. "There are clean towels under the vanity. Wait in here, and I'll bring you some clothes in a minute."

  She huffs and crosses her arms in front of her naked chest, apparently annoyed by my request. Ignoring her white-hot glare, I rustle up my jeans from the floor, yank them up my thighs, and hightail it to the door.

  Just before I open the door, I crank my head back to Clara. The lewd grin I’ve been wearing the last forty-five minutes turns massive when I catch her staring at my ass. My confidence hits an all-time high. Even annoyed at my request to stay put, she can’t help but ogle my assets. When she notices I’ve stopped walking, her gaze lifts and connects with mine. I arch my brow and stare into her gleaming eyes, so she knows I didn’t miss her lingering stare at my backside. A traffic-stopping grin stretches across her face, undoubtedly proving she isn’t the slightest bit ashamed she was busted eyeballing me.

  I cockily wink at her. She winks straight back. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I make my way to Ryan.

  “Hey,” he greets me, his eyes shifting around my loft with the same amount of eagerness as Diesel’s did earlier. When he fails to locate whatever he's searching for, he drifts his eyes back to me. “I heard from a reliable source you had an overnight visitor. Scare her off already?”

  Like a perfectly timed skit, the vanity tap in the bathroom turns on.

  Ryan’s lips tug into a wry smirk, exposing two dimples that sit on his top lip. “Is that Clara?” he questions, waggling his brows.

  From the smug look on his face, I have no doubt he already knows my reply, but since I’m still running on a high from my bathroom antics with Clara, I nod. Ryan shoves a white paper bag under his arm before jabbing my mid-section with a set of rapid-fire hits.

  “Since when did Brax let girls into his bachelor pad?” he jests.

  “About as long as you’ve been doing house calls,” I fire back, my voice a mix of gruff and playfulness. “What the fuck do you want, Ryan? You’re killing my mojo.”

  Ryan freezes and studies my face. “Haven’t you sealed the deal yet?”

  I curse under my breath before yanking him into my apartment. “Keep your voice down; Clara wouldn’t appreciate her business being shared with the neighborhood.”

  “There isn’t anything to share if you haven’t done the deed,” Ryan mutters under his breath.

  “Jesus Christ. Do I look like an asshole? She was in fucking shock,” I reply, preferring to use the excuse of her shocked state than disclose my stupidity about not having any protection in my house.

  Ryan glares at me in a sadistic, jeering type of way. “When has a little shock ever stopped you?”

  “Whatever. Clara isn’t a bunny, so the rules don’t apply to her,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

  Ryan’s brows hit his hairline. “Diesel said you were gone. Wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it myself.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ve witnessed it. Now fuck off.” I jerk my head to the hallway.

  Ryan laughs. “You didn’t even cite an objection. You’re way past gone.” He freezes and inhales a quick breath. “Holy fucking shit. Is Brax in love?”

  His laughter simmers when I glare into his eyes, warning him I'm close to blowing my top. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you’re interrupting an uninterruptable moment before I throw your ass out of my apartment.”

  He chuckles, knowing my warning doesn’t hold any threat. Ryan and I have been friends for years, and not once have we come close to blows.

  Suddenly, he stops laughing and stands a little straighter. “Shit. When I caught sight of the weird look on your face, I forgot the seriousness of my visit.”

  The anger boiling my blood last night returns when he says, “Two of the men who mugged Clara were granted bail this morning.”

  “How the hell did they get bail so quickly?” My voice is smeared with anger. “It’s Sunday.”

  Ryan combs his fingers through his hair before shrugging his shoulders. “Although I’m certain they have meddled in this activity before, they had no prior convictions.” He locks his glistening blue eyes with mine. “The DA was also a little lenient on them since they spent a couple of hours at the hospital having a few nasty bruises and gashes taken care of.”

  “Could have been worse,” I mumble under my breath.

  Even though Ryan heard me, he pretends he didn’t and continues speaking. “Do you want me to put a unit on Clara’s apartment. . . or are you going to keep a close eye on her?” he asks, his eyes telling me he already knows my reply.

  “You worried they’re not done with her?
”

  Ryan’s eyelid twitches. “I don’t know. After the shake down your crew gave them, they might seek revenge.”

  “Not if they're smart,” I interrupt.

  Ryan huffs. “Tell me one gangbanger who is?”

  I cross my arms in front of my bare chest and glare into his eyes.

  “You don’t count. Your grandma and Ryder whipped that attitude right out of you.”

  “If only it was a few years earlier,” I grumble.

  “Better late than never,” Ryan responds to my quiet musing. He sighs loudly. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but. . .”

  My gut twists from the cloud of worry brewing in his eyes.

  “The guys who mugged Clara are part of the Petretti crew.”

  My brows stitch. “I thought that crew disbanded when Col was killed?”

  Col Petretti was a notorious mob boss running the streets of Hopeton for as long as I’ve been breathing air. He was killed in a joint FBI and Ravenshoe police sting late last year.

  “Rumors are his son Dimitri is trying to raise his legacy from the ashes.”

  “By peddling petty crimes like mugging women in back alleys?” My voice is rough as the events of last night filter back through my mind. Although Clara should have never gone into the back alley unaccompanied, it shouldn’t be that way. Women should be able to walk wherever they want without fear of being harmed.

  Before Ryan can answer, the creak of a door opening sounds through the room. My heart rate kicks up a gear when Clara saunters out of the bathroom with a dark gray towel twisted around her body, and another wrapped around her drenched head. Her bare feet padding across the wooden floor as she makes her way from the bathroom to my bedroom can’t drown out me backhanding Ryan, warning him to move his bugged-out eyes off Clara.

  “What? Couldn’t help but see what has your feathers ruffled,” he mumbles, his words barely heard over his breathless chuckle. “I can understand your fascination.”

  His quiet chuckle turns to a full laugh when I whack him harder than I did the first time. Our little confrontation gains Clara's attention. She stops walking and cranks her neck to the side. My chest puffs higher when her eyes connect with mine. Even looking like a woman who's been taken to the brink and back, her eyes are still beaming with lust.

  In a flash, the humorous expression on Ryan’s face changes to regretful when Clara shifts her optimistic gaze to him and asks, “Did you find my necklace?”

  Ryan reluctantly shakes his head. “No, not yet. I’m sorry, Clara.”

  The hope in her eyes vanishes. “That’s okay. Thank you.” With her shoulders sagging a little lower, she climbs the stairwell of my bedroom and sinks deeper into the space.

  I return my eyes to Ryan. “Do you have any leads on her jewelry?”

  He once again shakes his head. “I don’t like her chances of recovering the tennis bracelet. It’s probably already on the black market.”

  "She isn't worried about the bracelet. She just wants her necklace back. Seems to have a lot of sentimental value to her."

  “She told you about the origin of the necklace?”

  I shake my head. “No. I just have a feeling.”

  Ryan rubs a kink in the back of his neck. That’s a sign he's holding something back.

  “Why? What did you find out about it?”

  “Nothing,” he responds with a shake of his head.

  I don’t even need to look into his eyes to know he's lying. I can hear it in his voice. I stare into his eyes, silently demanding for him to spill the beans.

  “I’m not saying anything, Brax. I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut,” he responds to my silent interrogation.

  “Chris’s death wasn’t your fault. No one could have predicted he would go down that road,” I reply, knowing him well enough to know what his brief statement is regarding.

  Ryan connects his remorse-filled eyes with mine. “Do you think Noah would see it like that?”

  I curtly nod. "If you'd ever give him a chance, yeah, I think he would. You've been carrying the burden of Chris's death for years; don't you think it's time to let it go?"

  A thick, cumbersome silence greets my suggestion. It is always this way when the guilt of our younger years is brought to the surface. Ryan, Chris and I were the equivalent of the three musketeers back in our high school days. Although we had uniquely different personalities, we were thicker than thieves, inseparable up until our last days of high school.

  Always knowing the path he was going to walk, Ryan joined the police academy. Chris and I. . . we walked down a very different road. Those bottom feeders Diesel mentioned earlier, that was Chris and me. I have no doubt my life would have mirrored Chris's if I hadn't gang tagged the wrong man's building.

  Young and stupid, I spray painted a tag on the side of Inked. Like every young gangbanger, I thought I was invincible. I was cocky and full of attitude. . . until Ryder tracked me down. He not only made me paint over the tag I left on his wall, with the permission of my grandma, he also forced me to work at Inked for six months without paying me a dime. He said it was my penance for the injustice I did to the art world with my hideous graffiti. Unable to knock the massive chip off my shoulder, I set out to prove him wrong. I started learning the craft. At first, I just traced pictures directly out of comic books. As the weeks went on, my drawing technique improved, closely followed by my attitude.

  Although I never admitted it to Ryder, Inked became my life. I arrived hours before anyone else just to get in some sketching time, and I left hours later. I ate, slept and breathed Inked. As the countdown to the end of my six-month sentence loomed, my devastation about leaving the Inked family grew. So you can imagine my excitement when on the final day of my punishment, Ryder offered for me to join his crew.

  I was ecstatic. . . until he advised the stipulation his offer came with. I had to tattoo him. I’m not talking a small tat hidden away from view. He requested a highly complex tattoo to be placed on a prime chunk of real estate on his left shoulder. If he liked my tattoo, I'd become a member of his crew. If he hated it, I was out on my ass. I’m not going to lie, I was fucking petrified. I guess I don’t need to share the rest of my story with you. The fact I’m still working at Inked ten years later is a pretty clear indication of how that story panned out. Ryder loved his tattoo.

  Ryder will never admit it, but he saved me. If someone had done the same for Chris, I doubt he would have overdosed in his bathtub four years ago.

  “You couldn’t save Chris, Ryan, but you saved his brother from following in his footsteps,” I say, breaking the silence between us.

  An uneasy grin etches on Ryan’s mouth before he briefly nods. The things Ryan has done for Noah the past four years should by far outweigh any blame he harbors for what happened to Chris. Besides, if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me, not Ryan. With Ryder’s help, I pulled myself out of the lifestyle that was going to kill me. Nobody helped Chris. Not even me.

  “Clara will probably give me hell about it, but I’ll keep her here with me until things calm down,” I mutter, saying anything to move us away from our somber conversation. Nothing we can say will ever bring back Chris, so why dig up buried guilt?

  Ryan cocks his brow and stares into my eyes. “If this is the Petretti crew, it could be weeks, possibly months before this blows over. Are you willing to keep an eye on her that long?”

  I try to hold in my smile. My efforts are fruitless.

  All heaviness of our previous conversation vanishes when Ryan breaks into a childish song about Clara and me sitting in a tree. His hearty chuckle rumbles through my ears when I open the door of my apartment and shove him into the hallway.

  I’m in the process of slamming my front door in his face when he mutters, “Think quick.”

  Before I have the chance to respond, the white paper bag he’s been gripping the past twenty minutes sails across the corridor and smacks me in the chest. I only just grab ahold of it before it tumbles to the
ground. I shift my eyes between Ryan’s snickering face and the bag as I pry it open. My cock twitches when I discover what is inside: a twelve pack of magnum condoms.

  My eyes rocket back to Ryan. If I weren't sporting major wood, I'd plant a massive sloppy kiss smack bang on his grinning mouth.

  “Figured you might need them since you never bring girls back to your apartment.”

  With a cheeky wink, he spins on his heels and strides down the corridor. “Call me if you need me,” are the final words I hear before slamming the door shut and bolting to the stairwell of my loft. My steps are hurried as anticipation scorches through my veins. My cock braces against the zipper of my jeans as I take the steps two at a time. I don’t care if a hurricane roars down the main street of Ravenshoe, nothing will stop me from claiming the ultimate prize. It is time for the Beauty and the Beast fairytale to turn into reality.

  "Well, nothing except that," I mutter to myself when I land on the top step of the stairwell, and my eyes roam over Clara lying in my bed wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts. She's rolled on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. Her eyes are snapped shut, and the soft pants of her breath clearly indicate she's asleep.

  She looks like a real princess when she's sleeping.

  My princess.

  Quietly pacing to the edge of the bed, I secure a grip on the duvet and pull it up to cover her. She stirs when I tuck the covers in tight, but stays fast asleep. After brushing a few strands of her hair off her face, I press a kiss to her temple and walk out of the room. My cock screams in protest with every step I take.

  Chapter Twenty